#it's the closest he gets to turning his brain off without use of a television

[marc--chilton]

goofy ass house headcanon: cuddy once took inspiration from wilson's retelling of animal rehabilitation videos he's seen and simply draped a blanket over house's head when it was in everyone's best interest for him to not do his job that day. she was mostly joking but it actually worked on him. he just sits there. it freaked her the fuck out so she stopped but sharing her findings with wilson meant that he will take advantage of it where she will not, HAPPILY

[kevin-the-bruyne]

cat!Zishu AU p.5

hello hello! sorry for the wait. I was in horny gong jun hell over the weekend. Please pay attention to rating and content warning. Those who want to follow this series the tag is cat!zishu au

Inspired by @rhymesswith’s brainchild and beautiful art here and here. You may also enjoy seeing the other thing I draw inspiration from.

Rating PG-13

CW: blood, nudity and swearing

Part 1 Part 2 Part3 Part4

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Part 5

Zishu with time masters jumping onto counters. He is proud to say that there’s not a table or high spot in the house he can’t reach. He can even jump from shelf to higher shelf right above it without using any other leverage. Wen Kexing doesn’t do much to stop him. In fact, everytime Zishu joins him on the kitchen counter he’s filled with delight, patting his back and giving him a piece of raw chicken or fish as a reward.

The closest Wen Kexing has come to complaining about Zishu’s new found athleticism was the bleary, ‘A-Xuuuuu~~~ I need to sleep’ he would croak out during Zishu’s nightly training sessions, during which multiple things - glass or otherwise - around the house would be unceremoniously knocked down onto the floor. But even that doesn’t last long as Zishu is a lot more nimble and used to his new form now. Almost no noise is made during his nightly trainings - at least not by accident - Zishu expertly weaving around Wen Kexing’s candles, books and flower vases.

Wen Kexing is so happy to have Zishu at eye level that he even goads him on, ‘A-Xu, do you think you can reach here?’ He says, patting the counter space next to his bathroom sink. Wen Kexing is applying toothpaste to his brush as Zishu gets ready, wiggling his butt to distribute his weight properly before lift off. Of course, he can reach it. Easily.

Zishu expertly jumps onto the counter, swishing his tail for balance but mostly for flair, the little white at the end of his tail like a dancing little beacon. Wen Kexing cheers through a mouthful of toothpaste. Zishu settles into a loaf on the counter, his tail curling around him in satisfaction as he tucks his feet underneath him.

Now, gun to head, Zishu would admit that he enjoys accompanying Wen Kexing around the house. He is Zishu’s only form of entertainment after all. He plays with his toys only around Wen Kexing anyway since he’s not actually a cat. The television shows Wen Kexing insists on turning on for him are all mostly just bird related livecams.

It’s actually pretty effective for when Zishu wants to dissociate - brain giving into it’s cat instincts to intently watch little tittering creatures for prey. But all of that still leaves Wen Kexing as the most interesting object in the house. Sentient and devoted, Wen Kexing would have made for a great Window of Heaven trainee.

Zishu just hadn’t anticipated, in the excitement of living up to Wen Kexing’s challenge, that once he made it onto the bathroom counter he would be face to face with the entire might of Wen Kexing’s cock. Zishu feels a shiver of terror go through him for not noticing how extremely naked Wen Kexing is. For the first time since he’s turned, he feels a very specific sort of gratitude for the thick layer of fur that covers his body because he can feel the heat of embarrassment rise up to his cheeks.

Wen Kexing, entirely oblivious to his cat’s internal struggle, is singing and dancing happily even going so far as making finger guns at the mirror and at Zishu. Finished with brushing his teeth, Wen Kexing has now pulled out his shaving kit. He then detours to grab a brush so he can sing the chorus into it like a mic. His cock, limp and innocent, bounces with him.

The cat part of Zishu is almost fascinated with it - the part that likes little tittering creatures of prey. Not that Wen Kexing’s cock could be described as ‘little’ - even limp, Zishu could tell that it was an impressive size. The human part of Zishu is mortified (mostly at the cat part that can’t seem to look away). Men’s naked bodies are no stranger to Zishu - he’s trained in martial arts and has always been active and good at sports. He’s spent plenty of time in locker rooms filled with naked men.

But there’s just something about Wen Kexing’s naked body that rattles him. Objectively, it’s nice, it’s a good body - lean and muscular. It’s obvious underneath his clothes too. He wonders, not for the first time, if Wen Kexing is also good at sports. It would appear so. His internal monologue prevents him from seeing Wen Kexing inching towards him. He holds the final note - badly - then ends with a soft kiss on Zishu’s forehead.

Wen Kexing is really throwing him for a loop today! Disgruntled Zishu jumps away and hisses at Wen Kexing. Wen Kexing pouts, ‘A-Xu, why are you so aggressive? We have been together for so long I think I deserve a kiss.’ Wen Kexing brings his face down close to Zishu again and Zishu hisses in his face.

‘Hmm,’ Wen Kexingn says deep in thought, ‘maybe, I should neuter you like the vet suggested. It helps lower aggres-

Wen Kexing never gets to finish his thought as Zishu flings himself at Wen Kexing, teeth bared claws out. His claws bear down into Wen Kexing who yells and tries to get him off.

‘Oh my god- fuck fuck- get off! A-Xu shit shit shit that really hurts.’ Wen Kexing is trying to get a grip on Zishu’s body but Zishu has jumped to his back, digging in with all four claws. ‘FUCK! OW! I do need to neuter you.’ Zishu meows loudly, louder than he ever has before, low and angry. Like fuck he’s letting Wen Kexing anywhere near his balls. He’s going to run away, obviously he’s going to run away but he’s going kill Wen Kexing first.

Wen Kexing is breathing heavily now, ‘wait. A-Xu. Neuter.’ Zishu growls loudly again, all the killing intent he’s ever felt before rushing out at once. ‘No neutering!’ Wen Kexing yells and immediately Zishu let’s go, jumping back down onto the counter and sitting down calmly tail curled around his body. Wen Kexing’s upper body is covered in blood, and gashes both deep and shallow, there’s a small chunk of flesh missing from his left shoulder.

‘A-Xu, are you upset at possibly being neutered?’ Zishu doesn’t care what this will appear to Wen Kexing. He softly but firmly meows in affirmative.

After looking at Wen Kexing’s state, he thinks there is no way anyone would keep him. But Wen Kexing doesn’t seem angry or agitated. He doesn’t even seem to notice the injuries. Instead, he’s looking at Zishu with wonder, ‘A-Xu, how do you know what neuter means? Do you understand me? Do you know what I’m saying?’ Zishu ignores the question, laying down onto his stomach and putting his face in between his paws getting ready for a nap.

Wen Kexing hums and after a small pause runs his hand across Zishu’s body from shoulder and down his sides in long, slow strokes. Zishu feeling slightly guilty about the state he’s left Wen Kexing in lets him, ‘Huh, I guess your fatherly instinct is just very strong.’

[yawnzzjun]

- LOVE OVER LIFE(NOT PROOF READ)

FINAL: I know I love you.

Last night's event lingers in my mind but there more that made my head hurt even more. More that I needed to tell me but I didn't get to last night.

Before my mother alerts me to get up for the day, I got up off my bed and left my room and entered into the living room. My laptop was on the coffee table so like normal I opened it up and check social media, there's no one to message anyways so.

"You're up early hm?"

My mom said behind me putting a cup of coffee/tea on the table infront of us as she sat down next to me.

"Well I have to start packing anyways so.."

She smiled at my comment and turn on the television, entering her own world and forgetting that I was there.

I went on Facebook to check up on it, the last time I was on there was because of Beomgyu, so I'm here again to check his account.

As normal it's been up to date with posts and comments about his lives, even comments about yesterday's live. Seems that was keeping him busy from meeting me.

I turned off my laptop and check my phone to see that it was already 10am. I took the cup and finished the drink in one go and put it away in the sink then got ready for the day.

-

Got out some bags and got started on my packing, closet first.

Taking out the clothes one by one I found some hidden notes that Beomgyu and I sent each other during class.

I picked them out, staring at it for a bit getting a wave of memories entering my mind. I sighed and decided to pack them, part of me still loves him.

Finishing on my closet I decided to leave the house a for a bit and walk around.

This time I didn't go to the park, I visited the beach closest to my house, it wasn't a short walk but it wasn't a long one either. I took off my shoes and held it in my hands as I made my way to the sand and stared at the sea for a bit. Smiling at the amazing scenery, It got interrupted by a notification. I placed the shoes on the sand as I got out my phone and checked it. The first one was a message by my mom telling me that she will finish my packing, made me smile even more but the second one was from Beomgyu.

gyu💌: about last night can you tell me what you wanted to say?

I completely forgot that I left his contact name as that but I can't run away for ever so I texted back.

y/n: over text orr

gyu💌: of course not. tell me where to meet up

y/n: meet me at the beach I'm already there

I sighed as I stood there, waiting for him to come. It was finally time to release the heavy weight of this drama and face my fears. I really hope that Beomgyu will see my POV also. All I have to do is hope..

-

"Y/n!"

I heard his voice. It was already around 1pm, I know his house isn't near to mine but it wouldn't take that long, I think.

"Took you a while.."

He looked away and mumbled something along the lines of "I got lost." but I just let it go.

"So.." He stared.

I took a deep breath and started to speak without my brain keeping up with it.

"Beomgyu, I'm really am sorry for what I did.. I wasn't thinking that much, all I wanted was for you to be comfortable.. And don't think much about my life."

He stared at me as I continued spitting out the words before he could respond to the first half.

"I didn't wanted you to find out about my. Lies that way.. I just wanted you to have a normal life like a normal teenager.."

I stopped talking to see if he as anything to say but all he did was opened his mouth then close it. I looked away as I began to put back on my shoes.

"Wait. I'm sorry for not giving you time to tell your point of view, I was mad that you were partly feeding me lies of your life. I thought everything was going well."

I got back up and smiled a bit that he responded.

"Beomgyu.."

"Hm?"

"I want you to know that I really do love you."

I said as I stared at him.

He stared back and was about to respond but..

"Y/n! It's time to go!"

My mom came, we both looked at her and then I ended off our talk with:

"What I also wanted to say last night was I'm moving away to another country."

His eyes grew wider as I talked more.

"..Probably won't come back anytime soon Beomgyu."

I ended off, running to my mother.

This isn't our home country, my mom moved here because of an accident that happened in our country that made us split up. She moved here to forget about it but of course we missed home. It's been years since we went back home.

I got into the car as Beomgyu stared at me, eyes following the car as we drove away. He stared off at the sky, tears tickled his cheek as he found out he's alone again, his one love left.

Was he the fool to turn his life into you? Break it a bit, finally about to repair it but in the end lost it?

Were you the fool to hide your tears from him, run into the car without a goodbye, lie to your love, chose your feelings over your life but in the end run away? You had no choice in the run away part, you indeed miss your home but the tears kept in coming out as the car drove father from him.

LOVE OVER LIFE

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TAGLIST: @snert-bees @sunsettt13

finally it's finished ! the second part of the mini series might not come out as soon, I have alot of ideas for new stories. ty for those who actually stayed even tho i left most of the time and randomly came back😞

[tobiosmilktea]

umpah umpah! smau

↪︎ bokuto x f!reader x iwaizumi

[033] — epilogue!

masterlist | prev. | next

a/n: this is definitely not my best writing cause my brain was going brr the entire time i was writing this, but i honestly can’t believed i have finished yet another smau! 🥳 ✨if i’m being completely honest this smau took a complete turn to what i was initially planning,, but it ended up not being that bad. i certainly feel like this smau would’ve been a lot better if i didn’t have school preoccupying me 24/7, but i’m still really proud of this. thank you guys for reading and dealing with this messy, messy smau!! ☺️

a year flew by faster than you had hoped. Two weeks turned into a month, a month turned into six, and six months turned into a year. A lot of things can happen within a year. Hell, a shit ton of things can happen within six months, yet here you were, all glammed up in your best dress at the move premiere of love cemetery.

you hadn’t felt this nervous in ages. the quickening of your pulse, the rapidly beating heart, to your pals that perspired as the seconds ticked on by. akaashi stood by you this whole time as your gaze keeps looking over to the guest list as if it were to magically change if you were too look away for one second. akaashi had been by your side, your moral support and the absolute backbone of your sanity the moment you and the team landed in los angeles a year ago. he noticed everything about you. he was one of your best friends, how could he not notice the way you were suddenly quiet and not excited right now?

he laid a careful hand on the small of your back to comfort you, leaning over to the same list of guests you were worrying about. “are you worried about who i invited again?”

“i’m more worried they’re not coming.” you confess without a single beat missed.

“oh, they will,” he assured you confidently. there was even a rising smirk in his expression when he let go of you, “have a little bit of faith in me will you? i was the one who got you back in touch with them.”

you huff playfully, rolling your eyes as you recalled the strange feeling of isolation over six months ago when you landed in la. it was in no doubt the longest flight of your life, lasting a good fifteen hours if you counted the two hour layover in hawaii due to reckless turbulence (it was one of the scariest flights in your life too). you had read their texts then, drowning in the sudden downpour of emotions when you read their words, i love you.

it almost didn’t seem real. you swore it had to have been the fatigue playing games on you as you couldn’t sleep for the life of you on the plane. yeah, maybe that was it, you excused. you were so desperate for their messages to be a figment of your imagination, you literally tried everything—turning your phone on and off, asking sugawara for eye droplets, and even ignored it until you were back on the plane and landed in los angeles. it had to be fake, please be fake. yet, in the back of your head you knew damn well it wasn’t.

there was a plaguing thought within you, one that’s so destructive and degenerative that you hated the fact you thought this way. but it wasn’t like you could help it. insecurity was a troublesome venom that coursed through your veins everyday and there didn’t seem to be an antidote to your own self-destruction. 

you loved them both, but you weren’t entirely sure if you had enough love to give for the both of them, let alone one. iwaizumi and bokuto’s feelings confused you to the core. you broke their hearts, yet how could they still love you so dearly?

you didn’t know the answer nor did you have time to even find it.

the film crew stayed in los angeles for two weeks and filmed over the course of that time period. days were filled with twelve hour shoots and a tight film schedule. being the author of the work itself, you were a major part of the production alongside the director. he trusted your vision and you’d often find yourself staying on set the entire day while kaori and the rest of the ddd team felt like they were on vacation. your only free time during that time was the ten minute holy grails in between takes that you were able to check social media.

you simply didn’t have the time to think about them. and yet they were like haunting ghosts that followed you relentlessly. every time you checked twitter or instagram, you would see every post, every tweet, every story. all of which would send your heart spiraling and tugging.

you missed them. but it wasn’t like you could do anything about it. you couldn’t possibly strike up conversation with any of them after completely ignoring their calls and texts for weeks. you had to have an odd amount of audacity to do that, and you simply didn’t have the guts to do so. if anything, the only lasting form of communication between you and the boys was the ringing notification that you liked each other’s posts.

it was quite the sad reality.

the film set then transferred to new york city, where the next two weeks would be filled with yet another plethora of twelve hour work days. fortunately for you, the rest of the ddd team were pulling a bit more of their weight, helping you on the creative side of things, yet still having the time to do all the fun touristy things whilst in the city.

you could remember the way your heart lit up seeing iwaizumi and bokuto’s names beneath who saw your story. it was a video of you and your team at the lady liberty statue. in it, kaori and yuko were chomping down on gigantic $2 street hot dogs, sugawara was yelling at semi for getting in the way of his film camera, while akaashi was complaining that the wind kept knocking down his green lady liberty hat.

it was strange thinking how fast things can change. within the first week, you were always up for an adventure in the city when the days were filled with work, but as the week progressed, your social meter decreased more and more. 

loneliness hit you then. it was a peculiar type of loneliness, the type that you felt alone despite being surrounded by your closest friends and working on your dream project. you figured you were just homesick the way everyone else was getting all ready for a night out going bar hopping while you sat in the living room of your hotel room in your pajamas.

“are you sure you don’t want to come with us, (y/n)?” kaori asked you, concern washing over her slightly as you flickered her a tired look. 

you shook your head, a small smile of gratitude melting upon your lips. “no, you guys go on ahead and have fun.”

your friends could only give you a look. they knew why you were being like this and they knew damn well it wasn’t homesickness. semi specifically threw you a look that’s meant to be teasing and oddly persuasive. “it’s been over a month, this can be a chance for you to finally meet someone new!” he exclaimed optimistically.

what was stopping you, anyway? it was clear nothing was, yet you still held yourself back. homesickness couldn’t possibly be to reason for it either. why are am i being like this?

“it’s okay, i’m with akaashi,” you decline once more, “he’ll keep me company.”

“alright then, join us once you feel like moving on.” says yuko with a hint of venom in her tone. you couldn’t blame her for saying that though as it was the harsh reality of it all.

your friends filed out the door, closing it in a thud and once again you felt alone. isolated as if you were in a void of your own silent thoughts that even the loud murmurs coming from the television wasn’t enough to drown out your shallow inhibitions. 

the night continued on like this for a few hours. eating snacks in the dark living room with the remote in your hand, flipping channels every five minutes as your running thoughts couldn’t keep your attention span still. it felt like you were missing something, a part of yourself that you couldn’t exactly pinpoint. you thought of all of the possibilities why you felt like there was a void in your heart, yet the only thing you could properly convince yourself on was that you just missed home. but was that really all that you had missed?

you thoughts are interrupted by steps approaching you. akaashi walks into the living room, flicking on the switches and causing you to grimace at the bright lights. your eyes stung slightly as they adjusted from being in the dark for too long.

“where are you going?” you ask akaashi as you noticed his dressed up attire.

“i got done with all the paperwork and emails,” he answers while he fixes the collar of his dress shirt, “i’m deciding to have some fun tonight with the rest of the group. are you still up for it? i’ll wait for you to get ready if you want.”

the thought occurred within you that you should agree. that the possibility of this unexplainable feeling of isolation you were feeling would disappear if you were to just say yes and go. but as self-destructive as you were on yourself, you continued to hold yourself back—hesitant and always second guessing your actions.

you open your mouth slightly, but you ultimately just shook your head no.

akaashi lets out a sigh. he was genuinely hoping you would come around sooner or later. granted, it had been over a month since you guys left japan and he figured you would be over everything by now, but that obviously wasn’t the case. “you might be receiving a call soon... i suggest you should answer it.”

confusion flushed over your expression, giving him a strange look. but before you could even utter a single question to him, akaashi was already up and out the door.

he left you in a wake of curiosity for the rest of the night. it was nearing one in the morning and you still hadn’t yet received a phone call. it honestly sounded incredibly ominous that you grew a tad bit nervous. there were only so many possibilities on who would call, but it would actually infuriate you if akaashi was just joking around. but then again, akaashi isn’t the type to play something childish like that unless it was kaori or semi’s idea. regardless, the thought kept you awake as you eyes practically weighed like cinder blocks at this point.

you couldn’t believe you wait for two hours for a phone call that might not even happ—it shocked you at first, the ringing of your obnoxious ring tone and the buzzing of the vibrations on the table.

furrowing your brows as you reached over, a gasp left you the moment you read the contact name. your slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your shock. your hand shook from the growing bundle of nerves in your gut as you hesitate.

the name ‘kou’ shined brightly against your face, coaxing you to answer as if your thumb wasn’t frozen the accept button. out of all the possibilities on who would be calling you tonight, it just had to be him. it wasn’t like you opposed talking to bokuto. if anything, you had spent countless of sleepless nights wondering if you should finally answer that text of his. yet no matter how many different messages you have typed, none of them ever saw the light of day. a hurricane of stupid conversation starters and ice breakers swarmed in your head, all messy and disorganized that if you didn’t just suck it up and answered, you would’ve probably missed a chance to reconnect with him.

fuck it, you thought as you accepted the call.

“(y/n)!” bokuto called out to you, sending your heart running thousands of miles an hour. it had been ages since you heard your name come out of his mouth, “how’ve you been? a little birdy told me you needed a little company.”

you had to hold yourself back from smiling too much as you could already feel your cheeks ache. you wanted to scoff and perhaps groan at the sudden embarrassment of what akaashi could’ve told him. “bo—” you started, but is immediately cut off.

yet another familiar voice emitted from bokuto’s line, almost as if they were shouting, “you’re supposed to say that i’m here too, idiot!”

the volleyball player chuckles, “oh sorry, iwa-chan! here.” muffles and cups clanking against each other travel through to line to what you assume is bokuto handing his phone over to iwaizumi.

“uh... hi.” his voice sounded deeper than usual.

“hi iwa, how have you been?” you chuckle, finding his sudden shyness absolutely adorable.

“good, good. i’ve uhh... missed you.”

“i do too.”

“yeah, yeah, you miss me most though right?” bokuto’s loud voice thunders through the call.

the juxtaposition of how daftly different they were was something you could never get enough of. perhaps it was at that moment you finally understood your loneliness through their bickering. you were in fact homesick, but the home that you were thinking of wasn’t what you were missing the most. you suppose the home you missed was them. they were your home.

you let out an amused laugh, “right.”

“that’s good because iwaizumi and i should be mad at you for ghosting us for the past month, but we understand since akaashi explained to us already.”

your eyes suddenly widen into saucers, panicking what he could have possibly said. “what did he tell you?”

“everything,” bo sings.

you audibly groan in embarrassment, throwing your head back onto the couch in retaliation. you were glad they couldn’t see how flushed and red your cheeks were right now as they even extended out to the tips of your ears.

“you know it would’ve been easier to say that you love the both of us and didn’t want to choose right?” iwaizumi points out in between your panic.

“exactly!” cuts in bokuto, “besides we don’t sharing you, you know. who knew you were such a prude, (y/n).” you could practically hear the smirk in his voice as you couldn’t stop the heat from spreading any further from your face.

now you were really glad they weren’t able to see you at that moment. if they did, you would’ve died from the embarrassment then and there. “give me a break, i was too embarrassed to ask,” you mutter, fearing that they could hear how fast your heart was beating through the call.

“ask what?” iwaizumi teases, “ask if you could date the both of us?”

you were internally screaming at this point. everything that you didn’t think was going to happen, happened all within five minutes and you honestly couldn’t believe it. you were pinching yourself as if you were in a dream, yet no matter how hard you squeezed, this was actually happening. “shut up!” was all you could say.

“even if you did ask... it’s not like we could ever say no to you, (y/n).” says bokuto, his words so enticing that you weren’t sure if you’re heart can handle any more of this.

his words left you absolutely speechless. you honestly didn’t know what to say at this point.

"i’m fine with it and bokuto’s fine with it.” iwaizumi says, “it’s just a matter if you’re willing.” 

bokuto then leans forward towards his phone, “so what do you say, (y/n)?”

you swallowed the lump of nerves forming into your throat as the one question you never thought you would ever be asked was right in front of you. and yet you still hesitated despite everything that had just happened. you loved them both, so why weren’t you answering?

a few beats of silence passed before your gained the courage to push out the the very words, “... i’ll think about it.”

“boo! that’s lame!” bokuto shouts.

“i’ll give you guys an answer when i get back home.” you add, hoping to ease the disappointment they were probably feeling at that very moment.

“that won’t be for another few months, though.” iwaizumi deadpans that you could practically see the pout on both of their faces. “but we’ll promise to wait for you, (y/n).”

and so they waited for you to come back home, but you never did. schedules misaligned even when you were finally back home in tokyo. bokuto was getting progressively more busy now that the olympics were coming up and iwaizumi was just as busy, if not busier with the amount of athletes he had to take care of. there was even a constant flying back and forth from tokyo to los angeles for the film, all of which lasted for a few weeks at a time and you swear your couldn’t catch a break.

this went on for months with the only contact between you and the boys were from texting and phone calls that ended up shorter than you anticipated. and now a year had past since you left and this very movie premiere would be the first time you have seen iwaizumi and bokuto for the first time in a year.

this was so ironic how this all played out. you haven’t even realized you already reached the end of the red carpet when an interviewer calls out your name, microphone in hand and a camera pointed directly at your face.

“ms. (y/l/n)!” the woman shouts over the ruckus of snapping photos and other interviewers asking questions to the actors behind you. “there has been rumors going around about your dating life. are you dating msby’s bokuto koutarou or their athletic trainer iwaizumi hajime, who has been getting a lot of attention from stan twitter just recently! could you share some insight on your live life as love cemetery’s creator?”

“um,” you start, not sure how to answer the question as you nervous chuckled, “that’s a secret i’m afraid i can’t tell.”

before the woman could ask you any other questions, you walked away from the carpet and rushed towards the banquet hall. thankfully, akaashi and kaori was nearby and gratefully took your place in the interview without a second thought.

you let out a relieved sigh as much of the noise from the premiere died down as the only people inside the banquet hall were movie critics, the film crew, and other celebrities who were invited. by now, no one in this room would have the audacity to ask you such a personal question which caused weights to fall off your shoulder. you honestly should be used to those types of questions right now as a webtoon author that literally writes romance, but it always catches you off guard when you least expect it. honestly, you were just glad you didn’t slip up.

as a small little reward for yourself, you grab a flute of champagne from the refreshment table, decorated all fancy that you even hesitated to mess up the display. you turn around to face the growing crowd of mingling individuals, talking and laughing amongst each other as you sipped your drink gently. but as you watch you feel a presence on either side of you, both of which sent your heart soaring and a smile to appeared on your cherry colored lips. you didn’t even have to look them up and down to see how handsome they both looked. to think they were all yours.

“so what did you tell that interviewer?” bokuto asks nonchalantly as if he could just get away from a proper greeting. you were surprised he didn’t just engulfed you into his arms then and there.

instead, you opted to play along, “about what?” you tested with a smirk.

“the question about who you’re dating,” iwaizumi adds in from your other side.

you shrug, taking a sip of your champagne, “you guys probably wouldn’t like the answer i gave her.” you could feel the brazen stares bokuto and iwaizumi were giving each other—competitive and oddly provoking.

“she probably said she was dating me,” bokuto hums in response, confidence radiating off him that it caused you to scoff.

“i doubt it,” debates iwaizumi, giving him the same energy. “she probably said she was dating me.”

“actually,” you cut in before the two could possibly start bickering with each other, “i remember specifically saying that i’d thinking about it.” 

the boys give you a look, downing their drinks as if they were like the shots they swallowed many nights ago at that bar. it was as if they were trying to win your over again like your feelings had changed since then. 

“oh yeah?” bokuto starts, inching closer towards you while iwaizumi rested his arm on the table behind you.

“so what do you think, (y/n)?” says iwaizumi.

they both towered over you, just inches away from your body, but you didn’t cower or back away. if anything there was a playful smirk inevitably resting upon your lips.

now this, was going to be fun.

fun facts! —

sugawara has five rolls of film he had to get developed once they wrapped filming in osaka, each roll is from each city they went to for filming

iwaizumi and bokuto became really close friends when y/n left for la as they bonded over getting ghosted

bc of this,, bokuto posted a pic of him and iwa on his instagram and it got lots of attention that iwa went viral on stan twitter

taglist: (closed!)

@moonlightaangel @elianetsantana @k4tiepie @memorableminds @wheeshllumi @suhkusa @kitsunetea @airybby @noeminemi @truly-a-snitch @keichan @cosmicmermaid25 @bap-kingdom @saturnfarie @kwdflash @ennos-baby @dinablossom @chrisrue15 @seikamuzu @nestlevanilla @chasekudo @yammmers @pixcldust @iwaizluv @h0ngh0ngh0ng @emogrils @tiredandkindaoverworked @tsumue @underratedmage @bokutosuwus @kellesvt @unstableye @oh-tapeworm @scrappyfka @alittlebitofrain @mxngy @tpwkatsumu @atsumuwoah @macchiatoast @dicerawr @kageyamasbabygorl @some-random-stranger-007 @vhskenma @wntrmn @little-plants @stargirlara @kissungjae @je11yfishwriter @sbaepsae @apollochjld

[zillennial97]

My All-Time Favorites | Larry Fanfic Recs

*these works are the closest to my heart and my best recommendations*

Hiding Place by alivingfire | 365k | Explicit

Louis never wanted a soulmate, didn’t really care for the whole Bonding thing at all, really. Enter Harry Styles, who’s wanted to be Bonded for as long as he could remember. With one fateful meeting in an X Factor bathroom, Louis gets a dagger on his arm and the realization that just because Harry is his soulmate doesn’t mean it’s mutual.

From the X Factor house to Madison Square Garden, from the Fountain Studios stage to stadiums across the world, Louis has to learn to love without losing himself completely, because someday his best friend will Bond to someone and replace Louis as the center of his universe. Meanwhile, Harry begins to think that maybe fate doesn’t actually know what it’s doing after all, because his other half has clearly been right in front of him the whole time. All he has to do now is convince Louis to give them a chance.

Or, the canon compliant Harry and Louis love story from the very beginning, where the only difference is that the love between them is literally written on their skin, and there’s only so much they can hide.

And Then a Bit by infinitelymint | 158k | Explicit

“We’d like to give the fans what they want.” Magee states, placing his hand on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “We want to give them Larry Stylinson.”

Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts.

(aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.)

Walk That Mile by purpledaisy | 149k | Explicit

Harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “I wanted to get the most out of this trip so I planned it carefully.” His voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “So far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything I’ve tried to do.”

“Sticky fingers?” Louis repeats, offended. “Are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? Had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the Dotty Diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.”

“Polk-A-Dot Drive In,” Harry spits before getting out of the car. He slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and Louis rolls his eyes.- A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

Unbelievers by isthatyoularry | 136k | Explicit

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

California Sold by isthatyoularry | 123k | Mature

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

Fucking Animals by pointerbrother | 116k | Explicit

“Just, off the record,” she says, voice lower, eyes sharper, crook of her mouth quirking up a little, “don’t you ever miss it? A good knot? You must.”

Louis blinks and then swallows, thickly. “No,” he exclaims, offended that she’d even ask, “I love my husband. And anyway, how could I miss something I’ve never had?”

---

Louis is the frontman of an equal rights-movement, author of a book about beta-omega marriage and the struggles of being born and boxed into a personality you don't necessarily feel you fit. The notion that an omega must want to be with an alpha or else he or she's just settling for less, is bullshit.

But, fucking hell.

we're not friends, we could be anything by nooelgallagher, yoursongonmyheart | 115k | Explicit

Louis narrows his eyes at Harry. “What that supposed to be a fucking joke?”

Harry narrows his eyes right back. “It was a good joke.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Jokes require laughter, Curls.” Louis glances down at Harry’s thighs again, Christ. “Your pants must be so tight they’re restricting airflow to your brain.”

Harry wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead. “Pretty sure yoga is supposed to increase airflow, blood flow, and all that,” he responds dryly, finally jumpstarting himself and walking away from Louis towards his own bedroom.

Louis can’t help but stare at his broad back, still sheen with drying sweat, and his perky bum in the tight yoga pants.

Louis swallows. Christ.

...Or, the one where Harry and Louis are unlikely uni flatmates who definitely don't like each other and definitely won't fall in love (even if Liam and Niall think otherwise).

Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore | 113k | Mature

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

Our Lives, Non-Fiction by indiaalphawhiskey | 113k | Explicit

Heralded as the next Neil Gaiman, Louis Tomlinson does not appreciate being told that his very serious novel is in dire need of a PR boost. Even worse, that it comes in the form of a joint book tour with the UK’s #1 online romance-writing sensation Marcel Styles. Already turbulent at best, their partnership takes a drastic turn when, overly stressed about his looming deadline, Marcel accidentally blurts out a secret: though he’s famed for his scorching hot literary love scenes, he is, actually, a virgin.

Convinced that the only way to rid himself of writer’s block is to gain some experience, Marcel asks Louis, author-to-author, to sleep with him – for Science. And of course Louis agrees because, well, what on Earth could possibly go wrong?

Or, a lesson in romance that proves that sometimes the best love stories aren’t always by the book.

You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) by lucythegoosey | 95k | Explicit

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

Or: Harry and Louis are forced to fake-date after an old video from when they were dating emerges.

This Wicked Game by cherrystreet | 70k | Explicit

An AU in which The Bachelor is gay, Louis is a contestant, Harry is the bachelor, everyone drinks a lot of champagne, the entire world gets to watch them fall in love, and no one plays by the rules.

Christmas-ing With You by dolce_piccante | 65k | Mature

Two writers from Loving Heart Television, the premiere network for holiday romance films, find that, sometimes, love is not only in their works of fiction.

Barefoot in Blue Jeans by indiaalphawhiskey | 24k | Explicit

AU. Louis Tomlinson is trying desperately hard not to fall for his son’s au pair, but he can’t, for the life of him, remember why.

475. The hope that this fear is unfounded.

[ensignabby]

143, A Destiel Ficlet

“What’s this?” Dean asked, putting down his burger and sucking some errant barbecue sauce from his thumb before reaching for the proffered box.

Cas had slipped it across the library table, letting his fingers linger when Dean’s met his, and reluctantly relinquished the small wrapped gift. The angel shrugged and seemed awkward and unsure, which Dean found nothing but adorable. “It’s, uh, well it’s for you. To commemorate.”

“Commemorate? What day is it?” Dean relied heavily on cases to create the context of his calendar, and after a few days at the bunker, he had started to lose track. When did they part ways with Sammy and Eileen when they finished that vamp nest? Thursday?

Cas sighed, only mildly put-out that Dean didn’t automatically know. “It’s the eighteenth of September.”

“Eighteenth of...” It came to Dean like a flash, like the burst of fresh air that hit his lungs those years ago as he emerged from the pit. “Cas...” He looked down at the carefully wrapped box with new understanding. “Is this an anniversary present?”

He was answered by small “yes” and a delightful pink hue spreading through Cas’ cheeks and reaching to the tips of his ears. “Aw, babe... Well, a Happy ‘Grip Me Tight’ to you, too. Although, I hadn’t thought to get you anything. I didn’t really know if dates mattered to you much, given, you know, the fact that you existed since practically ever.”

Cas looked away, lost in some faraway thought. “They didn’t. The unending march of millennia beared no consequence to the constancy of heaven, but,” he turned back to Dean, his blue eyes piercing his green ones. “The day I met you, I started counting. It’s the only date that has ever mattered.”

It’s Dean’s turn to blush now, and he doesn’t know how to respond to such unabashed declarations like that. He never has. They always steal his breath and sting his eyes. He clears his throat and reaches across the table to squeeze his angel’s hand in a silent gesture before bringing his attention back to the small box on the table.

Wrapped in light blue, Dean makes short work of the paper and finds a small wooden ring box. It makes his hands tremble. He knows what boxes like this mean. Does Cas? One glance up at the expectant face across from him tells him that he probably does. A deep breath steadies him and Dean opens the box.

The ring is platinum, a plain band with beveled edges that suits Dean’s sensibilities well. “Castiel...” he murmurs, taking it out of its setting to further appreciate the design. The soft yellow glow of the bunker’s lights reflect off the surface, highlighting the small engraving hidden in the inside of the band. “143...” He looks up again, seeing Cas’ obvious pleasure in watching Dean admire his gift. “What does 143 mean?”

Cas leaned in further. “I don’t know if you’re familiar with a man named Fred Rogers”

“Mr. Rogers? From TV? Of course I do. The man was the closest thing I had to a grandfather growing up.” He thought back to when he was little, where in a life of inconsistency he could always rely on the fact that every motel room had a television. And every television gave him access to that calming figure who told him it was okay to feel what he felt, even if John Winchester said different.

Cas elaborated. “Fred was a remarkable man. His place in heaven was secured for him long ago, and when Jack tore down the walls, I can assure you, he had a crowd waiting to greet him.”

“I can imagine.”

“What I admired most about him was his ability to see the good in everyone, to trust in the best in humanity. And he would always say to those that were listening, honestly and without reservation, ‘I like you, just the way you are.’ It’s a beautiful sentiment.”

Dean watched Cas speak, a small grin on his face, enjoying watching his partner enthuse about the host of a children’s television show, of all things. He flipped the ring over again, feeling the weight of it, noting that this ring looked perfectly sized for his fourth finger on his left hand. “Where does the 143 come in?”

“May I?” Asked Cas, not waiting for an answer before leaving his seat and coming around the edge of the table. He took the hand of Dean’s that was holding the ring and held it between both of his, finding himself kneeling next to him, prostrate before the object of his affection.

“Fred always liked this number. You see, it stood for something. One letter for the first word; four letters for the second word; and three letters for the third word. One. Four. Three.”

Something clicked in Dean’s brain. “I Love You.” He said, breath hitching.

“And I do, Dean Winchester. I love you, just the way you are. Just the way I always have from the first time I saw you. You are always beautiful to me.” Castiel was smiling through tears, taking the ring out of Dean’s hand and easing it gently over the knuckle of his ring finger. “That number serves as a reminder, and if you let me, I promise I will spend the rest of our lives making sure you will never need it.”

And dammit, now Dean was crying too. Fat, warm tears that blur his vision and spill unrestrained until he uses his free hand to wipe his face on his flannel. “Cas, did you just propose to me using a quote from Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood?”

Castiel’s smile starts to waver, “Was that not clear? I thought this was...”

Dean rolled his eyes. “C’mere” and he dragged the angel up from his knees by the lapels of his trenchcoat, depositing him squarely in his lap. Leaving Cas no time to acclimate, he tangled his fingers in the nape of that dark hair and pulled him in, a crashing of lips, heat and stubble. And love. So much love.

After a moment, Cas pulled back panting, looking disheveled and glorious. “So I take that it’s a yes?”

Dean drinks in those brilliant blue eyes only inches from his, the glint of the engagement ring on his hand, and he can’t help but feel like every inch of him is vibrating with happiness. “Of course it is,” he breathes, and he leans in again to kiss his fiancé.

Oh, it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood

[randomrosewrites]

Scorched by the sun

*Contains BNHA manga spoilers up to chapter 291*

Pairing: Hawks x gender netural reader

Word count: ~1700

He looks so small without his wings. Helpless. Without them, he seems younger than he actually is. It’s so hard to think that the person in your arms is a pro-hero, and not just some college student trying to pay off his student debt.

He’s still so young, and yet, he’s already had to decide between his life and the life of others.

Warnings/ tags: BNHA manga spoilers *Up to chapter 291*, angst, brief instance of a panic attack, decription of Hawks’ injuries, angst and fluff, reader is a pro-hero 

a/n: I needed to get my feelings out about Hawks in the latest chapter so take this (with better medical treatment because why the fuck would you lay an unconscious person face down?) Also, the reader’s relationship with Hawks is never specified

Read it also on my ao3!

WARNING: This work has BNHA manga spoilers up to chapter 291 

Everything is in chaos. 

People are screaming, multiple sirens wail in the distance, and the smell of smoke clings to the air, even with how far away you are from the battlefield. There’s this persistent urgency that spreads like a plague from person to person, making your nerves jolt with electricity. 

“Bring only what’s essential and light enough for you to carry!” you shout, directing a wave of people further away from the evacuated area. “Leave behind anything heavy or non-essential!”

Boom! An explosion a few blocks down makes the ground shake so much you have to put a hand out and steady yourself. You grit your teeth and regain your balance. That was the closest one yet and they’re just getting closer. 

Things aren’t looking great for the heroes. Even though you’re on their side, that doesn’t mean you don’t agree with what they’re doing. 

You never agreed with the world the Hero Public Safety Commission strived to enforce. One where heroes were expected to always triumph, where they never lost, where they were always pure of heart. Just listening to that gobbldy-gook being ranted about everywhere you went was enough to make you roll your eyes. 

No, you aren’t on the side of heroes to hold up the ideals of the commission. You’re only one reason why you’re on the side of the heroes. Specifically, one person. 

That’s when you hear it on the radio. 

‘H - kws i-s….d...own...out...figh…’

Your heartbeat pounds in your chest. You press the bud deeper into your ear, moving to get a better reception. 

‘H...awks….is...Hawks is down and unable to fight. I repeat Hawks is down and unable to fight!’

Your blood turns to ice. 

You don’t think, you just move. You take off, sprinting in the opposite direction of those evacuating. One of the on-duty heroes calls your name, you don’t hear them. 

You shouldn’t be doing this - you know you shouldn’t - but you can’t help yourself. 

The radio crackles in your ear. “ Y/N, hold your position!”

“Where is he?” you bark into it. 

“That’s not-”

“Where is he!?” 

The person on the other end sighs. “The temporary med camp by the rear guard - don’t! -”

You tug the bud out of your ear, letting it bang against your shoulder as you run.

Please don’t be dead, please be ok. You pray, forcing yourself to sprint faster.    

---

You go as fast as you can, but it still takes you a while to each the medical camp the person on the radio was talking about. 

Located behind the last line of defense, the place is a chaotic, frantic mess. Broken trees are snapped in half and lying on the ground, rubble is strewn across the camp and some white, medical tents have collapsed on themselves, temporary beams propped up haphazardly to keep them from falling completely.

Doctors and nurses run around, tending to the wounded, giving out blankets, or passing along bottles of water and first aid kits. The wounded lie on blankets spread out on the ground, wherever space is available. The place reeks of disinfectant and blood, making your nose curl. 

You pass, ten, twenty, and even thirty wounded. They’re bloody, pale, writhing in agony or clenching their teeth as cold sweat pours from their face. The knot in your stomach only worms itself tighter with each person you pass. 

Then you spot him. 

Near the end of the camp, lying on his stomach, covered in bandages from the waist up.

Hawks. 

Or a figment of what used to be Hawks, the number two pro-hero. There’s no sign of his beautiful, large, red wings, only little bandaged humps where the stumps would be. His hair is tousled, singed at the edges and spread upon the pillow like a halo. 

Tokoyami is beside him, eyes wide when he notices you. “Y/N!”

“Oh,-” the cogs in your brain turn and you rush forward. “Oh my god. Jesus, Tokoyami, why is he on his front?!” 

Don’t cry. You tell yourself. Don’t cry and don’t panic.

You kneel beside him going to touch Hawks before you pause. You know it’s bad to move people that are injured. “Is his neck injured? Why is he on his front? He shouldn’t be on his front! You could cut off his airway!” Fuck it, bad or not, you’ll take it over Hawks suffocating. Being as gentle as you can, you gently roll Hawks onto his side. His body is limp as you do it - he’s unconscious. 

“I- I didn’t know,” Tokoyami splutters. “There’s been so much going on and there’s not enough doctors and-” he cuts off, choking on his own words.

Fuck. The poor kid is terrified and looks to be on the verge of tears. You take a breath, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, look at me.” 

He lifts his eyes to meet yours. 

“I’m sorry for yelling at you. I shouldn’t have done that. I was panicking, and not thinking straight.” You shouldn’t have even moved Hawks without knowing how severely he was injured. “Deep breaths. Slow. Ok? Here, breathe with me.” 

The two of you take breaths together. As you do, your eyes travel to Hawks. Relief floods you when you see his chest rise and fall slowly.  He’s breathing. 

You breathe in silence. You don’t want to say ‘Everything is gonna be ok’ or give some sort of false reassurances to Tokoyami, because will it? You don’t know.

Once you’ve both calmed down, you ask him, “Can you tell me how he’s doing?”

“He’s badly burned.” Tokoyami starts. “I tried to stop it as best as I could but…”

You clutch Hawks tighter. “Who?”

“Dabi.”

You growl. That bastard who’d been ranting on the television just as you had almost reached the camp. Among his speech, he’d made a few stabs at Hawks, claiming he was a violent person and revealing to the world how he murdered a villain in ‘cold blood’. 

Your fingers tighten. Hawks killed someone, in cold-blood or not. It’s a hard but true pill you need to swallow. 

Despite that, you want nothing more than to wrap your arms around Hawks and hold onto him for dear life. The only thing stopping you from doing that is the fear of aggravating his injuries further. You settle for combing your fingers through his hair. What would normally feel soft and healthy now feels like dry straw between your fingers. 

Just how badly was he burned?

“I asked Hawks what to do and he told me to run, so I grabbed him and ran as fast as I could,” Tokoyami continues. “We got here less than an hour ago.”

You look down at Hawks, where the little patches of bandages don’t cover his face. The skin is an angry shade of red, stretching up his neck and his face. “Is it...bad?”

“He’s stable, but he’s in rough shape. He hit his head as I was trying to get us back and he’s been unconscious since then.”

You brave yourself for the thing you’re most nervous about. “How about his wings?” you ask breathlessly. 

“...There’s barely anything left. The doctor’s don’t know if they can be saved at all.” Tokoyami pauses, biting his lip. “I wonder, if I’d been faster-”

“Hey. No,” you interrupt him. “Don’t start that. You did amazing, Tokoyami.” You pull him into a tight hug with one arm, nails digging into his back and tears pricking your eyes. “Thank you, thank you so much for saving him. Thank you for keeping him alive.”

Toyokyami slowly wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly and sniffling. Dark shadow pops out from under his cloak and wraps around the two of you. You hold each other like that for a while, letting the moment soak in.

When you finally release Tokoyami, you’ve both got tears in your eyes. He hands you a handkerchief and you gratefully use it to wipe your eyes. 

A sudden roar shakes the air and ground, reminding you of your situation. You both look in the direction of it and grimace. The fight’s not over. 

Tokoyami turns back to you, face serious once more. “Can you watch over Hawks? I’m gonna go see what I can do to help.” 

“No,” you say firmly. “Tokoyami, you’re exhausted. Dark Shadow’s lost most of his strength too.” He seems unconvinced, so you keep going. “If you push your limits, you’ll get yourself or someone else killed.” 

He hesitates, brow furrowing. 

You sigh. “Look, I got Hawks. Just...stay here and get some rest, ok?” 

Even with his quirk, he’s still just a kid. His biggest concern should be studying for a test or figuring out where to eat for supper. Not worrying about society falling apart or having to die on the battlefield. 

“Ok…” Tokoyami relents. “I will.”

He heads off into one of the tents, supposedly to get a bit of rest in the dark.  

In your arms, Hawks twitches in his unconscious slumber. Your attention turns back to him and you rub a hand over his hair, shushing him.

“It’s alright,” you coo. “I’m here.” 

He looks so small without his wings. Helpless. Without them, he seems younger than he actually is. It’s so hard to think that the person in your arms is a pro-hero, and not just some college student trying to pay off his student debt.

He’s still so young, and yet, he’s already had to decide between his life and the life of others.

Slow small tears leak from your eyes. You let them fall, curling around Hawks’ fragile form. 

Fuck. You’re feeling so much right now. Both relieved that he’s ok and upset with how much he’s injured. 

But more importantly, you’re so glad he’s alive. So, so so glad. 

You kiss the crown of his hair. He smells heavily of smoke, and you’re heart breaks at the thought of how painful his fight must have been, how scared he must have been. 

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, clutching him tightly “I’ve got you and I’m not letting you go.” 

You don’t know what Hawks’ future will hold. You don’t know how hard his recovery will be. You don’t know what will happen when he wakes up to his entire life being shattered before his very eyes. You don’t know if he’ll have the strength to piece the broken shards of it back together. 

You don’t know what will happen. But for now, you hold him close, staying by his side until he does open his eyes. 

[shintorikhazumi]

English! AU (1): “My Name is Hannah England.”

A/N: Yeah, it only took me like... 3 years to release this. Wow. Nice. If you’ve seen the OG post for the details for this AU, then you’ve seen it.

Hannah England. I love her.

Enough said.

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

"What do you mean I have to come back?!"

An impatient tapping of a foot.

"Well, I can tell you that I bloody won't! Wasn't I removed from the- No! He said it himself. If I were to choose to be a witch, I'd- Mother! NO! Are you listening- Mother I cannot, WILL NOT- We had an agreement!"

She twirled the telephone wire around her finger anxiously until it was so short she had to release it.

No. This could not be happening. No, not now. They had promised! They'd talked about this! This wasn't fair! She had held up her end of the bargain-

"...HAH?! You've sent them to- NO, NO, NO... NO!"

There wasn't even a knock. There was barely even a warning.

It wasn't a cliche breaking down of doors, or smashing of windows, however. It was a swift opening of the door, so fast it barely made a sound.

And there they were.

"N-no..."

"Miss England."

"No... NO! NO, you- YOU CAN'T TAKE ME!"

"These are national orders. I'm afraid there is nothing we can do."

There was nothing she could do.

"W-why..." She choked out, still in a defensive stance, a candleholder held up as a weapon. "We... My grandfather and I agreed on this. I was not to be included in the run-"

"Miss England- no." The bespectacled man caught himself, clearing his throat once before staring at the young girl dead on. "Miss Windsor."

Her eyes widened upon hearing that name, weapon dropping to the floor. She quickly narrowed those same eyes however as she remembered what it meant.

It filled her with rage.

"I- that's no longer-"

"You may only be the fourth in line. However..."

A document was presented to her, with the official signature of... the king... and...

"The prime minister is your primary backer. Do you really think you are in a position to reject?"

"..."

"You have been chosen by most ambassadors."

"Why." It pissed her off. It made her fume. Why. After so long. After all these years. After they'd agreed not to-

"Because according to his majesty... no one is better suited for winning the crown..."

She stepped back as he came forward, grasping her by the arm.

"Than the one who does not want to win the fight for it at all."

//-//-//-//-//

"Hannah? Hannah?" Barbara called out. "We're back?" She went to check Diana's section of the room, the bathroom, and even the closets, hoping to find her best friend in the room. "Hmm... maybe she went for dinner first?"

"Barbara? What's wrong?" Diana walked into the room, brushing some dirt off her coat. This made Barbara automatically check her appearance in the mirror.

"Oh... nothing." Though maybe she should have said that they looked all wrong.

Gosh. They both needed a bath. That five-day mission didn't do their appearances and smells too kindly, it seemed.

She couldn't face Hannah like this. She needed to wash up before meeting the person she'd missed the most these past few days.

Oh, just why did the latest missions have to be pair missions? At least Hannah had gone with Amanda. That put Barbara at ease with regards to her safety. Though, she admitted she was just a little jealous that two of her- ehem- “potential love interests” had been able to go with each other, enjoying themselves without her.

Yes, she’d boldly admit to liking them both.

Sucy’s shaming should never get to her!

Shaking such thoughts and feelings out of her head, she focused on the task at hand. The sooner she got cleaned up, the sooner she could see Hannah! (And Maybe Amanda at dinner, too.)

//-//-//-//-//

A warm shower was only half as good without Hannah.

Ahhhh... just where was she? Barbara could barely wait to sneak into her bed and cuddle 'til daybreak-

"Barbara?" A muffled voice came from the other side of the bathroom door.

Turning the running water off, she replied to the call, "Yes, Diana?"

"Did Hannah mention anything about another mission? I was under the impression she'd just gotten back from the previous one she'd told us about. Or has she not arrived yet?"

Huh? That was strange. Hannah was supposed to have arrived a day or two after she and Diana left.

Wiping herself down and wrapping a towel about her, she exited the steaming room, a frown decorating her features.

"Not that I know of. I didn't notice any notes or letters either..." Now she was beginning to feel strange. "She didn't send any familiar or anything, right?"

Diana mirrored her frown.

"...No. She did not."

A knock came against their door.

"Yes?" Diana answered it as her companion inside quickly got dressed, now in more casual wear.

"Diana! Hannah! Oh, thank goodness you're back!" Akko lunged at her bestfriend, holding tight, that faint blush on the heiress' face going unnoticed. "I was wondering if you knew! I just had to ask! I mean, I'm not that close with her and all yet, but I thought we were friends at least! She didn't say a word! Oh! But I figured you two would know, right? Strange that even Amanda doesn't know... I know they don't always get along, and quarrel and stuff, but Sucy always called them lovers' spats and-"

"Akko." Diana stilled Akko's rambling, grasping her face with both hands, then quickly noticing the intimacy of that gesture and stepping away, releasing the girl. "S-sorry."

"A-ah.. n-no... I-"

"Um... what was... what are you talking about?" Diana tried as she regained her composure. Barbara rolled her eyes fondly at the exchange.

Dorks.

"Oh right!" The girl rushed forward into the room to grab Barbara by the wrist, as well as Diana, dragging them out into the corridors towards the direction of the mess hall.

"Akko?!"

"I wanted to ask you!"

"What?"

They had finally arrived in the dining room, quickly approaching their usual table where the group of friends were gathered about Lotte's magical orb that was now projecting something akin to what one would see on a television screen.

"This!" She pointed.

“What-”

"Why is Hannah on TV?"

"...Huh?!" Barbara suddenly slammed her hands on the table at that sight, surprising everyone including herself because why was Hannah on TV?! And... Why was she next to...

"Also, why did Hannah suddenly have to leave school? It was announced during homeroom for the ones already back from missions."

"What?!" Now Barbara was even more confused. Hannah hadn't mentioned anything about this at all!

"Akko! Shhh!" Lotte scolded, Amanda clamping a hand over their loveable dork's mouth. "We're trying to find out what's going on!"

["The situation in the palace has not been disclosed to the press; however, it seems to be confirmed that dire conditions are currently in place as more and more of the possible successors have returned to the capitol."]

"That reporter is kinda my type- oof!"

"You deserved that." Sucy grinned as Amanda rubbed the sore spot Barbara had inflicted pain on.

"Fuck you."

"No thanks."

["None have been willing to give their statements thus far, but... Oh! We have here the fourth in line! Martin, go get her more focused in the shot since she's the closest- no! Miss Windsor!]

"Windsor?" Akko cocked her head to the side, clearly very confused. "But aren't they calling Hannah? They are calling Hannah... right?"

Barbara didn't really know anymore.

She didn’t know anymore.

Suddenly, a scary looking man came into view, the typical visage of a bodyguard. A low voice growled.

["It was announced that the press was not allowed to interview any of the returning heirs and heiresses. Please return back behind the line."]

["But-"]

The camera view had become shaky, as if the person holding it was being pushed away.

["Miss Windsor! Miss Windsor!"]

["Hey! Didn’t I just-"]

["Miss Hannah Windsor!"]

Barbara stared at the moving image in front of her. This was...There was no mistaking it.

["You're wrong."]

Those words may have seemingly contradicted her inner thoughts, but Barbara knew one thing. This person....

"Hannah..." She murmured, hand clenched over her heart. The girl had spoken up, camera focused on her even at its odd angle. Barbara’s heart couldn’t help but flutter at the voice she’d missed for days. But... it also hurt. To only hear it through a medium like this... “Hannah.”

["You're wrong. My name... isn't Hannah Windsor...] The girl on camera stated with shaky breaths. 

She was right. This wasn’t some Hannah Windsor or someone Barbara didn’t know. This was Hannah England. Her Hannah.

So why...?

[It isn’t that... not... any- oi!"]

“Hannah!” Barbara exclaimed, reaching for a Hannah she couldn’t even touch.

["The press shall not receive any statement from any of the arrivals until further notice. Good day."]

A glasses-wearing man had said before speedily ushering Hannah into the gates, figure going further and further away from Barbara's view.

["We have a scoop! Did you hear that?! Did you-"]

[*beep*]

"Heh... think they got shut down?" Amanda commented, everyone still focused on the now-static-filled projection.

"Maybe. But it's too late to hide some weird statement scandal like that. News spreads annoyingly fast." Sucy responded, taking a bite from her mushroom.

"Still... it's weird." Akko chirped. "Why'd they call Hannah, "Windsor"? That was Hannah, right? Or was she a look-alike? Doppleganger?" She proposed excitedly. "But... she's not here either." She deflated.

The fact that her mission partner, Amanda, was here, and Hannah wasn't ruled out a possibility of it just being a mere double existence.

"Windsor...? WIndsor... Hmmm... Windsor? Why do I feel like I've... heard of that.. before..." Barbara watched Akko wrack her brain for an answer, brows scrunched up in intense thought. "Windsor... that's the name of..."

"The royal family." Diana cut in after having watched everything unfold silently.

"Oh! That's right! The Royal family!" Akko exclaimed, happy to finally get that out of mind... before doing a double take, hurting her neck in the process. "THE ROYAL FAMILY?!"

"Akko, shhh!!"

"She can scream it all she wants, Lotte. Not gonna make a difference." Sucy pointed out. "It's already on the news."

Yes. It was indeed.

The fact that...

//-//-//-//-//

"Miss Hannah England is Royalty. Some of you may have caught wind of this kind of rumors or news." Finnelan spoke during the morning assembly. "This statement is something we have no right to confirm or deny. However, Miss Hannah, has been pulled out of school for personal reasons that shall not be disclosed. No questions shall be asked regarding Miss Eng-Windsor... er... ehem... England anymore.”

“So much for confidentiality and defeating rumors.” Sucy rolled her eyes, Jasminka nodding in agreement next to her.

“That is all. Now, with regards to the third years' mission statuses-"

Barbara had tuned out completely at that point.

Windsor.

Windsor this, Windsor that.

She hated it. Barbara hated it.

Hannah Windsor on news and articles.

Hannah Windsor here. Hannah Windsor... Hannah Windsor... HANNAH WINDSOR.

She... Hannah... Hannah wasn't Hannah Windsor... Hannah was...

"Barbara? Are you okay?" Diana whispered, covering Barbara's clenched one in her own. "Do you want to leave the hall? Get some air?"

"No... I'm fine." Barbara looked up, smiling at Diana unconvincingly. "I'm fine."

“Barbara...”

“Really. I am.”

Barbara ignored Diana’s concerned gazes, not wanting to talk about this anymore.

She could handle this.

She said it herself. She was fine. And she was.

But... even though she said she was fine...

Was Hannah fine?

//-//-//-//-//

["Hey. Nice to meet you."

"...hi..."

"You're rather shy." The girl said with a grin. "You're really pretty too."

She felt herself flush red.

"What's your name?"

"B-Barbara... Barbara... Parker."

"That's a really pretty name, Barbara!" The girl held her hand out for a shake. "Let's get along well!"]

Barbara woke up. with a start, eyes immediately scanning the room, going over the spot next to her on the bed.

Cold. Empty.

Barbara held back a sob, hugging her knees tight to her chest.

Her dream... right. That girl. The one who has been by her side for years now, always there. Always so kind... sort of.

That girl... Barbara's best friend, the one who disappeared all of a sudden, the one who showed up on the news yesterday, who had left Luna Nova... She...

She wasn't Hannah Windsor. No.

She was...

["Oh right! I have to introduce myself as well! Silly me.

Hi! I'll be your friend starting today. And My name is...

Hannah England."]

[marvelsswansong]

❤️: I couldn't write my concept before because tumblr glitched. Can you write something with soft!Loki and avengers

a/n: AH YES YES SOFT LOKI I LOVE LOKI HE DESERVES MORE LOVE

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“I need to skip the meeting tonight.” 

Thor looked over at where his brother was standing for a brief moment before shrugging his shoulders and returning his gaze onto the television, which was playing a rerun of some old migardian drama.

“For what reason?” the older brother pressed, knowing that Steve and Fury were incredibly strict on members missing out on their monthly meetings. Loki’s jaw clenched and his icy blue eyes looked away from Thor’s, his tone cold and monotone.

“Can’t say. I just can’t be there tonight.” 

"I’m afraid if you don’t tell me then you’ll just have to attend the meeting tonight. Listen, brother-” Thor turned off the television and twisted around to fully face his younger brother, who was now half-listening and half-pacing around the floor with a worried expression on his face. “No one actually likes these meetings, they’re monotonous and rather unncessary but it’s migardian protocol and you’ve just got to play along-”

“For the love of odin, I-” Loki interrupted, clearly frustarted. His lips parted in hesitation before speaking. “I’m-I’m begingg you. Please.”

Thor’s eyes widened in shock upon hearing Loki mutter “please”- he’d never heard Loki beg for anything, never so politely. It simply didn’t match Loki’s gruff and icy demeanor, concealed in hurtful jabs and snide remarks that left Steve annoyed and Tony livid. Upon hearing his brother’s soft tone and pleading gaze Thor slowly nodded, promising to make up an excuse as to why Loki couldn’t attend. 

“Thank you, brother. I shall not forget this.” 

Before Thor could question Loki further he disappeared in a haze of green mist, leaving Thor to make up an excuse of his brother’s absence for the meeting that was to begin in half an hour.

“Where’s Loki?” Tony immediately questioned, his eyebrow raising in curiousity.

“He’s.... busy.” Thor answered carefully. “An emergency of sorts, I believe.”

“And what kind of emergency would that be?” Fury pressed, crossing his arms menancingly at the end of the table. Thor smiled politely, wracking his brain for an easy excuse.

“He’s... helping a civilian.” 

“Loki? Helping a civilian? Are we talking about the same person?” Tony teased, a small laugh escaping his throat. 

“Helping a civilian? And you wouldn’t mind if, say, we were to verify this by tracking him down and viewing the CCTV footage?” 

Thor concealed his gulp and nodded enthusiastically.

“Of course.” 

The team traveled down to Tony’s lab where he began typing numerous codes into the computer’s main frame that just looked like a string of green numbers to Thor. He caught the words of “facial recognition technology” somewhere in the mix but it all sounded like migardian nonesense to him, his anxiety starting to peak as Tony managed to track Loki down within seconds.

“Got it, he’s at...” Tony paused, confused.

“He’s at an apartment complex in Manhattan?” Natasha spoke out loud, surprised. The rest of the team leaned forward, inching into the screen, as Tony switched around the camera views. 

The entrance of the two story, red bricked apartment complex opened up to reveal Loki walking in hand in hand with a woman, the smile bright on your face as he pressed a soft kiss on your forehead and you giggled at his touch. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Thought you couldn’t make it tonight.” you said quietly as Loki pulled the scarf around your neck closer towards your body, fussing that you were going to get cold without proper attire. Loki stared down at you warmly, a cheeky smirk gracing his lips.

“I may have... asked for a favour from my idiotic brother for a way out.” he replied softly, gently pulling you towards his side as a truck sped by. Loki tended to be slightly over protective in public, refusing to let you ever walk by the side of the road closest to the cars and insisting on holding your hand everywhere.

“You didn’t need to do that. We could’ve celebrated our 1 year anniversary tomorrow.” 

Looking both ways before crossing the street, Loki shook his head sideways and smiled.

“Nonesense. A day off and it wouldn’t have been our anniversary anymore.” 

You smiled back, somewhat shyly, his grip on yours tightening as the two of you passed by a group of drunk men before walking over towards the street with the bookstore where the two of you first met. 

“Loki, are you-”

“Yep.” he replied confidently, opening the front door for you. The entire store was empty but still brightly lit, meaning that Loki must’ve rented the entire space for the day. “Happy anniversary, darling. I wanted us to return to the first place we met.” 

“That’s so thoughtful, Loki!” you hugged him tightly, only for Loki to chuckle.

“Hold on, dove. There’s more to see.” 

He led you towards the open area, the wooden walls decorated with softly glowing string lights and bean bags and thick blankets being strewn all over the carpet laid floor, with a small stack of first edition books on the counter.

“Do you like it?” he asked, somewhat nervously, wrapping his arms around you from the back. 

“I... I love it.” 

“What do you say to some cuddling and reading books under blankets?” 

“Sounds perfect to me.” 

A few hours in and you were beginning to drift off to sleep in his lap, the timber in his low voice as he read out loud, combined with the warm cup of hot chocolate he made you and the warmth from the thick blankets draped over the two of you far too inviting for you to stay awake. As you fell asleep, Loki looked down at your peacefully sleeping figure with a smile, figuring it was about time to transport the two of you back to your place, when the door to the store opened and Tony walked in, with Steve, Natasha and Thor trailing behind him.

“I don’t know about you, reindeer games, but I don’t think this constitutes as ‘helping a civilian.’ At least, it’s not enough to skip out on a meeting.” Tony teased, leaning against the doorframe. 

Afraid to wake you, Loki stayed still, glaring daggers into Thor’s head as Thor shut the door behind him.

“I thought you said you’d have a great excuse.” 

“Relax, director Fury just ended up having the meeting without you. Something about how it was good that you were ‘assimilating’ and ‘mingling’ with humankind.” Natasha noted dryly, plucking off a random book from a nearby bookcase and examining it. 

“Then why are you all here? To bother me?” 

Tony smirked.

“Kind of. But also because there’s a fucking amazing dessert place a few blocks from here that makes amazing tiramisu. This was just a bonus. Speaking of which, we’ll go now.” 

“As penalty for skipping a mandatory meeting, I’m required to assign you 9am training tomorrow. I’ll see you in the front field at 9am sharp.” Steve reminded Loki before walking off. That left Thor, awkwardly standing in front of Loki.

“I should stab you for betraying me.” Loki seethed. His expression softened when you groaned and shifted on his lap, clearly disturbed by the sudden chatter. Loki sighed, dropping his murderous gaze onto the floor before looking back up at his older brother with exasperation.

“But that’ll have to wait until I tuck (Y/n) into bed.” 

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--> this was written as part of my friday sleepover! come join us in my inbox

[heyheydidjaknow]

Can I have a lighthearted chapter? No, I cannot. Can I upload at the due date? Also no. But you can always count on me to make characters suffer. I would say that I'm sorry, but then I would be a liar.

Chapter 8

“Will you shut up?”

Donatello looks up from his computer. “Huh?”

Raphael’s eyes do not leave his magazine. “You’ve been muttering under your breath for the past hour and it’s starting to get on my nerves.”

“You’ll live.”

“You won’t for long if you don’t cut that shit out.”

He sighs. “Are you ever content with just leaving me be?”

“As your brother? No.” He sets the article down. “You’ve been acting weird all week. Usually, I could not care less, but you wreck enough shit without the added benefit of being distracted.”

He looks back at the screen. “So, I’m a ticking time bomb to you?”

“Yes.”

He looks back at the screen as he tries to think of how to answer. “It’s just that…”

“Oh, wait, don’t tell me.” He smirks. “You’re all depressed because your girlfriend has a life.”

He goes red. “I don’t care if—she’s not my girlfriend, first of all.” His voice rises.

“Sure, sure.” He stretches. “You know, typically, girls aren’t into guys who obsess over them.”

“Look, I’m worried about her!” He sets the computer down.

He blinks. “Why?”

“Are you kidding?” He throws his hands up in exasperation. “She killed a man!”

“Yeah,” he nods, “and I’m pissed I wasn’t the one to do it. What’s your point?”

“True,” he smiles cooly. “What you fail to consider, however, is that the rest of us aren’t psychotic.”

“I’m hurt.” He places his hand on his chest. “I will have you know that I’m definitely sane.”

“See, this is why nobody comes to you about their problems.” He leans his head back. “You ask why I’m down, and you immediately give me a hard time.”

They both turn their heads toward the entrance as their two other brothers walk back into the lair.

“How’d it go?” Raph gets up to meet them.

“You didn’t miss anything.” Leo sits down next to Donnie, glancing at his laptop before staring at the empty television screen. “Nobody was there.”

“Really?” Donnie’s eyes tear away from his computer screen. “Nobody?”

“Man, it was weird.” Michelangelo stays standing. “It was, like, two bots and then nothin’.”

“That is incredibly suspicious.” The tallest brother saves his work. “You used the stuff, right?”

“Worked like a charm.” Leonardo stretches. “So, what’d we miss?”

“Donnie bitching about not talking to his girlfriend for a whole week.”

“Can it,” he hisses.

“Donnie,” his brother speaks from next to him, “I’m sure that Y/N is perfectly fine. If you’re worried about her, you can and should go check on her.”

He groans. “If it were that simple, I would’ve done that by now.” He holds his head. “But what would I even say?”

He sighs, “I’m not going to say the same thing every time.” He gets up. “Mikey, you try. I’m going to go meditate if anyone wants to join.”

“Hey!” Mikey sticks his tongue out at him. “How come I have to do it?”

“Because Raphael is as cuddly as an eel.”

Raph glares. “Do you wanna go right now?”

“See?” He walks off. “And I did it last time. Your turn.” They hear the doors to the dojo slide closed behind him.

Mikey sits down in Leo’s spot. “If you want,” he offers as his brother walks off to the dojo, “I can try talking to her.”

“Would you?” He sighs. “I’m not good at this sort of thing.”

“For sure, man.” He gives him a thumbs up. “What are brothers for?”

“If you don’t make him do things,” Raphael warns, “he’s never going to learn to do them.”

“Man, he’s our bro.” He wraps an arm around his neck. “You can’t just leave your bro out to dry.”

“The hell I can’t.” He gets to his feet. “You guys have fun with that. I’ll be in my room.” He walks off, taking his pet turtle with him.

“Don’t listen to him.” He shoots his brother a thumbs up. “I’m sure everything will work out.” Mikey hopped to his feet. “Be back in a bit.” He waved, running out of the lair. “I’ll be back in ten.”

--

The look on his face is less than reassuring.

“Well?” Donatello, who has been checking the time religiously, is sitting at the door like a dog waiting for his owner. “How did it go?”

He smiles tightly. “I have good news and bad news.”

He groans, holding his head in his hands. “Just tell me.”

“Well,” he says hesitantly, crouching down in front of him, “she’s not dead.”

“That isn’t exactly a high bar to hurdle.” He takes a deep breath. “What’s the bad news?”

He pauses. “She’s… freaked out.”

“On a scale of one to ten,” he asks slowly, “with one being—”

“Nine.” His younger brother nods certainly. “At least a nine.”

He stands up. “I should go check on her.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what to do.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I think I made things worse, actually.”

“What else is new?” He runs out. “Tell Leo I’m going out,” he calls over his shoulder. He does not wait for a reply.

He does not blame himself entirely for the events currently happening; he is well aware that her inclusion into their mess was not willed by him. However, a part of him can not shake the belief that he and his brothers have, by virtue of their lifestyle, caused her more pain than he had ever wanted. A part of him, still, believes that he or someone else should have bitten the bullet; of them, you should be the last person in line to murder.

‘I should’ve said something, done something.’

He lands down on your roof, starting to scale down the building. You have left your window open: he can see your floral curtains fluttering in the autumn breeze. Artificial light streams from your apartment as soft music plays from inside. He lands on your windowsill carefully, reaching in past the curtains to knock on your wall. “Y/N?”

He hears the music shut off the shuffling of bedsheets, three steps. You pull the curtain open.

You have not slept in a week. You have continued to go to school, scared as to what would happen if you did not, but you have not eaten or drank in a while either; more accurately, nothing has stayed down. You have contributed these things, easily, to the newly introduced variety in your nightmares. You wonder, now, if seeing his body would have been such a bad thing; your head has conjured up every possible position he might have fallen in, anyhow. At least, if you knew, you would only have one image torturing you as opposed to the seemingly different variations your head could come up with.

Donnie is not a psychologist. He has never been able to fully grasp the subject as much as the others in the scientific field; all of medicine, for that matter, has, regrettably, been hard for him to wrap his head around, what with how different he and his brother are from humans, physiologically. His master was the closest he had to an actual human until you had shown up, but he was hardly exemplary of your typical human. However, be it by what knowledge he does have or by the way you hold yourself, he can easily tell you are off. The color in your face is gone, the bags under your eyes larger than he has ever seen them on you, and every move seems oddly sluggish to him.

“Oh, hey.” You smile tiredly. “If you’re here about Michelangelo, he was just here a few minutes ago.”

“I’m not.” He climbs inside. “He got back to the lair ten or so minutes ago. Are you alright?”

Your eyes are flooded with black for a moment, a wave of numb pain and vertigo washing over you as you spread your stance slightly, not wanting to trip over your own feet. You hold your face in your hand as you steady yourself. “Totally.” You wince as you nodded. ‘Let’s not move our head more than we need to.’

Years of attentiveness and common sense tell him that you are blatantly lying. “What happened?”

“Huh?” You close your eyes. “Oh, nothin.” You take a couple steps back, slowly sitting back down on the bed, which was covered in packets. “Please,” you insist, “make yourself comfortable.”

He shuts the curtains, crouching down in front of you to look your features over more closely as he tries to identify what, exactly, is wrong with you. “Am I allowed to touch you?”

You look down at him from your seat. “I mean,” you sigh, “you _can_, if you want. Just not anywhere a general physician wouldn’t touch, alright?” You give him a half-hearted thumbs up. “I trust you to know where you can and can’t put your hands.” You highly doubt that he has any bad intentions, really, but you want to make your intentions clear.

“O-oh, of course,” he nods quickly. “I wouldn’t do anything you wouldn’t—well, not that you wouldn’t—” his face went red. “I-I mean—”

“Dude, relax.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Take a deep breath or I’m gonna the wrong idea.”

He does “S-sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck. “That was weird.”

“You’re all good.”

He presses the back of his hand against your forehead. “You don’t have a fever,” he notes, still red in the face. “Did you eat anything you normally wouldn’t?”

You give him a thumbs down. “I’ve only had soup. Do you want some?”

He blinks. “Soup?”

“Yeah.” You look back at the kitchen, where a pot of soup is sitting on the counter. “Ran out of leftovers a couple days ago.”

His eyes widen. “Days?”

You nod, wincing as you feel your brain pounding against your skull. “Yeah,” you sigh. “It’s been hard to keep things down. Glad I ran out, actually; I think I got a—”

He cuts you off. “How many days do you take between meals?”

You pause. “Now?” You shrug. “One meal every day or two.”

“Day or two?”

“Again,” you repeat, very confused as to why he looks as though he is about to have a heart attack right then and there, “it’s been hard keeping stuff down lately.”

“How are you not dead?”

You blink. “I beg your pardon?”

His voice rises as his speech sped up. “How many cups of that do you eat in a sitting?”

You sit up properly. “Maybe three or four and a couple pieces of toast?”

He looks about ready to pass out. “Are you insane,” he cries, an octave higher than usual.

You cover his mouth with your hand. “Shut up,” you hiss. “You’re gonna wake my neighbors up.”

He stops talking, grabbing your hand and pulling it off his mouth. He gets up, muttering something about being ridiculous as he pours you an unusually large bowl of soup and placing it in your lap. “Eat.” He stands there, glaring at you pointedly.

You are, admittedly, surprised by his icy, commanding tone. You do as instructed. “You act as though I’ve poisoned myself,” you point out between bites. “It won’t kill me, you know.”

“I’m not a licensed dietitian,” he informs you, clearly upset, “but the recommended caloric intake for a woman is approximately four thousand calories—”

“That’s wrong.” You are already halfway through the bowl. “It’s two.”

“Do you seriously want to get into a debate on something science-related right now?” You are genuinely scared by his expression; every word sounds oddly lethal, as if they themselves could kill you.

You swallow, standing your ground. “We can look it up, if you want,” you offer. “I know for a fact I’m… right…”

He has glared directly at you. It almost shuts you up.

You quietly eat the rest of the bowl. You set your spoon down with a gentle clatter, clearing your throat as you try to ignore the way he was staring at you as if he were trying to dissect you with his eyes. “Done.” You showed him the empty bowl.

“You genuinely see nothing wrong with your dietary choices?”

You shake your head, immediately regretting it. “I know it’s unhealthy, but not to the same degree you seem to think it is.”

“And you honestly believe that you only need to eat two thousand calories to be healthy?” His tone was softer now, likely in reaction to how quickly you had recoiled.

You nod hesitantly, ignoring the way your head pounds.

He pauses. “We’ll talk about that later,” he decides. “For now, I have to ask: why can’t you keep food down, exactly?”

You lean back, placing the bowl on the nightstand. You stay like that, closing your eyes. “I just keep seeing it,” you explain simply. “Hearing it, too; it’s kinda like tasting really bad and then having the aftertaste stuck on your tongue, but for memories. Or like doing something embarrassing and, every once and awhile, having something happen to remind you of it.”

“It? Oh.” As soon as he says the words out loud, he knows what you are referring to.

“Yup.” You pop the P. “I dunno if you knew, but it doesn’t splat.”

A heavy silence smothers you both, despite the sounds of the city.

You feel the bed shift. Your eyes glance over at the man lying next to you, hands folded across his stomach as he stares at the ceiling.

“I honestly don’t know what to say.” He sighs. "I wish I knew how to do right by you.”

“You don’t have to—”

He cuts you off. “I want to, though.” He rubs his face with his hand. “I want to be able to invent something that makes things easier for you, to keep you from getting hurt.”

“Dude, it’s fine.” You punch his arm lightly. “I’ll be fine, eventually. Just not right now.” You smile weakly. “But, hey? At least my dreams have a bit of variety, right?”

“Dreams?”

You chuckle tightly. “It turns out my head is rather creative when it comes to ways the body can bend. I almost wish I had seen the bodies; then they could all be consistent.”

He groans. “See, it’s stuff like that that makes me feel bad about not being able—not that it’s your fault,” he back peddles. “I just—”

“Stop stressing so much,” you cut him off. “That’s my job. Don’t put yourself into a tizzy on my account.”

“How could I not?” He threw his hands up in the air. “I care about you, Y/N. I’m obviously going to care if you’re alright.”

You pause. “My mental stability should be the least of your concerns right now, what with Shredder and all.” You close your eyes. “The only reason he hasn’t beaten you and your brothers within an inch of your lives is that I knew where he’d be when. All things considered,” you roll over to face him, “my having bad nightmares is a small price to pay.”

Another silence.

You sigh. “You should probably get going.” You pull yourself onto your elbows, leaning forward onto your knees. “I gotta stake out Shredder’s lair tomorrow so you guys know when to come in.”

He sits up next to you. “Y/N, I—”

“You should stop worrying so much, alright?” You smile gently. “I have some sleep meds if your dad needs them.”

He opens his mouth to say something, pauses, closes it again. “Alright.” He stands up. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“You didn’t.” He didn’t.

He stops in his tracks.

You rest your head on your legs. “Yeah?”

“Will we see you tomorrow?”

You purse your lips. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I’ll definitely call you, though; it’ll be something of a feat to hijack a hijacked chemical truck.”

He looks back at you. “Please, be safe.”

You nod.

“Eat, too.”

You nod again.

“And drink?”

You roll your eyes teasingly. “Yeah, Dad, I’ll eat.”

His face flushes again. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You got it, buddy.”

You look so small.

‘I did that.’

He climbs onto the windowsill, hesitating to leave. “Goodnight.”

You wave lazily. “Goodnight, Donatello.”

He climbs out of your apartment.

You wait a minute or two before you close and lock your window. You pull the curtains shut properly behind him, walking back to the kitchen to put the food away.

You sigh, doleful. “Sorry.”

--

You were maybe thirteen years old. It feels like longer, but you were most certainly in middle school

Driving home after school one day, you had stared out the window, the radio playing something you half paid attention to. You don’t remember, now, what prompted the conversation—you figure it was some sort of assembly you had mentioned—but, somehow, the question of what to do if you were tied up in the back of someone’s car had been brought up. This was not an unusual line of conversation, considering your family’s conviction that you would be kidnapped someday, but you remember it specifically because, after he brought it up, you had run the scenario over in your head what felt like a thousand times.

“It depends on where you are in the car,” he had said. “If you’re in the back seat, you have to reach forward and try to choke the driver out, if you can’t get the doors open.”

“And if I’m in the front?”

“Ram your body against his. Get a hold of the wheel and swerve the car.

The line of thinking had confused you. “But,” you countered, “then the car would crash; we would both get hurt.”

“You have a better chance of surviving a car crash than whatever would happen to you once you get to wherever you’re going.”

You two had not spoken for the rest of the drive.

Now, you stare ahead at the road, eyes occasionally glancing at the man in the driver’s seat as you try to come up with a plan. You wish, now, that you had gone with your initial instinct to call instead of sending Leonardo a text message; who knows when he will get it?

“I feel almost sorry for you,” the man sneers. “You would be better off getting killed in the explosion than what’s going to happen to you.”

You say nothing.

“Hey?” He barks out a laugh. “You’ll get to see what happens to them.” He sighs happily. “I can see it now. The smoke, the fire, the smell.”

You eye the door. ‘Locked. Shit.’

“Those freaks won’t know what hit them.” He leans forward, staring at the truck in front of them. “Shouldn’t have messed with us if they didn’t want to meet their maker.”

‘Could I even survive it?’

“You know somethin’, kid?” He grips the wheel tighter. “I gotta give ya some respect; not a ton of kids would’ve come this far. Personally,” he shrugs, “I would’ve killed you right then, but Shredder wants more out of ya, apparently.”

‘Would he?’ You shift your feet to your right.

“I’ll thank you for one thing, though; I was getting sick of that pompous asshole.”

‘I just gotta get his hands away from the wheel. There are people in the back of this van. They’d survive, right?’ You fight to keep your breathing steady.

“For someone who hangs with those freaks, you ain't slick, hangin on the street corner.”

‘They’re ninjas. I gotta believe they’d be fine.’ You shut your eyes, stealing yourself.

“How you got Bradford is be—hey!”

You slammed your torso against him, eyes squeezed shut.

“What are you, fucking suicidal?” He yelled, trying to push you off.

You pull away, slamming one foot against his cheek and stuck the other into the wheel. You hear honking as you desperately bang your foot into what you pray is his body. You feel the car speed up as he screams obscenities at you. You force the wheel away from you as hard as you can.

The next few moments are a blizzard of broken glass, voices, and blackness as the metal deathtrap tries to shake the life out of both of you.

You figure that you must have passed out a second, for the next thing you remember is the smell of gasoline.

Your eyes snap open. You look over at the man stuck half out the window. You reach back, trembling hands fumbling with the buckle strapping yourself in. You slam yourself against the front window as you hear it click open. You use your arms to pull yourself through the hole, the rope slicing against a stray piece of broken glass.

Your head is spinning. The only thought currently on your mind is to get away from the car.

For some reason, you find yourself unable to stand. You, instead, crawl, dragging your body desperately away from the wreckage. You do not feel yourself doing it, ignoring the glass shards sticking themselves into your palms and under your nails, the way they slashed into your stomach and sides as you drag yourself over them completely irrelevant as you claw towards the sidewalk.

You hear the explosion.

You pull yourself into an alley, waiting for the ringing in your ears to stop as you hear the conflict happening a few blocks down. You swallow your vomit as you stare forward blankly, the smell of smoke filling your nostrils.

Another.

You fall forward, tears filling your eyes as the pain settles in. You do not know what happened to your legs, only knowing for sure that they could not and would not support your weight. Every muscle and every tendon is vibrating. Your hair sticks to your body as your clothes soak in some sort of warm liquid.

You do not like that smell.

‘Why is everything spinning?’

You hear yelling, the screeching of wheels against asphalt.

‘I’m going to die.’

The sentence repeats in your head over and over again as you lay there in the alleyway.

‘I’m going to die here.’

You do not know why you are shaking right now.

‘I don’t want to die here. Not now.’

“Help,” you beg. “Please, God.” You feel a sob rise in your throat. “I don’t… wanna…”

You hear screaming.

“Help,” you breathe.

You black out.

Table of Contents

Chapter 7

Chapter 9

[fleckcmscott]

Homemaking

Summary: In the middle of the night, Arthur finds comfort in routine. When Y/N follows, he doesn't mind at all.

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

Words: 4,640

A/N: This request came from @jokerownsmysoul​! She asked me to expand on a paragraph in Ch. 25 of Watch What Happens. Thank you so much! I hope this meets your expectations!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Changing the sheets and pillowcase on the couch at regular intervals. Emptying the ashtrays littered around the apartment. Taking the trash to the dumpster in the alley next to the building. Dusting, dusting, dusting. There'd always been a chore to do in 8J.

Outside of therapy, Arthur rarely mulled over the past, instead putting to use the skills he'd been learning to make the present worthwhile. But when he did, he could recall the moment keeping house had become important to him. More than a task to be completed.

Dinner had been freezer burned chicken nuggets and rice mixed with ketchup. Milk had served as an additional side. His mother had pecked the top of his head and told him to be a good boy. "Happy, I'll see you in the morning."

The length of her upcoming absence had registered once the door was shut. While she'd not been an attentive parent, she normally hadn't left him alone for more than three or four hours, plunked in front the television with a blanket, a cup of juice, and a toy. What had he done to make her leave for an entire night? Had she been mad at him for laughing during a presentation on the school's dress code? Was it because he hadn't finished his food? Then he'd feared the neighbors would start fighting, and he'd have to listen to their yelling again. Ickiness had built in his tiny body. He'd had to do something.

He'd dragged the step stool to the front of the sink. Squeezed too much yellow detergent in it. Turned on the water and tested the temperature with his wrist, the way he'd seen Penny do it when he'd dried dishes. Once his old stuffed giraffe sat on the counter next to him, he'd carefully scrubbed the swirls of dried tomato off the plates. Washed the stuck-on crumbs from the forks. Wiped the streaks off each glass. He'd felt calm when he was done. Grown-up. Accomplished. It hadn't taken him long to grab a rag and get started on the breakfast bar.

As he'd grown, housework continued to help him maintain his composure on days he'd needed distraction from his intrusive thoughts. The stresses of survival. But he also liked the sense of control it imparted. A mentally ill, disabled, put-upon caretaker who also worked fifty to sixty hours a week didn't have many choices. The lack of options left him feeling unmoored. As if the wind would blow and he would have no alternative but to go along with it.

Buying the good sponges, the ones with the green, abrasive side, was a decision in his hands. Doing the laundry on Saturday was the schedule he set. Serving dinner at seven (unless he had a late job) was the hour he picked. Small victories in a life of losses.

But now the days were filled with fewer defeats. His paradigm was shifting, albeit incrementally. Chores were no longer only a soothing necessity. Having a girlfriend meant they were also shared activities. Indications of partnership done together. (Except for cleaning the toilet, which Y/N, bless her, continued to do.)

She moved the floor lamp when he vacuumed. He put away their clothes after she folded them. With her at the office full time while he gigged and tried to break into comedy, he liked doing extra. Taking care of her. Contributing to the household they were building. He'd been the man of the house since he was fifteen; it was a role he continued to take pride in. Especially with all the "thank yous" and "I'm happy to be home with yous" she gave him.

Dishes had quickly become his favorite errand. They took turns washing and drying. He'd splash her lightly and she'd whack him with the towel. Random kisses abounded. Frequently, he'd reminisce about her coming to his apartment unannounced last November.

Surprises made him nervous. But it had been nice to see her a whole two days sooner than planned. He hadn't been certain of what to do. His intuition was to hang onto the doorknob to remain grounded and not err. When she'd said she'd missed him, however, some of his anxiousness had dissipated. Without that, he wasn't sure he would have gotten the nerve to invite her in, no matter how badly he wanted to.

The visit had gone well, their conversation sparse but kind. Even though she'd spotted his medication, she'd let him kiss her. Pin her against the counter and embrace her. Inhale the strawberry scent of her shampoo and thank whoever might have been listening that she existed. God, he'd felt like a teenager.

At that point, he'd imagined being intimate with her countless times. The evening after she'd introduced herself, he'd tuned into a variety show, tried to enjoy the music. Penny was already in bed. He'd been alone, laying on his beige and brown sofa, blanket strewn across him, cigarette smoke floating in the air. Y/N's pleasant visage had taken shape before his eyes. Their handshake lingered in his senses, making his fingers twitch.

He'd tried to ignore the hunger it'd caused. The acute ache. It struck him as wrong, somehow - he'd just learned her name. But his arousal had overcome any residual guilt.

The warmth of her cuddling his side as they watched TV had permeated his skin. He'd entwined their fingers. Put his arm around her shoulders. During a particularly slow song, her touch drifted to his thigh. He'd twisted to admire her lips, full and smiling at him. She'd been beautiful. Happy. His. As he'd lowered her to the cushions, his hand had sneaked into his briefs. It was the first of many occasions that he'd had to muffle himself so his mother wouldn't hear him moan Y/N's name.

It had been years since he'd felt a morsel of hope. But one had welled in him. Like the fool he was, he'd kept it. And for once, hope hadn't cheated him.

~~~~~

They'd gone to bed a couple hours prior, after the news and the late show. The normal five or six minutes of cuddling had ensued. With a soft "sleep well," Y/N had rolled onto her left side and turned out the light. He'd drifted off within a few minutes, ignoring the blare of a passing siren.

But then he woke to faint giggling. Drowsy bafflement fogged his brain as he peered in her direction. Whispering her name and pulling on the cover didn't quiet her. He shushed her gently, chuckling. She laughed harder. He wondered what she was dreaming, if she was amused by him or one of his jokes. Following a messy kiss to her cheek, he left to putter about the apartment.

Goosebumps rose in response to the breeze, but Arthur, sitting on a metal step on the fire escape, enjoyed the drags from his cigarette regardless. The nights were getting cooler as autumn approached. Y/N had told him the climate was much hotter in her part of Missouri. Did the leaves change there, too? They'd have to go to Gotham Park so he could show her the bright colors, so different from the city's usual grays.

He decided to keep himself busy - it was better than getting frustrated because he wasn't tired. But he didn't feel like journaling more. He checked the kitchen. Dishes had already been put in the cabinet. The counters were clean. She'd swept the linoleum and he'd wiped the table. There wasn't much left to do. Hm. Maybe the shower door could use a good scrub. It had been a while since either of them had tended to it.

As he worked, his circular movements on the pane of glass slowed, his stare glazing. They'd last been in there together a couple weeks ago. Though he'd acted spontaneous, he'd planned the whole thing. The radio was tuned to the station with Dr. Sally's show (which had been set to start in twenty minutes). He'd measured out a capful of Y/N's bubble bath, which he'd never seen her use. Facing each other, they'd lain in the tub, talking and trying to fit comfortably.

The faucet was quite low, though, and he'd bumped his head on it when he'd leaned back. Not too hard but loud enough to startle Y/N. She'd speedily washed and climbed out to give him more room, despite his insistence he was fine. "We'll listen together another night," she'd said with a smooch, kneeling next to the bath with her towel under her armpits. "When we're not so squished." Once she was out of the room, he'd submerged himself completely with a sigh.

Arthur had learned of Dr. Sally about four years ago. She was controversial, according to Murray Franklin, but ended up becoming a reoccurring guest. The frankness and positivity with which she'd spoken about sexuality had shocked him. (And made him wish Penny had gone to bed early, so he wouldn't have to watch it in front of her.) Outside of the handful of adult films he'd seen or magazines he'd gotten, he hadn't heard anyone talk about it without making dirty jokes or being evasive.

Sitting at the corner table in his living room and listening to her pleasant voice as she doled out advice became a habit. He'd made notes here and there. One thing she'd said stuck with him, though he couldn't recall the exact wording. The meaning had been clear - and what he wanted. Sex was the closest two people could be physically. It was important to connect mentally, too. To communicate.

He'd been tempted to call in. To ask how the hell he could meet or attract a woman. He had cologne. He wore pinstripe pants. What else could he do? It would have been nice to no longer have to deal with his circumstances and illnesses alone. But he'd abandoned that idea. He hadn't wanted to reveal himself as pathetic to the whole of Gotham. Weakness put women off. By his early thirties, he'd known discovering that part of himself would nev-

"If you wait until the alarm, I'll be happy to help you." Arthur turned and found Y/N standing in the doorway. Their floral comforter was wrapped around her shoulders, only partially covering her short nightdress. He noticed the deep V-neck its straps formed as she took a step towards him. "Was I snoring that loudly?" she asked, smiling wryly.

His cheeks burned and he stepped to the sink to rinse out the sponge. "I'm almost done. And you were laughing." The confused expression she wore as he studied her in the mirror prompted a slight smirk. "What was so funny?

She hugged him around the waist, and the heat of her caused his eyelids to flutter. "I don't know. But I didn't mean to wake you," she said, tone apologetic. Her fingers splayed on his stomach, and she pressed her lips between his shoulder blades.

A huff left him as he shrugged, patting her hand. "I don't mind," he rasped. Whenever he felt the tenderness of her touch, minding wasn't possible.

"Good," she said, her hold on him tightening. The promise of her next words sent an arc of electricity up his spine. "Because I'm not tired."

~~~~~

"And so my teacher, Mr. Howard, took me in the hallway, and told me I'd tucked my blouse into my sanitary belt." Snorting, Y/N adjusted the bed cover on her lap and crossed her legs "I fixed it and got back in there to take my algebra test." After a long sip of the chamomile Arthur had made her, she poked him. "All right. It's your turn. Tell me something embarrassing."

It was nearing three o'clock, but the time had flown by, sitting with her there on the couch. Neither had bothered to turn on a lamp. Instead, they enjoyed the intimacy provided by the faded, orange streetlights coming in through the windows. He liked how the play of shadows accentuated the girlish curve of the apple of her cheek, quite dissimilar from his own sculpted features.

The escalating game of twenty questions had started off easy, the information shared tame. She'd confirmed her favorite color was lilac, and when she'd asked for his preferred subject in school, he'd merely stated, "I hated school." She'd left it alone. He'd inched closer as she said he was funniest when he didn't try. And he'd admitted her divorce puzzled him, casually saying, "Why would anyone want to be without you?" A soft sound had caught in her throat and she'd leaned into him.

But she was challenging him now - the glint in her eye was obvious, sparkling even in the dark. It was his own fault, really. He'd been the one to take the game to another level by getting personal. Resisting the chance to learn about her was not an option.  

Fiddling with the handle of his mug of decaf, he furrowed his brow. "Um." He'd fucked up around people a lot. Whenever his condition had made an appearance during a meeting at work, he'd wanted to sink into the floor. Sophie's conversation with him after he'd trailed her had been distressing, notwithstanding her kindness. It was difficult to pick a safe answer.

But after some deliberation, he found one that would fit the mood. "I used to- Used to dance in my living room." He scoffed at himself. Put his arm on the back of the sofa and brushed his hair back. "And pretend women - a woman - noticed me." He pulled at a loose thread in the cushion.

Y/N didn't miss a beat. "Was it me?"

"No," he said with a shake of the head. "I didn't really know you. Not yet." Her nod was slight, her stare going to her lap. A few seconds later she chuckled, covering her face. "What?" he asked.

The flush rising through her shoulders, to her neck, to the top of her ears intrigued him. While he was proficient at making her blush (a fact that tickled him), she never seemed to be shy about anything. She put her cup on the table, ran her hand along her forearm. "I was just remembering when you left after our dinner."

His eyebrows shot up and held there. "What happened?"

She waved dismissively. "I was swooning like a woman half my age." Her gaze flicked to his and his pulse flipped. "I'd intended to change so I could start putting everything away. But..." The corner of her mouth lifted. "I ended up on my bed. Wishing you were with me."

He exhaled sharply. "Oh." Had the details in her imaginings been similar to his? He wondered if candles were lit. If they'd gone slowly. If she'd told him she loved him. How close had it been to what he'd yearned for after spilling his heart all over his journal?

He surveyed her. Took in how she massaged where her neck met her shoulder. The way she opened her legs further as she shifted in her seat, the bed cover falling away. The desire in her half-lidded eyes made his mouth go dry. "I wished for you a lot, too," he said quietly, glancing at the carpet.

Given what he sometimes sketched in his notebook, painful things he didn't understand the impetus of, he'd worried his impulses would be freakish. That they'd be off-putting, like the rest of him was. But Y/N assured him they weren't and told him not to worry with her. That him getting up and telling her to never hit him when she'd slapped his ass in the heat of the moment hadn't offended her. That it was normal to like it when she nibbled his collarbone or the tendons of his neck. That her not being able to come sometimes had nothing to do with him.

The hesitation currently churning in his gut was ridiculous. While he was getting better at initiating, having built up some confidence (and feigning it when necessary), it wasn't yet second nature to him. He needed to now, though. And there was no reason for caution with her. Her sensitivity and consideration had borne that out.

It was that thought which finally spurred him to scoot closer to her, cradle her cheek, and kiss her firmly.

Her response was swift, as though she'd been waiting for him. The insistence of her tongue prompted the parting of his lips. She carded through his hair, tugged at his curls as she curved into him. Her nipples grazed his front through the chiffon of her nightgown, and he savored the fire stoking in him at the contact.

His fingers whispered lower, wandering between her legs to caress her through her underwear. The cotton was soaked through. She met his touch insistently, sighing his name. He couldn't recall hearing anything sweeter. Blood was rushing to his cock, lending him some daring. "I want you," he rasped, compelling himself to be assertive. And relishing the hint of power it evoked in him.

He focused on the front of his blue pajamas being untied. The slide of them and his briefs past his narrow hips. They gathered about his knees as she curled her fingers around his erection. "Shit..." He thrust into her grasp with a grunt. The swipe of her palm across the head felt like he was burning, and he twitched in her hand. She was smearing his slick over him, along his rigid length.

Demand was already building in his abdomen. Needing to last longer than three minutes, he withdrew to stand. The bedroom was too far to go. He moved the coffee table back, towards the television, and grabbed the comforter. "You really are in a hurry," she teased, stripping off her nightshirt while he clumsily arranged the thick cover on the carpet. Their eyes locked and he offered his hand. She took it eagerly.

With a soft grin, he guided her to lay beside him. He ran his palm down her back and cupped her bottom, adoring being immersed in her. He pressed her into the soft fabric beneath them as he settled on top. When he rutted against her heat, she hissed and sealed their lips.

A low groan left him. Would the sensation of her supple mouth ever become mundane? His former co-workers had often complained about their wives. Had become bored with them. Fed up. He couldn't fathom ever tiring of the taste of Y/N's smile. Or the excitement of having her feminine form so close to his.

He kissed her neck, stopping only when he reached the swell of her chest. Nuzzling her cleavage, he pushed her breasts together before taking a dusky peak between his teeth. She moaned and clasped his biceps. The increasing canter of her pelvis, how she asked him to enter her without words, was driving his fervor higher and higher.

But he was enjoying himself. The playfulness from their earlier game hadn't yet left. After pecking a line down her stomach, he boosted himself up. She was panting raggedly, clearly fighting to keep her eyes open as she ground into the air. "Please..." she breathed.

Voice thick with arousal, he asked, "Please what?"

She bucked against the grip he had on her hips. "Put your mouth on me."

He laughed lightly, grateful to be at ease rather than flustered. "You mean here?" His soft lips met her navel. "Or here?" A smooch to the top of her thigh. Backing away, he kissed her knee. "Maybe here."

Halting his retreat, her calf caught him by the shoulder. "You're such a tease," she said. Wantonly, she arched towards him, and he grasped the waistline of her panties. The tang of her scent hit him as he pulled them off. He shivered, then threw her thighs over his shoulders. He was ready to give into her, to give into what they both desired. But she shoved a couch cushion at him. "Here."

After a pause, he took it with a murmured "okay," the last syllable elongated. She propped herself on her elbow, helped him get it under the swell of her bottom and lower back. When he asked what it was for, she explained he could strain his neck. He pushed his face into her leg, snorting. That had happened last time, after a long day at work. He didn't think it would happen again. It was sweet of her, though, to consider him, so he didn't argue.

His gaze flitted to her vulva. While he couldn't see much in the low light, he was well acquainted with her body. The first time he'd really seen her, he'd been a little surprised. She wasn't like the models he'd seen in photographs. Her inner lips were visible, extended past her labia, especially when she was turned-on. Her clitoris was easy to find, thank god. Once, she'd told him she used to be self-conscious about it, the result of a doctor making a disparaging remark when she got her first IUD. She claimed it no longer bothered her, but Arthur knew the lasting sting of unkindness. And wanted her to know she was beautiful.

"Mm," he breathed, kissing her pubic bone gently. Then he dipped lower to press his tongue to her plump folds. She rolled up to meet him with a sharp cry. "I love your taste."

She giggled and his eyes darted to hers. Thankfully, it had become easier to watch her while he did this. Her pleasure at his compliment was obvious, what with the flirtatiousness of her gaze. He thought he could make out a growing ruddiness in her cheeks, and admired the round shape her lips formed.

It was impossible to lay still. His nose brushed her as he nestled in her short curls, gripping her thigh and skimming the soft skin. Her bud was engorged, jutting out slightly from its hood. The tip of his tongue darted out to flick at it, and her hand flew to his curls as she called his name.

He altered his angle, tilted his head to the side while he stroked her labia. She was getting wetter, her arousal more abundant under his attention. Knowing he satisfied her filled him with pride. Those lonely nights listening to the radio had been good for something.

As his fore- and middle fingers traced her entrance, slipped inside her, she whined and bore down on him. Groaning, his thin lips enclosed her clitoral hood. He concentrated on getting the rhythm right, coordinating the movement of his hand with the passes of his tongue. The clutch to his locks grew stronger as she rocked, pulling him harder to her flesh. One of her legs wrapped about his upper back, the other braced on her foot by his side. His thrusts quickened and he bent his knuckle, her increasing cries emboldening him further.

At her short wail, he lifted himself to look at her. Observe her frame as she bowed backwards. The rise and fall of her breasts with the exertion of her punctuated gasps. The way she blindly reached for purchase. He yanked the cushion out from under her. Unable to wait any longer, he crawled over her until they were face to face, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and lined himself up with her opening.

His eyes screwed shut as he sunk into her searing, snug walls. He let out ragged breaths, tinged with low rasps. "I love you," he blurted.

She grasped his sides. "I love you, too."

Hips snapping into hers, he gritted his teeth. "Fuck, I love you."  

"Fill me up," she whispered, her heels at his ass. "Fill me up."

Quickly, he reached between them to toy with her nub, wanting his actions to match the urgency of her pleas. But she took hold of his wrist, ran her thumb along it as she pecked his chin. "I'm good so enjoy yourself," she laughed. Then she pressed her forehead his. "I just need to have you."

Her hands cherishing his back, caressing and holding him close, elated him. She always managed to do that, to make him feel esteemed, even on days he didn't value himself. Sometimes he pined for their coupling to be endless. Being a part of her felt like home.

But he couldn't stop. She was gazing at him unblinkingly, adulation clear in the flecks of her irises. Begging him to come inside her. Saying she needed him. The scorch of her was potent, the friction staggering. Somehow, the undulations of her pelvis managed to meet his pace...

The tempo of his rushed movements became uneven. His brain suddenly went white, only aware of her surrounding him. Cock throbbing with pleasure, his hips stuttered involuntarily while he emptied into her, a gravelly moan on his lips. After those too few, exquisite seconds, he fell onto her, gasping and thoroughly spent.

Y/N's calf left his waist, and she let out a long breath. "I need a cigarette and I don't even smoke."

Arthur grinned, mind awash with dreamy stupor. "You're not gonna start. 'It's a nasty habit,'" he said wryly, quoting her. He rolled off and lay on his back by her side. Stretching the loose part of the comforter over his middle, he chuckled. "You know, of the few things I thought I'd be okay at, this wasn't one of them."

The smile she gave him let him know what she was thinking. She'd said she wanted to hear him compliment himself more, that he deserved it and didn't do it enough. When she nibbled his earlobe he jerked slightly, a tickle in his neck. "Gotham has no idea what it's been missing." Her tone turned serious. "But you can make it about yourself, too. I'd enjoy that."

Brows pinching, he frowned slightly. She'd appeared pleased just a minute ago. Had he done something wrong? Or was he misreading her now? He gaped, about to ask what she meant.

But she started again, smoothing her hand across his stomach. "Hey, I'm not complaining. I'm here for you, though. If you need to fuck a bad mood away, it's fine. If I don't want to, I'll tell you."

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed the stray couch cushion. "You never don't want to." He put it under his head, adjusted his neck until he was a version of comfortable. While it has true he had bad days, he tried to shield her from them. He'd be lying to himself if he pretended her suggestion hadn't crossed his mind. It'd never stuck, though - he couldn't bear the thought of using her. With her permission, maybe it would be all right. He pressed his lips together. "But I'll keep it in mind."

Eventually, Y/N sat and stretched, placed her palms on her back as she popped it. "I'm going to drift off at my desk if I don't go to bed." She stood shakily, grasping the arm of the sofa. "And I'll need a hot water bottle if I stay on the floor." After she gathered her clothes, she turned to him. "Are you coming with me?"

He pulled on his briefs with a shake of his head. "I can't sleep now."

There was a pause, then she gave a small shrug. "Keep me company until I do?"

Stilling, he looked up at her, a smile spreading across his cheeks. "Yeah," he said warmly, his heart in his throat at the request. A request couldn't deny. "I'll be right there." She bent and pecked his forehead, then scurried off into the bedroom, comforter in hand. He watched as she retreated, listened as she flopped down on the mattress. Hurriedly, he put the cushion back in its place and followed, already impatient to have her in his arms again.

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​, @howdylilflower​, @sweet-nothings04​, @stephieraptorr​, @rommies​, @fallenstarsabyss​, @gruffle1​, @octopus-plasma​, @tsukiakarinobara​, @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​, @another-day-in-chuckletown​, @hhandley80​, @jokerownsmysoul​, @64-crayon​

[ravenbrenna09]

Jij Verliest - Chapter Four: Clip 1

master list previous

...

Zaterdag 9:31

Robbe was used to waking up alone.

It had become something he was well-accustomed to. He missed the feeling of waking up with two arms around his waist and of holding someone to his chest. He was used to groggily waking up, slowly and surely becoming aware of his surroundings, turning over and stretching with eyes shut, the silent reprieve and internal pleading of ‘five more minutes’ of sleep that would certainly turn into two more hours. Some mornings, he woke up without a fuss, immediate and alert. Other mornings, he never slept.

However, this morning, he woke up slowly like the drowsiness was slowly and ineffectively wrung out of his body. His dream—whatever it might have been—vanished from his mind like smoke in the air. Robbe stretched against the silkiness of the sheets and the plushness of the mattress before whatever fight to get up and start the day vanished like a light and he collapsed against it again. There was something in his arms, soft and full, but Robbe’s tired brain knew right away that it was one of his pillows that he had grabbed overnight. Turning over, he pulled the sheets higher on his shoulders and snuggled into a pillow that smelled like Sander’s cologne.

Sander. 

Wait. What was Sander’s cologne doing in his bedroom?

Even as sleep sang its gentle siren song, trying to will him back to sleep, Robbe forced his eyes open. 

Immediately, Robbe spotted the navy blue sheets that were twisted around his legs and his waist, keeping him warm and comfortable. Next, he found the nightstand next to his bed with his phone and his watch sitting on the corner. When he checked, he saw the number of notifications, but his brain was still taking in the sights around him. Lastly, Robbe spotted the black joggers and the black t-shirt with a white building that he was wearing. Both articles of clothing weren’t his own. 

And, like that, his brain woke up with a snap and his memories of last night returned to him in full force. 

He remembered finding Sander looking up at the stars behind the warehouses—spotting the ocean mural hidden in the shadows, the ocean mural that Sander had created, the one that Sander was nervous to show him. He remembered the kiss that melted his thoughts, curled his toes, and surged new life through his body. He remembered how they kissed against the wall until their lips were red and bruised and the rain started falling. He remembered how they fled for shelter, giggling and laughing and unable to stop touching each other on the bike ride to Sander’s apartment, which was closest to the warehouses. 

Despite the gentle rain, they had somehow ended up soaked by the time they reached the fancy apartment complex. As soon as they arrived, Sander had wasted no time in hunting down clothes for Robbe to wear. Once all of their soaked clothes had been thrown into the dryer, Sander was dragging him into a bedroom. It was dark and Robbe wasn’t focused on the details of the room as they laid on Sander’s bed. 

As they waited for their clothes to dry, facing each other with their hands intertwined, Sander told him about how his mother used to make croques on weekend mornings. While Sander traced featherlight patterns on the back of his hand, Robbe told him about how his mama created an annual Valentine’s Day movie marathon because she didn’t like celebrating it anymore. Sander learned that his mother was incredibly partial to discovering all of the ways to make vegetarian dishes for Zoë. Robbe found out that Sander’s mother loved sunflowers more than anything. 

While the dryer had continued and their yawns increased, the two of them had traded stories, whispers, and kisses. He wondered which one of them would fall asleep first or if they would both be up all night, unable to stop talking to one another. Of the two of them, Robbe had been the first one to be lulled to sleep while Sander traced the outline of his face with his ringed finger.

Sitting up, Robbe glanced around the room, taking it all in now that he wasn’t focused on Sander. 

The bedroom was larger than Robbe’s bedroom. The bed itself was at least a queen-size and there seemed to be more room than his room at the flatshare. Overall, the bedroom seemed immaculate. There was hardly any laundry on the floor or trash on the nightstand. Across from the bed, there was a large wooden dresser with a record player resting next to a Bluetooth speaker and a television mounted on the wall. There was a large, spacious window on the other side of the room, but it was covered by gray curtains to protect the room from the morning sun. 

Beneath the window, there was an artist’s table that was the messiest place in the room. There were three mason jars filled with a variety of paintbrushes, bristles up, and a sketch pad with an empty page resting on top. Beside it, there was a bookshelf filled with art supplies and what looked to be different kinds of paints, sketchbooks, and canvases. On the other side of the desk, there was an easel standing on a tarp with paint splattered across the wood and a leather jacket hanging off the back. 

But the walls quickly drew Robbe’s attention. The walls themselves were painted with a light cream color. There were a handful of David Bowie posters hung on them. But the rest was covered by what Robbe assumed to be Sander’s creations. Everywhere Robbe looked, there was something new to look at and absorb—sketches, paintings, photos—all hung up by a thumbtack or a string of tape.

Robbe tossed the sheets aside and climbed to his feet. He moved around the room, looking over each of the sketches and photos in turn. Near the nightstand, he found a photo of Senne with Sander and Amber at Christmas time. There was a sketch of a park and another of the night sky. Robbe found half a dozen professional-looking photos from around Antwerp stuck on the walls. There was a photo where Noor was used as a model, one with Senne, and another with both of them. Hidden amongst them all, he had even spotted one or two sketches of him.

In the midst of the realistic sketches of friends and people he didn’t know, Robbe also found a handful that looked like creatures from a cartoon. Some of them were paired with a similar-looking figure that looked like a video game character. Near the desk, he spotted a great bird on one of the sketches. It was standing with its wings folded beside him. But his dark feathers looked sharper than normal. It looked like it was wrapped in armor. 

Curious, Robbe grabbed his phone from the nightstand and typed “armored bird” in the search engine. Even as his phone pinged with notifications, he ignored them all. Flipping over to the images, Robbe scrolled past the Assassin’s Creed and photos that initially popped up. Thankfully, he didn’t need to scroll something before he found a photo with the creature that he was looking for. The photo didn’t seem to have been drawn by Sander, but Robbe could tell that it was the same creature: Corviknight. 

As Robbe moved to search for the word, the bedroom door opened behind him. There was a gentle patter of footsteps before two arms circled around his waist and pulled Robbe back against him. Sander placed a kiss against his clothed shoulder. “I thought I heard you shuffling around in here.” Robbe leaned over to press a kiss against his temple before returning to his abandoned search. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to figure out what this is,” Robbe said, pointing at the sketch with the bird—Corviknight. 

“It’s a Pokémon called Corviknight,” Sander said matter-of-factly. “It’s one of the Pokémon from the newest generation of their games.” Robbe bit down at his lip, staring at the sketch in question. Sander shifted against him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and placing a kiss against his cheek. “Have you never played Pokémon, Robbe?” 

“I have played,” Robbe said. “Just not recently. I played back in primary school. But I haven’t played it in years.” Sander nodded, snuggling closer into the crook of his neck. Robbe glanced at him, curious, and asked, “Do you play it?”

“Yeah, I’ve always gotten the games as soon as they were released,” Sander said, his breath brushing across the skin of his neck. Sander smiled, a small sad smile that Robbe felt against his shoulder. “After school, my little sister and I would play it all the time. She loved to play pretend and be a Pokémon trainer with all the cutest Pokémon.” 

Robbe nodded, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Will you teach me how to play?” 

Sander glanced at him, his green eyes wide in confusion. But soon, the corners of his lips tugged up in corners in a bright, dazzling smile. “Really? You want to learn how to play?” 

Robbe nodded. 

Sander’s smile brightened further before he ducked down to press their lips together. Sander’s hands cradled his jaw and Robbe turned so he could wrap his arms around his neck. This kiss was more like the ones once they had reached the apartment, laying together in the bed and exchanging stories. It was sweet, simple, and overwhelmingly chaste, but Robbe didn’t mind at all. He loved the sweet, chaste kisses as much as he loved the passionate ones that ended up with him out of breath and pinned against a wall. 

Almost too soon, Sander pulled away, looking down at him over the tip of his nose as his lips curled into a bright smirk. “Later,” he said. “Right now, we’re going to have breakfast and then we’re going to lay in bed all day.”

“I can’t do all day,” Robbe said shyly. While the thought of laying in bed with Sander all day and night sounded amazing, Robbe knew that he promised a stream for this afternoon. He could always cancel the stream or move it tomorrow, but he had moved enough streams. Plus, he was supposed to be studying with Yasmina at the library for their remaining exams. “But I can lay in bed all morning and afternoon until 14:00. If that’s alright with you.”

“14:00,” Sander mumbled, his breath ghosting against his face. There was a part of Robbe that wondered if Sander was going to ask what plans he had. But Sander simply smiled down at him and said, “Laying in bed until any time is alright with me, Robin. I’m sure that you have to study your beautiful brain out for your remaining tests.” 

Robbe flushed at the compliment, thankful that Sander didn’t ask.

Sander seized Robbe’s face rather abruptly. He placed a peck against Robbe’s lips, fleeting and quick. Then, he repeated the motion before moving on to his jaw, his cheekbones, his eyebrows, and all over his face until Robbe was left squirming under his lips. Then, Sander returned to his original destination, giving him a long kiss that made Robbe’s knees melt, before he pulled Robbe off his feet—literally. As Robbe latched onto his waist and shoulders like a vice grip, Sander was moving out of the room, taking Robbe with him. “Come on, I made pancakes.”

Robbe leaned back and beamed down at him. “You left me alone in bed to make pancakes?”

“Yes,” Sander said, sounding almost sheepish as he grinned. “I didn’t want you to wake up with an empty stomach and no food to eat!” Robbe smiled, leaning down to kiss Sander. He paused in the middle of the hallway, putting all of his focus on kissing Robbe back. Then, as soon as the kiss broke and Robbe hovered over his lips, Sander was moving again, holding Robbe a little higher on his waist, and walking like he never stopped. “It’s not very nice to not have food for such a treasured guest.”

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #480

“the doomsday clock was made by mankind”

Do you support PETA? No, because they are WAY too extreme. Have you ever lied about your gender? No. Have you ever had escargot? NOOOOOOOO. You couldn't pay me to try that shit. Have you played Breath of the Wild? No; Zelda games aren't my thing. I've watched Game Grumps play it, though. At what venue was the last concert you attended? Idr, somewhere in Raleigh. Who was playing at the last concert you attended? Alice Cooper. Maybe one day I'll have a new answer, lol. Do you have any anniversaries coming up? No. Would you try grapes on a pizza? Holy fuck, ew. Have you ever tried an oyster? How would you describe the experience? Oysters look fucking disgusting. Never. Has anyone ever specifically painted you a painting? Not a painting, no, but I've had drawings made for me. Would you ever want to try pole dancing? Nah. Have you ever had any sort of paranormal experience? Yes. Have you ever gotten something stuck in your skin? (ie: glass shard, gravel) Yeah, like splinters. And graphite. Do any of your grandparents live a nursing home? They're all deceased, but none did. Do you have a USB drive that is shaped like anything unique? No; mine is just a solid hot pink. What country would you like to visit most? South Africa. Whose birthday is closest to today’s date? (someone you know) Girt's birthday is the 10th! Do you know anyone in another country? I have Australian and European friends, yes. Have you ever wanted to be on a game show? Not seriously. Do you believe taking a picture of someone is taking a piece of their soul? Ha, this question makes me think of the quote from SOMA. Anyway, no. Do you have any friends with the same first name as you? No. How many states have you lived in? One. Pancakes or waffles? Waffles, so I can spread peanut butter on them. :') What is the saddest book you’ve ever read? Johnny Got His Gun. ZERO competition. What political cause are you most passionate about? Probably LGBTQ+ rights. Really just equality in general. Have you ever considered having children? The only time I've ever in my life thought I wanted kids was when I was with Jason. Hell, I wanted two or three. Now I'm just like... nah man no thank you. Have you ever considered acting? No. Who was the last person you slept next to? Sara. Do you think you can be in love and still cheat on your S.O.? Ha, no. What is the most embarrassing thing anyone has on video of you? I dunno. Did you ever get lost as a child? Once at the grocery store. A sweet old lady helped me find Mom. Do you know how to play any card games? The very basic ones, and Magic: The Gathering. What are you currently most looking forward to? Mom to feel better so Girt can come over. What is the best television show you’ve ever watched? Hm... Fullmetal Alchemist has a pretty bangin' story. What color are your parents’ eyes? Brown. Are you more dependent or independent? I've very dependent, honestly. Are there any stuffed animals in the room you’re in? Yeah, loads. I have a shelf full of my meerkat collection. Do you love animals? I adore them. I quite frankly don't like anyone who doesn't, because... how. How many people have you kissed in a car? One or two? Who made you mad last? My mom. She said something that just really hurt my feelings. How long was your last shower? It was longer than usual because standing, taking steps to turn, propping my legs up, etc. was fucking excruciating because my feet, ankles, and calves were so swollen. It's so fucking infuriating; in a previous survey I mentioned "oh it's because my body isn't used to getting up and down so much! it's improvement! :D", but no. The swelling was from sitting too long at the desk. My legs are so used to being propped up from being in bed that it caused edema when I was finally sitting. I went back to my fucking bed now because Mom mentioned that it could get extremely dangerous if the fluid buildup got too severe. And of course now that I'm back in bed, the swelling is receding. I can't fucking win. Have you ever had a really bad haircut? Looking back, I think the haircut I had before this current one was pretty bad, but at least it showed me I'd like short hair on myself. What’s your favorite DIY crafts YouTube channel? I don't watch DIY. What would be the best surprise you could receive right now? At this moment, just give me the magic answer to losing all this fucking weight and getting in shape and being happy. Do you usually forgive when someone hurts your or try to get revenge? I forgive too much. Were there any subjects in school that were really easy for you? English and most science. Did you ever skip a grade or get held back a grade? No. Was your first car used or new? I haven't had my own car yet. How often do you watch the news? Never. Do you have a fan in your room? I have two. Have you ever hatched an egg? In elementary school, as a class. It was a chick. :') I think it was in kindergarten? Would you like to go to a fortune teller? No, because I wouldn't support them spouting bullshit and lying to people. Do you chew gum on a daily basis? No. I've actually been craving gum for a long time now... For each person you’ve kissed, describe your feelings in one word: My feelings towards them? Jason: Remorseful. Tyler: Eye roll. Sara: thankful. Girt: love. Do you have “friends” that you actually hate? That's some juvenile shit. No. Would you rather get [another] tattoo or piercing? Gimme both, but if I had to pick, a tattoo. If you’re dating someone, how long has it been? It's been just shy of a month Feels a lot longer. If you’re a girl, have you ever had the urge shave your hair? Not shave my entire head, no. Do you live by a forest? Not anymore. :/ Do your parents drink? My dad is a recovered alcoholic, so he doesn't touch it anymore. Mom only drinks lightly for special occasions. Does downloading music without paying make you feel guilty? Yes, and yet I do it anyway. :x Does your house have air conditioning? Yes. What do you believe in more: Ghosts or demons? Ghosts. I don't believe in demons. Do you think they’re making too big of a deal over Michael Jackson’s death? Old survey is old, but no, not really. He was an absolute pop icon that was deeply loved by millions and millions and inspired the genre deeply. I wasn't even a big fan and yet I felt for those who were. French fries or onion rings? The former. I don't like onion rings. Favorite healthy snack? Um. I suppose apple slices w/ peanut butter, especially lately. Or strawberries. ]If you see a bee in your house... are you going to kill it? Bees honestly scare me, so I'm not touching it. Mom will have to get it, and I know she would kill it. Would you feel funny if you kissed somebody of the same sex? Done it before, and it didn't feel weird. If your best friend grabs your hand, what do you automatically do? I'd look at her and ask what's wrong. What’s something you can cook or bake like a pro? Nothing. Do you tend to flirt a lot, even when the person isn’t single? No, especially if the person is taken. Can grills be sexy on a guy? Grills are unattractive on everyone. Have you ever flown first class? Ha, yeah right. Are you the type of person who can shake insults off easily, or do they tend to stick around in your brain & bother you? They stick around for years upon years. Some I think I'll never forget.

[monchikyun]

XIII. give you everything

Connor can’t help but laugh when a palm lands on his cheek ever so softly. 

“You’re aware that I can’t feel physical pain, right?” 

“Shut up,” Gavin pretends that he’s bothered by that rhetorical question, but the hint of a smile trying to force its way in doesn’t go undetected. Ever since the morning, his face has been graced by the shade of red Connor can’t get enough of, which is the main reason for his good mood.  

Somehow they ended up playing rock-scissors-paper and Gavin insisted that the loser should receive some form of punishment, “to spice it up a little”. He thinks that the man just wants to test how advanced his programming is, to find out whether he’s even capable of losing. The truth is he could accurately estimate Gavin’s move if he concentrated enough, but then this would be no fun now, would it. 

Of course, he had to draw paper in their first round and the fact that Gavin immediately went for scissors was all but unexpected. The man himself can be sharp like a knife when you touch the wrong side of him. 

Connor has a hard time admitting to himself that he lost on purpose because he can’t quite figure out why. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Gavin mumbles and invites him for a rematch. 

He supposes there are better ways to spend their free time, but since no one is willing to talk about what is going on between them, childish games count as the next best thing. 

And Connor really enjoys the limbo they trapped themselves in. It’s just warm enough without the possibility of leaving burns. Luke-warm, if he’s being honest with himself. A bit bland. Still, he could live with that. He can ignore the longing in Gavin’s eyes if it keeps them safe like this. 

“Guess I win this time.” Gavin’s fist uncurls in disappointment, preventing Connor from enveloping it in his ‘paper’. 

“You sure you didn’t cheat with your robo mind-reading power?” There is nothing but playfulness seeping from his voice, still, Connor can’t believe he even has to ask. 

“You really do think highly of me, don’t you?”

“So that would be a ‘no’.” He squeezes his eyes shut and winces in anticipation. 

“I’ll be gentle, I promise.” 

And he is, imitating the slap he got just a couple of minutes ago. 

“Seriously? Well, that was kinda underwhelming.” He sounds almost dissatisfied. Connor never considered Gavin was into that kind of stuff but one never knows what the other person might be hiding. Not that he minds, it’s just a piece of information he needs to get used to. 

“So was yours.” He smirks at him, creating a petulant frown on his friend’s face. 

“Good point.” At least he doesn’t initiate a fight. It would be a shame if something ruined their so-far peaceful day. 

The snow has finally stopped falling, letting a ray of sunshine peek through the thick clouds. He would suggest taking a walk if Gavin hasn’t coughed three times in the past two hours. Connor has been monitoring his vitals, not noticing any significant change to his health, but that might have been only thanks to their current sufficiently heated location. At least according to his scans it is so, because the detective’s hands rub his arms up and down in an attempt to get rid of the cold only he can feel. 

“If only you had a perfectly comfortable sweater to wear.., what a pity,” Connor shakes his head in theatrical sorrow. 

“Oh, wait.” 

The darts coming from Gavin prick his skin without having to look at him at all. Now, this is fun. 

“You do!.” 

The man seems offended by his toothy grin, which makes it grow even wider. 

“For phck’s sake, Connor. I told you I’ll wear that over my dead body.” 

“Guess I’ll have to kill you then.” 

He means it as a stupid joke, but the air turns serious as soon as his mouth lets out those words. 

“Sorry.” 

He shouldn’t be the one letting himself be carried away by the moment, no matter how carefree it might have been. 

But Gavin doesn’t react to his feeble apology, busy making himself smaller to contain some of his bodily heat. His temperature is still within the norm, but that doesn’t tell him anything about what might happen in the next several hours. Days. 

He repeats his actions from the night before, placing his blanket around the man’s shoulder, letting his hands linger a little longer than they should. 

They spend the rest of the day wasting their time by playing all the games from Gavin’s childhood that Connor would never have the opportunity to experience otherwise. It’s a nice gesture, if that indeed is the intention behind it. Could be that this is the detective’s idea of dealing with boredom. And since they’ve decided to forget all about their work while they’re here, there weren’t many options left if they wanted to avoid all communication that could direct them to the forsaken grounds, also known as a personal dialogue. 

Connor almost had to force-feed Gavin the lunch he ordered for him, fighting against his endless excuses of not being hungry. He needs the strength if his condition is to worsen, and he’d make sure he gets it, even if it ended up in him having to shove a spoon inside his human mouth and nearly choking him to death. The man does sometimes act like a misbehaving toddler, but he figures that’s just a part of his charm. Besides, he likes taking care of him, it makes him fulfilled, for more reasons than one. It reminds him that he’s capable of so much more than just police work. 

It’s late in the afternoon now, the sky has gone dark and their carefully structured conversation quieted down into a pleasant silence. The only light source in their room is provided by the muted television which no one pays any attention to. 

Gavin is sitting on the ground, backed propped by the side of his bed. He’s still snuggled in Connor’s blanket, cradling a cup of tea the android has made for him. 

He has packed plenty of supplies with him, thinking they might come in handy. It’s better to be over-prepared than the opposite, an opinion that this trip has confirmed to him. 

Connor has just got off the phone with Tina, assuring himself that Sumo is being adequately spoiled. He really misses that oversized lump of fur, but the dog is doing just fine without him, so he has nothing to complain about.  

Checking up on Gavin he notices his temperature has risen above what’s deemed healthy. He sits next to him and retracts the skin on his hand, pressing it on the man’s forehead to extract the precise reading, just to be certain.  

“Yeah, I know,” Gavin says, clearly defeated. He shifts a bit and looks at him like he’s seeing the most beautiful being in the world, setting the now half-empty cup aside. 

“C’me here.” 

Maybe it’s the medicine he took twenty minutes ago finally kicking in, making his brain all mushy and body too clingy, but Gavin magically pulls him in his lap and holds him like he’s the last of his kind. He rests his head on the android’s chest, and Connor is too weak to deny him this show of vulnerability. Even if it’s likely drug-induced. They stay like this for a while, basking in each other’s touch, breathing in the tender atmosphere. Their hands have found each other too, fitting together like opposite poles. His spare one is threading through Gavin’s hair, messing it up on purpose. Connor loves seeing it like that, it feels intimate to him. A secret side of the man reserved only for those who are closest to him. It’s nice. Too nice. 

The moment is so overwhelmingly light it doesn’t even occur to him how dangerous his actions are. How those small acts can wedge a rift between them if he isn’t careful enough. 

But it’s too late to back out because Gavin kisses his chest, the place whereunder his mechanical heart beats loudly. And it doesn’t stop there. He traces those kisses up along his collar bone, his jaw, his neck, eliciting a content hum from him in the process. When he comes close to his lips, the man hesitates for a second that seems like an eternity, but ultimately decides to give in. 

And that where Connor draws the line. Snapping out of his trance, he quickly shoves his hand in front of his mouth to prevent Gavin from doing something he won’t be able to take back. 

“I’m sorry,” comes the muffled expression of regret. He truly loathes having to say that phrase so often because he apparently can’t do a single thing right in his life. 

He climbs off Gavin, dropping his body right next to him instead. 

“Why,” the man breathes softly. 

“I- I can’t. I can’t give you everything you want, Gavin.” He tries to communicate his despair through his doleful gaze, which his friend appears to be drowning in. 

“What-” Connor grabs the upper side of Gavin’s hand, guiding it towards him in an answer. It discomforts him greatly, but he leads it to where his genitals would be if he had any. He’s not the only one unsettled by this, for he senses Gavin struggle against his grip and at this point he has no choice but to set him free.

“You phcking toaster, you think I don’t know that?” he laughs without mirth. 

“You think that… that I want you just for your body?” 

Connor has hurt the man again, despite trying to do the exact opposite. 

“...no?” 

“No!” It’s not that difficult to believe, but not as easy when the truth has been spoken out loud. 

Gavin leans back into him, resting his head on his shoulder. At least they haven’t spiralled down the path of pretend animosity. 

“You don’t mind that I’m not a man?” Connor has never really regarded himself as one. It’s a label that doesn’t feel right to him. He’s simply himself, a human-like android who has been given a soul. There is no need for something else.

“I don’t care what or who you are, Con. As long as it’s you that’s inside, I wouldn’t mind if you were a phcking jellyfish, I’d… I’d love you all the same.” 

“You… you love me.”  The world around him gets blurry as he can’t quite process what he just heard.

“Is that so surprising, tin can?” Gavin chuckles, his own tears audible in that delightful sound.  

He wants to say it back, every inch of his being is urging him to do so, but his brain has frozen over and refuses to receive any command his heart gives him.

The words are stuck in his chest, leaking out through his close eyes, unable to be turned into any shape. They stab him with their intensity over and over, making him want to pluck them out and throw them at the person who has created them. 

“I-”

“You don’t have to, Con.” 

Maybe neither of them is ready to carry the weight behind that sentence just yet.

@a-convin-new-year i had to change the title a bit to suit my story hope you don’t mind 

[ensignabby]

143, A Destiel Ficlet

I am reposting this because I made a few tweaks to the grammar. I also now have this posted on AO3 <here>.

***

“What’s this?” Dean asks, putting down his burger and sucking some errant barbecue sauce from his thumb before reaching for the proffered box.

Cas had slipped it across the library table, letting his fingers linger when Dean’s meet his, and reluctantly relinquishes the small wrapped gift. The angel shrugs and seems awkward and unsure, which Dean finds nothing but adorable. “It’s, uh, well it’s for you. To commemorate.”

“Commemorate? What day is it?” Dean relies heavily on cases to create the context of his calendar, and after a few days at the bunker, he starts to lose track. When did they part ways with Sammy and Eileen when they finished that vamp nest? Thursday?

Cas sighs, only mildly put-out that Dean doesn’t automatically know. “It’s the eighteenth of September.”

“Eighteenth of...” It comes to Dean like a flash, like the burst of fresh air that hit his lungs those years ago as he emerged from the pit. “Cas...” He looks down at the carefully wrapped box with new understanding. “Is this an anniversary present?”

He is answered by small “yes” and a delightful pink hue spreading through Cas’ cheeks and reaching to the tips of his ears. “Aw, babe... Well, a Happy ‘Grip Me Tight’ to you, too. Although, I hadn’t thought to get you anything. I didn’t really know if dates mattered to you much, given, you know, the fact that you existed since practically ever.”

Cas looks away, lost in some faraway thought. “They didn’t. The unending march of millennia bears no consequence to the constancy of heaven, but,” he turns back to Dean, his blue eyes piercing his green ones. “The day I met you, I started counting. It’s the only date that has ever mattered.”

It’s Dean’s turn to blush now, and he doesn’t know how to respond to such unabashed declarations like that. He never has. They always steal his breath and sting his eyes. He clears his throat and reaches across the table to squeeze his angel’s hand in a silent gesture before bringing his attention back to the small box on the table.

Wrapped in light blue, Dean makes short work of the paper and finds a small wooden ring box. It makes his hands tremble. He knows what boxes like this mean. Does Cas? One glance up at the expectant face across from him tells him that he probably does. A deep breath steadies him and Dean opens the box.

The ring is platinum, a plain band with beveled edges that suits Dean’s sensibilities well. “Castiel...” he murmurs, taking it out of its setting to further appreciate the design. The soft yellow glow of the bunker’s lights reflects off the surface, highlighting the small engraving hidden in the inside of the band. “143...” He looks up again, seeing Cas’ obvious pleasure in watching Dean admire his gift. “What does 143 mean?”

Cas leans in further. “I don’t know if you’re familiar with a man named Fred Rogers”

“Mr. Rogers? From TV? Of course, I do. The man was the closest thing I had to a grandfather growing up.” He thinks back to when he was little, where in a life of inconsistency he could always rely on the fact that every motel room had a television. And every television gave him access to that calming figure who told him it was okay to feel what he felt, even if John Winchester said different.

Cas elaborates. “Fred was a remarkable man. His place in heaven was secured for him long ago, and when Jack tore down the walls, I can assure you, he had a crowd waiting to greet him.”

“I can imagine.”

“What I admired most about him was his ability to see the good in everyone, to trust in the best in humanity. And he would always say to those that were listening, honestly and without reservation, ‘I like you, just the way you are.’ It’s a beautiful sentiment.”

Dean watches Cas speak, a small grin on his face, enjoying watching his partner enthuse about the host of a children’s television show, of all things. He flips the ring over again, feeling the weight of it, noting that this ring looked perfectly sized for his fourth finger on his left hand. “Where does the 143 come in?”

“May I?” Asks Cas, not waiting for an answer before leaving his seat and coming around the edge of the table. He takes the hand of Dean’s that’s holding the ring and holds it between both of his, finding himself kneeling next to him, prostrate before the object of his affection.

“Fred always liked this number. You see, it stood for something. One letter for the first word; four letters for the second word; and three letters for the third word. One. Four. Three.”

Something clicks in Dean’s brain. “I Love You.” He says, breath hitching.

“And I do, Dean Winchester. I love you, just the way you are. Just the way I always have from the first time I saw you. You are always beautiful to me.” Castiel is smiling through tears, taking the ring out of Dean’s hand and easing it gently over the knuckle of his ring finger. “That number serves as a reminder, and if you let me, I promise I will spend the rest of our lives making sure you will never need it.”

And dammit, now Dean is crying too. Fat, warm tears that blur his vision and spill unrestrained until he uses his free hand to wipe his face on his flannel. “Cas, did you just propose to me using a quote from Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood?”

Castiel’s smile starts to waver, “Was that not clear? I thought this was...”

Dean rolls his eyes. “C’mere” and he drags the angel up from his knees by the lapels of his trench coat, depositing him squarely in his lap. Leaving Cas no time to acclimate, he tangles his fingers in the nape of that dark hair and pulls him in, a crashing of lips, heat and stubble. And love. So much love.

After a moment, Cas pulls back panting, looking disheveled and glorious. “So, I take that it’s a yes?”

Dean drinks in those brilliant blue eyes only inches from his, the glint of the engagement ring on his hand, and he can’t help but feel like every inch of him is vibrating with happiness. “Of course, it is,” he breathes, and he leans in again to kiss his fiancé.

Oh, it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood

[poptod]

could you do an elliot x reader where the reader describes elliot and what all things the reader loves about him

notes: this took a bit to get out but here it is. i'd like to say now that i am disabled (however I don't live in a hospital yet) and any insult towards disabled people in this is simply selfhatred and not bigotry. kind of strayed from the prompt but i hope you like it anyway :) thank u for requesting

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Elliot didn't seem the type of person who would like you – he was quiet and intelligent, like every person who belittled you just because you weren't smart. Because of that and that alone, you mostly avoided him, which wasn't hard. He didn't come to the hospital often, but when he did it was a hell of an uproar. All the patients went around telling about his injuries, making up stories to coincide with them, as Elliot was not the type of person to tell the doctors the origins of his wounds.

You stayed out of it.

Still, you'd pass by his room every now and then the few times you felt like you could walk. Most other times you stayed in your wheelchair, using the smaller break area to get snacks instead of going up a floor to the actual lounge.

Every now and then the rooms would switch up – more often you'd get placed in a communal room, shaped like a large hallway and filled with six or so patients in their beds. It freed up space for emergency patients and nonpermanent ones, but that didn't stop your bedmates from complaining. Most of them were old, and those who had good care were privileged, and did not understand nuances of the modern world. A good deal of them weren't even aware they were in the modern world, and though it was sad to most others you found it interesting. They were practical gateways to different times, time travelling without ever leaving the hospital, learning new things without ever attending school.

Recently you were moved to a room fitted for two people, though for the most of that time it was only you in there. It was almost nice – the quiet, the privacy, and an indicator that the hospital wasn't overloaded. All things end though, and all things change, and one evening you awoke to find Elliot in the bed across from you. He was passed out, the curtain around him drawn only to hide him from the glass wall leading to the corridors. You could fully see him – the cuts on his head indicative of a concussion, the bruised eye most likely a result of a fight, the rough breathing caused by bruising and breaking of the ribs.

It took several days before he woke up from his coma, constantly under the surveillance of nurses who flitted in and out of the room. They ignored you for the most part, knowing you were a steady patient, and that you could handle yourself in this environment.

Your condition, while it couldn't kill you, was extremely unpleasant and often barred you from leaving your bed most days. Now you had little reason to otherwise – Elliot was... interesting. Just to watch. The way he stared up at the television, his fingers tapping against his leg and how the clamp around his forefinger made a heavier sound than the rest. A chronic fidgeter – a bit like yourself in that aspect, but the way he spoke was what really got you going. Rough and low, an almost monotone voice that lilted only in the most dire times. Still you kept your distance, reminding yourself that people like him did not like people like you. Restrained and disabled. Stupid and weak.

It had to be sometime in the middle of night. There were no clocks in your new room, but it was pitch black outside, the only light being the streetlights and cars busying themselves far below your floor. To your left, the hospital halls remained nearly empty. Most nurses and doctors had gone home, replaced by those in constant night shift, a job you did not envy. While you were nocturnal for your own health, working during the night seemed like an awful fate.

No matter – you pushed the blankets off your legs, hoisting yourself to sit up and soon stand tall on your feet. You hardly noticed Elliot still in the corner, at least not until the world began to black out, a cold tingling swarming over your head as you lost vision and feeling in your legs and arms. Only when you didn't hit the ground did you notice him. You felt the arms around you, the touch of warm skin against your freezing forearms, and his panicked breathing against your exposed neck.

"Thank you," you said rather dumbly, empty of any other reply. Wordlessly he helped you into your wheelchair, only returning to his bed when he trusted you were fully situated.

"Be careful," he mumbled.

Those were the first words he said to you, and though you didn't know it at the time, they were only the beginning of the many words and emotions he would communicate with you.

When you returned that same evening after your trip to the break room and bathroom, he was still awake, watching as you opened and closed the door behind you, waiting till you hauled yourself back into bed before he spoke.

"I've seen you here a lot," he said in that low voice that had your heart picking up. Thankfully, you were not connected to a heart monitor.

"That's probably because I live here," you said, chuckling softly, halted only by the expression he gave you. Unreadable but shocked – maybe mortified that he'd asked that question. Many people were. To them, you were glass.

Instead of apologizing, he asked, "why?"

"Neural condition. First of my kind," you said with almost a hint of pride – the first to have your type of disease. No cure, no shared misery, nothing. "Makes me have pain all the time and shuts off some of the networks in my brain. Body too, sometimes. 'S why I faint a lot when I stand."

He thought for a moment. At least that's what he looked like he was doing, staring at the blue blanket over his legs as a silence came between you.

"That must be difficult."

"Sometimes. I don't mind it so much though," you said, only a half lie. "It's all I've ever known. What are you here for anyway?"

He didn't answer. Instead he shifted onto his side, closed his eyes, and went to sleep. A sigh left you – of course he wouldn't tell you. He didn't even tell the doctors, so in his absence you pulled one of the books from your side table, turned on your reading light, and immersed yourself in a story for the remainder of the night.

In the daytime he continues to fidget, playing with his nails or his lips, running his hands through his hair – you love when he does that. You know you shouldn't love anything about him, considering he still hasn't shown any taste for you, but you find yourself admiring it despite that. Beautiful things can exist without reciprocation, and to be fair you aren't beautiful in most people's eyes. You’re broken, but you don't think on it much, and you don't imagine what you could've been. He's a wonderful distraction from that.

One evening he tells you – out of the blue he looks to the side of your head (the closest he's ever come to actual eye contact) and he just tells you. You hardly believe it, believe him, but he speaks as though he's sincere. Besides, you're not here to doubt him. You're here to listen.

"That's rough buddy," you said quietly when he finished. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"Who fuckin' knows," he grumbled, shifting his position to look out the window, where the edge of dusk faded over the horizon.

He gets better, eventually. And eventually he leaves the hospital – you tell him as he leaves, pulling on his clothes behind the curtain, that you enjoyed his company. That every horrible thing will have a place in his life, but that it's important to have a place for good things too. He doesn't really say anything. He mumbles something you can't hear, something you aren't fully meant to hear, and then he leaves.

Without a word.

He visits the hospital a couple more times, each time with the same injuries as before, and usually the same cause, but the only person he divulges the causes to is you. Quietly, so the doctors won't hear. Sometimes he sits at your bedside, even when you don't share a room, and he tells you about everything going on, everything in his life, every horrible thing he's stopped, every person he's inadvertently killed, every regret he's had, and he's had a lot of them. He's so broken, so tired of what he does – it's evident in the way he almost touches you. Softness fills his eyes when you smile, and the thought of it has tears brimming in your eyes.

You did that.

You made him happy.

It's worth it for that. He deserves happiness, has a better chance with it than you do – you have no say in your life other than the ability to roll yourself into an elevator and fling yourself off the roof of the building. But he has friends, albeit few of them, and he has work. Hobbies, too. When he talks about his hobbies (which you'd refer more to as hyper-fixations) you can almost see him smile. He gets more animated, he talks and talks and talks for ages and you listen. You listen well, even though you can't understand, and you ask questions in hopes of clarifying despite the fact you know you'll never understand. Again, you're not smart like he is. Not after all your medication.

Eventually his trips to the hospital begin to change in their meaning. He comes for check ups every now and then, and each time he visits you. He brings food from the world outside, new books, trinkets, things that might remind him of you, and each time he plays it down like it's nothing. But you have nothing left, no parents or friends, so the 'nothing' he gives you amounts to everything in your head.

Eventually his trips to the hospital become meaningless. He doesn't even check in – he just makes a beeline for your room, sometimes asking the front desk where you are if the rooms change, but for the most part he ignores everyone else in the hospital but you. It shatters and rebuilds your heart. This man who has lost so very much, gone through so many terrible things finds solace in you. He visits the hospital just for you.

No one does that.

You're a hard friend to have. You can't go out, you can barely walk, every now and then a shot of pain will interrupt a conversation to the point where you're writhing on the floor, pounding your fists against your head or anywhere where it might hurt as the nurses rush in and put you under anesthesia. You're embarrassing, and your whole life feels like a detriment to those around you.

Elliot holds your hand, and he hums. Quietly, and a tune you can't identify, but it stirs you out of one of those breakdowns, your dizzy vision focusing to see his silhouette against the city skyscrapers, the plush of his lips in the fluorescent lights, the scarce comfort in his eyes that appears only around you. To him you are safe, and to him you are his. To you, he is love, and to you, you are his.

Uncommon people band together, protect each other from the world meaning to do them harm, and there is no greater example of this than when he hides himself in you, and you let yourself live in him. A strange connection indeed, and not one anyone else would understand. You hardly understand it yourself, but when he smiles for the first time, a wide smile, followed with a laugh that comes from his chest as his eyes shut and he falls back in his chair – you hardly feel your pain. It's just him.

It's just him, and nothing else needs to exist.