#why did he do that...... the hair flip duck face combo..............

[sibelin]

he needs to be stopped (source)

[deadbiwrites]

hey, for the ask thing, can you do #9 under random: “You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.”

This one was so fun!!

--

Kara doesn’t drink, usually.

It’s not like, a thing, that she doesn’t drink. Some sort of moral or religious blah blah whatever, it’s just that she… doesn’t.

So when she’s dragged out to the bar for Nia’s 21st birthday, she expects it to be more of the same- her friends will get drunk, Brainy will dominate at the trivia game that’ll inevitably be crawling across a screen at the bar, Nia will flirt with Brainy, Alex will stare and sigh at Sam all night, James and Mike will inevitably get at each other’s throats (how they manage to play on the same team without killing each other, Kara will never know), Mike will flirt with her and be hurt when she shoots him down, James will pull out his camera and take candids that Alex will doubtlessly demand to see and then delete immediately, and Kara will eventually wrangle them all into her minivan and drive them back to campus.

A typical Thirsty Thursday with her closest friends (and also Mike, for some reason).

Except that tonight, instead of Al’s, the dive they usually flock to, they’re at some martini bar downtown. And though the reasoning makes sense (Nia can’t really openly celebrate her 21st at the bar she’s been frequenting for the past 2 years with a fake ID), and it is her birthday and she wants to go someplace-

“Swanky,” Alex murmurs as Sam lets out a low whistle behind them.

This is barely a bar, it more closely resembles a set from a 30’s noir movie, with the large chandeliers dripping crystal overhead and the rich, polished wooden floor underfoot. For crying out loud, there’s a live jazz band- not a quartet, a full band- across what is clearly a dance floor, and the waiters and waitresses are all dressed in vests and ties (and not the cheap kind Kara had to wear for the week she worked at the catering company).

In short, it’s gorgeous, and glamorous, and she’s infinitely glad she’d asked Nia what she should wear because her usual jeans-and-a-sweater combo surely wouldn’t fly here, but the suit she wore to her cousin’s wedding this past summer definitely does.

They’re greeted by a friendly but slightly harangued-looking hostess, who quickly ushers their group to a large booth in the corner. Each of them peruses the drink menu, and quickly realize that they have no idea what any of the cocktails listed actually are.

"Yeah, great, this is- I love doing a Google search to get drunk," Alex grumbles sarcastically as she scrolls through her phone, pulling a face at something or other. "How many of these have absinthe in them? Jesus."

Kara laughs. "What, no green fairies for you tonight?"

"It was one time!"

"Aw, we still like you even though you're afraid of the mean, scary alcohol," Sam coos at Alex, smile tinged with an edge of teasing and Alex melts like so much wax before a flame.

Ridiculous. 

"Make out already," Nia jeers. When they both flip her off she turns to Kara, seemingly confused. "That was a legitimate suggestion, though?"

"I know. One day," Kara hums, throwing her arm around Nia’s shoulder and pulling her into a half-hug.

Their waiter appears, smooth and charming and managing to get Winn firmly under his spell in a matter of seconds. But in Winn's defense, he has a perfect smile, great hair, and a British accent.

Poor boy never stood a chance against all that. They each place their orders for a fancy drink, and when the waiter, Jack, turns his attention to Kara, Alex interrupts with, "She wants a Potion D'Amour."

"Oh, a love potion," he muses, smiling at Kara. His eyes catch on something and his smile widens. "I know just the lady to make it for you. Back in a tick."

And he's off before Kara can protest. Resigned, she turns to her sister. "Why?"

Alex rolls her eyes fondly. "Just take a sip. If you don't like it, one of us will finish it for you.”

“Fine, fine.”

--

So, as it turns out, Kara likes the love potion. A lot.

“It tastes like berries,” Kara marvels.

“We know, Kara, you told us when you were drinking the last one,” Alex chuckles.

“And the one before that,” Nia adds.

“You guys are so nice. I love you all so much.”

“Well at least she’s a happy drunk,” James chuckles.

“‘m not drunk,” Kara insists. “‘m always happy, ya butts.”

“Sure Kar, and the sky is red.”

Kara frowns as her friends all laugh. “Rude. Who wants another one?”

They all raise a hand, and Kara moves off in the general direction of the bar.

Or, well, she does her best.

“Hey there! Did you need something, luv?”

It’s Jack-the-waiter, looking at her with some bemusement.

“Yeah! Hi, sorry. Um, they all want more drinks, and I just, um…”

“Needed a break?”

She slumps in relief. “Yeah. Is that bad? Like, I love them and all, but I think I’m kinda drunk and they’re… a lot.”

Jack chuckles. “Trust me, I understand. If you want a minute of quiet, there’s a stool on the end of the bar that no one ever sits in. Got your name on it.”

“Thanks! You’re a very good waiter. Hey, d’you have any drink recommendations? Maybe one a little, um… lighter?”

“‘Course I do luv. Really fancy, too. C’mere, I’ll tell ya,” Jack says, motioning her close. When Kara is a few inches away, he tells her the secret. “It’s called ‘coffee’.”

Kara laughs as he winks and moves away to another table. She spots the empty barstool he’d mentioned and ambles over, dropping into it with a sigh. From here, she has a view of approximately nothing, given its location behind a pillar, and she leans back against the wall, the cool wood paneling chilly even through her jacket and shirt. 

“Long night?”

Kara’s eyes flutter open (when did they close? Maybe she is drunk…) and across from her is quite probably the most beautiful person she’s ever seen in her life.

“Wow.”

The girl smirks, quirking a brow upward. “You okay there?”

“Yeah. I um, I think I just had too many love potions.”

“Oh, so it was you ordering those,” the pretty, pretty girl drawls. “They’re a pain in the ass to make, you know. Mostly the garnish, but still, I’m tempted to be annoyed with you, for being so high-maintenance.”

“Oh, Jack said he knew the girl for the job!” Kara says. “They were really good, I usually don’t even drink, but those were great.”

“Well well, keep talking, I thrive on flattery,” the girl jokes. She extends a hand. “Lena.”

“Kara, Kara Danvers. Wow, your hands are big.”

Lena barks a delighted laugh. “You have all the subtlety of a hand grenade, Kara Danvers.”

Kara flushes. “Oh, that’s- wow, sorry.”

“You’re fine. Like I said, I thrive on flattery,” Lena says, throwing her a very cute two-eyed wink. She turns suddenly, fixing a polite, professional smile on her face. “Good evening, sir. What can I get for you?”

“Another round for my friends. And your number, gorgeous.”

Mike.

Lena remains polite, face impassive even as Kara hastily ducks out of sight under the bar. “What drinks did you and your friends have?”

“I dunno, fancy stuff. The waiter guy probably knows- my friend was supposed to come get us another round, but she probably bailed.”

“Oh yeah? Not much of a partier?” Lena asks, eyes darting to (hidden) Kara.

“Nah. Don’t get me wrong, Kara can be cool, but she’s a little… uptight. Needs to relax every once in a while.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So what’s your story, beautiful? You come here often?”

There’s a beat of silence before Lena drawls, “Well I work here, so… I’d have to say yes…”

Kara claps a hand over her mouth to muffle the laugh she can’t keep inside.

This obviously throws Mike off whatever game he thinks he has. “Oh, that- right. Um. That was a joke.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll ask your waiter what your order was- do you know who he is?”

“Um… he has a beard?”

“Jack, his name is Jack,” Kara mutters under her breath.

“Right. I’ll ask him. Did you need anything else?”

“No, thanks.”

There’s an extended silence before Lena says, “You can come up for air now, Kara Danvers.” 

Kara peeks over the edge of the bar, flushing again when Lena snickers at her.

“Good friend of yours?”

“No. He’s- I don’t even know why he’s here? Like one day we all hated him and then the next he was always around. Nia doesn’t even like him, and it’s her birthday.”

“Really? Good that she doesn’t- seems like a douche.”

Kara barks out a laugh, smothering in quickly and grinning behind her palm as Lena grins slyly over at her without turning her head. “He is a douche. He always asks me out even though I’ve told him no, like, a million times.”

Lena frowns at this, turning her attention fully to Kara. “Does he?”

“Yeah. My sister hates his guts, and so does our friend James, but somehow he just… sticks around.” Kara shrugs. “He’s pretty harmless, just really annoying.”

Lena hums, gaze narrowed. “He’s not worth your politeness, Kara.”

“Eh. Besides, I’m kinda doing the same thing to you, right? Just like, demanding all your attention?”

Lena bobbles her head side to side. “I’d say it’s a bit different.”

“Why, because I’m drunk?” Kara laughs. “‘m sorry about that, by the way.”

“First off, I don’t think you’re all that drunk,” Lena confides, leaning over the bar so . “Those drinks really aren’t all that strong. And secondly, there’s a difference because I am actually enjoying your attention, Kara Danvers.”

“Oh. Oh, okay. Cool,” Kara mutters to herself.

Lena smirks. “So, Kara Danvers- even though I already know the answer to this-, do you come here often?”

“Um, no. But I think I might start…”

Lena’s sly grin morphs into a broad smile, dimpling her cheeks and making her eyes shine in the low bar light. “Good.”

[britishassistant]

The Villainous Paranoiac Needs a New Uniform

You hate magic.

You hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic so so so much.

You especially hate magic when it’s being used by an off-his-rocker prince with a persecution complex the size of Shibuya to disintegrate you because you’re trying to stop him from being consumed by evil magic waste and turning this dumb boy’s school into a desert over a sports tournament.

Your left side throbs around the grit of the sand buried in it as you desperately scramble upwards. All around you the formerly stable bleachers are wavering, tonnes of metal and support slowly crumbling to dust from the ground up with every second that passes.

“Prefect! Are you okay?!” Deuce has begun taking a few steps towards the bleachers—

Turning his back on Kingscholar.

“DEUCE, GET DOWN!!” You scream.

One of Cater-senpai’s clones trips him up, only to scream in agony as the magic blast intended for Deuce disintegrates it instead.

You try not to retch as you heave yourself up onto the commentator’s box roof.

“Pay attention, dumbass!” You faintly hear Ace bark. “You can’t just forget about the crazy overblot! We’re in the middle of a battle here!!”

“But my minion’s stuck up there!” Grim wails back, “We gotta do something!”

Buchie-senpai says something you can’t hear in reply, because you’re too busy hollering, “Howl-san, MOVE!!”

Howl-san only narrowly dodges the incoming attack despite his speed. The sand slams into the already weakened bleachers, causing you to stumble as the roof shakes under you, tilting at an alarming angle.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Kingscholar mocks, creepy hollow voice clearly audible despite the distance. “Didn’t I tell you herbivores to be prepared?”

You fight the urge to flip him off with great difficulty.

This is so much worse than Rosehearts-senpai’s Overblot. The ligament in your right ankle still gives twinges that show it’s not fully healed yet, but at least you weren’t the only one roughed up in that battle, as the dorm head lashed out at everyone and everything in his rage.

Kingscholar is aiming for you specifically. Which means that this overblot can think enough to recognize threats beyond those flinging magic attacks at it.

And exploit the fact that the you’re weak and in danger to force the others to choose between saving you and taking him down.

Your teeth sink into your thumb. You don’t wanna die here, you refuse to die here, so what are your options??

Option one; focus on directing the battle and try to stick it out up here until Kingscholar is defeated.

A bad plan right off the bat, if the tremors underneath you are any indication.

If you try to hold out until the end of the fight, the sand will finish eating through the bleachers’ supports just like it’s eating into your thigh and hip right now. You will not survive the fall onto the jagged steel and rebar below.

The others might manage not to get distracted by your messy death, but if they haven’t finished off Kingscholar by then, they’ll be sitting ducks if they can’t agree on a strategy.

Ace and Grim are down there.

There’s no way they’re not dead if you bite the dust.

And all that’s on the very generous assumption that Kingscholar won’t just King’s Roar you right here and now. He’s certainly smirking like he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea, the cocky bastard.

So option two; get the others to help you down ASAP, preferably while Kingscholar is distracted.

Marginally better than option one, but not by much. If they all come to help you, Kingscholar can just pick them off at his leisure, even if Cater-senpai uses his clones to try and confuse who’s who. While all of you are struggling to see in the sandstorm, the accuracy of the overblot’s attacks show that the storm isn’t affecting his eyesight one bit.

Plus, the more of your allies get on the bleachers, the higher the likelihood of the bleachers collapsing faster and crushing them and you with it.

Even if you try to have one or two of them split off from the group to help get you down while the others try to keep him occupied, Kingscholar can target you, the splinter group before they can get to you, or even wipe out the remainder of the attacking formation who won’t have the necessary magic to defend themselves from a head-on assault.

Divide and conquer. As expected of a might makes right fanatic.

Kingscholar-senpai, you decide, is one of the biggest bag of dicks you’ve ever laid eyes on. Even counting the ones you’re related to.

All that’s left is option three.

If you want a job done right, do it yourself.

“Eyes on the Overblot guys, nobody break formation no matter what you think you see or hear!” You wince as you strip your blazer off, feeling fresh blood soak into your side. It’s tattered around the edges where King’s Roar tore into you, but the body of the jacket seems whole enough at least. “I’ll be fine, so just focus on Kingscholar!”

You grit your teeth as you tie the sleeves together. “Buchie-senpai, I need you to use Laugh With Me to keep him still so Rosehearts-senpai can Off With His Head. Howl-san, Cater-senpai, Deuce, Grim, you need to hit him then with everything you’ve got! I’ll signal when by telling Ace what he needs to do! No more holding back, we need to end this, understood?!”

“Loud and clear!” Buchie-senpai calls back, brandishing his magic pen.

“You better not be planning anything too crazy Yuu-chan~” Cater-senpai calls up, his exhaustion evident through his usual bravado.

Kingscholar chuckles. “If this is something you think you can fight back against, just try to fight it! I’ll turn all of your meaningless efforts to sand!”

The sandstorm picks up in response to his words, the small grains burning your eyes and scraping across your skin.

“On my mark!” You yell, bracing yourself.

The roof shrieks in protest under you.

“Ace—“ You hold the ragged edges of your blazer tight in your hands. “Give me some wind!!”

You start running.

You jump.

You vaguely hear yelling below you, beyond the swoop of your stomach and the roar of the bleachers collapsing into rubble behind you. Your makeshift parachute feels like it’s on the verge of tearing itself out of your grip. You think you’re screaming.

Oh god, this was a mistake, this was a horrible, horrible mistake. You don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die—

The wind picks up in your ears, but it’s not enough, you’re barely slowing down, why did you think this was a good idea, you saw it in a video game for the love of god, you’re going to die, you’re going to break your legs and die—

Small pricks of pain seize onto your hair, your shoulders, your back, and your uninjured leg. Several small and hard somethings start hitting you in the face repeatedly.

Huh. You thought bats were nocturnal. What are they doing here in the middle of the day?

Wait, before that, why are there even bats in a sandstorm in the first place?! And whey are they all latched onto you like you’re a piece of fruit they’re trying to carry off??

“Sebek, if you would~?”

You shriek as something clamps down hard around your injured thighs and waist, the wind half knocked out of you as a shoulder is driven into your stomach.

“Stop screaming, human!!” The loud green-haired Diasomnia member roars at you. “Be grateful Lilia-sama saw fit to sav—”

“Yes, yes, I’m very thankful, just hold on a sec!” You babble, twisting in his grip. The sandstorm’s weakened a lot, and while Kingscholar’s looking a lot worse for wear than he did before you leapt, he’s not down for the count just yet.

But you know exactly the combo to finish him off.

“Grim, Ace, Deuce!!” You yell. “Fire-tornado-cauldron him!!”

“Leave it to me, fnagh!” Grim crows as Ace shouts, “We have GOT to come up with a cooler name than that!!”

The overblot dodges out of the way of the aptly-named fire tornado, still smug if tired and badly scorched. However, as he races forward to counterattack, it becomes clear that he forgot about the third part of the combo you yelled.

“TAKE THIS!!” Deuce screams.

The look on Kingscholar-senpai’s face before the cauldron lands on him is something you’re gonna treasure for weeks.

“King...I’ll...be...” The lion prince staggers, and finally, finally collapses.

There’s a quiet moment as the sand storm slows to a gradual stop.

Kingscholar doesn’t get back up, the giant lion dissipating like a mirage and the grey and black leeching from him.

“It...it’s over.” You pant. “We...we beat him...!”

Rosehearts-senpai doesn’t lower his magic pen. Instead, he wheels around and points it at you with a thunderous “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!!”

The heavy metal collar snaps shut around your neck. “ACK!”

“Prefect!”

The Diasomnia guy actually drops you at the sight of Rosehearts-senpai storming over, face redder than a strawberry tart and eyes burning with fury.

Please God, don’t make you have to deal with another Overblot after just beating an extremely painful one.

“YOU— YUU— YOU— WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, JUMPING OFF THE BLEACHERS LIKE THAT?!” He screeches. “THAT'S A FORTY FOOT DROP, AT LEAST!! YOU COULD'VE BROKEN EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY, OR, OR BEEN KILLED, ARE-ARE YOU INSANE?!”

“No, I just didn’t want to get impaled!” You bristle, gesturing at the rubble. “If I jumped, I at least had a small chance of surviving—”

“Sure, because that’s what you falling with that dumb torn jacket was!” Ace snarls, popping up over his dorm head’s shoulder. “It was everything I could do to even make you slow down some—‘give me some wind’ my ASS!”

“It certainly was interesting though.” The Diasomnia vice dorm head pipes up from behind you. “I was almost worried for a minute there that my bats wouldn’t be able to rescue you and you’d be a smear on the playing field.”

“Th-THAT'S RIGHT!! MAGICLESS HUMAN!! PROPERLY PAY YOUR RESPECTS TO THE GREAT LILIA SAMA FOR DEIGNING TO SAVE YOUR WORTHLESS LIFE!!” The green-haired Diasomnia guy screams in your ear.

“The hell d’ya think yer calling ‘worthless’, hah?!” Deuce growls, storming over to him.

“Yeah, don’t insult my minion, fgnah!!” Grim barrels into your good side, hissing at the Diasomnia guy from under your arm, conveniently turning you into a shield.

“WHY YOU LITTLE—!”

“WHAT IN THE WORLD HAPPENED TO THE BLEACHERS??” The dumb bird headmaster’s shriek rises over the din. “OH HOW COULD SOMETHING SO TERRIBLE HAVE HAPPENED TO ME, THE MOST GRACIOUS OF HEADMASTERS?!”

You flop onto your back. The pain from where King’s Roar tore into your left side is returning full-force, now there’s no threat to divert your attention from it. The collar around your neck only adds to the pain with its weight, and all the yelling is giving you a headache.

You hate magic.

You hate magic so much.

[this-is-my-procrastination]

hi honey! (●’◡’●)ﾉ could i request a oneshot with Dazai, and reader is just always sleepy? like if she sits still for longer than thirty minutes, she’ll be passed out? thank you!

pairing: dazai osamu x sleepy!reader

synopsis: sleepy y/n has trouble staying awake

request: hi honey! (●’◡’●)ﾉ could i request a oneshot with Dazai, and reader is just always sleepy? like if she sits still for longer than thirty minutes, she’ll be passed out? thank you!

a/n: omg im so sorry this literally took me 10 million years to finish!! i think i’ve rewritten this like more than four times at this point lmao but hopefully it turned out ok and you like it! as always, thank you so much for requesting ily <33

A pair of lips delicately brush your cheek. Your eyes flutter open, groggily blinking the sleep from your eyes as you slowly register the owner of the offending lips. To no one’s surprise, it’s Dazai’s smug face that beams back at you, grin softening as he teases, “Look who fell asleep again~ If you weren’t so cute, I might be offended y’know?” His playful pout causes you to giggle, your boyfriend already helping to make waking up so much less vexing than usual.

Retaliating to his teasing remarks, you attempt to ruffle his messy tuft of black hair but find that his head is sadly more than an arm’s length away, much to your dismay. Looking back down at your disheveled bedhead fondly, Dazai pulls you into his arms as you release a few indignant retorts. The movie you two were watching had been in its closing scenes, but when he looked towards you to ask your thoughts (and ask why you’d been so quiet after literally the first thirty minutes), he was met with your very cute, very endearing, very much asleep expression, eyes shut and mouth slightly ajar. Your head was adorably leaned against the crook of his neck, and he would prefer not to admit it, but he had spent more time than he realized just admiring your dozing features silently, appreciating and marveling at this human who made him feel so loved. Past Dazai would have scoffed at a serious romantic relationship that didn’t end in double suicide, but right now, the thought of not being able to spend peaceful moments like this with you was the most excruciating punishment he could possibly imagine. How could he imagine someone else when even just your sleeping face was so incredibly adorable to him?

Your freshly-awake ramblings brought him back to the present. Dazai lets his fingers drift and find its place loosely running down a stray strand of your hair, twirling it cheerfully as he listens to you continuing on.

You suddenly stop your rant, staring at him with an amused expression on your face before you gently prod his side, “What’re you so deep in thought about?” You pondered the possibilities, “Could you be thinking about what to eat? I’m pretty hungry too after that nice nap!”

“No, no,” Dazai dramatically denies your question, waving his hand dismissively, “Well - I’ll never say no to a snack, but I was actually mesmerized! You just look so cute when you’re sleepy~”

You playfully roll your eyes, nudging him with a teasing “uh-huh.”

“Is that why I can get away with falling asleep around you?” your smile is warm as you meet his eyes, and Dazai’s heart quickens just slightly, “I told you that you can wake me up since I sometimes fall asleep before I realize. I appreciate you always taking care of me though, Dazai. You’re a very good boyfriend for that~”

Your praise is music to Dazai’s ears as his lips quirk into a smirk, “Oh-ho, am I finally getting the appreciation I’ve been deserving? I’m glad you finally noticed!” Your boyfriend’s hand pats your head affectionately, and you laugh aloud as he plasters a quick sloppy kiss to your forehead.

You’re about to playfully call him out for his touchiness but your boyfriend’s chest immediately puffs out theatrically, “But don’t you worry! I’m self-sworn to protect my sleeping beauty for as long as I live - actually, even from the grave!”

Dazai’s sudden knightly attitude cracks you up as you swiftly duck out from under his hand. You grin widely at his antics before matching his energy with a statement fitting for a true princess: “oh, ya - uh! ok thanks buddy! so then, Sir Dazai, lead the way to the kitchen and let’s make a mid-movie - oh, never mind the movie’s over - a post-movie snack!”

Dazai’s cheers ring through your apartment as he eagerly yet still surprisingly delicately, always being careful to keep you unscathed and present by his side, grabs your hand and escorts you into the kitchen.

The plan was to make brownies. So, why is Dazai furiously beating a bowl of grainy “whipped cream” that he’d made using a combo of water and specifically granulated, not confectionary, sugar? Why is more brownie batter on cabinet doors than in the baking pan? Why is the salt tipped onto its side, spilling its entire contents into some kind of abstract shape on the countertop?

One reason: food fight. Maybe your abundant sleeping habits had finally caught up to you, but you had never felt as invigorated and actively mischievous as you had when you’d swiped some brownie batter onto your boyfriend’s face. It was worth it! You think. You thought. Dazai’s brown hues absolutely shined with mirth at your pathetic attempt of provoking him. You were prepared for him to laugh it off and call you adorable, maybe naive for playing with fire, but ultimately he would chuckle and move on. Except, that did not happen. Instead, he had immediately retaliated with an even bigger glop thrown into your hair, partly accidentally and partly to be a li’l gremlin, and oh boy, it just escalated from there.

The whipped cream Dazai had whipped up for “quick ammunition” was quickly used up - Dazai scooped it, and the heap had seemed to grow impossibly bigger with every additional spoonful. Currently, his smile was widening and creepily stretching ear-to-ear as his starry eyes zeroed in on your vulnerable form.

The ruthless battle continued for a while, but after finally agreeing to a truce, you both couldn’t help but stare at the resulting mess with equally blank stares.

“Mm... okgoodnightbabe! I’ll see you in the morning!” You almost trip over yourself as you flee, throwing a cursory glance at your incredulous boyfriend before giggling and rushing to close the bedroom door before he can follow. Dazai’s whining carries through the solid wood, but you playfully call back, “I’ll give you anything you want - just pleasee do the cleaning! And if it’s too much, come to bed and we can deal with it in the morning together, ok?”

You could clearly picture Dazai’s pout in your mind as the sound of his footsteps fades towards the kitchen. Smiling fondly, you quickly change into your pajamas and hop into your shared bed to wait for his return. However, listening to the distant clanging of bowls and whooshing of the tap water proved to be an effective lullaby, and you couldn’t help it as your eyes began to flutter and eventually stay closed.

By the time Dazai finishes cleaning, the dark night sky was starting to brighten and mix with the warm oranges and reds of sunrise. He quietly opens your bedroom door and is met, not really to his surprise, by your sleeping lump of a body. Dazai’s brows furrow slightly, but he quickly notices the open book laying by your form and realizes that you had been up waiting for him. He could also tell you by the blankets messily strewn around you - usually you preferred having them wrapped around you like a tight burrito.

At that, Dazai lightly chuckles, his heart warming at the thought. He takes his time putting on a fresh set of clothes and rolls his eyes as he ever-so-gently tucks the blankets over you. The bed shifts as he climbs in carefully, but Dazai quickly freezes as you start to mumble quietly. Your words are inaudible, even as Dazai strains his ears to hear any (possible) secrets that you could be spouting. Shifting restlessly, you roll around and suddenly shoot out your arm, making an interesting grabby motion. Dazai almost lets out a laugh as he wonders what in the world you could be looking for, but his eyes widen when you make contact with your boyfriend and immediately calm down, hand gripping his shirt loosely.

As your body relaxes, Dazai feels a wide smile creep up his face, adoring and almost grossly soft. And he lets it. He just can’t help himself - he leans in and places an affectionate kiss on your forehead, lingering there before pulling back and squeezing next to you under the covers. He shifts your arm into a more comfortable position, and as you unconsciously flip to face him, Dazai’s eyes soften into a sweet but intensely warm chocolate brown. If you had been awake to open your eyes, you would have witnessed a rare but genuine sight: your boyfriend’s peaceful expression illuminated by the quiet sunlight of dawn, his eyes deeply staring into yours with endless messages of comforting assurance and happiness, and his lips subtly quirking into a tenderly loving smile shared only for the two of you.

[confusednarcissistwrites]

Je T’aime (T.C.)

Another request for the angel, @thestarsaregivenonceonly​ . This is sooo fluffy, but I think we all could use a bit of that right now. Hope you enjoy, doll 😘

(fluffy smut for the soul, jealousy)

“Timmy, you’re making a mess!”

You were incredibly grateful that your boyfriend had found a project that kept him in New York for a few months. You’d just recently moved in together and were getting into each other’s rhythms. This included working on dinners together, much to your delight.

You squealed, trying to dodge Timotheé’s attempts to smear tomato sauce on your face.

“Just let it happen! You know you can’t outrun me,” he taunted, cornering you against the counter. He swiped it across your nose while you giggled and twisted away, spreading the sauce in a stripe across your cheek. “Ha! Gotcha!” he cheered, licking the last of it from his thumb.

“You’ll regret this, Chalamet,” you replied, wrinkling up your nose and poking him in the chest.

“Oh yeah? How’s that?” He wiggled his eyebrows and locked you between him and the counter with his arms.

You ducked below his arm and slipped free. “Because, I’m going to use ALL the garlic! Not only that, but then I’m going to make you kiss me ALL night,” you replied smugly as you spread the fresh garlic cloves evenly across your flatbread.

Timotheé whined loudly behind you as he pulled a paper towel from the roll. “Ruuuuude. But fair is fair, I suppose.” He grinned, wiping the sauce from your face. “You’re much less intimidating without your Italian war paint.”

You giggled, standing up on your tiptoes to peck his lips before returning your attention to the ingredients before you. You opted for a few slices of fresh mozzarella, some basil, and a sprinkling of olives. Once you finished, you popped into the preheated oven. You caught Tim singing softly, his body moving to the music playing from your phone as he happily assembled his own pizza. A wave of adoration for the lanky boy washed over you, and you wandered over to wrap your arms around his middle.

“Hi,” he chuckled, patting your arm while his eyes fretted about to choose what flavor combo struck him that evening.

“Hi,” you hummed happily, watching him intently as he piled on more and more. “There’s no way you’re going to eat all of that!”

“We never eat two pizzas! We need to have people over on pizza night,” he replied, turning around, his hands sliding down your arms to hold your hands.

“I guess we are all the way moved in now and could do that,” you thought aloud, swinging your clasped hands. “Did you have anyone in mind?”

“Well, I was talking to C/S about coming over for drinks sometime this week. Maybe we could invite her,” he suggested casually, releasing your hands to put his own flatbread into the oven.

Of course.

You felt your elated mood drop sharply upon the mention of her name. The media had erupted with excitement when it was announced that they would be working together, and, as always, the fans began “shipping” them right away. Now, you’d been trying very, VERY hard to not feel insecure about all of it, and Timotheé always assured you that the relationship was strictly professional. While you had learned to brush off the media’s intense assumptions, it was hard to ignore it coming directly from the source. He often came home with wild stories that seemed to all circulate around her, even mentioning pet names they’d developed for each other. He knew you were sensitive about it, but it felt like he didn’t even try to hold back. You tried so hard to ignore your insecurities. You knew he would never sneak around on you, that this was just how co-stars interacted, and he was just one of those magnetic people who makes close friends rather quickly. But no matter what you told yourself, the little, green monster in you refused to let it go.

“Oh,” you replied dumbly, cursing yourself for letting it slip.

Timotheé turned around, his brow furrowed. “Oh?”

“I just- I mean don't you think that would be kind of awkward? Just the three of us?”

“Nah. She’s been wanting to meet you, remember?” Could he really not see what was going on?

“I don't know… Don’t you want to just.. be home? I mean you see her all day, right?” You cringed, hearing how blatantly jealous you sounded.

“Oh, babyyyyy. This isn’t about her at all is it? Are you jealous?” he cooed with a grin, cupping your cheek. He clearly found this all very amusing.

You pulled away, feeling horribly embarrassed. “I’m not jealous! I just figured you’d want some time to yourself,” you insisted, busying yourself by checking in the oven.

“Ahhh, you are! Look how blushed your cheeks are! Somebody has a crush on meeee,” he sang, hugging you tightly from behind.

“Timmy, stop it,” you choked, suddenly on the brink of tears. You were humiliated.

“Woah, woah, woah, hey, love, what’s wrong? Don’t cry.” His demeanor completely switched, turning you around to look at him. Worry filled his features, making you crack. Like the flip of a switch, you were suddenly sobbing into his shirt, leaving him wholly confused and concerned. “Baby girl, what is it? Talk to me,” he pleaded.

You pulled back, wiping your eyes harshly. “I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry.” The timer chimed and you turned around, pulling dinner from the oven.

“Don’t be sorry, angel. Just tell me what is going on- Is this about C/S?” he pressed, his hands gently rubbing up and down your arms.

You sniffled, turning around to face him. God, he was a saint. He was nearly in tears himself as he fought to understand what could possibly have you this upset. You took a deep breath, trying to find the least confrontational way to express what you were feeling. “I-I just.. I’m having a hard time with everything this time, for some reason. I just feel like maybe she’s new and more exciting, and you’d rather have her around than me.” You felt even more ridiculous saying it out loud, but you couldn’t deny your own insecurities.

Timmy shook his head, clearly pained by your words. He pulled you into his chest, nuzzling his face into your hair. “Mon amour, I’m so, so sorry I made you feel that way. I’d choose to have you around over anyone in this entire world, you know that right?”

You sighed, letting out a weak laugh. “Yes, I do. I just have such a hard time believing it sometimes.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “The only reason I reacted the way I did was because I can’t even imagine loving someone the way that I love you; it’s a whole other breed of love. I can’t imagine you being jealous over little, ole me,” he laughed, wiping away your tears with his thumb.

“Ugh, stop being so perfect,” you groaned with a smile, hiding your face in his shoulder. It was amazing the way he could soothe your worries in a matter of sentences.

“No, god, don't say that.” He shook his head, holding you close with one hand tucked securely at the nape of your neck. “And trust me when I tell you…” He leaned down, his lips just barely brushing over the shell of your ear. “No one excites me like you do.”

You shivered at his change in tone, peering up at him with flushed cheeks. “Yeah?”

He held your face, tilting his head as he captured your lips with his in a kiss so tender you thought you might faint. His tongue skipped across your bottom lip, lightly tugging it between his teeth. “Absolutely,” he breathed. “Let me show you?”

You blushed darkly, giving him a nod. He took your hand and tugged you off to your bedroom, dinner forgotten for the moment. You let him push you into bed and pull your leggings down your legs while you made quick work of your shirt, leaving you in a lacy bralette and matching panties. He groaned at the sight, his head falling against your stomach before looking up at you. “You don’t even know what you do to me; it’s so unfair.” His voice was low and needy, making you ache.

You laughed softly, sitting up to pull off his shirt. He cupped your face and kissed you deeply before you could get distracted with him. He wanted you to know that this was all for you tonight. He sucked on your lower lip, asking for entrance. You happily obliged, releasing soft sounds of pleasure into his mouth. He seemed to have this way of kissing you that made you feel all of his attention and adoration for you. No one had ever made you feel the way he did, and that’s why the thought of losing him to another terrified you so much. You hoped that he felt the same flips in his stomach for you.

“Come back to me,” he whispered gently, sensing your overthinking as though you were saying it out loud. You met his eyes, so full of love and concern. “I will spend every day of my life convincing you- I intend to, if you’ll have me.” He pressed kisses to your forehead, nose, chin, and travelled down your neck.

“Yes. Please,” you responded breathlessly. “I need you.”

Feeling just as needy, Timothee slipped out of his sweats and boxers, settling between your thighs and wrapping your legs around himself. He carefully pressed into your warmth, his eyes fluttering closed as you clenched around him. You would never tire of watching him feel good, no matter the form. He wore every emotion like an old cardigan that swallowed him whole. He brushed the tip of his nose against your cheek as he bottomed out, your hands roaming his chest and tangling into his precious curls.

“Let me love you.” Your heart just about broke. He was nearly pleading with you.

“Forever,” you replied, pulling him to your lips. Your bodies rocked as one, breathy moans and sighs bouncing off of the ceiling back to your ears to make you shiver. You felt foolish for ever doubting him. His mouth abused your neck, setting your bones ablaze with pleasure.

He quickly found himself becoming too excited, so he slowed and carefully pulled out. You watched him curiously, realization settling over you as he lowered his mouth to trail kisses down the valley between your breasts to your stomach and down between your legs. He eyed you as he circled your sensitive bud with his tongue, watching you moan out his name and lose your hands in your hair. You rocked your hips against his tongue. Always eager to give, Timothee reveled in every second of your pleasure until you were falling apart against his mouth and fingers.

Panting heavily, you pulled him back up to you and kissed him feverishly. His back was against the headboard as you sat in his lap, grinding your hips against his. Few words were spoken, but confessions slipped from you both as you held one another close. You reached between your bodies and slid him back into you. You both sighed in ecstasy. “You feel like… you were made just for me,” you breathed, beginning to lift yourself up and drop back down into his lap.

He cursed, watching your every movement with intensity. “I was.” You both got lost in each other, kissing and touching every inch within your reach.

“I’m close, amour,” he soon whined, head lolled back as he gazed up at you and his hands gripped your hips. You were both covered in a sheen of sweat, leaving his face glittering and breathtaking as always.

“Me too. So close,” you whimpered. You increased your pace, his hips rising to meet you now and hitting you just right. You tensed suddenly, your orgasm washing over you in waves. Timothee moaned against your collarbone, whispering sweet nothings and holding you close. He came soon after, spilling his love inside of you with stuttering thrusts. His hands slid across your spine as he trembled in the afterglow.

“I love you, my girl. Only you, forever,” he panted softly, tucking your hair behind your ear. A shy smile tugged on his lips, making you melt.

“Je t’aime, Timo.” You kissed his forehead, content to stay right there in his embrace forever.

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 7.1

"Don't make me say it again," Scaramouche warned.  He conjured his catalyst once more, this time holding his palm out to you rather than charging at you.

"You want to fight?  I'll make sure it kills you."  Your eyes shone enough to further illuminate the entire room. Dottore made one of the Fatui agents note the brightness of your eyes in a notebook.

You didn't wait for Scaramouche to make the first move, and instead lunged at him.  He evaded easily.  Then he sent another bolt of electricity your way.  You barely managed to duck in time, making sure to lower your weapon as close to the ground as possible to avoid shocking yourself again.  You put your weight onto your hands and flipped yourself over, then stabbed at him the second you were back on your feet.

He's no Childe, you realized with widening eyes.  I can beat him.

Childe leaned forward, his breathe hitching from the excitement.  He itched to join the scuffle while Xiao kept his eyes focused solely on you.  You performed his combo almost as flawlessly as Xiao did in past battles, this time being the one to pin the harbinger against the wall.

"How far do you want me to go, Master?" Your taunting angered the harbinger until a wild look consumed his face.  "Is this far enough? Or do you want me to injure you?  Tell me, what do you want me to do?"  You hit the catalyst out of the air and it clattered to the ground several feet away.

Xiao marveled at your sudden change in personality.  He had thought you were breaking, but maybe it was his own miscalculation?

"Since when did I give you permission to issue your own orders?"  He threw himself at you and conjured his weapon once more.  A fury of lightning strikes hit the air around you, but you were too quick in moving your polearm out of the way.  The air charged with electricity, but it didn't do anything to you.

Well, except ignite a metaphorical lightbulb above your head.  You sent a quick glance in Xiao's direction, but your attention was focused mainly on Childe.  I don't need a vision.  I can outsmart them.  You slowly drew Scaramouche towards you until he was in the middle of the room again, then you charged at Childe.

"Huh?"  It took a second for Childe to realize you were gunning for him and not Xiao.  An excited smile played across his lips, and he let go of Xiao's shoulder.  "I think I'll take this as an invitation."  He summoned his bow and aimed a charged shot at your head.  You ducked just in time, and it hit Scaramouche's catalyst.  It exploded in a fit of electrical bolts and shattered across the ground.  Childe cursed under his breath.

Scaramouche was beyond livid at this turn of events.  "You--!"  He turned his attention to Childe and was about to throw a punch.

"Now, Xiao!" You bolted for the exit as a precautionary measure.

"What?!  NOW?"  Xiao scrunched his brows together and glanced between the group of harbingers.  He immediately began to concentrate a force of anemo around his feet, and the power slowly came to its crest.

"Wonderful!"  Dottore cackled as he watched the two of you work together while Scaramouche and Childe were at each other's throats.  "These were exactly the results I was looking for!"

Almost there!  You nearly reached the set of doors when something pierced the back of your knee and sent you crashing to the ground.  "Ngh!"  Your fingers wrapped around Childe's arrow and yanked it out of your skin.

"--But unfortunately, this little performance is over," Dottore finished.  One of his previously sleeping machines awoke from its slumber and shot a dart that landed in your shoulder.  

"No!"  You looked behind you to find Xiao also being effected by the wounds.  "Xiao! Leave me! Go!"  A fierce kick to your jaw shut you up.

Xiao bit through the pain and was near breaking the seal when a few portraits flared through his head of a small, purple-haired girl.  Time seemed to slow down as he remembered her.  I can't... His gaze slowly floated over to you.  ...hurt you too...

.......................................

You woke up in your cell with your hands tied tight behind your back.  "Dammit!"  Your growl caught Xiao's attention, but he didn't dare look over.  "I was so close--Wait.  Why are you still here?  I told you to get out.  Xiao?"  When he didn't look over to you, you wiggled your way into a sitting position despite the pain in your leg and scooted next to him.  Unlike you, his hands were free.  "Hey, are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"...I'm sorry."

"H-huh?  What are you saying that for?"  

Xiao leapt from the balcony of Angel Tavern and had just about reached to your hand when the portal closed and he was met with the empty night air.  'If only I had been quicker to hear her--'

The image flipped.

'Forgive me.'  The Guardian Yaksha closed the little girl's eyes as he whispered an incantation.  'I will give you a second chance at life.'  The purple-haired child mumbled something about herbs as she gasped for a decent breath of air.

"I..." You trailed off.  I wasn't the only one?  But he did something different that time...what was that?  Some sort of talisman? "Xiao--" You shifted so you were positioned in front of him, and he lowered his gaze to avoid yours.  

His eyes were part of an expression that was the saddest you've ever seen before.  The confident, collected yaksha had finally revealed his vulnerable side.  It never occurred to you that he had one to begin with, so you observed his precious state for a few quiet minutes.

"Was...she collateral damage?"  Xiao didn't answer.  "Hey.  Could you please look at me?"  He reluctantly gave into your request and raised his head, but kept his eyes at chin level.  "What happened to either of us wasn't your fault.  I'm not upset with you for not reaching me in time, either.  What matters now isn't failures of the past; we are here together.  You deserve to be free and happy.  I'm more than happy to sacrifice myself so you can escape and live on without me.  I mean, I'm going to die eventually anyway, right?"  You leaned your head forward so your foreheads touched.

"You are my...companion.  Even if you wanted to sever our connection, it would be impossible now.  It's too strong, even without my blood connecting the two of us."

"Just because I'm willing to sacrifice myself doesn't mean I want to sever our bond.  I've...never wanted to sever it."

"Hm?"  His eyes finally met yours, and his saddened expression held a tint of confusion.  "You never wanted to sever it? ...You...really are a difficult being to comprehend..."

"That's because I..." the words caught in your throat.  "I..."  Archons, why can't I get the stupid words out? "Xiao, listen," you took a deep breath to steady your racing heart as you stared directly into his eyes.  

"Let me untie your hands," he interrupted the moment and gestured for you to turn around.

"U-um, okay."  His fingers made quick work of the rope that had dug into your skin so much that the slightest brush of fingertips made you wince.

"There's something we need to discuss," he continued once you faced him again, eyeing the hallway to confirm that the bird device was completely out of the prison.  "The others will be coming soon."

"Others?"  The sudden change in topic made you want to kick yourself.  There's no way you could gather up the courage to tell him again.  "You mean Zhongli and Aether?"  Why did he have to change the subject like that?

"Childe intentionally set out to hunt us down on the Tsaritsa's orders.  I was woken by the fighting,"  Xiao continued to watch the door out of paranoia.  "I passed out before I could be of use in battle, and didn't wake up until I was brought here.  "Zhongli gave me a vision, a message while I was unconscious.  He said he will return soon with help, but something about this is off.  Something doesn't sit right with Childe."

"You think he might be helping us in some way?"  You scoffed.  "I'm not putting my faith in that monster."

"I'm not saying you have to.  Just trust me when I say they'll be here soon. Don't lose hope, and don't sacrifice yourself for me."  He put some distance between the two of you, and your heart shattered when you recognized he was emotionally distancing himself from you again.

"Right..."

.......................................

You decided to chase after your own confession once more a few hours later.  "Do you have any desires, Xiao?"  You absently traced the seal lines on the ceiling while you lay on your back.

"Desire?"  The yaksha scoffed.  "Do not judge adepti by your mortal ideals.  I have no desire."  He too lay on his back, with his arms folded behind his head as he stared absentmindedly at the most powerful sigil that was painted above him.  

"That...kind of sounds like you're hiding something," you baited.

"Hiding? I'm hiding nothing.  I just won't speak of desire to others.  Do you mortals not have a rule about spoken wishes never coming true? Hm?"  The cute way he upturned his nose at you brought a blush to your cheeks.

"T-That's not really the same thing...!"

"What do you mean that's not the same?!"  He peered over at you when he heard a giggle escape your lips.  It was light and airy, and he cherished the joy in your eyes when you met his.  A small but unmistakable smile formed upon his lips.  The two of you were grinning at one another, and a comfortable silence ensued as you continued to hold his gaze.

"Okay then, since you put it that way," you grinned to yourself and faced the ceiling once more.  Xiao did the same.  "Do the adepti ever fall in love?"

"Occasionally, yes."  This prompted a side glance from you.  "There is a half-human, half-adeptus in the Liyue Qixing.  Ganyu."

"I think I've heard of her before."  His recollection ignited a portrait of her within your thoughts.

"She is constantly faced with living between two worlds, both never quite having a place for her.  She fought alongside Rex Lapis and I in the Archon Wars.  But returning to your question, yes, there are occasions in which adepti will fall for mortals.  I've never understood it myself."

"I see."  You fell into a small silence as you dug further into anxiety.  "Have you ever loved anyone?"

"No." The answer was way too quick for your liking, but Xiao continued.  "I know nothing but death and destruction.  Love does not interest me."

A weird feeling of vertigo hit you, and your eyes illuminated the cell a bit.  "That's a lie."

"Huh?" Xiao snapped his head in your direction.

"Why are you lying to yourself?  What are you lying to yourself about?" You weren't exactly conscious of the words spewing out of your mouth as if you were in some sort of trance while you gazed at him.  

"I'm not," he defended.

"That's another lie.  Whatever it is, you know you can tell me, right?"  Your eyes dimmed back to regularity.

"Tsk."  Xiao resumed his previous position on the floor and grumbled something under his breath that you couldn't hear.  "Then what about you?  Has a mortal as strange as you ever come to love someone?"  This'll get her to drop it--

"Yes, actually."  You regretted answering the second the words left your mouth, and heat rose to your cheeks.  "Er, I mean..."

Xiao received a pang of what he assumed was the human emotion of jealousy.  How absurd that he had been reduced to human standards of emotions ever since he joined Aether's team.  "You haven't mentioned them before," he commented.  "Does this happen to be the desire you spoke of earlier?"

"U-um...yeah..."  Your fingers fidgeted over your stomach, and you clenched the fabric of your shirt as you contemplated your next words.  You made a conscious effort to refrain from accidentally praying or wishing for him to know who you were referring to.

"Don't worry.  I'll bring you back to them safely."  He rolled onto his side so his back faced you.

"I-I...!" Your eyes wavered at his back.  I can't do it.  I can't bring myself to tell him.  Dammit, why does this have to be so difficult?  He's right here.  We could die any day now.  So why can't I just come out with it?

...............................

Coming up: Manipulating ojou-chan.  The yaksha bears his mask.  A breached contract.  A deal with the devil.

[thiswasinevitableid]

15. Nymph SternClay alternately, Stern is a Dryad residing in a huge forest where a strange creature, similar to humans but different (aka Bigfoot) wanders alone. Ever curious, Stern seeks to understand why this beautiful creature doesn’t seem to have anyone else, and even tries to hide from the few humans who venture deep enough into the woods. Can they be alone together?

Here you go! It’s SFW

Joseph knows he can’t spend every hour in the Great Oak, reading and researching the movements of humans. He still struggles to justify his fascination with creatures that have little contact with his kind. Some of his peers go so far as to insist humans are a myth, or the result of the odd dryad or naiad seeing a bear from the wrong angle. 

This is false, of course, and humans have been getting bold lately, making paths and taking walks deeper and deeper into the trees. This means that dryads assigned to security roles must spend at least six hours a day in their tree to make sure no one threatens their home. Joseph is in a Copper Beech not far from the GreenBriar river, mentally drawing up his to-do list for the week, when heavy footsteps catch his attention. 

At first he thinks it’s a particularly hairy human tromping through the underbrush, decked out in a ratty flannel shirt and what he’s heard humans refer to as “sweatpants.”  But his feet are bare, his limbs and face covered in dark, copper-flecked fur, and his ears are more pointed than those of a human. He leans against Josephs’ tree, drumming his fingers on it as he surveys the area, massive back-pack slung over his shoulders. There’s a flat patch of grass twenty yards away, and this is where the visitor eventually settles. Within fifteen minutes, a small tent sits on the grass. When the creature crawls inside and lays down, his feet stick out of the flap. 

Once snoring filters into the air, Joseph slips from the tree, conjures a blanket from moss, and sets it across his feet. It gets cold here at night.

His kind gesture does not go as planned.

The instant the fabric hits skin, the figure in the tent jolts upright, growling.  Joseph sits back as his guest's head bursts into the open. Then their positions instantly reverse, the other creature scrambling backwards in alarm.

“What the fuck? Where, where’d you come from, I didn’t hear you, didn’t even smell you sneaking up on me.”

Joseph raises his eyebrows, “Probably because I smell like bark and my footsteps are no different from falling leaves.” He holds out his hand for the creature to shark, “Joseph Stern, dryad.” 

“O-kay, so why is a dryad trying to…” he looks at the blanket for the first time, “tuck me in?”

“You’re new to woodland living, I take it?”

“Not really.”

Joseph sighs, “There are specific rules that govern this forest. One of them is that dryads are responsible for everything within a two mile radius of their base” he points to the Beech, “including any residents, visitors, or refugees. Which means you’re my responsibility.”

“Uh, I’m good, you don’t need to, like, babysit me.”

The dryad produces a notebook from his pocket, flipping to the section for his resident intake form, “I’m not babysitting you, I just need some information for my records. Name?”

Deep brown eyes blink, perplexed, and then his guest shrugs, “Barclay.”

“Species?”

“No fucking idea.” Barclay picks up the moss blanket, folding it and setting it next to the tent. 

“Purpose of stay?”

“To get some peace and quiet.” He turns a pointed glare at Joseph. Even with the glower, he’s the most handsome creature the dryad has ever seen. 

“Um. Right. I’ll just fill in the rest myself. If you need anything, I’m just over there.” He walks briskly away, managing to only look over his shoulder once. Barclay is watching him, looking for all the world like a hare waiting for the fox to pounce. 

It’s only when he’s back in the tree that he realizes having a resident will cut down on his research time. Then again, his guest is far more intriguing than any human could ever be.

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

Barclay was so ready to stop feeling bad. He feels bad for stealing the tent from a guy he scared off his campsite two towns back. Bad for yanking clothes off the clothing line of rural houses so he could have two sets to rotate instead of a filthy, single shirt and shorts combo. Bad because it’s been months since he ate anything but MREs, granola bars, and day olds salvaged from dumpsters. 

Now he gets to add “feel bad because you’re crashing on some guys front lawn” to that list. He didn’t even know nymphs were a thing; he thought he was the only weird semi-human in the world. Yet here’s Joseph, hair as dark and shiny as the leaves on his home tree, skin the color of bark, and vines occasionally twining up his arms and legs. Unlike Barclay, his inhuman features make him beautiful, not beastly. 

Barclay came here to be alone. 

Barclay hates being alone. He wants a house full of warmth and voices mingling over a kitchen table, wants people to care for and who care about him. So when Joseph appears the next morning near his small fire and it’s boiling pot of foraged tea, he offers the dryad some. 

They sit, awkwardly sipping from their mugs, when he decides to take advantage of his host.

“I, uh, don’t suppose there’s any herbs growing around here? Like mint, or maybe alliaria? I wanna catch fish for dinner, but they taste better if I can season them.”

“I think there’s some growing upstream. Do you want me to show you?”

“Uh, no, that’s fine. I’m used to finding stuff on my own.”

Joseph nods, finishes his tea, and magics the cup clean before handing it back to Barclay.

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

“What...what’s all this?” Barclay stares, stunned, at the pile of goods sitting by his firepit. He counts a camp stove, teapot, and two boxes of fresh food, including bread and cheese,

Joseph looks up from organizing the supplies, “A few friends of mine, plus the Ashroot Market.” He smiles, Barclay’s stomach flipping like a flapjack when he does, “did you think we live on berries and air?”

“Kinda, yeah.” Barclay rubs his arm, embarrassed, “thanks, Joseph. I, uh, I don’t really have money, so maybe I can pay you back with-” he trails off as the nymph stands and sets a hand on his shoulder. 

“Barclay, you don’t owe me anything. I did this because you keep saying how much you miss cooking from a real pantry and, um, I thought it’d make you happy to have some options.”

“It does.” He freezes as Joseph strokes the fur poking through a hole in shirt, “I can restock your sewing kit the next time, if you want.”

“That’d be great.” He wants so badly to touch him back, to see if he shudders away from his claws or holds his hand. 

Josephs arm drops back to his side, “Ned has a surprising number of camping supplies. I suspect he stole them from humans, which is technically against the rules but” he indicates the stove, “I’ll let it slide for now.” 

A conspiratorial wink and Barclay rumbles out a purr, catching it before Joseph notices.

“Will, uh, will you at least let me make you dinner as a thank you?”

The dryad nods, “That sounds perfect, big guy.”

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

Barclay doesn’t howl often; it draws unwanted attention and there’s no one like him out there to answer anyway. Tonight he couldn’t help it, the loneliness tearing him to bits on it’s climb up his throat. He’s cross-legged on the ground, face to the stars, when Joseph sits down beside him. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. Thought you were out.”

“I was reading.” Joseph scoots closer, rubbing Barclay’s back, “and I can tell you’re lying.”

Barclay delays answering, fixes his gaze on the Beech where Joseph lives. Nymph homes occupy liminal spaces, fitting an entire domiciles within trees. His current hobby is imagining what it looks like on the inside; whether there are books stacked neatly everywhere, whether there’s a nice kitchen, how big the bed is, what the view from the bed is like…

He’s never going to know, Joseph made that clear. 

“It’s not that no other creature is allowed in a nymph home, more that getting them in there takes a dangerous amount of energy.”

“Barclay?” Joseph rests his head on his shoulder, “have you always been alone?”

“No. Or, well, I don’t think so. I get flashes of memory from when I was really little. Like there’s this big house with lots people who look like me, and they’re talking and keep passing me around so the grown-ups can ruffle my fur and make this, this sort of” he breaks off into the low, soft hoots that echo down through the years, “and then...then there’s this gap and the next thing I remember is being dumped on the side of the road somewhere in central California, more or less an adult myself. I spent so long looking for my family, for anyone who looked like or could give me answers and all I got was some scars and a bunch of T.V shows about hunting me.” 

“That sounds awful. I, um, I’m glad you stumbled into my neck of the woods. I know I’m not always the best company and ask more questions about living around humans than you’d probably like but, um, you deserve to have at least one person on your side.”

“Thanks” Barclay tips his head sideways so it’s resting against Josephs’, “Uh if, if you ever want to, we could have a dinner here with Duck and them. I like cooking for people; one of those things I know about myself even if I can’t remember why.”

He must imagine the lips brushing his forehead as Joseph sits up, “I’ll invite everyone first thing tomorrow.”

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

A danger of sleeping in Joseph’s clearing is that Barclay feels safe. Starts sleeping like he has nothing to fear. 

The voices in the distance, jarring him awake in the dead of night, remind him of the truth.

“Shit” he scrambles out of the tent, piles it and all his other possessions into a hollow log and throws the moss blanket over it just to be safe. Then the worst sound in the world reaches him: barking. Not only are the hunters close, they have dogs. And, his acute hearing informs him, he’s their prey. 

Fuck, his scent and fur are all over this part of the woods, no wonder they’re honing in on him so fast. His best chance is to run and cross the river, but there’s an open stretch on the other side, so unless he’s lucky they’ll still spot him. 

“Hey! I think something is moving over here!” 

He flattens against the Copper Beech, narrowly dodging the beam of a flashlight. 

“Shit, shit” he doesn’t want to fight, doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He doesn’t want to be caught. Inhaling, he readies himself to give the loudest roar of his life. 

Then the world tips and twists and he’s no longer in the woods. He is, however, in a tree, if the view from the window is anything to go by.

Gasping sends his attention to the floor and he drops to his knees, scooping a limp, pale Joseph into his arms. 

“Wel, welcome to my house. Sorry it’s such a, a mess.”

He glances at the polished furniture, the neatly stacked books, and the spotless floor.

“Seriously, babe? That’s the first thing you say after saving my neck?” He giggles, tipping towards hysteria. 

“I couldn’t let them hurt you.”

“You could have died.” Barclay adjusts him so he’s mostly upright and hugs him close, “I coulda lost you why, why did you-”

His question is lost in the clumsy kiss Joseph pulls him into. Barclay’s body gives up on adapting to anymore surprises and he falls onto his back, the nymph weakly petting his cheeks as he tries, clearly exhausted, to continue kissing him. 

“You’re the most incredible being in the forest and, and I’ve been so happy since you came to stay. My entire body feels like a leaf beaten limp by the rain and I’d do the same spell this instant, without hesitation, if that’s what it took to keep you safe. Keep you with me.”

Carefully, Barclay guides him into another kiss, vines curling up them both the more he pours all his affection and thanks into the nymphs mouth. When Joseph finally pulls away, he nestles down on Barclays chest, running his fingers through his fur. 

“You, um, you may be here awhile. I’m not sure if I can get you out safely or if Dani and the others will have to help me.”

“No complaints here.” Barclay strokes his hair, which feels like soft leaves and normal locks all at once. 

Joseph answers a few more logistical questions before falling asleep in his arms, which is plenty of answers for one night. And in the morning, when the nymph rolls over to smile at him, he can confirm; the view from the bed is beautiful.

[contagiousprincess]

i defy you, stars- Chapter 1

“From your first cigarette to your last dyin’ day”

Two households, both alike in dignity

(In fair Verona where we lay our scene)

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life;

Whose misadventurous piteous overthrows

Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife.

The fearful passage of their death-marked love

And the continuance of their parents’ rage,

Which, but their children’s end, naught could remove,

Is now the two hours traffic of our stage;

The which, if you with patient ears attend,

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend

-William Shakespeare

The Whispering Woods were once tangled growth, full of creatures and plants alike waiting for their chance to claw to the surface. The soil was fertile and the air was sweet, but the area was crowded. The so called “whispering” was the noise of the wind pushing and squeezing it’s way through the brush and tightly woven tree trunks. Or, according to legend, it was the noise of the wildlife twisting, changing, moving to confuse lost travelers. 

No one was quite sure how the first people managed to make their stake along the banks of the river that ran through the heart of the forest and emptied into the ocean. But they imagined that they had to follow the forest's rules, because otherwise they would have been eaten up and spit out like the bugs that crawled along the skin of the ground. However they did it, those people weren’t alone for long.

Soon enough, another group came to compete, on the other bank of the river. The two different clans of people could have cooperated, learned to help each other, and survived to tell the tale to others. But just like the wildlife and fragrant trees before them, the two seemed determined to push the other down to reach the top, drawing lines in the silence that separated them. 

Where before, the forest was one giant, breathing body, a new word was introduced to the area: border. They fought for control of the harbor and the trade route along the river, but they were so evenly matched that no one ever won, instead locked forever in an endless stalemate.

So, the two groups began a bitter rivalry. One that continued for many, many, many years. Long after a bridge was built, connecting the two sides of the river for trade (though neither group would dare suggest it was necessary). Long after The Whispering Woods no longer whispered since the trees were gone and the wind had grown hot and stale. Long after the bugs and skin of the earth was replaced with cobblestone streets and alleys. So much long after, that now when asked what they were fighting over, the groups could not even remember, only that if the Horde and the Alliance ran into each other on the streets, someone would walk away badly hurt or worse. 

And this was how on a particularly sweltering hot day, six people almost died.

“Did you just flip us off?” Though most of her thick hair was pulled into a band beside her face, Mermista brushed the remaining pieces of hair out of her eyes, as if to make sure she was seeing clearly, but her dark eyes and thick eyebrows were dangerous, daring anyone to mess with her.

“And what if I did?” Lonnie catcalled, the sound ringing through the street. She was shorter, but stood tall, her boots planted firmly on the street with her hands on her hips. The braids on her head framed her face and softened the defined lines, but there was nothing soft about the way her mouth curled as she taunted the other girl.

“I’d tell you that if you apologize for it, we won’t beat you into a stain on the street.” Mermista stood shoulder to shoulder with Sea Hawk, who might not have been the sharpest tool in the box, but could fight just as well as the next guy. His dorky mustache and dumb boot and bandana combo seemed harmless enough, but he had a tendency to burn down anything in his path. Literally.

Lonnie considered this, and turned to Rogelio, who was broad and as mean as nails, visually and physically intimidating. “Do you think we would get arrested if I flipped them off again?”

“Yes,” Rogelio said simply. A man of few words, so when he used them, it was prudent to listen.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine.” Lonnie looked Mermista up and down and called, “I didn’t flip you off, but I was flipping someone off! Now, why are you still here?”

“You picking a fight?” Rogelio said. 

“Me? Pick a fight? Never,” Mermista said, eyes flashing.

“Watch it,” Rogelio grunted. 

“Now why would I do that?”

“Because Shadow Weaver is behind you!” yelled Lonnie, suddenly. She pointed, fear flashing across her face. Mermista and Sea Hawk spun around wildly, craning their necks, but they were only met with the normal hustle and bustle of the harbor. 

Lonnie busted out into laughter, doubling over and eventually having to sit on the ground to catch her balance and breath. She held her stomach, tears running down her face as her laughs echoed through the street. 

Mermista and Sea Hawk turned around, faces red and now so furious, sparks practically flew off of them. Sea Hawk unsheathed his sword and started towards them, but his friend grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, but he still strained against her.

“Oh, we got ourselves a comedian, huh?” Mermista drew her sword and faced them. “Personally, my favorite joke is the one where we pummeled the two Horde scrum into dust and they got washed down the river. The punchline always gets me.” 

Lonnie finally started to rise from the ground, and pulled out a dagger. “I’d like to see you try.”

Rogelio turned toward her, drawing his sword, and quietly said “Don’t forget that parry maneuver we’ve been working on. It’s all in the footwork.”

“Not the time, Rogelio! We have bigger problems, like a princess and her big fat mouth!”

At that, Mermista released Sea Hawk, and the four lunged towards each other. As soon as the clang of metal swords started to echo through the city, a young male voice could be heard yelling for them to stop. 

After a minute passed with no avail, an arrow careened over the group's heads, making a horrible screeching noise and catching their attention for a moment. Taking advantage of the opening, Bow pushed his way into the center, driving them apart. A top notch archer, the dark-skinned teen was well respected in the Alliance. He wasn’t necessarily the strongest, but agility and cleverness kept him on his toes, as well as alive. 

“Everybody back up! Do you have any clue what you’re doing?!” he screeched, desperately holding his hands up in a feeble attempt to keep them from colliding again. He finally managed to wrest Mermista’s sword out of her hand and pushed her and Sea Hawk away from the Horde teens. 

“We stand on thin ice as it is,” he said to the two of them. “Whatever the Horde trash did to provoke you isn’t worth it.” Raising his voice, he called, “They aren’t worth any of your time.” He gestured to Lonnie and Rogelio with Mermista’s sword, glaring as he did.

Lonnie opened her mouth to defend herself, but she was interrupted by another member of the Horde. 

Scorpia was tall and extremely buff, making Rogelio look like a prepubescent boy. Her shock of white hair on top was cropped close to her head and her eyes, normally kind and warm, were furious and focused. Scorpia, drawn by the sounds of fighting, had started running over seconds ago but now was faced with the sight of Bow pointing a sword at her two friends. 

She stormed in front of the two and stared down Bow, who paled upon seeing her. 

“Threatening my friends, Bow?” She towered over the other boy, and he craned his neck to see her. “Hope you had fun, because I won’t let it happen again.”

“I was trying to get them to stop fighting, Scorpia!” Despite their difference in size, he set his jaw and didn’t back down.

“With your sword drawn?” She scoffed.  “A likely story! You Alliance brats are always so high up on your horse, yelling about peace, complaining about the fighting but then you come into our territory and attack us when we mind our own business, and I, for one, am sick of it.” 

Bow began to speak very slowly and deliberately, as if explaining something simple to a child. “I. am. not. attacking. anyone. But if I was, it wouldn’t be much of a fight,” he smirked. 

Scorpia, enraged, drew herself up to her full height, and faced him, head on. “Lets have at it then,” she said, voice deadly even. 

Bow hesitated, and then knocked an arrow and drew it. “Fine with me”

Scorpia charged at him, leaping towards his head with her bare hands. Bow quickly ducked and rolled underneath her, coming up behind Scorpia on one knee. Just as her feet hit the pavement, he released his arrow. The arrowhead fractured in midair and split, shooting out a web, the delicate filaments of wire and carefully placed weights searching for a target to ensnare. 

The web slammed into Scorpia’s shoulder, biting into her skin and pulling her down, but only managed to wrap itself around her arm, fortunately for her. Unfortunately for Bow, Scorpia grabbed hold of the web and began to swing it, transforming her trap into a weapon. 

She advanced on him, taking the weighted net with her. Bow tried to back up and pull another arrow, but she closed in on him, taking advantage of his lack of close range weapons. She swung the web at him, and he ducked the first time, narrowly avoided the second, but on the third she feinted towards his head, changed course and then used her net to sweep his feet out from underneath him. 

Bow fell flat on his back, his head hitting the ground with a sickening thud, and Scorpia towered above him. She raised the heavy weights above her and started to bring them down on him, but a shout stopped her cold in her tracks. 

A small crowd of citizens had gathered, circling the group, but they during the fight began to chant something that completely baffled the six enemies. 

“Down with the fight! Down with the Horde! Down with the Alliance!”

The racket grew and grew, gathering almost all of the citizens not affiliated with either the Horde or the Alliance. The cacophony reached its peak when a horn call sounded and the crowd cleared a walkway and silenced. They stared up in awe as the 3 most powerful people in Whispering Woods strolled in front of them: Hordak, Shadow Weaver, and Angella. 

Hordak was muscular but not overly so. He walked with an odd gait, and his greasy black hair and beady eyes that were almost red were disquieting. But he radiated power, and as he walked the citizens bowed. Hordak was the Prince of the Whispering Woods, and he would be obeyed. 

Shadow Weaver was the leader of the Horde, one of the feuding groups, and Angella was the leader of the Alliance, the other. The two were both tall, but the similarities ended there. Shadow Weaver was lanky, and had long dark hair. She was clothed in deep red, and wore a mask covering her face. Even though her eyes couldn’t be seen, anyone who felt her stare grew anxious. Angella, on the other hand, was willowy, with long, bright hair. Her face was kind, but sharp. This along with the circlet inlaid with a pearl that sat on her forehead, immediately gave the impression that this was someone who was to be listened to and obeyed without question. 

The Prince strode in front of the other two, but they stood as far apart as possible, shooting each other with dark looks that made the citizens uneasy. Hordak, commanding the attention of every person in the street, sauntered up to where Scorpia still stood over Bow. Without saying a word, he flicked his wrist and Shadow Weaver and Angella untangled the two and dragged them as well as the other four to opposite sides of the circle that the crowd had formed. 

“Citizens!” Hordak boomed. “I have heard countless complaints about the feud which has led to this incident.” He sneered as he said it, making the fact that the enemies had almost killed each other seem as insignificant as childhood tomfoolery, and in a way, it was. “This ancient grudge has interrupted trade, caused countless injuries, and endlessly fosters riots and unrest amongst my people. It is high time for it to break.”

Angella and Shadow Weaver began to stammer, no doubt trying to pin the blame on the other, but Hordak simply held up his hand and they fell quiet. 

“I recognize that I cannot control the… feelings of my citizens.” His lip curled. “However, something still must be done. The city cannot stand with its people constantly fighting in the streets. So, my decision is this: whichever of you causes any more disturbance in my city will pay for it with their life.”

The crowd broke out into anxious murmurings, and the feuding groups began to protest, but Hordak held firm.

“I have made my decision. Now all of you go before I regret not ending you all here and now.” He leveled a glare at both groups and the citizens, who hesitated but began to disperse. Hordak turned his gaze to the women who led both groups and called out to them. “Shadow Weaver, follow me. Angella, I will speak with you later.”

The Horde and Alliance members all hesitated for a moment. 

“Was I unclear? GO!” roared Hordak.

With one final glare at each other, the two groups broke apart. Shadow Weaver fell into step behind Hordak, Angella led her Alliance towards the other side of the river, and Scorpia took the Horde members in the direction of their manor.

None of them noticed what was left behind. As they all meandered away, muttering darkly about their respective foes, a clear mark of the fight remained. Though no one could say exactly who it belonged to, it didn’t really matter in the end. 

A singular smear of sticky, scarlet-red blood stained the cobblestone street, seeping into the cracks in the mortar, already beginning to dry in the sweltering hot sun. 

notes: hiya! im katie and the idea for this fic basically mugged me in the middle of the night and i had to do something about it. this is just a teaser i think theres like a part two of chapter one but it was bulky and i wanted to post something bc why not. im not quite sure what im doing with this fic but i dont care im having fun lmfao. ive never written any fic before so be nice or i will block you i dont give a shit! this will probably go up on ao3 as soon as i can get an invite so for now this will live on tumblr yee haw! anyways lmk what yall think but only if its nice kk byeeee xoxoxo

[magniloquent-raven]

for the I Love You prompts: harringrove, 20) “You can borrow mine.”

thank you so much for the prompt!!! hope u enjoy what i did with it lol

posted on ao3

--

It’s been two years since the Hargrove-Mayfield family moved to Hawkins, and Billy is still here. He never planned on staying this long—in fact, he started coming up with an escape route the second his boots hit the ground, and yet…

Well, plans change. He didn’t plan on getting stabbed through the chest by a thirty-foot-tall spider demon made of people sludge either, but shit happens. Life happens. Falling in love happens, apparently. Not that Billy thought it would ever happen to him.

But here he is. In Hawkins, Indiana, head-over-fucking-heels, hanging around like a pathetic stray hoping for table scraps of whatever Steve Harrington’s willing to give him. They’re friends now, and Billy’s savouring every moment he can, while it lasts.

Steve asked him, one afternoon, why he was still here. “Figured you’d take off after graduation is all. Hawkins doesn’t exactly have much worth hanging around for,” he’d laughed, a little self-deprecating. “Besides, uh, a lot of bad memories here. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave.”

And Billy hadn’t known what to say. Muttered something about sticking around for Max, which wasn’t exactly a lie, but wasn’t anywhere close to the whole truth.

He spends a whole lot of time in that grey area. Weaving just enough reality into his cover-stories to make them solid enough to hide behind. It’s fucking exhausting. And sometimes a dangerous line to walk.

Especially since Steve seems to buy into his bullshit less and less lately.

Maybe it’s the fact that dying and coming back changes your perspective a bit, or hanging around Steve so much is making him soft, or some combo of both, but he’s starting to wonder if maybe he could let go of it entirely, and just…live honestly.

Which isn’t an option, not really. But sometimes, in the small moments when Steve smiles at him and the weight on his shoulders doesn’t feel as heavy, he thinks maybe, maybe, it could be. And it scares him a little. How much he wants it to be an option.

It’s a cold evening in mid-November the first time he really slips.

They’re at Robin’s house, of all places. Despite Billy’s jealousy over the closeness of her and Steve’s friendship, he gets along with Robin. Almost too well, according to Steve.

So, it’s a thing. All three of them hanging out at her place.

Her dad makes awesome mac n’ cheese. Her mom is friendly, but not too friendly. And they let Robin hang out in her room with two boys without making a huge fuss about it.

It’s nice.

Billy almost makes it through the whole evening without doing something stupid, but then Steve (somehow) spills an entire can of Coke on his jacket, and Billy opens his big mouth without thinking.

“You can borrow mine.”

The thing is…Billy doesn’t really get cold anymore. He gets warm still. Way too easily. Sometimes he’ll bundle up just to remind himself he can get warm without it hurting. Without the thing inside him dying of it and destroying him in the process. So, he still wears jackets, sweaters, whatever-- probably more often than he used to, actually-- but he doesn’t need them.

Sometimes he wonders if one day he’ll freeze to death without noticing, or if frostbite isn’t a thing for him anymore. He hasn’t had the balls to test it.

Either way it’s like the world’s dumbest super power. Just another thing reminding him of shit he doesn’t want to remember.

Steve is staring at him. At the jacket in his hand. It’s his leather one. The one Max bought for him after he came back from the hospital. She’d wrapped it up all pretty with a bow and note that said “glad you didn’t die” in purple ink. Susan was mortified when she noticed it but Billy laughed so hard he nearly busted his stitches. 

He’s worn the jacket almost every day since. 

Robin is staring too, with a weird, calculating look in her eye, and he doesn’t like it.

“I…” Steve’s gaze wavers, flickering between Billy’s face and his hand again, “I can just—”

“Just take it, Harrington,” Billy interrupts, hoping the gruffness covers for how pink his cheeks are. He tosses the jacket, and Steve catches it reflexively, still looking at it like he’s not sure it’s real.

“Are you sure?”

Is he sure. That he wants to know what Steve looks like in his jacket? Yes. That he wants anyone else to know that? No.

Billy shrugs, aiming for non-committal. “Not like I need it,” he gestures vaguely towards himself, “Not entirely human anymore, remember?” Bitterness creeps into his tone without his permission.

“Hey,” Steve admonishes. Quietly, softly, but still a reprimand. His eyes are wide, concerned. Billy tries to wave him off, but Steve shakes his head and takes a step closer. “Don’t do that. You’re not a monster.”

“I—” he can’t hold eye contact anymore, not with Steve looking at him like that. He stares at the ugly yellow carpet beneath his feet instead. “Didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did,” Steve responds immediately, tone firm and direct. Because he knows. Knows Billy better than anyone has in a long time. Which is saying something, because Billy is friends with a girl who’s literally been inside his head.

It makes Billy want to curl up in a hole somewhere and never speak again. Run as far as he can. Cry ‘til he can’t anymore. Break shit. Blow up his life and start over. Being known feels so foreign, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

But under that there’s something delicate, warm and fragile, tentative. He’s afraid to get near it. Like it’ll disappear if he looks too closely. Shatter into pieces if he tries to bring it out of hiding.

“Alright. Alright, fine,” Billy mutters weakly. “But just… wear the jacket, okay? Really. I don’t need it. Besides, it’d look good on you.”

Whoops.

Somewhere off to the side Robin makes a small, amused sound, and alarm bells go off in Billy’s head. But before he can completely panic, backpedal and pretend he was joking despite sounding entirely sincere, Steve grins.

They’ve been friends for over a year now and Billy’s world still stops for a moment when Steve smiles at him.

And then he puts the jacket on and…

Wow.

Okay.

Billy has always liked looking at Steve. He’s never really hidden that fact, just banked on nobody figuring out the why of it. He’s aware-- painfully aware-- that Steve is incredibly gorgeous. 

But this is...

This just isn’t fair.

Steve looks a little sheepish, and stuffs his hands in his pockets, hair falling in his eyes when he ducks his head. And he’s blushing. It’s faint, barely-there, just a light pink tinge to his cheeks that nobody would’ve noticed if they weren’t paying close attention, which. Well. Billy is. 

He wants to feel it under his palms, feel the warmth of it. Wants to know if he can make that blush spread, see how far it would go, chase that heat with his mouth, drop to his knees and watch Steve come undone. He wants--

So much.

He’s sure it’s written all over his face, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Well?” Steve raises his eyebrows, grin turning teasing as he spreads his arms, glancing down at himself pointedly. 

Billy clears his throat. Blinks. “Suits you,” he answers after a too-long pause. 

“Can we go now?” Robin interjects, rolling her eyes. Her tone is more fond than exasperated, but Billy still flinches a little.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, gaze flicking over to Steve for a second before he looks back at Robin. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He “forgets” to ask for his jacket back before he goes home that night. There’s no guarantee that Steve would wear it again, but Billy can hope. 

And for once in his life, he gets what he wants. Steve starts wearing it all the time. But Billy’s starting to see why people say “be careful what you wish for” because the whole situation is a very mixed blessing. 

He keeps catching Robin giving him weird looks, and, really, he can’t blame her because he’s been so unsubtle lately, it’s embarrassing. And terrifying. Because it’s going to get him noticed by the wrong person someday. 

But he can’t fucking help it, not when Steve’s walking around looking like that. 

Though, Steve’s been acting odd too. Staring at Billy when he thinks no one’s looking, face all pinched and thoughtful. It’s getting worrying. 

Then one afternoon Billy walks into Family Video and Steve pulls him into the back room. No hello or anything, just a hand around Billy’s wrist and a determined set to his jaw. 

He locks the door behind them.

“Steve?”

“I talked to Max this morning.” 

“O...kay?”

Steve sighs, runs a hand through his hair. His other hand is still wrapped around Billy’s wrist. “She said. Um. That jacket was a gift?”

Oh.

Shit.

“Yeah, so?” Billy flinches at his own tone but Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. His grip tightens, fingertips pressed to Billy’s skin hard enough to feel his pulse pounding. 

Steve takes a step forward. They’re close enough that Billy can see the purple shadows under Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t get enough sleep. Always asking Billy if he’s still having nightmares, never worrying about his own. Billy’s heart aches, and he hopes Robin will take care of Steve if this conversation ends his and Steve’s friendship. Someone needs to look after this boy if Billy isn’t there to do it. 

He hates that thought.

“So, I… Billy, why’d you give it to me?”

“Because…” Panic hits him hard, belatedly, as he tries to imagine actually answering that question. His stomach clenches, flips, and he curls in on himself. “Because you needed it,” he finishes lamely. 

But of course Steve sees through him, of course he does. “Really?” Steve sighs, rolling his eyes.

“What do you want from me, Steve?” Billy snaps, nervous energy making him jittery, he feels cornered, caught up in all the ways this could blow up in his face, trapped. He calms down a smidge when regret hits him, and he takes a breath, hates himself a little for snapping. 

“I want you to tell me it meant something, asshole.”

Billy freezes. 

He looks up at Steve, really looks at him, sees tension in his shoulders, the nervous twist of his mouth, uncertainty in his eyes. 

Oh.

“You...really?” Billy breathes, quietly, terrified of shattering the moment. “It does--it--it did, I--” Words have never failed him so completely. He used to be good at this. It would be utterly mortifying if not for the sweet smile spreading across Steve’s face. He’s strangely okay with making a fool of himself if it means Steve looking at him like that. “I wanted…” he squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself, “I wanted to take care of you. I always...want that. You needed something and I--I’d give you anything--” 

Steve’s hands are warm. He cradles Billy’s face gently, so careful, and tilts his face upwards until Billy meets his eyes. 

“Anything?” 

Well. No turning back now. Might as well embrace this whole honesty thing. “Yeah, pretty boy. Anything. Besides, you look hot as fuck in leather.”

Steve grins at that, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he lets out a huff of a delighted laugh. “In that case, I’m gonna need you to kiss me--”

He barely has time to finish his sentence before Billy lunges forward, crashing their lips together. It’s messy at first, desperate, Billy’s fingers threaded through Steve’s hair, pulling him closer. A whine escapes him (that he would deny later) when Steve pulls back, but he’s only gone for a second. He presses forward again, but gentler this time, slow, one hand falling to Billy’s waist and the other sliding to the back of his neck. 

Billy could’ve stayed like this forever, but a loud, insistent knock at the door makes them both jump.

“Steve, I don’t care if you’re mid-BJ right now, it’s my break, and you locked yourself in there with my stuff!” Robin yells through the door. 

Steve rests his forehead against Billy’s shoulder and he muffles a laugh into his shirt. “Goddamnit, Robin,” he mutters, and lifts his head to glare at the door, “Alright!” he calls, then turns to Billy. “To be continued?” There’s a question in his eyes, more than what he’s saying out loud.

Billy brushes a lock of hair from his face, and grins, “Count on it.”

[notdeadjack]

annual rec list 2020

13 fandoms represented:

Part 1: 55 fics total

Leverage: 13 fics Star Wars: 3 fics  Star Trek: 2 fics  Haikyuu!!: 13 fics   Teen Wolf: 3 fics Jurassic Park: 1 fic The Witcher: 1 fic  Merlin: 3 fics  Borderlands: 2 fics  She-Ra and the Princesses of Power: 2 fics Naruto: 8 fics  Dorohedoro: 3 fics 

Part 2:

Boku no Hero Academia: 211 fics here

If the read more breaks, I am truly sorry oTL

List split into two bc tumblr called me out on reading too many fics and wouldn’t let me post all of them at once boo

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Leverage

.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/799639    your body is a war zone but you are not a ruin by postcardmystery    2k, Alec/Parker/Eliot, 

“Make me a sandwich,” Parker says, so he does.

“Cut the damn wire,” says Hardison, so he does.

“Jump,” says Parker, says Hardison, and he never needs to ask, “How high?”

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/12475840    Well Worn, Well Loved by BabylonsFall    3k, Alec/Parker/Eliot, fluff, sharing clothes, 

You would think, given everyone’s space issues this wouldn’t be a thing. But it was. And none of them were complaining.

(Everyone steals each others clothes. They're all surprisingly okay with it.)

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/6363724    Hotel Heart by Laughsalot3412    45k, Alec/Parker/Eliot, canon-AU, psychic abilities, mind rape, 

He had a sniper rifle scoping the girl’s bright eyes and the guy’s smile.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/1407967    The Safe and Sound Job by flutterflap    15k, Alec/Parker/Eliot, injury, h/c, 

Eliot Spencer doesn't do hospitals.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/3861028    like a map of a place you've never been by bydaybreak    24k, Alec/Parker/Eliot, pining, slow burn, fake/pretend relationship, 

He knows it’d be so fucking easy, if he’d let himself. Because he’s easy for them, has been since that first job, since the day he hauled Hardison’s ass out of a building about to explode. It’d be so easy.

So he won’t.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/3928687    the warmth of your doorways by gyzym    3k, Alec/Parker/Eliot, 

Don't let me in with no intention to keep me.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/1357111    Old Dog by thingswithwings   16k, Alec/Parker/Eliot, service submission, bdsm, mild puppy play, 

Eliot's their hitter, and taking on any physical threats to the team is his job, but there's something beyond professionalism – even beyond the obvious fact that Eliot relishes the fight itself – in the way he puts his body between Parker or Alec and any potential threat. Alec has a good view of Eliot's back on a lot of jobs, and he reads something in the tight line of Eliot's shoulder, in the slow turn of his foot as he steps into a fighting stance.

Something possessive.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/8823406    Motion Parallax by Laughsalot3412    8k, Alec/Parker/Eliot, outsider pov, 

So, apparently Amy’s boss was part of a criminal gang.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/9071065    Wash the sorrow from off my skin by Keiya    2k, Alec/Parker/Eliot, soulmates, 

He lays on his bed and knows without a doubt that his soulmates can read Fucking Genius on their skin, or maybe just Genius, but Fucking gives a ring to it.

Because he is, baby, he is.  

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854310    Love (By Any Other Name) by ChouetteAnanas41    5k, Alec/Parker/Eliot, 

Eliot fell in love on a Tuesday.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/3928888    Pancakes by saavik13     7k, Alec/Parker/Eliot, mentions of rape and child abuse, h/c, 

Parker can't ever ask a simple question.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/3556844    No Time Like the Present by waterbird13    22k, Alec/Parker/Eliot, past Moreau/Eliot, violence, murder, child murder, 

Eliot's past with Damien Moreau is even more complicated than most people know about, and of course that would come up again when dealing with his incredibly complicated present feelings for Parker and Hardison. Eliot isn't a hundred percent sure how love works, but he's pretty positive it exists only to bite him in the ass.  

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/4542576    Guard Your Eggshell Heart by letsgostealafandom    14k, Alec/Parker/Eliot, praise kink, 

Parker had a theory, and her theory was this: it made Eliot really happy when they noticed the things he did for them. It made Eliot happy when they made sure he knew they noticed the things he did for them. And when Eliot thought they didn't notice, it made him- not unhappy, but something worse, something like he knew that was all he could expect from anyone and he'd resigned himself to it a while back. Once she'd noticed it, she couldn't stop, and the realization of how often they took Eliot for granted made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

.

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Star Wars

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/5783371    This is Called Falling by Cartopathy    24k, Finn/Poe, h/c, 

Poe stood and he walked, remembering suddenly his only friend on the planet was gone and there was little hope of finding a town, much less hospitality.

And yet he walked in hope.

There was a stormtrooper—he needed to find the stormtrooper. ________________________________

“Was Poe important to you? You were close in the Resistance?” Rey asked.

Finn cleared his throat. “Yes, because I’m in the Resistance and he was in the Resistance so we've known each other for a while. He was important to me, yes.”

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/18546007    Stop Your Fear by gloss    12k, Finn/Poe, sex pollen, dub-con, public sex, pining, 

Imprisoned by space pirates, Finn and Poe get to know each other better. When Finn gets whammied with sex pollen, Poe helps him out, not entirely unselfishly.

Afterward, they try to clean up the mess and take care of each other.

please note: sex is entirely consensual, but within a compromised situation. Dub-con, not non con.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/6904006    Against Disaster by gloss    29k, Finn/Poe, pining, PTSD, 

Not that he loved Finn. There was no way he could love someone he'd spoken to for all of ten minutes, no matter how lifechanging those minutes proved to be.

He loved the feeling of it all. The thrill, the novelty, the rush. Everything he'd shared with Finn had been more exciting than the rest of his life put together, and his life had been far from sedate.

That's what he told himself, anyway.

__ Poe's a disaster and Finn's still got a lot of brainwashing to work through.

.

-

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Star Trek 

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/849107   Treasures by yeaka    17k, Kirk/Spock, AU, pon farr, soul bond, 

Sometimes the other Vulcans wonder how Spock managed to obtain such an exotic bondmate, and sometimes Spock wonders himself.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/11697684    Echolocation by Darksknight    8k, Kirk/Spock, 

Kirk and Spock don’t realize that they’ve bonded right away. The rest of the crew is a different story.

.

-

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Haikyuu!!

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/21762448    discovering the smile of one kageyama tobio by Emlee_J    8k, Hinata/Kageyama, fluff, 

Kageyama blinks once before a grin of his own spreads over his face. Shouyou’s breath halts in his lungs at the sight, and he wills for time to stop, just so he can drink it in. He sees it sometimes, when they’re playing - Kageyama’s fierce smile when they pull a combo off just right, when they show their opponents how possible the impossible can really be. But then there’s another serve, another rally, and the moment is gone.

'Shame', Shouyou thinks to himself, as he lets his eyes roam over Kageyama’s stupidly happy face, taking in the creases that are from joy rather than frowning, for a change. 'It’s a really nice smile.'

-

In which it's their third, and final, year in high school and Hinata has only one goal: to make Kageyama smile outside of volleyball.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/5479973    75% Useless Pining by ravelqueen   4k, Nishinoya/Asahi, pining, hair kink, 

People often ask Asahi why he keeps his hair long. He gives them a different reason every time, from being too lazy to cut it, over saying he thinks it looks nice on him, to just ducking his head and hoping they'll move on.

The actual reason is pettier and smaller and has nothing to do with his fashion sense and everything to do with Nishinoya.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/2330126    Exception to the rule by Mysecretfanmoments   2k, Sugawara/Daichi, 

In which Sugawara Koushi just so happens to belong to the .001% of guys Daichi might conceivably fall for, and it takes a confused third party for Daichi to realize it.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/21580309    Just Another by Mooifyourecows    103k, Sugawara/Daichi, drama, humour, childhood friends, flip-flopping,

Everything is changing. But in the midst of exams, plans for the future, nationals, and a tumultuous new fracture to his family life, at least Sawamura Daichi can always count on his friendship with Sugawara Koushi to stay the same.

Or so he thought.

-

(RN: some of the best flirting i’ve ever read. also, Sugawara’s family? A++)

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/2940728    boys by buu    5k, Sugawara/Daichi, 

Before, if Suga had been asked to pick a type, he would have hummed and thought it over, maybe said something vague like “nice eyes” or “nice legs” or “a good personality”. Now, he can only think “Daichi”.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/3189353   Perfectionism by Mysecretfanmoments    2k, Sugawara/Daichi, practise kissing, accidental boners, 

“I just wish it was something you could practice before you have to… perform.” He narrows his eyes, imagining it. “Like a CPR class.”

Suga raises an eyebrow. “You want to practice it. Beforehand.”

“Yeah. Are you offering?”

((Daichi doesn't like to be bad at things--kissing included--and Suga is willing to help him practice.))

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/6411370    Jealousy by surveycorpsjean    7k, Sugawara/Daichi, jealousy, 

It’s so horrid- it feels like sludge in Suga’s stomach, like poison in his veins, like an itch behind his skin.

It burns, it stings. He hates it, he hates it more than anything, but he can’t help it.

He’s hopelessly in love.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/7496004    Hinata Shouyou's Fucking Face by Esselle    17k, Hinata/Kageyama, 

'Kageyama doesn't know why Hinata's face rubs him the wrong way—it just does. So one day, in an attempt to pinpoint exactly what it is that makes Hinata's Shouyou's fucking face so fucking annoying, he begins to catalogue all the things that really tick him off.

This proves to be startlingly revelatory.'

--

A thought-provoking study and critical analysis of Hinata Shouyou's stupid face, by Kageyama Tobio.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/1831732    need a friend you can fuck, i can be that by readbetweenthelions    5k, Nishinoya/Tanaka, friends with benefits, 

noya and tanaka are just really good friends who have a bit of good, not-exactly-clean friendly sex sometimes. here's the first time it happens.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/3332642    it's fine by lokh    2k, Nishinoya/Tanaka, phone sex, just dudes being bros, 

have you ever wanted to jack off but you're in the middle of talking to someone and you can't exactly tell them that you've gotta jack off so you either sit through it awkwardly or make an excuse to leave? imagine that they found out and tell you that it's fine if you just jack off mid-conversation. now imagine that it's not you and it's tanaka and noya. that's the whole plot.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/5103794   find out what we're made of by sweggscellent    2k, Nishinoya/Tanaka, first kiss, frottage, 

It’s weird, noticing things about your best friend when your best friend is literally the goofiest person on the planet, but Noya does; the swell of his powerful calves, the line of his back when his tee shirts cling to it with sweat, the strangely graceful determination on his face when they’re up against a particularly strong team. It almost makes Noya uncomfortable.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/6205864   Rule 4 by mean_whale    15k, Nishinoya/Tanaka, friends with benefits, friends to lovers, 

Nishinoya and Tanaka are tricked into watching gay porn, and curiosity gets the better of them.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/5979136    Roundabout by Shaples    12k, Nishinoya/Tanaka, past asanoya, post-canon, emotional h/c, 

“Actually I, uh. I was thinking I might stick around. Like, long term? I mean, if you haven’t already found someone to rent the other room, and you still. You know. Want to live together.”

Tanaka’s eyes widened in surprise. “I thought that you and Asahi were-”

“Yeah,” Noya said. “We aren’t.”

“Oh,” he said. And when Noya didn’t look up from the label on his beer bottle, Tanaka breathed out, “Shit.”

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/13344624    And They Were Roommates by Hella_Queer    7k, Hinata/Kageyama, first time, trans character, 

“I can like...eat you out if you want.”

Silence surrounds them. This was it. Three years of friendship down the tubes. Kageyama would move out, or demand he move out, and he'd be forever branded as the Pervert Roommate. No one would talk to him ever again. His life was over!

“Okay.”

“Whaaaaa?!”

.

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Teen Wolf

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/22812937    Five Times Derek Heard Something He Wished He Hadn’t, and the One Time He Did by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)   14k, Stiles/Derek, 5+1, pining, 

“This place is hell,” Derek decided. “This place is absolutely hell.”

How was it possible he’d gone so many years of his life without hearing anything nearly as over the top as he had just visiting Stiles at school? This had to be some kind of record for the most disgusting things he’d ever overheard.

--

(I mean really, the title says it all lol)

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/27872045    Can You Feel A Whole New Part of Your World? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)    53k, Stiles/Derek, AU, neighbours, fluff, 

“Can you hear me singing in the shower?” Stiles blurted out, because he had to know, now. If one of his neighbours had slid that note under his door, then it meant Parrish as another neighbour could hear him, too! He had to know if this was all a huge joke and one person had walked by and overheard him and decided to fuck with him.

Or if everyone could hear him and he now had to leave the country.

Parrish gave him a weird look at the question, but answered anyway, making Stiles’ plans to leave the country speed up in his mind.

“Of course I can. You’re actually not bad. Though you have been singing a lot of Frozen lately, getting kind of tired of the soundtrack.”

“Oh my God!” Stiles shouted in his face.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156885    you're never too much of an old dog to teach a duckling a new trick by driedupwishes    2k, gen, light angst, 

“Y’know, it’d be real neat if someone gave me a gun,” Stiles says.

And Chris does.

.

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Jurassic Park

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/5199038   5 Times the Raptors Tried to Kill Miriam, and 1 Time They Didn’t by JulisCaesar   22k, OCs, gen, blood, science, freaking dinosaurs heck yeah!

Miriam thought the job working for InGen sounded perfect. Tropical island, good pay, first dibs on publications… At least, she thought so until she found out that she was the only behaviorist on staff. Once the eggs hatched, it became all she could do to keep up–with the dinosaurs, the science, and her health.

.

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The Witcher

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/22247587   swallow my breath and take what is mine by anacaoris    6k, Jaskier/Geralt, first time, sugar baby!geralt, 

“It began with the baths.

It had been so easy to dismiss at first. Some attempted to win him over with kindness-with-a-catch when in need of something, a bed for the night, a pouch of coin, a good drink to lower the cost.”

Jaskier likes to take care of Geralt. Geralt very quickly takes notice.

.

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Merlin (BBC)

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/7287    In Want of a Wife by syllic    43k, Merlin/Arthur, 

When Merlin first hears that Arthur has been betrothed, his ribs pull inwards with an odd little hitch, and he only allows himself a second—which he needs in order to coordinate spinning in place without falling on his face—before he’s running to Arthur’s chambers.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/2193282   The Frog Prince by Clea2011     58k, Merlin/Arthur, canon AU, disability, 

Canon era AU. A teenage Arthur is hit by a mutation spell intended for Uther. Unable to speak and hidden away by his father because of his appearance, Arthur is left lonely and isolated. A few years later Gaius takes on a new apprentice, someone who can understand Arthur and see through the enchantment. Someone with magic.

But breaking the spell was never going to be easy.

.   

https://archiveofourown.org/works/835089    Such a Life, a Heart, a Mind as Thine by dreamlittleyo    42k, Merlin/Arthur, sex pollen, first time, non-con, soul bond, guilt, 

In which Arthur inadvertently triggers an ancient magic, but he does not face the consequences alone.

.

-

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Borderlands

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/8628043   How They Met Themselves by Wheat From Chaff (wheatfromchaff)    205k, Timothy/Rhys, slow burn, past abuse, 

Rhys wants to change Pandora. He wants to make things better, build things up. He wants, more than anything, to prove Jack wrong.

Tim just wants to get paid.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/9951275    you'll find me buried by Wheat From Chaff (wheatfromchaff)    7k, Jack/Timothy, fight club, hate sex, dub-con, 

It's not every day you face yourself in the ring.

.

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She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/16748245    tooth for a tooth by nowweareunstoppable    3k, Adora/Catra, exploration, first time, biting, 

Now, though, Adora was on top of her, and her chest heaved in a way that was decidedly not sleepy. She pleaded with Catra with her eyes, then her words, “Please, I just-” before cutting off, not knowing what to even ask for.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/19767655    More than Words by SimonKilnsworth    5k, Kyle/Rogelio, first time, 

Rogelio gets woken up in the night as Kyle struggles with his feelings. 

.   

-

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Naruto

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https://archiveofourown.org/series/37259    Ten Years Gone series by 100demons    80k, gen, time-travel, 

Thirty year old Kakashi was supposed to have been killed by Pein during the Invasion. Instead, he wakes up in the body of his twenty year old self.

(It gets a lot more complicated.)

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/25538635    Better It Be You by cricket_aria    4k, Kakashi/Sakura, dodging arranged marriage, 

When Sakura's parents realize that she would be ill-trained for any job in the civilian world should she ever be too badly injured to remain a ninja they decide to try to arrange a marriage for her with one of the members of a major clan, so that at least if that day comes she'll still have value within the ninja community. Too bad they didn't discuss it with her first.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/14143890   the chosen fruit by theformerone    51k, Sakura/Shikamaru, AU, honey pot, sex work, exhibitionism, implied non-con, kidnapping, drama, politics, 

Sakura is a rōnin, but she's good enough with a blade to find work. She's trusted at Fukiage because she's a nameless woman who can't afford to bite any hand that feeds her.

Shikamaru's awful attitude makes him a favorite in the teahouse. He makes his money on his back but his real trade is information. There is rot in Fire Country. Shikamaru sees it, and he is going to burn it at the roots.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304705     Being Over-Prepared is Impossible (and other mottos) by Pleasedial123   gen, 40k, canon-AU, BAMF!team 7, 

In one world, Kakashi awoke, felt grieved at being assigned a team he sees his own in, and he let that grief make him a lazy teacher. He saw himself in Sasuke, Obito in Naruto, and Rin in Sakura. He woke, saw himself in them, and took a large step back, regretting accepting them as his new team. In another world he was quite hands off, merely a watcher because it was so very painful to watch. He saw himself and all his mistakes in this new team of his.

In this world, Kakashi awoke, saw the similarities, and instantly panicked. He suddenly realized what he had done, passing a team. Kakashi was left scrambling not to repeat old mistakes and regrets. This team would not suffer the fate of his team.

In this world, simply put, Kakashi became a teacher. This is the starting of a new Team seven.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/13690269     there to welcome you home by theformerone    1k, Sakura/Neji/Shikamaru, fluff, 

Sakura gives birth to their daughter in the bathtub in the main house on the Nara compound.

Neji comes home and nearly has a stroke.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/14902124    brown eyes steal me by theformerone   10k, Kiba/Shikamaru, canon-au, arranged marriage, mutual pining, 

"You planted a -,"

"I planted a tree, Ino, I know, I was there."

"Kousa," she says, finishing as if he never interrupted. "Not very original, but cute. You think that'll be what you name your firstborn?" 

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/18913750    gonna give you all my love, boy by theformerone    2k, Sakura/Shikamaru, first time,

Shikamaru is a (maybe ace?) virgin. Sakura is not either of those things. It still all works out. Sexually, speaking.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/18756313    Consideration: Or, The Smart Kids Get (It) Together by cairn    12k, Sakura/Shikamaru, friends to lovers, 

Noun: Consideration 1. Careful thought, typically over a period of time. 2. A fact or a motive taken into account in deciding or judging something. 3. Law: (in a contractual agreement) anything given or promised or forborne by one party in exchange for the promise or undertaking of another.

"You want to give yourself cancer?" she had asked.

"Good afternoon, Sakura," he'd drawled back. "So nice to see you so unexpectedly."

.

-

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Dorohedoro

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/25767034    I Am Intrinsically No Good by Medegela    2k, Noi/Shin, accidental voyeurism, sexual tension, masturbation, 

They had recently renewed their partnership for the third time and things he faintly noticed and always dismissed before were amplified. He knew now that she also enjoyed watching him, he knew that the same kind of release ran through her when she saw him, and he was sure of that because of the contract.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/12192696    Secondhand Smoke by dirtbag    -1k, Noi/Shin, unresolved romantic tension, magical shotgunning, 

They sure do this a lot, for something that's so endlessly frustrating.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387897    Love Is a Verb by dirtbag    4k, Noi/Shin, pegging, 

Shin can’t figure out why Noi is so insistent on being careful with him tonight when he’s pretty sure he’s come out of her bedroom mildly concussed before.

.

[biillyhargroves]

A harringrove fluff prompt with a combo of: “I know it smells bad, but you’ll feel better, trust me” and “I’m not going to yell at you”

hot to the touch(fic requests open)

Steve Harrington does not get sick. 

Sure, there was a bought of ear infections in the second grade, but who didn’t go through that? And in the third grade there was the chicken pox so bad he still has little pockmarked scars speckling his sides. And, yeah, okay, there was the Great Strep Throat Fiasco of 1976, three weeks that will live in infamy. But outside of his pre-adolescent pink eye and the week of relentless bronchitis in freshman year, Steve Harrington does. not. get. sick. 

Except, of course, when he does.

It starts as a tickle in his throat. He chalks it up to hay fever, pops an allergy pill from his mother’s medicine cabinet, and heads to school. By the end of first period, the tickle has become a cough that reaches deeper and deeper into his chest as the day goes on. He wears his letterman jacket to third period to ward off the chill he swears is coming from the draft, even if Carol swears she can’t feel a thing and Nicole points out he’s not even near a vent. By lunch, Tommy has to catch him before he face-plants into his meatloaf. The resulting clamor catches Billy’s attention, as Steve shoves Tommy away from him and Carol starts to berate him for refusing Tommy’s help. 

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Billy asks, one brow raised as Steve stumbles toward the door. 

“Nothing,” Steve says a bit too aggressively. Billy holds up a hand in mock-defense.

“Shit,” he says. “Fine. Sorry I fucking asked.”

“It’s not,” Steve starts, then says, “I didn’t mean-” and then, “I’m fine.”

“Keep lying,” Billy shrugs. “Fuck if I care.”

But he can’t keep his eyes off of Steve as Steve retreats down the hall, slipping into the boy’s room where he will take up a stall for the remainder of the day.  Billy thinks about going after him, but they’ve set rules for a reason: at school, it’s business as usual. No public displays, no cause for suspicion. They avoid each other when they can, and when they can’t, it’s the same old song and dance. So far, it seems to be working, and Billy’s not about to fuck it up for them both. 

Max, though, is an observant kid. She knows that something’s wrong when she slams the car door shut and the Camaro is still in park. They’r not speeding away. Billy has an unlit cigarette pinched between his fingers and his drumming his fingers to a beat that isn’t there because he hasn’t switched the radio on. 

“Dustin said Steve looked sick yesterday,” she says casually.

“Why would I care?” Billy snaps. 

“Was he at school?” Max asks.

“Yeah,” Billy says. He doesn’t look at Max at all, and Max cranes her neck to see over the dashboard. She points to the red Beemer idling by itself in the high school parking lot.

“Isn’t that Steve’s car?” she asks.

“How the fuck should I know?”

“Because he’s driven you home in it, dumbass.”

“The fuck did you just call me?”

“He’s in the car,” Max says. “I think. It looks like he is.”

“You obsessed with Harrington now?”

“You are.”

“You’re a real shit, Max, you know that?”

“Just go check on your boyfriend.”

“Max!” Billy slams his palm hard against the steering wheel, hard enough to shake the dash and loud enough to get Max to jump back in her seat. She shrinks back for a moment, her eyes wide, as Billy rounds on her- nostrils flared and eyes hot. She swallows thickly, then juts her chin out towards him.

“No one’s even here,” she says. “No one’s gonna see you.” 

Billy half-sighs, half-growls as he sags back against his seat. He scans the parking lot- which is, as Max pointed out, empty. Then he glares back at Max.

“You say anything about this to anyone, you’re dead.”

“Who am I gonna tell?”

“Just shut up and stay in the car.”

Before Max can answer him, Billy flings open his door. He strides across the boundary between Hawkins Middle School and Hawkins High School and makes his way to Steve’s car, which has been parked but running since fifteen minutes after the final bell. Billy ducks down as he approaches, squinting into the car. Steve is in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, eyes half-closed. Billy hovers, waiting to be noticed, and when Steve doesn’t look at him he raps his knuckles against the window. 

Steve jolts awake, scrambling frantically to roll down the window and looking dazed as his wide eyes met Billy’s. “I don’t-” he starts, then stammers, “I can-”, and then he starts to say something else but Billy holds up a hand to stop him.

“Easy,” he says. Steve blinks rapidly, and his flushed cheeks turn redder as he registers who he’s look at it. As Steve is connecting dots, Billy is opening his car door and reaching down to unbuckle his seatbelt. 

“Woah, woah, woah, I thought we said-”

“Do you know what time it is?” Billy asks. “Everyone’s gone. Let’s go.”

“I don’t-”

“Out of the car, Harrington.”

“I have to-”

“-not fucking drive, is what you have to do.” 

“Billy, I-” But Billy has slipped a hand beneath Steve’s arm and is hauling him to his feet. Steve stumbles out of the car, falling hard against Billy as he tries to find his footing. His blush deepens further and he tries to push himself off, mumbling apologies.

“Relax,” Billy tells him, already beginning to guide him back to the Camaro. “I’m not gonna yell at you.” He opens the back door of the Camaro, giving Max a pointed look as he helps Steve into the back seat. “Lay down, Harrington. You look like shit.”

“S’not nice,” Steve grumbles, but he does fall against the back bench of the car. Billy falls heavily into the driver’s seat and tells Max to turn around. She rolls her eyes, but does as he says, and she says nothing as Billy drives right past Cherry Lane and makes the sharp left turn onto Steve’s street. His parents are out for the week- Max knows this because Billy had spending nights at Steve’s, something that Dustin asked her about when he stopped by to borrow something and saw Billy’s car parked around the corner. 

With no parents home, Billy parks in the driveway. He secures Steve’s arm around his shoulders and instructs Max to take Steve’s keys. She uses the house key to open the front door, and then Billy tells her not to break anything.

“I’m not five, asshole.”

“Shut up and sit down, shitbird.”

Max settles herself in the living room as Billy hauls Steve up the stairs, Steve protesting the whole way up, swearing up and down that he can walk on his own and he doesn’t need help and he’s not sick, Billy, stop saying that because Steve Harrington does not get sick. 

“Get in the fucking bed,” says Billy once they make it to Steve’s room.

“Oh, that’s how this is gonna go?” Steve hums with a sly grin, but his charm is hindered by the hacking cough that breaks up his words. Billy takes a pair of sweatpants from Steve’s drawer, then a t-shirt from another.

“No way in hell,” Billy says. “I’m not catching that shit.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Steve says. “I don’t get sick.”

“Whatever, Harrington,” Billy says. He tosses the clothes at Steve. “You look like road kill.”

“You’re a real dick, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Billy says. “I’ve heard. Get changed. I’ll be right back.”

Billy leaves Steve in a bundle of blankets and gym clothes and retreats down the stairs. Max, who had been in the living room flipping through channels on a television she thinks is probably bigger than Mike’s and Dustin’s combined, abandons her search when she hears Billy start to rummage through the kitchen. She watches from the doorway as he pulls a bottle of apple cider vinegar from Mrs. Harrington’s cupboard. He pulls little spice bottles from a rack on the counter and starts to shake them all into a cup: onion powder, garlic, ginger. He even cuts a lemon in half and squeezes the juice in. Just the thought of that combination makes Max wrinkle her nose.

“Are you gonna poison him or something?”

“What did I tell you?” Billy snaps.

“I mean, that shit is rank.”

“Max,” Billy warns.

“Whatever,” Max sighs. “Just try not to kill him with that shit. I like Steve.”

“I’m not gonna kill him,” Billy says. He uses a spoon to mix the possibly-not-poison, then grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator and pushes past Max to get back upstairs. He stops off in the bathroom and raids the medicine cabinet, shaking some Tylenol from its bottle before returning to Steve, who is half-dozing and half-dressed when Billy arrives. “Oh, yeah,” Billy says. “You’re not sick at all.”

“Shut up,” Steve mumbles. Billy sets his haul on the nightstand. He reaches for Steve, who squirms and ducks away from him until Billy’s palm lands against his forehead. 

“Shit, Harrington,” Billy says. His tone softens and he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed. He moves his hand from Steve’s forehead and gentle brushes Steve’s hair out of his face. “C’mere,” he says. “Sit up.” He piles pillows behind Steve’s head as Steve pushes himself upright. 

“It’s nothing,” Steve says. “I’m fine,”

“Uh-huh,” Billy says. He grabs the concoction he’d made downstairs and offers the cup to Steve. “Drink this.” 

“What the fuck is that?” Steve asks, turning his head away from the cup and raising one hand to push it away. 

“Yeah, I know,” Billy says. “It smells like shit. But you’ll feel better, trust me.” Steve looks warily at Billy and reluctantly takes his offering. He takes one sip, then coughs and tries to hand it back to Billy, but Billy opens his palm so he can’t take it back. “Nope,” he says. “Whole thing. Come on. Chug it.” 

Steve groans, but he tips his head back and downs the rest of the offending drink. Billy takes the empty glass, then offers Steve the Tylenol and water, which he downs like a chaser. 

“What the hell kind of poison was that?” Steve asks.

“Something my mom used to give me,” Billy says, “when I was a kid. I got these really nasty colds, and she was all into natural remedies. Most of it sounded like bullshit, but this shit works.”

“You swear?” Steve asks. “Because I think it made everything on my inside want to be on my outside.”

“It’ll settle down,” Billy says. As they talk, Steve slips further down on the pillows and seems to move closer and closer to Billy. Billy sets the water bottle on the nightstand and settles his now-freed hand against Steve’s back as Steve drops his head onto Billy’s lap. 

“Hey, Billy?” Steve mumbles sleepily. Billy rubs his thumb against the back of the Steve’s neck, and Steve’s breathing begins to slowly even out, every few breaths punctuated with a tiny cough. 

“Yeah?” Billy says.“I think I’m sick,” Steve says.

“No shit,” Billy says. “How’re you feeling now?”

“Um,” Steve says. “Okay. I think. Your mom’s weird poison thing is kind of working.”

“You want me to go?” Billy asks. “You should get some sleep.”

“I can sleep with you here,” Steve says. 

Billy listens to the muffled sound of the television downstairs, thinks of the distance between himself and Max and Neil, feels the comforting weight and Steve settled sleepily in his lap and says, “Then I guess I’m staying.”

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Would You Be Mad? (SMUT)

anonymous said: Since requests are open can I request a smutty yet fluffy Bri please ? 💞

(a/n: srry for any typos im posting this RLLY quick before i go into work so pls dont roast me ok enjoy ur sinful sunday u nasties. also as always gif creds to @imladrs)

There were a lot of things in life you’d expected to hear from Brian May. Let me tune my guitar again, did you hear about this obscure blah blah scientific find, Roger’s an arse, why is Freddie being a tart, is there a meat-free option – you had heard them all. You expected them, and in turn, you received.

“If I kissed you, would you be mad at me?” was not one of those things. But now you had heard it, live and in the flesh, and you had no idea how to react.

You had chose to spend the night in, declining a night on the town with the boys, and Brian ended up missing you about an hour into drinking, so his tipsy giant self managed to show up on your doorstep, looking undeniably fit in a simple green polyester button up and black trousers. The buttons of the shirt were undone to the middle of his chest and was askew from his hour at the club, revealing hints of a gently tanned, slim torso, and his mid-waist trousers only accentuated his already long legs. He’d drank just enough to give his eyelids a bit of weight, and the way he looked at you with heavy hazel eyes and a toothy grin made your cheeks heat up.

God, keep it in your pants, you’d thought as you let him in. And maybe he’d been thinking the same. After all, you weren’t expecting company, so your lace and silk teddy/shorts combo was practically leaving little to be desired for. But neither of you had followed that rule tonight, and now you were here, Brian fucking May asking if you would be angry if he kissed you. As if.

It started out innocent enough. You’d invited him in, gotten him a glass of water and some snacks. He was grateful, and sat cross-legged on the end of your pull-out couch’s bed, snacking away. You returned to your laying position you’d been in before he’d arrived, on your side facing him, when he’d suddenly brought up your ex in the middle of polite conversation.

“How is Colin?” he asked, visibly sneering as he said his name and making you laugh as you toyed with the pages of your book, not really reading at this point. Brian was now laid down at a weird angle, his head resting against your stomach as he laid across the diagonal length of the bed so that his feet weren’t dangling off. Sitting your book to the side, you began to play with a piece of his hair and pursed your lips, trying to think of the last time you’d heard from Colin.

You knew Brian had always disliked him thoroughly, and this had led to Colin accusing Brian of trying to steal you from him, which had blown up into this whole big thing that ended in Colin leaving and Brian trying to avoid seeing you so he wouldn’t upset you. But it didn’t last. Brian was back within a few weeks, showing up at random times to spend the day with you. After all, you’d both clearly preferred each other’s company the most for a long time, and had been close friends for even longer. Even Roger was jealous of how much time Brian spent with you, but he never made a big deal about it with Brian. Instead, he made it a running joke, but that was okay with you, and you assumed it was okay with Brian (It was - he loved it).

“Haven’t got a clue, honestly,” you admitted, twirling a single curl around your finger before slowly stretching it out. “Haven’t seen him since he showed up on my doorstep drunk last month,” you teased playfully, giving his hair a gentle tug and smiling softly. “But I turned him away.”

Brian, unbeknownst to you, gasped softly and shifted his hips, turning a brilliant shade of red as you tugged on his hair. He was already drunk and horny, so everything about you in your silk teddy and shorts, right there for the taking, was turning him on. Now it was getting to the point where he needed to act on it before he had a mess to clean up in his trousers. They were restricting enough that he felt like he was going to burst out of his pants if he wasn’t careful, so he flipped over on his stomach, holding back a sharp inhale as his clothed cock rubbed up against the bed while he was getting comfortable.

After a shaky recovery breath, he spoke. “The difference between me and Colin showing up on your doorstep is that I’m a young, dashing, intelligent man here to have a good night in with you, and he’s just… well, Colin.” That got you giggling, and Brian grinned lopsidedly as he rested his head on both of his hands, crossing them and laying down on your thighs. His warm, twinkling eyes scanned your face as you laughed, soaking all of it in. “Besides, fuck him!”

“Why so?” you asked, a cheeky edge to your voice as you sat up a bit. You’d be lying if you said the sight of Brian down there wasn’t doing something for you, so upped the ante a bit against your common sense. “And I mean, I have, so there’s that.”

“Oh, you know what I meant,” Brian groaned, still grinning as he propped his arm up on your leg carefully, resting his head in his hand. “I bet he’s a lousy fuck either way. Probably doesn’t even know how to last longer than 30 seconds.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” you mused, mainly to yourself, and then you reached out again to toy with his hair. “I don’t even know if he was attracted to me very much. It seemed like I didn’t really do it for him unless I was a quick fuck. Must not have been his type or something.”

“You, not doing it for him?” Brian asked, his voice unashamedly incredulous. “The man must be blind, then. You’re way too pretty to just be a ‘quick fuck.’” Your cheeks flushed a bit as he continued to watch you, eyelids still heavy from the liquor in his system but his eyes alive and teeming with energy. “You’re beautiful, Colin’s a prick for not appreciating you as much as you deserve.”

“Brian, you’re just drunk and saying that to be nice. Stop being such a sweetheart,” you laughed softly.

He rolled his eyes and gave you an ‘are you kidding’ look before shaking his head. “I’m serious, Y/N, you’re gorgeous. You’re mental if you don’t think I’m telling the truth. Why won’t you believe me?”

“Ouch,” you laughed, rubbing the side of your face and smiling as Brian cocked his head to the side a bit, curious. “I’m mental? That pisses me right off, I’ll have to kick you out of here for that one.”

“Oh, no!” Brian pretended to be panicked, but it only lasted a moment before he started grinning dopily again. “I don’t want to make my lovely host angry, I take it back.” A wide grin spread across your face as you gently shoved his shoulder, and his unbalanced equilibrium made him fall backwards with a groan. And when he rolled over, you were immediately distracted by the bulge in the crotch area of his pants, your cheeks flushing even more than before.

Suddenly, the air was tense as Brian noticed where you were looking, but he didn’t seem ashamed when he met your gaze again. Instead, he sat up, hovering over you as he kept eye contact, his gears shifted completely. No longer was playful Brian up to bat. This was different, a Brian you’d never seen before. He was imposing, attentive, and sensuous as his hand came to rest on your side. There was still a sweet look in his eyes, but something else lingered there, something darker.

You tried to say something, anything, but no words would come to mind as you stared back at him for what seemed like way too long. His tongue darted out and quickly wetted his lips as he glanced at yours, and then you spoke, finally remembering that the two of you were actually in the middle of a conversation. “You take it back? What part?”

He ignored that, the corner of his lip tugging upward as he leaned in a bit closer, then stopped himself. “If I kissed you, would you be mad at me?” His voice was somewhat clear, drunkenly unafraid, and he watched your eyes for any hint of a reaction as you remained quiet, biting your lip.

Finally, you responded. “Can’t be kicking you out if you kiss me, can I?” Brian’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he chuckled, and his hand slid around you to rest on your lower back as he pressed his forehead against yours, your noses brushing up against one another’s before you closed the distance and pressed your lips to his.

He tasted like whiskey and beer, an intoxicating mix of the two still lingering on his lips as he kissed back, a languorous pace to it while he savored the feeling of your lips on his. You reached up to cup his jaw with one hand, and he almost leaned into your touch as he tilted his head slowly, deepening the kiss and pressing your body up against his. The taut front fabric of his trousers pressed up against your thigh, so you raised your thigh up a bit to rub it against his bulge.

A breathy moan escaped his lips, Brian pulling away for a moment to regain his thoughts before he kissed you again, rolling over on his back and pulling you on top of him. He wasn’t urgent about it, taking it slow and easy as he sat up a bit to make it easier for the both of you. His hand rubbing up and down your side, he spoke against your lips quietly, just for the two of you to hear, even if there was not a single soul around. “Hey, I meant it when I said you’re beautiful.”

You smiled against his lips, kissing his lower lip before gently taking ahold of it with your teeth and tugging a bit. He made a pleased noise in the back of his throat and moved his hand to rest under your teddy, his rough skin brushing up against the soft curve of your waist. “Tell me how beautiful I am,” you murmured, ducking your head under his chin and pressing an affectionate kiss there, then trailing your lips down his neck and pressing lazy kisses to it as you made your way down to just above where his shirt started coming together.

“God, Y/N,” he almost whispered, his eyes watching your every move as you looked up at him through your lashes, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, button by button. “You’re like a fucking dream to look at, love.”

That brought a sly smile to your lips, and you unbuttoned the last button on his shirt, pushing it open to expose his whole torso. You straddled his hips as you did so, running your hands up his lightly toned, slim chest. His ribs just poked out of his skin, and you pressed a kiss to his collarbone before moving back up to kiss him on the lips again. This time he was more eager, trapping you there with a firm hand resting on the nape of your neck. But you didn’t mind, and you moved your lips in sync with him as he rested his free hand on your hip. He finally pulled away to take a breath, and you took the opportunity to pull your teddy up and over your head, tossing it to the side.

Brian’s pupils dilated even more as he looked over your body, marveling quietly at you. You pushed off his shirt as he ogled, tossing it to the side as well and reaching down to toy with the button on his pants afterwards. His teeth found his lip, and he chewed on it as he tore his eyes away from your body to look back up at you, a smile gracing his lips when you raised an eyebrow at him. “Sorry, distracted,” he mumbled, pulling you back in for a quick kiss before starting to push down your sleep shorts. “You’re too stunning, you have an unfair advantage right now.”

You giggled at that, moving off of him carefully to push off your sleep shorts. Now you were completely naked in front of Brian, your friend, and you didn’t feel at all nervous. It was like he was meant to see you like this, and there were no expectations. His praise was probably fueling most of that, but it was nice to be appreciated like this. “You’re not bad yourself, so I see no advantage,” you teased quietly, kneeling between his legs and undoing the buttons of his trousers as you kept eye contact with him.

Carefully kicking his pants off once you’d unbuttoned them and pulled them down, Brian watched in drunken amazement as you hovered over him for a moment before pressing a kiss to his abdomen. You reached up with one hand to palm him through his boxers, and received a throaty groan in response. His hand brushed back through your hair, and he admired you with a lustful, yet doting look in his eyes.

“Oh, Jesus,” he breathed out as you moved down to brush your lips over the thin layer of fabric that separated you from his cock. His eyelids fluttered closed as you did so, his head falling back against the back of the couch a bit. It took all of his energy to lift his head again and look at you, his lips parted slightly as he took shallow, quick breaths. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Y/N.”

This time, you only grinned mischievously in response to his slurring compliments, moving to the side to pull down his boxers. His cock sprung free from its restraints readily, but Brian didn’t even give you a chance to admire him before he was on top of you again, his lips attaching to your shoulder. Brian pinned you down with his own body, his cock brushing up against your thigh as he reached down to rub your clit hard and slow, eliciting a quiet purr of pleasure from you and making him shiver at the noise.

“So, so beautiful,” he mumbled against your shoulder, trailing love bites along the skin framing it and searching up your neck before stopping at your jaw. “You’re an angel,” he whispered this time, his lips agonizingly close to your ear and making goosebumps rise on your arms as you felt his hot breath against your earlobe.

You moaned lowly as his fingers pushed into you, your cheeks splotchy with redness as you felt an overload of lust and fondness at the same time. Brian was making you feel like a princess, but at the same time, his fingers were working so expertly at your core that you were quickly unraveling in his hands. “Bri,” you murmured, and he pulled back to gaze down at you as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you, a cocky smile playing at his lips. You weren’t sure how to phrase it, but a curl of his fingers inside of you and the thought came tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Make love to me?”

Something in his demeanor changed as he slowed down, then pulled his fingers out of you and instead slid them up your sex, slick from how wet he’d made you in such a short time. “Make love to you?” he clarified, not even seeming remotely put off by the idea. You nodded, biting your lip as you studied his face, trying to gauge his reaction. “Of course,” he finally replied, his voice full of tenderness as he slowly rubbed his fingers around your clit in circles and ducked down to engage you in a quick but deep, passionate kiss.

All of your nerve endings felt like they were in flames at this point, every point on your body hypersensitive. You felt his hand leave your core, his hips shifting as he moved to sit back on his heels, grabbing his wallet out of his jeans and retrieving a condom. You watched as he put it on, focused on doing it right, and you found yourself blushing lightly as he met your gaze once he’d rolled it on.

“You sure you want this?” he asked, genuinely wanting to make sure you were being honest as he went to kneel between your legs. You nodded, and he smiled goofily, his drunken eyes holding even more of a smile than his own lips as he leaned up to kiss your forehead. His forehead then resting against yours, he took your hips with one hand and pulled you a bit closer, wrapping his other hand around his length and lining himself up carefully. You watched this happen, then looked up into his eyes, which were unnervingly close to your own. He noticed this and looked up at you, meeting your gaze with an unreadable emotion flitting across his face as he slowly pushed into you, maintaining eye contact.

The pressure of him filling you was almost alien, as it had been a moment since you’d even fooled around with anyone besides Colin, on top of the fact that this was Brian, your close friend, someone you’d never really expected to have on top of you. Your arms wrapped around his torso as you inhaled sharply, your fingers digging into his back when he bottomed out in you, a soft gasp escaping his lips. After a moment, he pulled out halfway and began to thrust slowly, with a purpose. Each roll of his hips was careful, calculated, and oh-so-satisfying as he focused on taking it slow, his nose nuzzled up against your cheek and short, shaky breaths hitting your jaw with each thrust.

“Brian, you feel so good,” you moaned in appreciation, his hips pressing against yours with each thrust. He groaned something incoherent, one hand gripping the top of the couch above your head and supporting his weight as he found your hand with his free one, lacing his fingers into yours and squeezing your hand. That little gesture made your heart soar, and you arched your back slightly to press up against him, your bodies melded together as he pushed himself into you, deep and slow.

“Oh, Y/N, you’re fucking amazing,” he groaned out, gradually speeding up his thrusts as he buried his face in your neck, murmuring praises over and over. One of your hands found his hair, and you tangled your fingers in it as you let your head fall back against the back of the couch, in complete bliss because of Brian’s gentle way with you. When his lips brushed up against your sweet spot, you involuntarily curled up your fingers in his hair and tugged slightly, making him choke out a low groan as his hips stuttered for a moment. He couldn’t be in this position if he wanted to last any longer, so he pulled out of you, to your chagrin, but he quickly laid on his side and turned you on your side as well. You were facing away from him, and you gasped softly in surprise as he lifted your leg up and slowly slid his cock into you again, his lips pressed firmly against your shoulder.

Colin had never taken you like this. In fact, no one had ever taken you like this before, and you were on cloud 9 as he thrusted into you carefully, his hips pressing against your ass with every thrust and making you smile in pure bliss. So it only added to your pleasure when he reached around you to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. This was overload, and you couldn’t mask your excitement as you moaned out his name, which made him grunt in appreciation and let out a few noises of pleasure himself. He cursed under his breath as you rested your hand on his forearm, gripping it tightly to ground yourself as he made waves of ecstasy roll through you.

Brian was just as undone as you were, the feeling of your hand gripping on to him for dear life only sending him closer to the edge as he thrusted into you deeper and faster, his thrusts becoming sloppy and signaling to you that he couldn’t last much longer. “God, you’re perfect,” he breathed out, resting his forehead against your shoulder as his lips remained parted in a silent moan, his trembling breaths hitting your back and making you shiver. When he knew he couldn’t hold out any more, he had to slip his free hand under your head and force your jaw to the side so that you were looking up at him, his head hovering over yours as he buried his cock as deep inside of you as he could go. He smashed his lips against yours, muffling the loud moans tumbling out of him as he came, hitting his climax and shaking a bit as his high ran its course.

You pulled away from the heated kiss as he quieted down a bit, an almost pitiful moan escaping his lips at the loss of contact, but you were too close to the edge to notice much as his fingers continued to rub your clit quickly. He was intent on making you climax now, his fingers working wildly at your core as he pulled out, and you looked up into his eyes, your lips parting as you moaned his name, your climax hitting you all at once and sending you reeling. He watched you unravel beneath him, his name on your lips repeatedly as you rode out your high while keeping eye contact with him, and it was enough of a sight to make him groan lowly, even though he was far from being horny anymore.

As soon as you’d came down from your high, your eyelids fluttered closed and you sighed softly, nuzzling into his hand. “Holy shit, Brian,” you murmured, exhausted from what had just taken place and overwhelmed by how good he’d just made you feel.

“You okay?” he asked, running his thumb along your lower lip, and when you nodded, he smiled softly and climbed over you, ambling his way into the kitchen. He cleaned himself off and disposed of the condom properly, then came back with a rag so you could clean yourself up as he pulled his boxers on again. He handed you his shirt after you’d cleaned yourself up a bit, and you sat up to pull it on, buttoning it almost all the way up. Brian climbed back onto the bed with you, halfway sitting up next to you and watching you quietly.

After you’d gotten yourself at least somewhat covered up with his shirt, you looked over to him and smiled before laying down by his side, curling up against him and wrapping your arm around his torso. He ran his fingers back through your hair, taking a deep breath before resting his hand on your head.

“Good night, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice full of admiration as he watched your eyelids flutter closed again, your breathing slowing down considerably. You reached over and took his hand that was on the opposite side of him, intertwining your fingers together and resting them back on the bed as you hummed softly.

“Good night, drunkard that showed up on my doorstep,” you replied sleepily, Brian laughing and shaking his head as he settled down next to you, pulling a blanket over the both of you before drifting off to a peaceful, deep sleep.

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[danyka-fendyr]

Remind Me: Part 2

That’s right ladies and gentlemen, the much-anticipated part 2 is out! At least, I’m assuming it was much anticipated given the feedback from Dream. Which is basically the best feedback ever. If you haven’t read her story Once A Year yet (which this series is based upon) you really, really should! It’s amazing and it gives me all the feels.  However, you don’t want to hear me talk. You want to read the story. So without further ado, allons-y!

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines

Wordcount: 2409

“I know, Billy,” You said. “I know.”

Eventually, they told you that you could go. You had to be honest with yourself, it was a relief. You weren’t super keen on being tied up to a million machines all the time.

Billy helped you out, and you followed him without a second thought. You probably should have been concerned with how blindly you trusted him, but that was the thing about blind trust. You didn’t question it.

“So where do I live?,” You asked him. “With you?”

That caught him off guard, which you had somehow known it would.

“Um...no. You have an apartment in the nice part of town.”

“And you?”

“I have an apartment.”

“In the nice part of town?” You pushed, raising an eyebrow.

“Something like that.”

“You’re lying to me. And you’re not even bothering to do a good job of it.”

That made him laugh again. “There’s no point with you. Even when you can’t remember me you apparently have an uncanny ability to remember all of my tells.”

You just shrugged, unwilling to admit that you were a little bit proud of yourself for that, however dumb it might be.

“So? Where do you live?”

“In the not so nice part of town. Where I like to be.”

“I see I’ve tried to convince you to move before.”

“Many times.” He rolled his eyes.

“Well, you know what they say. The amnesiac time is the charm.”

He scoffed. “Yeah. Sure Skittles. I’ll move in with you and be like one of those live-in helpers old people have.”

“I mean, why not?” You turned around in the parking lot you had just arrived in, facing him.

“Why not what?”

“Why not have you move in with me? I mean, it only makes sense since apparently, you’re the mysterious key to my past.”

Billy Russo stared at you like you had grown another head.

“You don’t even know anything about me-”

“So you can tell me on the drive. Is that your car?” You spun towards the cherry red Stringray Corvette, eyes absolutely huge.

“No. It’s yours.”

“What!” You screamed, jumping up and down. “She’s gorgeous! Holy crap!”

Billy watched you, smiling and shaking his head. “Damn. I haven’t seen you this happy since you graduated high school and, quote, ‘never had to go back to that place.’ Though personally I still miss the uniform.”

“Perv.”

“Only around you. What can I say Skittles? You just bring out the worst in me.” He smiled, white teeth gleaming against his skin.

“Filed under Billy Russo in my brain. Now, give me the keys because there’s no way I’m letting you drive her.”

“Oh come on!” He threw his hands up in the air, frustrated.

“Nope. No way.”

“Not even when you have amnesia will you let me drive the car,” he grumbled.

“Not even if I was dead.”

“Remind me why I’m friends with you?” he asked.

“Because I’m pretty,” you told him, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Oh right.”

20 minutes later, you were officially outside the nicest apartment complex you had ever seen. Well, you couldn’t remember the other apartment complexes you had seen, but suffice it to say it was pretty sweet.

“Do you think there’s a doorman?” You asked, unbuckling.

“I think,” Billy said, knuckles still white from his grip on the armrests, “that you still drive like a madwoman.”

“Oh don’t be a baby. You were in the military, I’m sure you’ve faced worse.”

“I have never faced worse than you ducking into opposing traffic because the guy in front of you was driving ‘too slow.’”

“He was!” You closed your door, locking the car after Billy got out.

“Not slow enough to justify that!”

“You’re no fun.”

“Funny. That’s not usually how these conversations go.”

He ran a hand through his hair, and you tried not to stare. You were seriously going to need someone to explain to you how exactly you had never romantically pursued this guy. He might have been even prettier than the car.

“Are you trying to tell me I’m the boring one?”

“Yes Skittles. That is exactly what I’m trying to tell you. You are a major stick in the mud.”

You gasped theatrically. “How dare you! I don’t believe a single thing you’ve said.”

“Believe it or not, it’s the truth. Ask anyone.”

“I wouldn’t know who to ask,” You reminded him.

His smile softened.“Don’t worry. I’ll introduce you.”

You both started to head inside, discovering that there was indeed a doorman, and he gave you a nod as he opened the door for you. Apparently, he recognized you. Either that or you just looked rich, which was entirely possible given the clothing Billy had brought for you at the hospital. You hoped your entire wardrobe didn’t look this...stuffy.

You waited until you got on the empty elevator to ask Billy the question that had been on your mind. “So uh...which floor do I live on? And like...which apartment?”

“You sure you’re ready for this?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Um...yes?”

He grinned. “Penthouse, baby.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not even a little bit,” he said, pressing the button.

“How did all of this even happen?”

“You got adopted by some very rich people. They’re the worst. They hate me,” he said, hands in his pockets.

“Why would they hate you? And why do you live in a crappy apartment even though you wear very expensive suits like that?”

“They hate me because I’m not a socialite and also they can’t boss me around, which is a bad combo in their book. And I live in a crappy apartment because I like it there. Besides, it’s not that bad of an apartment, it’s just the neighborhood that’s terrible.”

You nodded like you understood, though in fact the only thing you really understood was that your adopted parents really, really didn’t like him. Billy had already explained your foster situation too, which based off of what little you could remember sounded about right.  You were still confused about what exactly your parents were like though. You did know that if Billy was at all right you weren’t excited to meet them. Again.

The elevator doors dinged open, and you stepped out into the most beautiful apartment of all time. It was absolutely huge, and there were a million windows. The only thing you might have changed about it was that it didn’t feel very...personal. You got the sense that you had just hired some fancy pants decorator to design the place. Everything was sleek and modern and...totally lifeless.

The color scheme was nice though.

“So, you own some big fancy corporation?” You asked, sitting down on your cushy white couch.

Who even owned white coaches made out of what you hoped was fake leather?

“Sure do.”

Billy went straight for your fridge. It was clear that he had been here before as he shuffled through its contents, taking some chicken breast out before pulling open the freezer drawer and grabbing brussels sprouts.

“What are you doing?”

“Feeding you. You just got out of the hospital and the only thing they do well there is jello. You hate jello. Except for the red stuff.”

You shuddered. “Ugh. Jello.”

“See?” He pulled a pan out of a cupboard adjacent to the sink.

“I believe you. Please don’t make me eat Jello.”

“I would never torture you like that, Skittles.”

“Wow, you really are my best friend, huh?”

He smiled over his shoulder at you. “What gave it away?”

“The fact that you know where my cast iron skillets are.”

He laughed, further proving himself by grabbing a bottle of olive oil to coat the pan in before tossing on the chicken.

“One dinner coming right up, best friend.”

“Okay, so wait. Catch me up here. You’re rich. You can cook. And your butt looks like that,” You said, giving it a good hard look and not bothering to hide where you were looking. “Explain to me why we’re not dating?”

“Because,” he said, flipping the chicken, “you’re like my little sister. And I’m like your big brother.”

“Except we are in no way biologically related, meaning that relationship could change.”

You were just teasing him, of course. I mean, to a certain extent the part about him being hot was true, but you weren’t trying to harass the guy. The thing was, you could tell that he was having just as much fun as you were. In the same way you knew you could trust Billy Russo, you knew that he was laughing his head off inside by the slight tug at the corners of his mouth, the twinkle in his eyes, and the way he couldn’t seem to look directly at you for more than 5 seconds without being afraid he would burst out laughing. You may have forgotten him, but you still knew him.

“Technically true,” he said, trying to hide his grin behind a healthy dose of skepticism.

“Psh. Technically?”

“Sometimes, Skittles, technicalities are important.” He threw some garlic in with the chicken.

“You know what’s even more important? Feeding me. Because now that my kitchen smells like garlic chicken, I’m starving.” You stood up from the couch, moving to lean against the counter and watch him cook, biting your lip.

You were a lot hungrier than you had initially thought. The hospital had not been kind to you.

“I am working on it,” he said scoldingly.

“But I’m hungry,” you whined.

He tossed the brussels sprouts in with some seasoning salt. “Hi hungry. I’m Billy.”

“You pronounced, ‘the worst’ wrong.”

He snorted. “Still have the same sense of humor, I see.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s permanent. Sorry Bill.”

“Yeah, you should be apologizing. That sense of humor has gotten me in trouble more than a few times, you know that?”

“No way. You’re exaggerating.” You rolled your eyes.

“Nope. You’ll know when I’m exaggerating. Or maybe you won’t. I’m very good at it.”

“Jerk.”

“You can’t seem to decide if you love me or hate me.”

“So I’m guessing not much has changed.”

His response was simply, “Jerk.”

“So, tell me.” You settled in, turning so that your back was leaning against the counter and you had a better view of his face. “How on Earth did we manage to stay friends this long? I mean, nobody does that. Especially not people with life trajectories as drastically different as ours. How do I know you’re not really my stalker?”

Billy chuckled, in a very stalker-ish way, if anyone asked you. “I suppose that’s a fair cop. Well, we agreed when we were just kids, that no matter what happened, we would always meet up once a year. Every year. No matter what. Come rain or shine, hell or high water, what have you, I would come find you.”

“That’s not dialing down the creepiness Billy,” You teased.

He put the food on a plate, setting it on the island where you took your place on one of the stools.

“That’s some way to talk to the guy who just made you dinner.”

“I’ll decide if you can stay after I’ve tasted it.”

“Oh, she’s a food critic now.”

Billy watched you take your first bite, hands on his hips with one eyebrow raised. You were pleasantly surprised. This guy could really cook. The chicken tasted amazing, and the spices he had thrown in hit all the right notes. When had he even learned this?

“On a visit home. I got so tired of rations that I decided I would learn how to make something that didn’t taste like a brick.”

Apparently, you had said that part out loud. You couldn’t be blamed for what you did under the influence of good food.

“So were we more alike when we were younger or something? Because the way you describe it, we aren’t super similar at the moment.”

“I don’t know if I would say that.” Billy put the pan in the sink before sitting down across from you. “We’re still pretty similar in all the ways that matter. Back when we were kids though...”

He smiled fondly, as though reminiscing on some very specific memory. You had the overwhelming urge to join him, but you couldn’t, seeing as you currently had little to no memories in the bank. So instead, you let him have his moment, having a melancholy little moment of your own.

“You were a bit of a wild child. I was always getting you out of trouble. And then...getting into my own trouble. But that’s not the point!”

You laughed, taking another bite before you spoke again. “So basically we were both terrible people.”

“Harsh,” Billy said. “I would say we were...misguided youth.”

“Mmmhhhmm.”

“I still remember this time you stole a pair of handcuffs off this cop you were flirting with.” He shook his head, grinning. “We almost didn’t outrun him. And then you suggested we turn the handcuffs into bracelets, of all things. One for each of us. You thought you were so cool in your Metallica shirt with your handcuff bracelet, dancing in the rain like you didn’t have a care in the world.”

“Okay, so, correction. I was awesome, and you were a misguided youth.”

“Oh, shut up.”

You smiled, and you found yourself staring at him without really thinking about it. A comfortable silence settled over the two of you, and you liked the feel of it. It was yet another thing that affirmed he was not, in fact, your stalker. Though if you had any doubts before they were pretty much dismissed at this point. Plus he would have to be a pretty gifted stalker to get the hospital to let him get anywhere near you, you figured.

“Hey, do you-” You started speaking, but the buzz of the intercom interrupted you.

“Darling, I’m here to see you.” A woman’s voice crackled through the speakers, probably in her 50’s or 60’s. “So sorry I couldn’t make it to the hospital. You know how it is, your father and I just get so busy with business. Anyway, if you could just let me up...”

“I think that’s the nicest I’ve ever heard her be to you,” Billy grumbled. “There must be someone watching.”

“Who is it?” You asked, even as a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach gave you your answer.

“It’s your mother.”

[modern-sybil]

Wholesome Entire Magicians Cast Fluff - Chapter Two

Okay, the response to this post was pretty sweet (thank you everyone, you rock!!), so I’m making my idea a multi-chapter thing. Chapter two extends below the cut (this bitch was over 2,000 words, haha)

AO3: In The Happy Pause of it All

Chapter Two - Thanksgiving Competition: Penny vs Eliot

Josh has reviewed the rules, made his changes, and they were ready to go- one week of prep until Thanksgiving. Kady started taking bets on the side as to who everyone thought would win, and was surprised when even Fen got in the game. Who was gonna turn down the High King of Fillory? Even if she bet two silver and jewel daggers, which was a little unorthodox and would be difficult to split among the winners. But they were really pretty, and bad ass (like me, Kady thought, and laughed), and Kady was certain she could figure out how to make sure she ended up with them.

Quentin decided that Penny and El could get two people each to help them make all the food. Josh concurred, a sous chef and a second assistant were well within their rights to have. It took Penny days to make his final decision, but Eliot knew instantly who he wanted.

Q was only a little put out when Eliot chose Alice (I mean, she can cook and all) and Margo instead of him. Alice agreed, albeit grudgingly, and Margo was pretty sure it was because Kady had talked last weekend about how Penny looked really hot when he was cooking, but of course Margo would never say that out loud… Except she did, because she is Margo. Alice blushed and left the room to go make some tea, happy that Kady was out dealing with Hedgewitch business.

Q put up some token resistance at not being chosen, but his heart wasn’t in it. At least this meant he could watch excitedly (and taste test a lot on both sides) and he did not have to worry about accidentally setting something on fire… Like he did that time he tried to make popcorn on the stove. Which was an event Eliot quickly reminded him about.

“Come on, El! It was ONE time!!”

“Yeah, but the loft smelled like burnt popcorn until Alice came home and spelled it away. We do not need a repeat when the stakes are this high, Q. Alice is gonna be too busy ensuring my INEVITABLE VICTORY to spell away the smell of burnt roast duck.”

Penny went with Julia (no one was shocked there). But for his second person, he chose Zelda, which was definitely a twist no one saw coming. Especially Zelda, but everyone could see how happy it made her. She took the time to adjust her glasses before agreeing, trying to act as though she had seen it coming.

He denied it, but Julia was pretty sure he picked Zelda to make her feel more like one of the group, rather than for a tactical advantage. He claimed that her speed reading would come in handy, and handed her a stack of cookbooks to memorize before the big day.

The night before, at a light dinner of salad and soup (everyone was saving room for tomorrow) El suddenly threw down his spoon - “Fuck!! We never decided on what the loser has to do!”

Penny looked up from his not-so-subtle staring at Julia, shaking his head “I thought we were just doing this for bragging rights? And to know for sure who is the best. Which obviously is me.”

“Well, yeah,” El scoffed “but that is for the winner. What will you… I mean, the-as-of-yet-unknown-loser… have to do when they fail miserably and get CRUSHED INTO DUST?”

Marina, who had been crashing the dinners so often lately they just set a permanent place for her at the table, smiled. “I know.” She said. “And it is perfect. Loser has to clean up all the dishes and the entire kitchen - no magic.”

It was agreed, this seemed perfect- completely in harmony with the spirit of the event. And Alice had agreed to be a sous chef, so it wasn’t fair to assume she’d clean the kitchen as well.

Josh dragged a chair over so he could watch the whole event “to prevent cheating/maintain his unbiased outlook and ensure no travesties against food were commited” but everyone knew it was because he wanted to enjoy every second of being valued so much for his skills, and it was kinda cute tbh.

Penny went with a classic Thanksgiving feast, the only time he ran into an issue was when he wanted to have canned cranberry sauce - Josh said that was a no-go because it was a cooking competition. After a quick team huddle Penny had to send Jules out for more ingredients and he thanked his lucky stars that Zelda had memorized 6 different recipes for the jellied berries, so they put their heads together to come up with the perfect combo recipe.

Quentin kept stealing marshmallows that were supposed to be for the sweet potato casserole, until Penny shot him a look that was so reminiscent of back when they were roommates that Q backed up all the way over to Eliot’s prep station and stayed there for a good fifteen minutes. Peeking out from behind El’s back he waited Penny was adequately distracted and swooped in again. Zelda was making candied nuts, and all the wrath in the world couldn’t stop him from sneaking a few here and there.

Eliot was going all-out. This was a gourmet feast that would make Emeril Lagasse quake in his boots. Alice was a whirlwind behind and around him, definitely not putting on any extra flair for Kady, who was watching while leaning against a pillar, smiling gently. Margo was the most focused she had been since her quest in the dessert, attacking each task Eliot gave her with a voracious passion that made Josh shift a little in his chair and Fen bite her lip and unconsciously twirl her hair around her finger.

Of course Eliot also had themed drinks which he was crafting with care, crushing the mint delicately and lining the cup rims while keeping an eye on Quentin to make sure he wasn’t eating all of the sugar crusted flower petals because those were for garnish goddamnit. But he had to smile, because thinking back to the start of it all, his plan definitely worked. Q was eating regularly and his clothes all fit again. Taking a quick pause to look around, El was filled with a happiness that he never had in the mind-palace-situation, even in the physical kids college, because this? This was home. This was a family that knew him and loved him for who he was. This was everything…

“Quit your fucking daydreaming and mash your goddamn potatoes, Eliot” Margo snapped, hands never stilling from perfectly slicing apples and arranging them into rosettes. But then she looked up at him and smiled, and he knew that she once again saw him and understood where he was at, what he was thinking… But that this was a competition, and they had priorities.

Soon the entire apartment filled with the scent of happiness and home and good cooking, the savory notes of rosemary and turkey mixing with the sweetness of apple and pecan pies, offset with the spiciness of cardamom and ginger. Q was hopping all over the place at this point from the sugar high of his taste-testing, and eventually both Julia and Eliot agreed they had to banish him from the kitchen because he kept getting underfoot. But even as she made him leave, Jules smiled and snuck him another handful of marshmallows to tide him over.

Quentin decided to use all this energy to set the table, and as he was setting down the last of the dishes, everyone started trickling in. Fogg had brought his record player, and got some mellow tunes going in the background. In the past, none of the group would have thought Frank Sinatra was thanksgiving music, but after today everyone would smile and remember every time they heard “the way you look tonight” on the radio. Alice even sometimes added it to the queue of the playlist they normally had softly going in the evenings, just to ease tensions. She thought the way everyone’s face lit up was even better than the taste of bacon.

Marina came with a box of little gifts for everyone, which made everyone think that the universe had flipped upside down and pigs had wings, until her girlfriend came in behind her, all smiles and happiness and Marina passed off the box to Fen with a smile and a muttered “the things I do for love,” shuddering slightly before going to collect her girlfriend’s jacket to put in the other room.

Harriet came with a couple other Hedges that only Julia and Kady knew, so they added in the extra panel to the table and set more plates, and made sure they knew about the competition and why there were two completely different but complete meal options currently being prepared. Harriet pulled Kady aside and told her that these Hedges had nowhere else to go, and Kady just smiled and said “well, it is good that we have enough food for an army, then!”

Tick followed Fen around asking questions about absolutely everything until she got frustrated, he was distracting her from watching Margo…. uh, hanging out with the whole group as they finished up with the cooking. So she set him in front of the TV and showed him how to work the remote and left him to his own devices.

Dinner was eaten, everyone was lazing about the living room in various stages of food-coma, and the time for judgement had come. Josh was making a big deal of it, which made Penny frustrated, but Eliot saw as only right given the seriousness of his task. As he ate Josh had been writing notes in a notebook and he spent a good thirty minutes in his throne, er, chair, listening seriously to the input of every guest before adding to the tallies he was keeping.

After an hour, Margo started impatiently tapped her foot, staring at him and caressing Sorrow and Sorrow with a meaningful look. Clearing his throat and nervously adjusting his collar, Josh spoke. Finally.

“This was a close one, and opinions were widely split between the contestants.” He started, as Kady pulled out her list of who bet and what they bet. “In the end, I had to step back a bit. I had to take taste alone out of the competition, and go back to what Thanksgiving is all about. How it is the taste of childhood, the memories of years gone by…”

“And for that reason, sorry El, Penny is the clear winner.”

Penny and Julia let out a whoop from the corner where they were standing, grabbing her around the waist Penny spun her in a circle. Then, catching himself, he put a solemn look on his face and said “well, if you are sure.”

Kady started making the rounds, collecting money. Fogg handed his over with equanimity, Zelda was sheepish, making sure she told the room that she placed her bet BEFORE being chosen for Penny’s team, and thought it wasn’t fair to the spirit of the competition to change her mind. Margo scoffed and sat back in her chair, eyeing Josh up and down as though she had never seen anyone more ridiculous. Eliot dramatically draped himself over the couch, putting his head in Q’s lap. “I’m ruined,” he sighed, placing a hand against his forehead. Q ran a comforting hand through his hair, soothing the taller man as best as he could in the moment of his defeat.

“Josh,” Margo said , “you better explain why I, I mean, Eliot, lost… Right fucking now.”

Laughing nervously, Josh continued “Well, you see, Eliot’s dishes were amazing, no doubt. But Penny’s tasted more like Thanksgiving, and after hearing what the people had to say” he gestured around, spreading the blame as best as he could “I had to go with the meal that best fit the theme. The actual flavors were too neck-and-neck, I couldn’t pick on that alone in the end.” Margo nodded, once, reaching behind her for her purse to pay up, and Josh sighed in relief.

“Fair is fair,” Marina said, her girlfriend sitting in her lap contentedly, “Penny gets the bragging rights and Eliot cleans the kitchen - no magic.” Quentin could swear her eyes were a bit extra gleeful at the outcome, but he couldn’t be sure how she would have reacted if Penny had lost, so he kept the thought to himself.

Pulling himself up from the couch gracefully, Eliot exclaimed “never let it be said that I am a sore loser!!” With a flourish he created a trophy magically, and presented it to Penny. As Margo laughed and rolled her eyes, Penny smiled and polished it a bit with his sleeve. “I now will go… wash dishes and clean floors.”

Walking away, after grabbing Q’s hand to pull him along, Eliot turned around “But rest assured, my friend… There will be a rematch.”

[beatricethecat2]

if/then (2.0) - 17

I'll be honest; I tried to skip past this chapter. To push Myka so far forward these scenes they'd only be seen in flashback snippets. Maybe that'd be possible if I was a better writer (and had unlimited time), but this is the level I'm at. Fear was also involved, as I knew writing multiple people for these scenes, and writing the setting itself, wouldn't be easy. Time shuffling occurs throughout, to push Myka a little further forward. I hope (cross fingers) it all works for you.Typos abound, I will fix later.

Previously: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16

///////////////////////////////

Beyond Myka’s window, the city lights shimmer until murky clouds swallow them whole. Her view is muted, myopic, her thoughts silenced by pillowy gray; to stay sheltered here would be heavenly-sent. But all too soon her safe haven flickers and fades. Only wisps remain, detached and weightless.

The revealed stratosphere glows a vibrant, moonlit cobalt-blue, but its beauty is lost on her mood. Time for further distractions, such as seat pocket magazines, touting faraway lands the airline services. She flips through thin pages and lands on an article chronicling a chef in Manchester. Christina would like this, she'll tell her when she sees her, but she has no idea when that might be.

The next article is a fluff piece, “Artificial Intelligence: Improving Future Flights,” and now Claudia’s in her head, grouching over inaccuracies. One more flip and she groans, there’s an ad for an antique auction. She closes the magazine, then looks back at the sky.

The clouds now read like a fresh layer of snow, at least that’s how Christina had described them months ago. And on Christina's flight earlier, she may have again, the one Myka was meant to be on but wasn't. She was left behind navigating an exit interview at the police station, stewing in a slew of ifs and thens. The only immovable fact: maintain the lie that set her free, a task more difficult in reality than in theory.

She tucks the magazine back into her seat pocket, and lets yesterday morning unfold.

“Claudia?” Myka said, surprised by the red bob in the waiting room.

“You!" Claudia snapped, jumping up from her seat. “You did this!”

“Did what? Why are you here? Where's…Hele..n…a.” Christina was staring at her from behind Claudia’s thigh, arms wrapped tightly around her leg. “It’s going to be ok,” Myka said, more gruffly than she meant it. She reached toward her, but Christina ducked away.

“Ms. Bering, follow me,” an officer said and grasped Myka gently by the arm.

“Saved by the narc,” Claudia cracked, then settled Christina back into her seat.

A lump formed in her throat as she held Christina’s gaze, being rejected by this little girl hurt more than she could handle. But it was all part of the plan, and Christina couldn’t be read in. She wasn’t even sure if Claudia was at all.

“Ms. Bering, thank you for joining us,” a woman cop said, more as a formally than an actual thanks. She was thin with deep-set eyes, and wide, hollowed cheeks. Her hair hung limply, just barely touching her shoulders as if gravity were unfairly weighing it down.

"I’m DI Stuart, and this is DI Khan,” DI Stuart said, nodding to the man to her right. He smiled in greeting, and his eyes were kind. He looked more official than DI Stuart, dressed in a dark blazer and burgundy shirt, his red tie shone brightly through the light was dim.

“Why's Claudia here?” Myka asked as she was seated across from them.

DI Stuart turned toward the escorting officer. “You brought her through the waiting room?”

“Yes, mam. Was that not ok?”

“Not exactly.” DI Stuart's lips downturned, deepening her frown lines. “Close the door on your way out.”

“Sorry boss,” The officer said and shuffled out.

“Who’s Claudia?” DI Khan asked, raising a thick brow.

“The friend, minding the child. The one we’d asked to step out, but who wouldn't,” DI Stuart answered.

“Oh, yes. Beautiful child. Looks just like her mother,” DI Khan said, smiling again.

“She does,” Myka said, factually, suspicious of his chipper tone.

“Let's start with her mother,” DI Stuart said. "How long have you known Helena Wells?”

“Since April.” Or March maybe? It seemed like an eternity ago.

“Where did you meet?”

“At the hotel where she worked.”

“You were a patron."

“Not willingly. My building burned down and I needed somewhere to stay."

“This was in New York?”

“Yes. Gas explosion. It was a kind of a big deal.” Myka looked down at the table and ran her thumb over its edge.

“Harrowing circumstances indeed. We’re sorry for your loss,” DI Khan said.

“Thank you,” Myka said.

DI Stuart scribbled notes on a fresh page. "I understand you’re now a couple, you and Ms. Wells. When did that come about?”

“Maybe...five months ago?” Myka said counting backward in her head.

“You seem unsure?”

“It wasn’t continuous. There were...hiccups along the way.”

DI Stuart laid down her pen and gave Myka her full attention. “Were you aware of her 'situation' from the beginning?”

“Situation?”

“With the law.”

“No."

“But you pursued her once you were aware.”

“I did. But she pushed me away. Said she didn’t want to drag me into everything.”

“Yet here you are, dragged into everything.”

“Quite a risk, aligning yourself with a felon, especially in your profession,” DI Khan added.

Myka bit her lip and hung her head, but under the table, her hands balled into fists. Go ahead, judge us, narcs. You have no idea what we've been through, or the secrets Helena had to hide, must still be hiding to keep her name clear.

She looked at DI Khan then DI Stuart; should she should try to see this from their angle? DI Khan’s right, it wasn’t very smart to have "aligned” herself with Helena. And if Helena thought she was such a bad influence, why did she come back at all? The pretense was love, but what if that wasn’t the real reason? What if Helena had learned of Mrs. Frederic’s plan earlier and was protecting her back in New York? It wasn’t that far-fetched, and it’d explain a lot—

“Ms. Bering, are you all right?” DI Khan said.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“We lost you for a moment. Where did you go?”

“I was thinking…” Myka rubbed at her eyes. How should she play this? “Five months isn't a long time. But I loved her. I really did.” Loved her, as in past tense; how did that slip out of her mouth? She rubbed her fingers into her temple, recalling Helena's words from yesterday.

“She’s cheating on me, sleeping with someone else. I-I don’t have proof, but…” She saw it then, this is where Helena was pushing her all along. Helena had said to "act pained, dumbfounded, betrayed." Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but tears of relief, not heartache. “I haven’t said that out loud to anyone except Helena.”

There was a knock on the door, and DI Stuart rose to tend to it.

“When you spoke with Helena, how did she respond?” DI Khan asked.

Myka blotted her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve. “She deflected. We fought.”

“Do you fight often?”

“Lately, yeah. But this was...I’ve never stormed out before. I said things I—"

“Sorry, but we’re being pulled away.” DI Stuart stood anxiously by the table. "We can send in an officer if you like until we return.”

“I’m ok,” Myka said, wiping her nose.

DI Stuart looked at DI Khan and nodded toward the door. “One minute,” DI Khan said, then turned to Myka. “Can I offer you a tea, a coffee? Some tissues, perhaps?”

“I, um, coffee, sure.” Myka smiled shakily, but the smile soon faltered. She dabbed at her eyes, then looked toward the door just as her escorting officer walked by. She gasped as a tall, familiar blonde woman trailed behind.

“Milk and sugar?” DI Khan asked, gathering his papers.

“J-Just milk,” Myka answered, gaze swinging back to DI Khan. Her heart thumped out of her chest; that spectacle must have been pre-planned. She was sure DI Stuart noted her reaction.

“Chicken or fish, miss?” The question comes out of nowhere.

Myka stares at the flight attendant, her thoughts shifting into the present. "Um, chicken?”

The attendant slides open a drawer and lifts out a tray. “Something to drink?”

“Water’s fine. No ice.”

She hands Myka the tray then fills a cup.

“What time is it?” Myka asks.

“Half-past nine.”

“Could I get a wine, too? White.”

“Of course.” The attendant hands her the water and slides a lower drawer open. She plucks out a miniature bottle and slips a cup from the stack.

“Thank you,” Myka says, accepting the bottle, cup, and napkin combo. She lifts the lid off of her dinner and punctures the cutlery wrapper. Is she hungry? Not really, but in the interview room, she definitely was.

“Sorry for the wait. And sorry if you’re vegetarian,” DI Khan said, reappearing hours later with a triangle box in hand.

Myka slid the box closer and peered through its transparent window. The contents didn’t look appetizing, but her stomach grumbled anyway. She opened the lid and slid a triangle out, then nibbled on a corner.

“You recently had an art show, in Warsaw,” DI Stuart started, eyes skimming over her notes. “How did that come about?”

“Very last minute. Filling in for someone who dropped out.”

“The gallery contacted you?"

“No, a collector put us in touch.”

“A collector from your work?”

“No, through my friend Amanda. She introduced me at a dinner we were at.”

“Right place, right time?” DI Stuart said, flashing a half smile, one that seemed genuine, but Myka couldn't take it at face value. “A solo show in Europe. You must be pleased with that.”

“I am.” Myka took a larger bite of the sandwich then slipped it back into the box.

“Was the work shipped from New York or was it already in Europe?”

“New York.”

“Shipped in boxes?”

“No, crates.”

“Custom crates, built specifically for you?”

“Yes."

DI Stuart wrote something down. “Did you have any trouble with Customs?”

“I did. Here in London.”

“Did the paperwork yourself?”

“No. The shipping department did, where I work.”

“Hm.” DI Stuart flipped through her notes and studied on one, in particular, scanning the page more than once.

“Why were they held up?” DI Khan asked as Myka craned toward the paper.

Myka sat back. “The weight and size were off. Not by much, but, I guess, enough.”

“That is what it says here,” DI Stuart offered, tapping the page she was reading. “It doesn't say how that problem was resolved. Do you know?”

“No.”

“You’ve no idea?"

“I don't.”

“Well, someone must have intervened."

“I think it was Mrs. Frederic.”

“Mrs. Frederic?”

“She owns a gallery here in London. I work for her sometimes."

“So you asked Mrs. Frederic for help, not your employer…” DI Stuart thumbed through papers and skimmed a page. “Vanessa Calder, who I see is associated with Mrs. Frederic."

“Vanessa tried but had no luck. So did the gallery in Poland.”

“So Mrs. Frederic was able to release your crates, but her business partner was not?”

“As far as I know.”

“Did Ms. Calder contact, or suggest you contacting Mrs. Frederic?"

“If Vanessa spoke to Mrs. Frederic, she didn’t mention it.”

“You contacted her on your own volition.”

“Helena suggested it.”

“Helena suggested it,” DI Stuart repeated, shuffling through papers again as if looking for proof of Myka’s claim. “Did someone contact you when your crates were released?”

“No. I kept checking with the shipping company.”

“So nothing from Mrs. Frederic’s end.”

“No, nothing.” Myka knew where this was going and she didn’t want it to go much farther. "I’m sorry, but what do my crates have to do with anything?"

DI Stuart looked over at DI Khan. “Who did you say packed them?” DI Khan asked.

“I didn't.”

“Didn’t pack them?”

“Say who packed them.”

“Who did?”

“I did."

“At work?”

“No. My studio. One of Vanessa’s art handlers gave me instructions.” Myka dug into her pocket and pulled out her phone. “Here.” She tapped the screen twice, then swiped, and slid the device towards him.

“Get those from her,” DI Stuart said, rising and gathering her papers. “We’ll be back shortly—"

“Miss, may I take your tray?”

Myka looks at her dinner, she's barely touched it but hands it over anyway. “Could I get another wine?”

“Drinks cart is following.”

“Thanks.” Myka takes a tiny sip from her glass.

“I apologize for the wait,” DI Stuart said, bursting back into the room.

Myka jerked up from the table, she’d nodded off while they were gone. She slept little, if at all, at the hotel last night. Too much was weighing on her mind.

“We’re trying to sort this out quickly, but we need a slightly unusual favor.”

Myka rubbed at her eyes and smoothed down her hair. Her stomach grumbled again, but the sandwich was gone. “What is it?”

“A group interview.”

“With other cops?”

“Other interviewees,” DI Khan said.

“Like Helena?”

“Yes, like Helena,” DI Stuart answered.

Myka shook her head. “I don’t want to see her.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have a voice in this than leave it up to others?” DI Khan said.

“I don’t know what ‘this’ is. Do you?” Myka grumbled. DI Khan’s calm, low tones were grating on her nerves. He was beginning to sound like a parent minding a child.

“Either way, we'll need you to come back in the morning,” DI Stuart said.

“But my flight leaves at noon!”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to push that until evening,” DI Khan said, then looked at DI Stuart. “That should suffice, shouldn’t it?”

“We’ll do our best.” DI Stuart said, somewhat unconvincingly. She eyed Myka like she was a piece of a puzzle that hadn’t yet found its fit. Myka found it disconcerting.

Myka held DI Stuart's gaze; how much did they know that she didn’t? If they'd had the evidence they needed, they wouldn’t have orchestrated this at all. Maybe bowing out now was the right move, to let Helena do the talking.

“I’m gonna go,” Myka said, rising. “I pretty sure I can leave unless I'm being charged with something. It's the same here as in the U.S."

“You can leave, yes, if you like, but if you do, it's likely you’ll have to fly back to give evidence—”

“Dessert?”

Myka glances at the box in front of her eyes and shakes her head. “I was hoping for more wine,” she says, fingering her empty glass. “I’m not usually a lush, but this trip’s been a doozy.”

The attendant smiles and slides open a drawer. He hands her two bottles. “The extra's on me,” he whispers with a wink, then moves on to the next row.

“Have you pushed your flight forward?” DI Khan asked, reappearing minutes later.

“I did,” Myka said, with a frown. They strong-armed her into it; was that even legal? It didn’t matter, it was too late to change things now.

“Excellent. Come with us.”

The escorting officer from earlier walked toward her, but Myka didn't move.

“You can’t take me in there blind. I thought there’d be a little prep beforehand.”

“That’s true. You should be cautioned,” DI Stuart said, then launched into a well-practiced phrase. “You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Understand, you are not under arrest or obliged to remain, and may obtain legal advice at any time.“

“That’s not helpful."

"You’ve nothing to fear if you've nothing to hide.” DI Khan said.

Myka glared at him, so over his schtick.

“We’ve not charged anyone yet. We're still gathering information,” DI Stuart added.

“That why's Bonnie’s here, right?” No more tiptoeing around.

“Ms. Belski?”

“Yeah, Ms. Belski. I saw her walk past,” Myka snipped. So Bonnie was actually Bonnie today, and not Morgana or whoever, but who was Bonnie in relation to her? If only she had more information.

“Hold that thought, and please come with us,” DI Stuart said, but Myka still didn’t budge.

Should she really do this? The idea was kind of insane. If she couldn’t keep her cool, she’d blow the whole thing. She was tired and hungry and testy as hell, but dropping out now might raise suspicions. If she was truly innocent, what did she have to lose? No matter how irritating, DI Khan’s line rang true.

She gripped the table and leveraged herself up, teetering slightly from being sedentary for so long. She rolled her shoulders back and circled her neck, then followed the officers out the door.

They paused near a conference room, where Helena and Bonnie were seated. Helena's back was to the door, and Bonnie faced it, whispering to a woman to her left. She was Bonnie’s lawyer, from the look of her, meaning things had escalated quickly. Though it's possible Bonnie never went anywhere without one.

“Do I need one of those?” Myka asked, pointing her eyes at Bonnie’s companion.

“We can request one if you like. Ms. Wells’s is on their way, but she said we could start without them,” DI Khan said. "If at any time you feel you need counsel, we’ll stop the proceedings immediately.”

Myka stared at the back of Helena’s head. Could she stay in character with her so close? If she didn’t, the entire plan might fail. It didn’t sit right, her giving evidence to convict Helena willingly. She felt nauseous, but she pushed the feeling down.

“She shouldn’t be here!” Helena barked, as Myka was lead in. Then, “You shouldn’t be here,” softer, to Myka. “They’ve no reason to drag you into this.”

Helena’s eyes asked for forgiveness and Myka wanted to give it; to grab her arm and run out of the room. But Bonnie cleared her throat, and she turned toward the sound. Bonnie's smarmy smirk triggered her nausea again.

“Please sit,” DI Stuart said, gesturing toward the middle of the table. “Are introductions even necessary? I believe everyone’s familiar with everyone else.”

Myka glanced at Helena, and then at Bonnie, both poised like caged animals, ready to pounce.

“Alright, then, let’s begin. All of you were involved in a high-stakes private sale. Ms. Wells brokered the sale while Ms. Belski represented the seller. Ms. Bering placed the winning bid on Mrs. Frederic’s behalf. Does everyone agree with that assessment.”

“We’ve been through before,” Helena groaned, leaning back in her chair, stretching an arm across the one next to her. “Myka knows nothing. Irene should be here, fessing up.”

“You see, we’ve spoken to Mrs. Frederic, and your descriptions don’t match. And neither of yours match Ms. Belski’s.”

"They’re both liars,” Helena sneered, teeth bared at Bonnie. Bonnie arched a brow, but her eyes twinkled, amused by Helena’s display.

“That’s to be determined. We’re here to hear Ms. Bering's version of the story."

“M-My version?” Myka gulped.

“As a recent hire, wasn’t it odd to be asked to front a high stakes sale?” DI Khan asked.

“Mrs. Frederic said ‘new blood’ would work in her favor."

“So Helena had nothing to do with it.“

“I most certainly did not!”

“Ms. Wells, let Ms. Bering speak,” DI Stuart scolded.

Helena grimaced and slumped back into her chair.

“To win the bid, you made an offer beyond monetary compensation, correct?” DI Khan continued.

“Yes.”

“Could you elaborate on the process?"

“Is this about the number—”

“Myka...” Helena warned.

“Go on,” DI Stuart said.

“The, um, extra item in Mrs. Frederic's bid,” Myka finished. Should she not have said that so soon?

“Extra item...” DI Khan shuffled through papers then flashed one at DI Stuart, who nodded. “The ‘lost’ Faberge egg?”

Myka looked at Helena, and Helena’s brow lifted, her mouth pinching as if saying, “keep quiet.”

“No, the other one,” Myka said. Helena grunted and then looked away. Was that the wrong answer?

DI Khan scanned the document. “I see no record of a second item.”

“L3057249,” Myka rattled off.

“Could you repeat that?” DI Khan scratched down the number.

“Ell…three…zero…five—"

“Oh, you know very well what it is,” Helena groused.

“Let Ms. Bering speak,” DI Stuart scolded again.

Helena threw up a hand and then ran it roughly through her hair.

“What was the actual item?” DI Khan continued.

“I don’t know.” Myka looked at Bonnie. “But she does."

“Me? I haven’t a clue.”

Myka furrowed her brow and looked back at Helena. “You said she did.”

Helena folded her arms over her chest and glowered at Bonnie.

“Do you have a record of Mrs. Frederic offering the item? An email or text?” DI Khan asked.

Myka thought back. “No. She gave me the number over the phone.”

“Did you write it down? It is quite a long number.”

“Mrs. Fredric said not to."

“You didn’t question offering such a thing blind?” DI Stuart asked.

Deja vu, Helena had asked the exact same question. “I trusted Mrs. Frederic. This was her deal, not mine. She had more experience than me. And when Helena said the egg wouldn’t cut it, I…I just really wanted to win.” Myka turned toward Bonnie. “Why did you say 'things were looking favorably' when I left for the airport?”

Bonnie huffed out a sharp laugh. “That was not about the egg.”

“What was it about, then?” DI Khan asked.

“Don’t you dare," Helena growled at Bonnie.

“Tell me,” Myka pleaded, lost in the moment.

Bonnie glanced at her lawyer, who nodded in approval. She looked at Myka and smirked again. “Were I to throw ‘little miss naiveté’ here a bone, Helena would finally leave her for me.”

“Is that true?” Myka said, whipping around to face Helena.

“That’s absurd!” Helena blurted, eyes trained on Bonnie. “Czar Belski often misconstrues my flirtations.” She flashed a knowing smile at Myka, but Myka continued to gape, doubting all of Helena’s intentions.

“You skirted well past flirtations, lover. I have proof of our ‘interactions,’ and would be delighted to enlighten the group.” Bonnie lifted a hand and examined her nails, then glanced at Helena through thick lashes.

Helena scoffed and looked away, but Myka caught a faint flush in her cheeks. She stared at Helena, her heart pounding wildly. Did Bonnie really have evidence and if so, how far did they go? The implied intimacy of it all was unbearable.

“My poor, simple dear,” Bonnie said to Myka. “It seems your precious Helena’s using us both.”

Myka sucked in a deep breath to hold back a yelp, her nostrils flaring as she blew out the air. She stared at Bonnie, incensed; not by her but by Helena’s betrayal.

“I can explain,” Helena said, hand grasping at Myka’s shoulder.

“Don't touch me!” Myka snapped and flinched away. “I thought you loved me! That we were…we were in love. We'd made plans, Helena. I looked after of your kid!”

At “kid” something clicked, like projector moving forward to the next image. Myka slumped back in her seat and closed her eyes. A sobbing Christina appeared behind them, cradled in Helena’s arms. None of this was real, it was a smokescreen, it had to be.

Helena sank back and glared at Bonnie. Bonnie smirked yet again.

“Any comment, Ms. Wells?” DI Stuart asked.

“I’ll wait for my lawyer, thank you.” Helena folded her arms over her chest and looked toward the door.

“I’m done,” Myka muttered, so low it was barely audible. She marched past Helena and straight out the door.

-TBC-

[pongpalace]

twice the sugar [ao3] 

a @swawesomesanta fic for @justaphage , who wanted a happy ending and gave so many lovely prompts/ideas to jump off of. i too agree that there will never be enough of bitty and jack cooking together, and i was already in a youtube hole that started with this video and well... happy holidays! 

"If there's a sexier sound on this planet than the person you're in love with cooing over the crêpes you made for him, I don't know what it is." — Julie Power

Jack isn’t sure what time it is when he wakes up overly warm and with blond hair in his mouth, and doesn’t quite care enough to grab his phone to check. He stretches his legs out, cracking his toes, and twists away from where he’d been spooning Bitty to work out the kink in his back. Bitty makes a grunt of protest, loud enough that Jack knows he’s close to waking up, so Jack doesn’t feel too bad when he takes back his arm that’d been under Bitty in an attempt to get some of the feeling back.

“Morning,” Jack whispers, loath to completely break the quiet of the morning. He’s never been a morning person, hates to be awake before the sun rises, but he’s had early morning practices since he first became part of team and an internal clock that still gets excited by being the first one at the rink.

Bitty evidently has no such qualms about quiet mornings; he responds to Jack with an overdramatic groan-snuffle combo. Jack bites back a grin and goes willingly when Bitty rolls them both over to bury his face in Jack’s neck as the big spoon. Bitty’s measured breaths tickle the back of Jack’s neck, and because it’s an off-day for both of them, it doesn’t take long for Jack’s breathing to match up to Bitty’s.

Jack isn’t sure if he actually falls asleep again, or if he just dozes, but he blinks open his eyes when Bitty shifts against his back, more definitive in his movements than before. The angle of the light streaming in from the window has changed, casting the bedroom in a rosy glow. Jack stretches his legs out again, and gets kicked when he accidentally wafts cold air in under the covers. He rolls so he and Bitty are lying face to face and clamps Bitty’s cold toes between his calves.

“Morning sweetpea,” Bitty says. He shuffles forward to press a warm kiss under Jack’s eye, wrinkling his nose when he interrupts Jack mid-yawn and gets a faceful of stale morning breath.

“Morning,” Jack repeats, after he’s cracked his jaw. “Sleep well?”

“Always do here,” Bitty replies. His eyes are still tired, fighting through the leftover fog of sleep, but his languid grin is Jack’s favourite, so Jack leans forward to press his lips to Bitty’s. It doesn’t get much deeper than a dry brush of their lips—they both really do need to brush their teeth—but it’s still the best part of waking up in the same bed as Bitty.

“Yuck,” Jack says when he pulls back.

“Right back at you, Mister,” Bitty says. He steals what he can of the blankets off Jack, tucking them around himself with a pleased grin. Jack thinks about doing something to take them back but his stomach grumbles before he can make a move.

“Breakfast?” Jack asks, rolling out of bed and going to the ensuite bathroom. He loses Bitty’s reply to the flush of the toilet, so after washing his hands and wetting his toothbrush for toothpaste, he leans against the doorway to talk to Bitty.

“What?” he asks around his toothbrush. Bitty groans through a full body stretch, his toes peeking out from the bottom of the blanket burrito before disappearing back inside. Jack is oddly charmed by that.

“I’m in the mood for crêpes,” Bitty answers, sitting up so the blankets pool around him.

He’s blinking innocently at Jack, but there’s something in the set of his eyebrows that makes Jack suspicious. Jack slows his brushing and squints at Bitty while he thinks, wondering if part of Bitty’s kitchen magic is realizing that Jack has a craving before Jack does. An off day means that Jack can, and will, cover his crêpes with butter and sprinkled sugar, like his grandmère would make, and not feel guilty when the layer of sugar becomes twice as thick as the thin crêpes. But that doesn’t explain the way Bitty is looking at Jack, biting his lip to hide a smile.

Jack goes back to the sink to spit. They’ve never made crêpes together but he thinks that Bitty’s probably more partial to whipped cream on his crêpes, at least based on his affinity for the stuff on pancakes and hot drinks. They don’t have any in the kitchen right now, so maybe Jack’s going to get sent to the grocery store before breakfast? It wouldn’t be the first time; half of the reason Jack keeps energy bars in his car now is for when he runs out to pick up a forgotten ingredient before a meal. Bitty’s expression promises more than an emergency grocery run though and—oh.

Jack turns to go back out to the bedroom and jumps when he sees Bitty in the doorway.

“You saw the video?” Jack asks.

“I saw the video,” Bitty confirms, grin widening.

It’d been part of the promotional stuff Jack did during press week before the season started; one of a series of rapid fire questions he was asked about his favorite T.V. shows and movies, and hobbies outside of hockey. Nothing had been done with the footage right away, lulling Jack into a false sense of security that he wouldn’t have to deal with the chirps that would most definitely come when people saw that his answer to the question “what’s the best dish you can cook?” was the most stereotypical answer he could give— short of poutine .

He knows a compilation video of all the answers to the question had recently come out—Tater asked about pregame crêpes in the groupchat yesterday and Marty sent a link to a crêperie that makes “crêpes that would put anything Zimmermann makes to shame”—but Bitty hadn’t said anything about it when Jack got home. The Samwell group chat had been quiet on that front too so Jack figured that maybe his part in the video got buried by the other answers of chicken and pasta or overshadowed by Snowy’s sage butter gnocchi.

Apparently not.

Bitty bursts into laughter at whatever face Jack makes. “Crêpes, really?” he asks. “I mean, no one's gonna forget you’re French anytime soon Monsieur Zimmermann.”

Jack doesn’t comment on his pronunciation, knowing that he wouldn’t escape unscathed if he started Bitty down that path. “You weren’t complaining about my French last night,” Jack says instead, sticking his toothbrush back in his mouth.

“Yes, thank you for helping me translate those recipes hun, google translate couldn’t’ve done any better.” Bitty rolls his eyes and hip checks Jack out of the way to grab his own toothbrush. Jack spits one last time, running the water to wash it all down the drain, before leaving Bitty to finish his bathroom routine.

He has butter melting in the microwave, eggs, flour, milk, and a big measuring cup on the counter and is in the process of trying to locate a pan when Bitty joins him in the kitchen..

“I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me,” Bitty says. He hops up onto one of the bar stools and straightens the stick of butter from where Jack haphazardly threw it. “I have to hear about your best dish from the NHL network of all places.” He tuts, winking when Jack looks up.

“They didn’t make fun of me,” Jack replies, ducking down to check the drawer under the stove for the good pan.

“Check over the stove,” Bitty says when Jack straightens, knees cracking loud enough that he knows he’ll have to spend some time later stretching everything out. Jack did check over the stove earlier, but knows by now that Bitty has a special sense for where things are in his kitchen so he opens the cupboard again. Bitty’s eyes sparkle with a smile when Jack gets up on his tiptoes again and finds the right pan on top of the shitty one he ignored earlier. He’ll never understand why Bitty puts pans where he can’t reach them. Jack sets the pan on the stove and starts to dump the wet ingredients into the mixing cup.

“Was there a chicken quota or something?” Bitty asks.

Jack looks up from the bag of flour. “What?”

“I mean, everyone else was saying chicken or pasta, so did they tell you you couldn’t?”

“Ha-ha.” Jack deadpans, flicking flour at Bitty. He chuckles when Bitty blows out a big breath, successfully keeping the flour out of his face but getting it everywhere else instead. They both watch it settle on the counter.

“Not it,” Bitty says.

“I’m cooking,” Jack says, dumping the flour into the bowl.  Bitty snorts; they both know that Jack’ll take care of the dishes while Bitty wipes down the kitchen and then they'll put everything away together, but takes the damp paper towel Jack hands him to wipe at the flour.

Jack mixes everything together, including the last minute addition of melted butter he almost forgot about, and turns on the burner to let the pan heat for a minute. Bitty looks up from his phone when it sizzles, melting on the heat. He raises his eyebrows, meaningfully looking at the cooking spray Jack usually uses when he cooks.

“It makes it taste better,” Jack mumbles, lifting the pan and swirling it so the butter coats the entire surface. Bitty hums, but doesn’t say anything, going back to his phone with a self-satisfied smirk. He continues to narrate Tater’s latest tweet and Jack starts the cooking process.

He ruins the first crêpe. He put too much batter in the pan, and isn’t able to get a good flip so it folds in on itself before he can smooth it out.

“For nhl.com,” Jack says, scraping it onto a plate to be dealt with later. Bitty laughs loudly and Jack rebutters the pan.

The second crêpe goes much better. It’s a perfect pour, and Jack swirls the pan just right so the batter spreads evenly. He and Bitty both watch the bubbles in the center and the edges crisp up until Jack loosens the edges with a spatula to flip it with his fingertips, only burning them a little. He sticks his fingers tips in his mouth, unwilling to go run them under water and risk burning the crêpe. He almost burns it anyways when he gets slightly distracted by Bitty leans forward on the island to watch him, but remembers just in time to get the it off the pan. It goes onto the other plate, perfectly golden brown.

Bitty wears his impressed eyebrows when he looks at Jack. Jack’s stomach swoops pleasantly as he gets a butter knife to spread a layer of butter on the warm crêpe, enjoying how the butter melts as it touches the crêpe. He reaches for the sugar bowl next, sprinkling a thin layer first, and when that starts to go translucent from the heat of the crêpe, melting into the butter, he sprinkles another layer. Jack slides the plate over to Bitty, who looks absolutely delighted at the amount of sugar on the plate.

“It’s how my grandmère made them,” Jack says. Bitty gives him a look he can’t quite read, fond and soft around the eyes. Jack smiles back—he can’t not smile when Bitty looks like that—and watches Bitty expertly roll the crêpe up.

Jack waits before he pours more batter into the pan, keeping an eye on Bitty to see his reaction. He feels his face heat when Bitty makes a noise not unlike he’s heard in their bedroom, but it’s somehow even sexier to hear Bitty reacting like that to Jack’s cooking.

“Oh, this is really good Jack,” Bitty says, closing his eyes as he chews through another bite. “Well, worth the wait.”

Jack leans across the island and for a kiss, grinning into the pleased sound that Bitty makes. There’s sugar on Bitty’s lips, though that’s not the only reason it’s so sweet, and while he’s kissing Bitty as thoroughly as possible with the island between them, he rips off a piece of crêpe. Bitty nips at his bottom lip. He's probably figured out what Jack is doing but doesn't stop him so Jack pulls back and pops the stolen bite in his mouth.

“Perfect,” he nods. Bitty rolls his eyes at the double meaning, and huffs a laugh as Jack ducks in for another kiss before going back to the stove to finish the crêpes.

They’re perfect.