#and had to figure out how to turn out of the weird sideways angle i managed to get into

[plaidbees]

really taking the fuck around and find out approach to learning to drive. do i know how to work this thing? no. do i know the rules of the road? no. do i have a license? also no but you best believe i can go back and forth in my driveway a few times

#you don’t technically need a permit or a license to drive in ur own property #drivers ed? who’s that #trial by fire baby #got briefly stuck between the wall on the edge of the driveway and the tree that planted itself Right next to my fucking house #and had to figure out how to turn out of the weird sideways angle i managed to get into #did you know that you have to invert the way you move the steering wheel when ur in reverse gear? because i did not until today #i was just moving forward like less than a foot and turning the way i meant to go #only to go right back to the angle i was at when i tried to reverse #and had to figure out how a point turn works #BUT i got the car where i wanted it and now i don’t get smacked by the aforementioned tree when i try to get in the car

[thisisapaige]

for suptober22 day 10: enchanted

The bunker appeared massive from Dean's vantage point. The library table he stood upon was a vast prairie of finished wood. The lights overhead felt like a thousand blazing suns. The two faces staring down at him belonged to giants. Sam was always huge, but now he was King Kong-sized. Cas really was the size of the Chrysler Building. 

"What happened to him?" Cas's voice rumbled from far above, vibrating the table. 

Dean slid across the surface. Sam reached down and stopped Dean's movement with a hand the size of a turkey meant to feed a family of twelve. 

"He touched an enchanted object while we were cleaning the storage room," Sam said. He walked out of view, his footsteps echoing thunder. He returned with the object in question, a sparking green jewel wrapped in a plaid hand towel, and showed it to Cas. "I told him to be careful."

Dean would have protested, pulled a face, punched him, or something. But that Dean couldn't. Dean couldn't do much of anything. He had a featureless face save for his green button eyes, an oval body, and four rounded limbs in the approximation of legs and arms protruding from it. 

He was a crochet doll. Not even a good one.

Causing a crash and an earthquake, Cas crouched to be at eye-level with Dean. Cas's face was huge, blue eyes the size of oceans, the stubble across his cheeks a forest, and the nails on the end of his fingers resting on the table shining pools of holy light. Dean figured most people would look horrible at this angle, but Cas appeared divine, good. Dean felt like he'd snatched a small, privileged glimpse of the true form hidden under Cas's vessel. It must be beautiful.

On the other hand, Sam wasn't fairing so well from Dean's perspective. He could see right up Sam's nose. Oh, Dean was handing him the trimmer the second he had usable hands.

Cas cupped a hand around Dean's new body, his touch warm, gentle, and tingling with grace. "I can feel his presence. He is alive. Just..." 

"A half-finished amigurumi doll?" Sam sighed. The resulting wind would have launched Dean over the table's edge if Cas hadn't been holding him steady. "How do we fix him?"

Cas held his free hand out to Sam. "May I see that gem?"

Sam carefully placed the object in Cas's hand, the towel covering every piece of exposed skin. Cas stared at it, at the swirling green light in the centre, his brow wrinkling in concentration. He concentrated for so long, Dean wondered if the gem could make time stop, too. He would have that kind of luck. 

"Sam," Cas said, "please stand back."

The resulting booms indicated that Sam followed the command, then Dean's world tipped sideways. Everything blurred as he moved. Dean couldn't shut his plastic eyes to stave off the motion sickness. His yarn stomach lurched and churned, if that were possible, as he ascended up, up, up.

Finally, it stopped, and Dean realized he was safely cupped in Cas's palm. It was kind of nice if he ignored the circumstances. It was similar to lounging in a hammock, if the hammock was made out of fleshy appendages. 

Okay, Dean made it weird.

Ringing filled the room, then bright blue light blotted out everything. The blue became mixed with green, and Dean unravelled.  

Literally. 

While it didn't hurt, it was a strange sensation, like how he imagined a ferret flattening its body to shove itself through the gap in the bottom of a closed door felt. It began with his leg, the yarn stretching and spinning until it was the size of a human's, one at a time. His arms suffered the same treatment until his cotton parts turned into skin, muscle, and bone. The transformation ended when Dean's eyes formed, pushing the two buttons out until they clacked against the floor.

The light faded and the noise ceased. Cas dropped the gem, which skidded under the table, dull, dark, and lifeless. 

Dean's ears rang. His swallowed, his throat dry. Dean's limbs, Dean's human limbs, swung in the air. He blinked over and over again to clear his vision.

Holy shit, Cas held him in his arms, one hand at his back and the other at his knees. Dean didn't try to free himself, didn't want to. Instead, he rested his head against Cas's broad muscled chest. He felt Cas's eyes on him and looked up to meet them, smiling shyly. Dean could swim in that ocean.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said. "Thanks for the rescue." 

Cas tipped his head. "Of course, Dean."

Sam loudly cleared his throat from behind them. Dean and Cas paid him no mind.

#suptober22 #destiel #deancas #destiel fic #spncreatorsdaily #feathersforcas #deancaskiss #mild #body horror cw #poor sam #team free will #enjoy! #writing paige

[chil2de]

that one scene from csm but make it my favourite haikyuu characters

aka: you give them the lollipop you were eating

featuring: miya atsumu, miya osamu, suna rintarou, sakusa kiyoomi, iwaizumi hajime, tendou satori

atsumu

“that’s nasty as shit”

“y’all still eat those?” atsumu sneers, slumping down on the bench beside you. he slings his arm over you to set down the drink he got for you. from your peripherals, you watch him screw open a bottle of water before chugging half the contents.

“what do you mean still? you’re acting like you were born three decades ago. have you ever even had one?”

“why would i eat one? it’ll be gone in like a minute” he scoffs, screwing the lid back on.

“that’s ‘cause you’re one of those psychopaths who bite straight into it. you’re supposed to wait for it to dissolve in your m—“

“wait for it to do what?”

“huh? dissolve in your m—“

you turn your attention towards atsumu’s stifled laughter.

“you’re tryin’ so hard to not say ‘suck’ and it’s fuckin’ killing me” he snorts, eyebrows raising in amusement.

“are you a child?” you sneer, gritting your teeth a little into the candy.

“i ain’t got a lollipop in my mouth”

“that’s why ‘samu’s the better twin.” you hum. when atsumu’s mouth rolls into an ‘o’ you take the opportunity to plunge the lollipop into his mouth, relishing the way surprise paints him.

for a second, your thumb lingers on his bottom lip. his eyelids are still blown with shock before he tucks the lollipop away, delicacy audibly knocking against his teeth.

“cute.” you hum, pulling atsumu’s bottom lip down. he jams his lips closed, shooting you daggers in the process. it only fuels you more when he’s left in a pout but his eyes shriek bloody murder.

“shut the hell up, asshole.”

-

osamu

“i mean..”

“here. you wanted this one, right?” osamu opens the grocery bag, rummaging through the contents before leaning over the passenger seat to give you your lollipop.

you lean back over to him, planting a small kiss onto his cheek before murmuring a soft thank you against his skin.

“oh! you got the melon one, too! i heard they’re good.” you hum, working the wrapper off as osamu drives the key into the exhaust.

“probably tastes like melon.” he laughs with a puff of exhaled air.

“you didn’t get one for yourself?” you inquire, turning to face osamu as he leans one arm behind your seat- peering out behind him to back out of the parking lot.

“one of..?” he trails, attention clearly elsewhere for a second.

“the lollipop. you wanna try?”

“(y/n), i don’t want your cooties.” osamu hums in amusement, yet continues to pop his mouth open whilst he’s still facing you. having not tried the lollipop yourself, you quickly give it a few swipes before letting osamu taste it.

“tastes like melon.” he agrees, humming thoughtfully as he straightens himself to face forward.

“right? it’s kinda weird, like there’s an aftertaste.”

“there’s a few extras in the bag, you wanna try those too?”

-

suna

“thanks.”

you sling your arm over your bed, digging and thrashing around for your phone until it falls within your reach. even though suna’s a room away, instead of using your voice, you decide to send him a message. you can even hear the faint buzz and ring of his phone going off in the distance.

it’s a beat, two, three until you can hear rustling ring in the air; followed by the faint pitter patter of suna’s footsteps.

when the door opens, he pops his head through with a look of disgruntlement evident on him.

“are you mute?” he sighs, glancing around to try to figure out what you want before you get a chance to speak.

you grab the lollipop from your mouth, sticking it out in front of you.

“i don’t wanna eat it anymore.”

suna slumps off of the door, taking a few steps forward to extend his hand before taking the candy from you.

“i’ll throw it away for you, doll.” he hums flatly, ghosting a smirk on his lips as he listens to your clamor and turmoil at the newfound information.

subsequently, when suna settles back down at his desk, he sends you a snap. the picture includes him holding the stick at an angle so that you can see the bulge of the lollipop against his skin, ornating his cheek in a small ‘o’. moreover, the caption reads “gotem😎”

-

sakusa

“no.”

sakusa raises an eyebrow incredulously at your morbid proposal, features scrunching into mutiny underneath his mask.

“give it here. i’m throwing it away.” he tilts his digits in a ‘come here’ motion, beckoning for you to hand the lollipop over.

“kiyoomiiii! it won’t kill you!” you guffaw, hesitantly handing over the candy in betrayal. he shoots you a sideways glare, carefully covering the lollipop up with the original wrapper it came in.

“but we’ve kis—“

“—how am i supposed to know that you’re not carrying a disease?” sakusa refutes, warning you to not cause a scene in front of his team mates. if they caught wind that he even allowed you to touch his hand, let alone kiss him, he’s sure that he’ll never hear the end of it.

later that day, as you swing by the gymnasium to catch the end of sakusa’s practice, you spot him halfway across the court- resting on a bench.

with every step forwards, your eyes focus on the foreign object that pokes out of his mouth. it’s a white lollipop stick, the same one you’d given him earlier.

you raise a finger in rebuttal, tone sneering.

“is that—“

he grabs the lollipop, motioning it towards you.

“why? you want it back?”

-

iwaizumi

“couldn’t you have bought another one?”

“iwa-chaaaan! how are your blood sugar levels?”

“iwa-chan?” his face scrunches, clearly disappointed and a little agitated over the downgrade in his pet name. whatever happened to babe? baby? haji, even? he’s not necessarily thrilled that you’re talking to him at the same level oikawa does.

“huh? you good?” you wave your hand out, fanning it in front of iwaizumi’s face to catch his attention.

“yeah, what? i don’t know. i don’t check it.” he huffs momentarily.

iwaizumi’s quick to spot the lollipop sitting in your mouth, tucked away in your cheek so that you can speak properly. you can already see the suspicion crawling onto him, and unfortunately he’s half a step further than you.

“don’t you have another one?” iwaizumi sighs, refusing to meet the puppy eyes that make his heart strings pull.

“why? don’t wanna share with me?” you grin, securing the stick in place so that he can’t grab ahold of it.

“really? you’re not gonna share it with me now?”

before you’re able to start a game of tug of war, iwaizumi steals the candy by yanking it out of your mouth and swiftly taking it for him to taste.

“what the hell?” his features bundle up into disgust and his gaze locks with yours. you can’t help the slight giggles that threaten to spill past your lips.

“you got the orange one? that’s nasty.” iwaizumi mumbles, twirling the lollipop in his mouth as though he might become accustomed to the taste.

“so? no one’s forcing you to eat it. spit it out or throw it away.”

“no way.”

-

tendou

“ehh? you really wanna share it?”

from across the assortment of candy jars that lay in front of him, tendou leans over the counter. he creases his brow in concentration, as though he’s plotting his next move to win a checkmate in chess. in fact, he’s just trying his best to pick what snacks to stockpile for when he’s cuddling with you later.

tendou’s face contorts into disgust and he hisses a low tut when his eyes lay upon the untouched container of black liquorice. he moves his slender fingers towards said container, analysing the amount of content inside.

“satori? you like black liquorice? it’s okay, i won’t tell anyone.” you sneer, digging your elbow into tendou’s side. he uncoils from the jar as though he’s just touched a hot pan.

“eh? do i look like someone who likes black liquorice?” he raises an eyebrow, setting the container back down before grabbing something else and stuffing it into a paper bag.

“i mean.. yeah? you were just fondling black liquorice?”

“whaaaat? there’s some things that i like fondling, but black liquorice ain’t one of them.” tendou hums, snapping his head back to look at you in his peripherals. you send another jab to his side, apologising profusely to the employee for his inappropriate comment.

“satori!” you guffaw, watching the smug grin tilt onto him whilst you’re left speeding away from him out of embarrassment. tendou only reaches his hand out and stops you short by the arm, assertively yet carefully dragging you back to walk alongside him.

“you can’t just say that in public!”

“say what?” he cocks his head, blowing his eyelids open with curiosity. you watch his lips descend into that cute little pout and you’ve almost lost your mind already.

“oh? but i didn’t specify what i was talking about, did i? you’re so diiiirtyyyyy~”

“shut up! whatever— anyways, what’d you get?” you grit your teeth, turning your face away from him.

you can feel tendou’s cold fingertips grasp your chin. he tilts you forward, other hand dipping a green lollipop into your mouth.

“here! this is for you, angel~”

-

people who reblog r cool <3

#tendou and suna respectively shortened my lifespan #i forgot hina :( #hq #haikyu x reader #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x you #atsumu x reader #osamu x self insert #osamu x reader #osamu x y/n #osamu x you #suna x reader #suna x you #suna x y/n #sakusa x self insert #sakusa x you #sakusa x y/n #sakusa x reader #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x you #tendou x y/n #tendou x you #tendou x reader

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Blind Spot

Spencer Reid x (Gender Neutral) Reader

Word Count: 2640

Warnings: Hair pulling kink! Bucketloads of sexual tension but no actual sex. Gratuitous facts about bird nests. Dorks being oblivious. Lots of fluffy heart-eyed banter. Accusations of intercourse with fictional tree-beasts. 

A/N: I saw a gif that made me want to pull Spencer’s hair. That’s it. I have zero shame. 

For the “friends to lovers” square on my @cmbingo​ card! Proofread by @fangirlxwritesx67​ because she’s the best. 

“You look like you fucked an Ent,” you commented cheerfully, stealing sideways glances at Spencer while you waited for the light to change.  

“Thanks, that’s helpful.” He grimaced, trying to tug another burr out of a snarled curl. 

“Oh my god, you’re just making it worse! I’ll help you when we get back to your place. Leave it, you goober.” 

“Did you just call me a goober?” Spencer asked, trying not to laugh. 

“You’re like the dictionary definition of a goober,” you said fondly. 

“I have three PhDs!”  

“I really wish I’d gotten a video of that tumble, Doctor Goober.” 

Spencer was blushing, grinning down at his lap as he shredded a piece of leaf. It was hard not to stare at him when he smiled like that. 

He’d essentially face-planted into a burr bush earlier, somewhere in the Virginia woods — he’d been so excited about explaining some wonky bit of Star Trek physics theory to you that he just forgot to pay attention to his feet — and he’d floundered out with half a hedge stuck in his hair before picking up exactly where he’d left off. 

In other words, Doctor Spencer Reid was a ridiculous human being. You knew that, objectively. It didn’t stop you from having a massive crush on him. 

Either he was pretending not to notice, to spare your feelings, or he was socially oblivious; you tended to believe the former, considering how well you’d seen him read other people, but you appreciated it. There was a chance you’d make it out of this — if you could just get over it already — with your friendship intact. 

You cleared your throat and told him, “You look like the bastard child of Grandmother Willow and the Wizard of Oz scarecrow.” 

“Even if they were real, the anatomical —” 

“You didn’t mention that when I brought up the Ents. Something you want to tell me about you and Treebeard?” 

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffed, trying to sound exasperated, but he could barely keep a straight face for a second before he was laughing, that scratchy sunny childish giggle that only came out when he was really relaxed and carefree. 

“Close the window before a bird sees you and decides to take up residence.” 

“How about you watch the road?”

“What, no facts about bird nests?” 

“Is that a rhetorical question?” 

“Nope.” 

“Well in that case… gyrfalcon nests are frequently re-used and passed along for generations. The oldest one that’s been discovered was in Greenland, and it was actually estimated to be approximately 2,500 years old.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yes! In fact…” 

You had to remind yourself, yet again, to stop staring. 

Maybe someday you’d get sick of hearing Spencer talk, but you couldn’t really understand the way most of your teammates reacted to his rambling. Even if you didn’t care about what he was saying, there was something amazing about the way his eyes lit up and his hands fluttered around to illustrate his point.

You parked in front of his building and followed him upstairs. His apartment had become comfortingly familiar — ever since you and Spencer bonded over a shared love of sci-fi, you’d taken to driving him home and, if it wasn’t too late, sticking around for an episode or two of Doctor Who.  

He got his ancient little DVD player up and running, and you settled on the couch, fluffing pillows and shoving aside his nest of colorful crocheted blankets, getting cozy. There was something about Spencer’s space that always felt like home; maybe it was the smell of books, or just the general Spencer-ness of the whole place. 

Just being around him had always kinda felt like home, too. Sometimes you forgot you’d only known him for six months. 

He disappeared into his room for a second and came back with a comb. It was cheap plastic, missing a couple teeth, and looked like it hadn’t been used in a while. You looked from him to the comb and back again. 

“That actually explains a lot,” you said, grinning. Spencer rolled his eyes and sat down on the floor in front of you, leaning back against your shins, and after a dismayed glance at his curls, you commented, “We could always just shave it all off.” 

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” he said primly. 

You started with a couple of the less tangled pieces, finger-combing carefully through one soft lock at a time. You half-expected some comment about primates and social grooming, or at least a few facts about the quantum theory behind the TARDIS, but Spencer was uncharacteristically quiet and still, his eyes fixed on the TV. 

You separated out one of the worst knots, and he tilted his head to the side to give you better access. You were being as gentle as possible, but you knew you were hurting him at the first tug — he sucked in a breath, knuckles going white as his fingers clenched on his knees. 

“Sorry, I’m trying,” you sighed. 

With his head tilted like this, you could see the muscle clenching in his jaw and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. 

“S’okay,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s not — not your fault.” 

He sat there stiffly as you worked. His hair was silky, where it wasn’t hopelessly knotted, and you were close enough that you could smell whatever clean, sweet shampoo he used. Something about it made you want to hold your breath; it felt like you were too close. Spencer rarely let you inside his little bubble of personal space. 

Maybe that was why he seemed uncomfortable. He was usually so fidgety, tapping out a rhythm or twirling a pen between his long fingers, and it was strange to see him motionless like this. 

You ran your fingers through a de-tangled section, slow and careful, and Spencer shivered, his shoulders trembling for a moment before he went unnaturally still again. 

Spencer blurted out, “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

At the same time, you asked, “Are you cold?” 

You paused for a moment, surprised by the reaction, but after hesitating, Spencer just muttered, “Yeah. Cold.” 

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were missing something. It was too warm, if anything; Spencer had a patchy flush crawling up his neck and over the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones. 

“Here you go, goober,” you said, awkwardly cheerful in an attempt to cover your uncertainty as you grabbed an afghan from the couch and draped it around his shoulders. 

“Thanks.” He pulled the blanket down onto his lap without looking at you. “But maybe I should just do this myself.” 

“You’re never gonna get this loose on your own, not without scissors,” you warned, plucking at the knot around the last burr in his hair. “I’ll just, um — I’ll try to be more gentle.” 

“Maybe just go for it,” he said. “Get it over with.” His voice had gone all high-pitched and strained, like he was on the verge of a panic attack. If this was how much he disliked physical contact, no wonder he always avoided hugging you. 

You tried to go quickly, figuring that one quick moment of pain was better than another ten minutes of making Spencer uncomfortable. In your nervousness, you ended up tugging the burr out much more abruptly than you’d intended, and Spencer let out this rough, low, choked-off sound. Before you could apologize, he was jerking away from you, curled in on himself with his shoulders up around his ears like he was worried you were going to hit him, and — 

“Sorry,” he said, voice cracking. 

— what? 

“Spence?” you said tentatively. “What—”

He was still just curled up on the floor in a ball of gangly limbs, but he half-turned to you, twisting around. He wouldn’t make eye contact, though; he was staring intently at the pillow that was on the couch next to you. It felt weird, looking down at him like this, so you slid down onto the floor, hoping it wouldn’t spook him. He shifted back slightly, but at least he didn’t flinch away. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t — this was a bad idea.” 

The profiler in you couldn’t help but notice a few details. He was blushing, for starters. His lower lip was red where he’d been biting it, and — this was the part that surprised you most — his pupils were huge. 

You knew what Spencer looked like when he was panicking, and this wasn’t it. 

“Oh,” you breathed. “Oh.” 

He looked down at his lap, frowning as he played with the loose thread in the cuff of his sweater. 

“Sorry,” he repeated. “I know you don’t feel the same way, I wasn’t trying to — I didn’t realize it would be like that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and—”

“Wait, what?” 

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable! I shouldn’t have asked—”

“I don’t feel the same way about what?” 

“I know you’re not attracted to me,” Spencer said, barely audible. 

“You’re… you…what?” 

He looked up, at that, genuinely startled. There was something sweet and vulnerable shining in his eyes, and your heart was racing. You slid a little bit closer, so that your knees were almost touching Spencer’s as you faced each other, cross-legged. 

“I thought you knew.” His hushed, croaky voice broke on the last word. “I thought I was being obvious.” 

You gaped at him for a second before letting out a sharp, hysterical giggle. 

He ducked his head again, hiding behind a curtain of hair, but not before you saw the hurt expression that flashed across his features. 

“No, that’s not—” you blurted out. “Spence. Spencer.” 

“Forget it,” he said sharply, his body going tense like he was about to bolt. “Can we just forget this happened?” 

Before you could think better of it, you reached out and pushed a few curls back behind his ear, and then you grabbed, twisting your fingers in his hair to tug him forward. You cut off the startled noise he made with a clumsy, eager kiss. 

The angle was all wrong, both of you leaning forward awkwardly, but it felt like sparks all down your spine.

You pulled away just far enough to get the words out: “I thought I was being obvious.”  

Then Spencer was surging closer on his hands and knees, crowding into your space, until you had a lapful of rumpled doctor pressing you back against the couch. He cupped your jaw with gentle spidery fingers, gaze locked on your mouth, and leaned in slowly like he was still waiting for you to push him away. 

There was nothing awkward about it this time. If the first kiss was sparks, this was fireworks — it was such a goddamn cliche you wanted to kick yourself for thinking it, but it was true. Your head was spinning. Every pillowy press of his lips and soft slide of his tongue seemed to steal the breath from your lungs. 

By the time you broke apart you were panting, but at least you weren’t the only one. Spencer’s chest heaved as he pulled away. He was still staring at your mouth like he couldn’t help himself. Part of you wanted to kiss him again and maybe never stop, but another part of you was paralyzed, trying to process the fact that this was actually happening. 

You just wanted to put the world on pause so that you could memorize everything: the way he licked his lips, the smell of his laundry detergent, the barely-perceptible movement of his pulse — you’d never seen that before because you’d never been this close to him before. You wanted to hold onto it, even the less-than-perfect details — the soundtrack of buzzy Dalek screeching in the background — the way you were folded together on the floor, all too-long legs and bony elbows, which was going to get uncomfortable fast.  

Spencer seemed to feel the same way. He grazed the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, then followed the curve of your smile out to your temple and traced the shell of your ear with careful fingertips. When he brushed his curled-up fingers along the ridge of your cheekbone, you turned your head and kissed his knuckles.  

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, and you wrapped your fingers around his wrist, holding it in place, feeling the blood and bones shifting under the skin.  

“You really didn’t know?” you whispered. 

He shook his head shyly and gave you one of those incandescent smiles that always made your heart race. “No idea.” 

“I thought you were just ignoring it to spare my feelings,” you confessed. 

“I thought you were doing that.”  

“I thought you were good at your job!” you laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something?” 

“I think I have a blind spot, where you’re concerned.” He was blushing again. “But I was so distracted by you that I walked into a bush! How did you not —” 

“I’m the one who stares at you all the time like a creep.” 

“You thought you were being creepy?” he said sheepishly. “As soon as you started touching my hair — oh my god that’s embarrassing.” 

“That’s not the word I would’ve used.” 

You tangled your fingers in his curls, tugging experimentally. His breath hitched. 

Both of you were utterly still for a moment, watching each other, and the tension between you seemed to fill the air like a living thing. You were excruciatingly aware of all the places your bodies were touching.

You considered all the places you could touch. It would be so easy. You could tug him in, kiss him, melt into each other… there were so many possibilities, suddenly, and there was something incredible about that: the electricity, the excitement, the moment of pure potential in the pause between certainty and action. 

Spencer sighed, long and shaky, and you were so close that you could feel the current of exhaled air. 

“I couldn’t think straight,” he murmured, with a twitch of a smile. “That doesn’t happen to me often.” 

“So you didn’t know…” 

You scritched your fingernails down his scalp, marveling at the way he shivered and swayed closer like he was hypnotized. He curled his hand around the side of your neck, thumb slowly stroking the hinge of your jaw. 

“I knew I liked it,” he confessed. “But — within a certain context? Not out of nowhere like that. I didn’t think it would be... like that.” 

“Like what?”

“Intense.”  

“Yeah?” 

“But I think maybe it’s just you.” His eyes had gone all glassy and heavy-lidded, and you could barely breathe. “Maybe you drive me crazy no matter where you’re touching me.” 

“I can think of a few ways to test that hypothesis.” 

You caught a glimpse of his grin, but then he pressed his forehead to yours and his features went blurry, too close for you to focus.

“Never really thought I’d be into dirty talk, but if you’re going to start quoting the scientific method…” 

“Funny, most of the time you never shut up,” you said, giddy and overwhelmed. 

The tip of his nose brushed yours. There was maybe an inch of space between your mouths, and you wanted to close that gap so badly it felt like a physical ache. 

“I mean, if you want me to start rattling off statistics—” 

“Spencer.” You fisted both hands in his hair, tugging sharply, and he shuddered. “Take a hint.” 

“Blind spot, remember?” he whispered, lips brushing yours as they shaped the words, feather-light and maddening. 

“You know, for a genius—” you started, but he kissed you, hungry and sweet like he was making up for lost time, until you’d completely forgotten what you were going to say. 

.

.

There is now a sexy follow-up here! 

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If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message! 

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader fic

[detectivejigsawpines]

Just a Normal Day

A short drabble about sea grunks having an average adventure, written in honor of their birthday.

Even before they got attacked by the Cthulhu beast, it had been a pretty average morning on the sea for the Pines twins.

Wake up at the crack of dawn (Ford) or closer to late morning (Stan); eat breakfast; reset the spell to ward off the vengeful leprechauns who might still be after them for stealing their treasure in case they’d figured out they were chasing a decoy trail by now; do a little late morning fishing, while keeping an eye out for that golden fish Stan was sure he’d seen swimming under their boat last week, and which he was hoping laid golden fish eggs or something; finally notice what time it was (Stan) and head inside to make lunch.

Just another normal day.

Stan was examining their supplies, trying to decide if it was worth breaking out some of the canned hamburger meat and throwing together sloppy Joes instead of making them eat fish again, when he was knocked skiwampus by the boat being yanked to a halt; as he struggled to regain his balance by grabbing onto the table, a vicious, blood-curdling roar came rumbling through the air from outside.

Stan sighed, and wondered if the kraken was back. In one swift motion he grabbed the spare harpoon they had hanging over the door, and stepped out to see if Ford needed help dealing with it.

It wasn’t the kraken.

It still looked like some kinda big octopus monster, though, with a mass of writhing tentacles where its face should be, and a bulbous head in the back just like an octopus body. The rest of it, at least as far as the torso, was kinda like a human’s but a little bigger (about the size of a baby whale), with slimy-looking green-brown skin and a pair of big, wrinkled, wet wings sticking out of its back. Whatever this thing was, it had grabbed onto the back of their boat, and was looming menacingly over Ford as Stan stepped outside.

“...and you are now my prisoners!” he bellowed, as his piercing golden eyes landed on Stan. “Surrender your weapons now, puny mortals, and I might be merciful!!!!”

“Yeesh, did we trespass on his territory or something?” Stan asked, leaning on the harpoon.

Ford shrugged with one shoulder, since he was trying to write in his journal at the same time. “He didn’t really say; he just jumped onboard and started threatening me.”

“Huh.” Stan looked up at the beast. “You the lord of this part of the ocean or whatever?”

The beast blinked-which looked pretty weird, his eyelids went sideways instead of up and down like humans-before nodding vigorously. “Yes! I am the lord of this part of the ocean, and you must surrender to me now, or else suffer my wrath!!!!” He slammed a fist down against the side of the boat, making it rock up and down so hard he had to scrabble to keep his balance. Stan coughed into his fist to hold back a snicker.

Ford tilted his head. “I could have sworn this was still the primary territory of the Manatee-Merfolk Alliance. Are you sure you haven’t made some kind of mistake?”

“What part of prisoners did you not understand?!” the beast demanded, spreading out his wings and shaking them as his tentacles writhed angrily. “Give up your weapons, now-all of them!!!!”

“...You sure you want that? It’s kind of gonna take awhile-”

“NOW, or I crush your boat in my mighty fist!!!!”

Stan glanced at Ford, who rolled his eyes and nodded. With a small sigh, they began disarming themselves.

********

...A minute passed and they were still at it.

Ford’s pile of weapons was almost as tall as he was, mostly consisting of long-range weapons like guns, but with a few vials of poisons and some handcuffs thrown into the mix.

Stan’s pile was more proportionate, but the number of places that weapons were produced from (including a smoke bomb that he’d somehow managed to keep tucked under his beanie) was frighteningly impressive.

The monster watched their progress with increasingly wide eyes; finally, as Stan produced another set of brass knuckles out of a secret pocket sewn onto the inside of his coat, he spluttered, “...Where were you keeping those?”

Stan just grinned shamelessly. “Trust me, sunshine, you don’t wanna know.”

“Okay, I think that’s everything,” Ford said at last, indicating the pile of weaponry.

“Yeah, well, I’m still workin’, gimme a minute.” Stan produced a switchblade, and tossed it onto his pile. Then, in a brief sleight of hand, he snatched another one from the pile and pretended to draw it out of his coat to toss it on next. “Hey, tentacles-face-ya think you could bring us back by Wednesday? We got a Zoom appointment ta keep, and our niece and nephew hate it when we’re late.” Another sleight of hand allowed him to scoop up another weapon.

“That’s not how this-now see here!” The monster drew himself up to his full height, nearly falling backwards off the boat. “You guys-you puny mortals are my prisoners! And as such, you need to understand that this is not a joking matter! I could squash you both like sea slugs if I wished! I’m all-powerful, an eons-old abomination whose very name would send you into madness if spoken aloud! So you better start quaking in fear and begging for mercy like proper captives!!!!”

Stan looked at Ford. “Sounds like we’re his first.” He looked back at the monster. “You’re doin’ great, buddy-good job on the whole threatening schtick.” He offered a thumbs-up, while using the other hand to snag another weapon that he pretended to produce from another hiding spot.

Ford winked at him, and looked back at their ‘captor.’ “Is this some sort of coming-of-age ritual for your species?” He produced his journal again, pen poised. “Very clever move, by the way, threatening our boat to get us to disarm ourselves. In the future, though, I would suggest that you try taking one of us hostage first, in order to create maximum-”

“STOP IT!”

The monster abruptly started pounding his fists against the side of the boat, nearly tipping it over before instead pitching him all the way onto the deck. “YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE THIS! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO-I’M YOUR-IT’S NOT FAIR-!”

It took Stan a moment to realize that the angry noises leaving his mouth (?) were accompanied by the sound of frustrated sobs.

He hissed through his teeth, and shot Ford a guilty look.

“...Oh boy. Looks like we got a little one here.”

********

Stan crossed the boat and crouched down in front of the weeping monster, putting a hand on his back and rubbing the spot right between his wings.

“Deep breaths, in and out. You’re not gonna get anything done like this, so just take a bit ta calm down, okay?”

The monster hiccuped and coughed, shrinking in on himself in a way that was painfully familiar to both of them.

Ford knelt down at his other side. “Maybe if you tell us why this is so important to you, we can provide some assistance?”

The monster shook his head and buried his head in his arms. “I just wanted-hic-to show my friends I could catch the Pines twins all by myself,” he croaked.

The two old men looked at each other in a mixture of surprise and slight alarm. “...You know who we are?”

That was finally enough to get him to sit up, wiping his eyes with his tentacles. “You kidding? Every creature of the seas knows who you are! You’re the guys who beat up krakens and steal gold from leprechauns and then you and your boat vanish without a trace! You’re the coolest cryptids ever!”

It took both of them a moment to digest that. By the time they did, though, they were grinning in equal delight.

“We’re cryptids?!” Ford asked, eyes practically brimming over with overjoyed tears.

“Yeah! And people at school were sayin’ you’re just a myth, but I knew you were real cuz my uncle saw your ship up in the Arctic last winter, and I was gonna capture you and bring you to class to show everyone how wrong they were and then I’d be famous and they’d stop calling me a weird runt all the time!” After a second his wings drooped, and he stared miserably down at the deck. “...Guess it was pretty dumb of me to think I could catch you all by myself.”

Stan put a hand on his shoulder. “...Kid...as much as we wanna help, we can’t just be your prisoners. We got our own lives ta get back to.”

“Plus, neither of us is able to breathe underwater,” Ford added.

The monster sighed, and pulled a strip of kelp from around his neck, turning one of the leaves until it was facing him. He squirted a stream of black ink from one of his tentacles, and dipped the tip of another one into the ink and used it to trace something that looked like a bunch of gobbledygook to Stan onto the leaf. “Humans...don’t...breathe...underwater.”

Awww...he’s a super nerd, just like Ford and Dipper!

That gave Stan an idea.

“Hey.” He nudged the monster. “What about a picture of us instead? Along with genuine proof of a close encounter?”

The monster’s head jerked up. “A picture?! Like with one of those weird magic boxes you humans carry around sometimes?!”

“That’s the one.” Stan grinned. He looked at Ford and jerked his head towards the cabin; his brother took the hint and headed for it, returning with an antique Polaroid camera that Ford had been experimenting on, but still took good pictures.

The monster’s tentacles began writhing around his face like they’d come to life, and he let out a high-pitched squeal of excitement.

“This is the greatest day of my life!!!!”

********

It took a bit of staging and directing and trying out different angles, but eventually they produced a set of photos that appeared to be of an eldritch abomination in training being attacked by, and bravely fighting off, the ferocious monster hunter Pines twins (hopefully nobody would think to ask how and why the monster had managed to get these pictures taken).

Then, while Stan took them into the cabin and soaked them in a special substance Ford had invented that would render them waterproof, Ford sat on the prow next to the young cryptid enthusiast and offered tips on future hunting adventures, comparing notes with him on some of the creatures they’d both seen. He also (with permission) took a few samples from the monster, including a long strip of skin (“Make it look like a wound I got in the fight! Man, this is gonna be so cool, Yog-Sothoth is gonna eat his heart out! Possibly literally!”) and some of the ink from his tentacles.

When Stan came back with the photos, he also handed over one of his spare brass knuckles that had lost a corner. “Have another souvenir, kid.”

The monster’s tentacles lashed out and wrapped around their faces in what felt like a really weird version of a hug before pulling away, leaving them covered in some of the slimy stuff they were coated in.

“Thank you so much! I really really hope the leprechauns don’t catch you-if they come this way I’ll make sure to eat some of them so they won’t!” He waved at them joyfully as he dived back into the ocean and disappeared.

********

After a moment Stan wiped his face on his coat sleeve.

“...Well, that happened.”

He turned away and began gathering up his weapons.

“Such a strange mixture of childlike innocence and barbarity,” Ford mused as he pulled out a jar and gathered the slime into it for yet another sample. “His culture must be fascinating-I almost wish he would have taken us with him so I could have seen it.”

“You would’ve drowned before you could gather any data.”

“...You don’t know that.”

“He literally didn’t know that humans can’t breathe underwater, Sixer. Not gonna happen.”

He ignored Ford’s sulking and kept cleaning, while musing to himself over the possible monetary opportunities being a couple of cryptids could bring...

#gravity falls #sea grunks #stan pines #ford pines #cthulhu doesn't stand a chance #stan just adopting everyone #humor #and fluff (sort of) #drabble ish

[magnoliabloomfield]

Garden of Heathen 16- What is Normal?

With the guards watching out for them, Aussie sat down with Joan, Gertie, Georgia and Gally. The bugs kept crawling around the garden and they all agreed they would keep doing so as long as they had the note.

They were crammed under a makeshift umbrella to block out any unseen prying eyes as they memorized the typed note and tried to decipher as much of the hidden message as they could. It was more difficult now that it was more crumpled than before. The gist of it seemed to be that someone was not happy with what was going on, that something bad was being done and this person wanted it to stop. Their best guess was it had something to do with them being there in the maze, that maybe they were the ones in this 'trial'.

Joan suggested that the note be destroyed where the creepy critters could see. That way they wouldn't get their little pinchers on it, but also might leave them alone. She was afraid that if the little ones couldn't do their job something bigger might come along to finish it. They balled up the paper and burned it. The creepy critters seemed somewhat miffed as they leisurely turned and left the garden, crawling along the maze walls.

"You really never saw those bef-"

"Never," Joan answered Gally as the five of them stood there watching.

"I'm starving," Aussie remarked before turning and heading to the kitchen without another word.

Gertie went over and resumed investigating the dead creepy critter, pulling the spear from it and prodding it cautiously before scooping the thing up.

"Hey, what are you doing with that?" Gally asked her clearly distressed. "Put it down."

"Are you serious?" She questioned with a raised brow. "Don't you want to know how it works?"

"Not really. Now put it down before you hurt yourself," he reached to take it from her but she evaded him.

"We could unlock some of their secrets!" She said as she scampered off.

"Yeah and what kind of trouble could that get us into?!" He called after her.

He was about to pursue her but his stomach growled. He would have to deal with her later, right now he needed food.

Most of the girls had already eaten breakfast so, to Gally's relief, the cafeteria area of the Garden was not full of girls at the moment. They started their day at sunrise the usual way, not down in a basement figuring out a cryptic note and being attacked by robots. He could see Aussie in the covered kitchen area no doubt getting food for herself.

Because you love her. The words came back to him then. Maybe the her wasn't Aussie he thought, even though his gut thoroughly disagreed with him.

He had no memory of writing BYLH on that note but he obviously had, which meant one thing in his mind. There was the old Gally, and the Gally he was now. Which was also true of Aussie, there was the before and after versions of everyone here. So he decided to investigate. Old Gally had loved Old Aussie, and New Gally was going to figure out why. Maybe New Gally wouldn't really love New Aussie. All he knew was he wanted to have his own feelings for his own reasons, not just these left over ones from someone else who owned this body before him.

He walked to the kitchen, watching out for creepy crawlers on his way there.

"That Gertie is a nutcase, do you know what she did?" Gally said as he came up behind her.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her arm bent at a weird angle. "What?" She asked.

Gally paused, his head cocked sideways, wondering what the heck Aussie herself was doing, and stepped closer. She had a towel down the front of her shirt.

"The note got pencil lead on me!" she said defensively as she turned away from him and continued cleaning herself.

Gally chuckled as he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.

"What?" Aussie asked again as she finally turned around, tossing the towel at him. "What did Gertie do?"

"She grabbed that dead robot thing and is probably doing some kind of weird autopsy on it," he said, catching the towel and tossing it onto the counter.

"Guess what? I am not surprised," Aussie smiled as she walked past him to poke around in the fridge.

She collected some juice, a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter on the opposite counter.

"What do you want for breakfast?" She asked him as she made a peanut butter sandwich for herself.

"I'm getting used to that sludge we usually have, is that all gone?" He asked.

"Ugh, yes that's all gone. You masochist," she muttered before she licked the peanut butter off the knife. "But I'll tell you what. Have something else for breakfast and I'll have good stew ready for you by lunch time."

"You can cook?"

"Yeah- I told you I could," she reminded him as she went about the kitchen with her sandwich in one hand and gathering ingredients with the other. "Now, how do you feel about celery? Personally, I hate it with a passion. It's just spicy water with hair in it, but if you like it I'll put it in."

She'd made him laugh again, a bigger laugh this time. It softened his features and made him look younger. She saw one of his bottom teeth stood taller than the rest and she couldn't help but think it was cute. Aussie loved being able to make people laugh, in fact, she didn't feel like she was good friends with someone until she'd made them laugh good and hard at least once.

"I don't think I could eat celery ever again after hearing that," he admitted.

He straightened up and walked over to make a sandwich for himself, Aussie fluttering around the kitchen like a peanut butter scented fairy. She'd collected vegetables, a cutting board, a strainer and a knife, juggling it all with her sandwich till she'd finally finished it. She wondered why he was sticking around the kitchen with her.

"Do you want help?" He asked as he sat on the counter by the sink.

"Nah," she sighed as she got a potato squeaky clean. "I'm using this to procrastinate doing something else."

Gally picked up one of the potatoes. "Did you guys grow these here?" He asked.

"Yeah," she nodded as she started washing carrots next.

"So, what are you procrastinating?" He finally asked.

She looked up at him for a moment and then her hands stopped moving as she squinted at him. She couldn't help but feel like he was trying to trick her somehow. She quickly brushed it off, however.

"What do you think?" She shrugged. "It's about my height, angry, at the bottom of a pit right now."

"Thena," he stated, his dislike clear in his voice even with just one word.

Aussie let out a frustrated groan of a sigh as she scrubbed the carrot with added vigor.

"What the heck am I going to do about her?! I obviously can't have her running around trying to murder you, but I just-" she stopped when she felt the lump in her throat, gripping the edge of the sink. "She was the one who took care of everything after what happened with Mary and I just... I can't let anything happen to her either."

She straightened up and tried to recompose herself. "Don't worry though," she tried to smile at Gally as he towered above her. "I still won't let anything happen to you."

His gaze was unreadable but intense and Aussie felt her heart flutter for a second. But then he looked away and sighed before turning back with a softer look.

"Can we talk about... anything else?" His expression immediately turned panicked and he reached out to put his hand on her shoulder. "I don't mean to say I don't want to talk about these things that are obviously important to you," he rapidly backpedaled. "I just mean that... I don't think we've had a normal conversation. We're always talking about Thena trying to kill me, or the girl who killed herself, or the monsters in the maze, the makers watching us with the bug things- it's just... tiring, ya know?"

Aussie pursed her lips in a thin, pitiful smile. "Yeah, I get it," she nodded.

She wasn't sure what to say after that though. The never ending stream of crisis always gave them a topic for easy discussion. Without one she wasn't sure what he'd be interested in hearing from her. She felt nervous, she didn't want to say anything stupid, she wanted to say something that would keep him there with her. She wanted to say something that would make him like her, but she had no idea what that could be.

"Honestly, I don't know what a normal conversation is, though," Gally admitted.

"I was thinking the same thing," Aussie chuckled. "It's so weird that this is all I've know for years, and all I can remember, and still I know it's not normal. "But, like," Aussie stared wistfully out at the meadow. "How can families that live in nice houses, drive their cars to work, and go out to dinner and a movie on the weekend exist out there while we're in here? It just doesn't feel like those two worlds can exist at the same time."

She glanced up at Gally, expecting him to be staring at her like she was crazy. After all, that's what most of the girls here had told her to her face whenever she overshared like that. He was staring at her but she didn't know what the expression on his face meant. It was almost neutral which was the look people gave her when they were trying to control themselves and not make their judgement obvious. She bit her lips with a blush and went back to washing the few remaining vegetables.

'Good going, Aussie,' she chided herself when Gally remained silent.

She noticed him move in her peripheral vision, he had turned to look over his shoulder making it possible for Aussie to look at him unnoticed.

He was so large. He was broad and strong looking while also having a softness to him. His arms and legs were thick but not bulging with individually defined muscles and sinewy tendons. He reminded her of a bear. Bears could knock your face off with a half hearted swat, but you'd be willing to risk it just to give one a hug.

"Are you the one who put the bottles in the tree?" He asked, breaking her out of her out of her stupor.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," she had to clear the fog of her daydreams and right the path of her wandering thoughts.

He looked at her and raised his brows as if asking for an explanation.

"The tree died not long after... you-know-what happened, and I just couldn't bear another thing disappearing from our already small world, so I didn't let Thena or Joan chop it down," Aussie began talking again despite how well it went the last time. "Whenever I walked to my house in the evening, the sun would hit just so that the shadow of the tree hit the maze wall. And, I dunno, it was like... I could pretend the wall was the sky. Like, there was a tree on the horizon and just sky beyond it, no wall, no maze, just freedom. But since the tree was dead and all it was more depressing than inspiring, but I thought if the sun was hitting it just right and we had all these empty glass bottles from the supplies, maybe I could make it pretty. Distract from the fact that it was dead. Show that it wasn't worthless or pointless just because it didn't do what was expected of it anymore."

Brilliant. More heartfelt, illogical verbal vomit.

"The lights remind me of something. I can't put my finger on it," Gally said, not exactly diving to her depths, but not making her feel like a blundering idiot either. "I can picture it, but the words seem like fake words- baby talk."

"Aurora borealis?" Aussie supplied and saw his eyes light up. She'd never seen them do that before and her own widened slightly in response.

"That's it!" He snapped his fingers. "How'd you know?"

Because that's what it reminded her of, it was why she did it in the first place.

"Because it's something I can remember."

—————————————

@frequentlychangingfandoms @quackquackbi @sweetseunghyun-poulter @crazysheeplyca @pre-google @neilox @thesuitkovian @carp3d1em @cottoncandy-dreamxd @emilyhadenbaker @a-ravenclaw-into-tardis-221b @shardsofstarlight @piscesgvancouverite @tooty-fruity

Sorry for the hiatus. Had a lot going on. Getting a little better now though. Hopefully I won't leave y'all hanging that long again. Thank you for being patient with me as I navigate living with my disability and for all the wonderful support.

#Gally #tmr #maze runner #will poulter protection squad #tmr fanfic #fanfic

[andypantsx3]

ab intra | 4 | in flagrante delicto

pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi / Reader

length: 18,811 words / 6 chapters

summary: When a wave of disturbing crimes sweep the city, underground hero Hitoshi Shinsou is assigned to work the case with you. What’s even more frustrating than his obnoxious personality is the fact no one will tell you why he’s involved. Things only get more suspicious from there.

tags: romance, thriller, misunderstandings, pro hero AU, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, suicide mentions, brainwashing, consensual mind control, some violence

The villain struck again only days later. This time, they had gotten sloppy.

The call came into your offices just as you were nearing the end of your shift, an alert forwarded to you and several others by dispatch. One witness had managed to call the police as the people around them fell screaming--confirming your hypothesis that it was a visually-triggered quirk. This witness had been blind.

You launched yourself into the passenger seat of a cruiser, Aya just managing to get in behind you before it took off. You called Shinsou as the car sped towards another bank, this time at the edge of the city--the hero had been out on another call, something he’d said was urgent but refused to explain further, so he hadn’t been at the precinct when the call came in.

He didn’t pick up and your ire increased, leaving a short but very curse-heavy message on his answering tone. “Get to the fucking bank now,” you commanded before hanging up. This is why you hated working with heroes.

What the hell was the point of having a hero partner if he was going to leave the police force--made up mostly of those whose quirks were not useful enough to have launched them into heroics in the first place--to battle a fucking mind manipulation villain on their own? Was he making a point of helping only on the parts of the case that could have benefitted from a hero least, leaving you high and dry when you could actually use his stupid fucking scarf-mask-whatever quirk?

The cruiser pulled up to the side of the bank, several others screeching up beside it.

“We think the quirk is triggered visually,” you informed the other officers as you leapt out, strapping on a bullet proof vest like it would do anything to protect you from a quirk that invaded the inner confines of your brain. “We think the villain works with at least one other person, quirk unknown. To the best of your ability, attempt to apprehend both villains without looking at them. If you have to, try looking at them through some other media; your helmet visors, the scope of a rifle, any reflective surfaces. We don’t know exactly how this quirk works yet, please take every precaution you possibly can think of before engaging--”

You were cut off by the side of the bank blowing clear open, and several officers around you whipped their heads up, only to immediately go down, clutching their skulls and screaming.

Your eyes widened in terror and you quickly ducked down, hiding your face. The villains knew the police were here, and were escaping. And those officers had had visors on, meaning the mind quirk could work through other media as well.

You were fucked.

The crunch of one pair of boots through the rubble told you the mind quirk villain had spotted your division and turned, picking up speed to tear in the opposite direction. You chanced a look up and caught sight of a lean figure in a dark suit breaking into a full run.

“Unit one, after them!” Aya yelled, turning to you quickly as she unstrapped her gun. “I don’t think anyone else came out--you said there were at least two, right?”

You nodded.

“Okay then there’s someone still in there. I’ll get mind freak, you get the others,” then she darted away, several other officers hot on her heels.

Your stomach churned with the thought of stopping her. It was dangerous to chase down a villain like that--especially given what you had just seen. You didn’t know what happened once the villain got ahold of a person’s mind, but from the look of the officers still writhing on the ground in front of you--it looked like they all but blew up their brain.

You took a deep breath and shadowed the backs of the other officers making their way towards the still-smoking hole in the side of the building, unholstering your gun. You nervously thumbed off the safety.

Raids were your least favorite part of your job as an investigator. You much preferred being tucked up over case files, the gears in your brain working, a coffee (or seven) in hand. Raids and arrests always made your gut churn with nerves, and you felt shivery with adrenaline, anticipation sliding slick under your skin when it had nowhere else to go.

You followed the officers as they carefully picked their way into the bank, passing under the remains of the thick wall, hanging with metal framing and shredded cement. The inside of the bank was much darker after the brightness of the early evening sun and it took a couple moments for you to adjust.

When you did, you could see the floor of the main lobby was littered with rubble, glass and plaster blown out from the cubicles to stud the tile, and every movement you made echoed with a crunch underfoot. Several bodies lay scattered at the edge of the room, and two officers darted over. You could see the rapid rise and fall of the victims’ chests, though, the way their limbs twitched and contorted with the aftershocks of whatever the mental quirk did. They were alive, at least.

You followed several other officers through the main lobby and through the doorway that looked like it led into the main offices beyond. A thrill of foreboding went through you as you entered--who was waiting for you beyond? How many of them were there? What kind of quirk did they have?

You passed quietly down the hall, the only sounds your careful breaths and the soft scuff of boots. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a soft, sinuous movement. You turned sharply to find a shadow slipping into the wall. You stopped, and an officer behind you paused.

“Someone just went through the wall,” he said. There was a long moment of tense silence, and the two men ahead of you glanced back.

Suddenly, they were wrenched violently into the opposite wall by some unseen force. Both of their heads slammed heavily into the plaster, and they fell to the floor, limp.

Your heartbeat kicked into overdrive and you cast about wildly for whoever had just done that, fingers tightening on your gun. Then, just down the hall, a man peeked out from behind an office door as if to check his handiwork and you trained your gun on him.

“Come out with your hands up,” you commanded, heartbeat hammering in your chest.

He watched you silently for a moment, then slipped further into the hallway, raising his hands slowly towards his ears. He made no movement, but a small smile curled his lip. Then a weird feeling slithered over your skin, a tight tug like a magnet was pulling every fiber in your body towards it, and you had only seconds to realize what he was doing.

“I think it’s a magnetization quirk, back out of the room,” you said loudly, even as you could feel your weight shifting, your toes slipping out from under you, gravity no longer the greatest force governing your body. There was a moment where it felt like every neuron in you snapped forward, and then you were being wrenched towards the man.

You swore, kicking your feet out as if to stop your slide, but they only slipped uselessly along the floor. The man’s smile widened into a grin, and he reached inside his jacket quickly, pulling out a wicked, curved blade, angled up towards your throat. Your feet strained against the floor and your heart pulsed wildly in your throat like it could choke you. He was going to pull you straight into the knife. He was going to pull you straight into the knife and plunge it straight into your throat and there was nothing you could do about it.

You struggled to line your gun up, but your whole arm felt locked up. You couldn’t get a good alignment, you couldn’t train it on him in time, you were feet away now, you were going to--

Something caught your arm and wrenched you back, throwing you sideways through the door of a cubicle. You rolled along the floor, shoulder connecting painfully with a filing cabinet. You gasped, losing the grip on your gun and it clattered loudly against the floor. You lay there for a brief second, closing your eyes and exhaling shakily.

Then you shook your head and rolled to your knees, grabbing your gun up and aiming it through the doorway. White strips of what looked like fabric slithered through the air beyond the door, and your eyes narrowed. That looked like--

A head of messy indigo hair poked through the door, violet eyes narrowing in on you. That dark mask was strapped over his face but you could hear him clearly through it.

“You okay, kitten?”

A weird, shuddery wave of relief went through you.

“Shinsou,” you gasped out. “You’re here.”

You couldn’t see his mouth through the mask but the crinkle of his eyes told you he was smirking. “Sit tight for me, kitten. I got this guy.”

“He’s got a magnetization quirk, I think,” you said as Shinsou turned to face the man at the end of the hall. You watched his eyes trail over the villain dismissively. “Move out of the way if you feel your skin start buzzing.”

Shinsou stared the man down. “What’s your name?” he asked, voice hard.

There was no response and Shinsou’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going to come quietly?” he asked.

Again, no response. Shinsou sighed and his arm shifted, pulling the scarf through the air in a complicated series of twists. Watching it move you wondered what kind of quirk it was that he had, to manipulate it like that. Was it a fiber manipulation quirk, like Best Jeanist? Did it affect only one kind of fabric, is that why he carried such a long length around with him?

The network of twists shot towards the man at the end of the hall, and you heard a crash as he upended something, dodging and dashing down the corridor to the left. The loud slap of his feet picked up, and you scrambled to your feet, racing after Shinsou as he started forward after the man.

You darted around the corner after them, avoiding a shower of heavy objects that the villain pulled out of the rooms with a wave of his hand, sending them hurtling through the air at you. A microwave came shooting out of the breakroom and Shinsou skidded to a stop, whirling on you and slamming you into the wall right as it came sailing past your head. His body covered yours almost completely, pressing you flat against the wall, and you stared up at him in shock.

“Thanks again,” you managed.

“Anytime, kitten.” His eyes glittered down at you for a single second and then he was off again, his boots loud in the hall. You shook yourself and darted after him.

The villain fell through an emergency exit out into the street, rolling to his feet and narrowly avoiding the end of Shinsou’s scarf. He ripped the door clean off its hinges with a pull of his arm and sent it spinning back at Shinsou. Shinsou managed to dodge, sliding just under it as it sliced through the air, and he rolled to his feet again, turning to face the man.

“Why don’t you speak, hmm?” he taunted.

The man cast about, waving his arms to peel more things off the street and into the air. He seemed determined not to acknowledge Shinsou--was he that scared of him?

A voice echoed from the other end of the street, rough and grainy and sounding weirdly like your captain, who never went out on assignment. “Tokyo PD, you’re under arrest. We do not want to hurt you. Will you come peacefully?”

The man raised his head, looking up at you and Shinsou with a smirk.

“Peacefully? You fucks can stick it up your--” he froze, eyes widening, and a strange shudder went through him before all his limbs locked up. The grates he had pulled from the street went clattering to the pavement, and his eyes seemed to go unfocused and cloudy. His eyelashes fluttered wildly for just a second, like he was trying to throw something off, and then he gasped. “You!” he managed, his words oddly slurred, “You--tricked me--”

“Quiet,” Shinsou snapped and the man’s mouth clicked audibly shut.

You stared. Then, a shiver of apprehension slid slowly along your spine. The villain had just looked up at Shinsou and gone slack. Then it looked like Shinsou had just commanded him and he’d...done it.

“Stay still and put your wrists out,” Shinsou ordered, stalking forward and pulling restraints off his belt. The man complied obediently, and your stomach clenched.

He was acting...like he was completely under Shinsou’s control.

A stampede of footsteps echoed behind you, and several officers came spilling out of the bank and into the street. You stood frozen as one of them moved forward to take hold of the villain roughly. Shinsou released him easily, watching with satisfaction as the man was hauled towards a squad car.

Suddenly, his words from the casino echoed in your head. “I think you will find, however, that I am even more accustomed to control.”

A wave of horror washed through you.

Shinsou knew so much about mind manipulation quirks not because he had history with someone on the other side of this case, but because he had a mind manipulation quirk himself. The scarf wasn’t part of his quirk, but a support item like a capture weapon, and Shinsou had a mind manipulation quirk.

The events that you had just witnessed replayed themselves on a loop in your brain. The villain had been determined not to acknowledge Shinsou, but almost as soon as he had looked up at him, he’d been caught. It was like he had known what Shinsou’s quirk was ahead of time and was taking pains to not engage with him.

And then he had hissed something, just as he fell under Shinsou’s control, hadn’t he? “You,” he’d said. “You tricked me.”

This villain had known of Shinsou ahead of time. This villain who worked with a visually-triggered mind quirk user had known of Shinsou, and when he’d looked at him, he’d been caught.

Something clicked in your brain.

Suddenly, all Shinsou’s caginess, his interest in this case, his reasons for wanting to distract you, everything all lined up. What if Shinsou wasn’t just a hero on loan for a simple investigation? What if, instead, Shinsou was a villain trying to get a handle on his own case?

It would be easy enough for any mind quirk user to get access, now that you thought about it. All they had to do was to find out which office was working the case and they could breeze into the precinct and brainwash people into compliance. Had Shinsou come into your precinct and done the same thing to your captain? Had Shinsou ever done the same thing to you?

The tread of boots on gravel pulled you out of your thoughts, and a small thrill of fear went down your spine as you saw Shinsou making his way over to you.

You quickly clamped down on all your emotions, schooling your features into a mask. Shinsou couldn’t know what you suspected.

“You okay, kitten?” he asked, ducking his head to look into your face. Those violet eyes searched over you, a calloused hand reaching out to take your chin.

You tamped down on a twitch. Cool, you had to play it cool. Act normal until you could get back to the precinct offices and figure out a plan. It was likely that Shinsou wouldn’t allow his partner that you’d just caught to sell him out, so you had to find another way to catch him out. You couldn’t give yourself away until you were sure of how to trap him.

Normal. You could act normal.

“I don’t know. Some asshole threw me into a filing cabinet,” you said, forcing an annoyed look onto your features.

Shinsou chuckled and his long fingers trailed down to your shoulder, delicately ghosting over the place where you’d connected with the filing cabinet. You suppressed a shiver.

“Want me to kiss it better?” he asked, raising a dark eyebrow.

A mortifying blush spread across your face and you turned away from him, stomping back to a squad car. “The only thing you can kiss is my ass,” you ground out.

You heard him laugh, and you stuffed yourself into the car, closing the door to shut him out.

You let out a breath.

This was going to be hard. You couldn’t talk to anyone about this in case Shinsou caught on to what you were doing. You would have to investigate this alone, and play it very safe around him in case he suspected you’d figured him out.

But you could do this. You’d solved every case that had come across your desk before, and you would close this one too.

You would solve this. You would catch Hitoshi Shinsou.

#shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou x reader #bnha #fanfic #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #tw: suicide mention #shinsou hitoshi

[taichoh]

ocean eyes

pairing: hitsukarin word count: 2601 warnings: none note: the brainrot is strong :’) ao3 link

She felt like she was floating. Wading in the clearest water in the middle of nowhere, occasionally she’d have to flail her arms to keep herself afloat but she knew she wouldn’t drown. She felt safe. Even the thought of being swallowed by the current wasn’t so bad, these waters weren’t dangerous. Not to her at least.

The waves welcomed her, and warded off anyone else seen as a threat. They spoke to her, gently tossing her around and telling her so many things, no words needed. An ocean of emotions and she felt like she knew them so well. She wondered if there was anyone else that knew these waves like she did. Suddenly a pit settled in her chest, jealousy. It was selfish but she wanted these waters to herself.

‘Cherish the things you have before they’re gone’. She realized it was a lesson she should’ve taken to heart sooner. The days in between visits to these waters stretched more and more and now she was going to hold on as tight as she could. The problem was, as hard as you tried, water would always slip through your fingers. And eventually she’d have to blink.

“Karin!” “Wha-” She shook her head and blinked rapidly suddenly starting to see clearly. Toshiro’s brow was set in worry and bewilderment as she now stared back in her own shock. She rested her hand in her lap, now numb from keeping her chin up. “Have you been listening at all?” Even when he was mildly aggravated and his anger was pointed towards her, his eyes were still beautiful.

“Of course I have.” The conversation was lost and so was she, and she’d never admit it but she was oddly okay with that. “Oh really?” Now he wore a look of disbelief which made Karin realize that even with every look he’s given her, she’s never seen him cry. “What did I just say?” Would they sparkle? Like marbles? Or would they glass over, like ice? “Something about Rangiku throwing a party?” The thought of Toshiro being upset enough to cry wasn’t nice, Karin was just interested in his eyes. She’d bet he’d look pretty even when he cried, if he ever cried. This is weird. “That was ten minutes ago.”

“..Oh.” Now he was sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. Karin was such a bad friend, not listening to him talk and getting lost in his eyes instead. Is that something friends do? Probably not. “I’m sorry, I just-” She needed to stop looking at him otherwise this is just going to get worse. He was waiting for her explanation as to why she was ignoring him, but she couldn’t just tell him she was thinking of how beautiful his eyes were. That’s just embarrassing. “Can you turn around?” “Excuse me?”

Shutting her eyes and bowing her head before she could get a glimpse again, she said, “Just, do it please, and continue. I’m listening I promise.” She prayed he hadn’t noticed the heat fill her face. Maneuvering on a roof wasn’t easy but she heard Toshiro grumble as he turned to sit away from her, to which she turned herself and put her back against his. There, that was better. No more distractions. “Please continue.” Karin went to hug her legs as she felt him take another breath to let out another sigh. “You’re so weird.” “Why thank you.” Their banter was common, she felt like Toshiro was one of the only people that could understand her humor. He could understand her, well maybe not right now. He was right, she was being weird. “That wasn’t a compliment. Why did you want me to turn around?” Being so close meant they opened up to each other easily, but Karin couldn’t tell him why, not exactly. “I didn’t want to look at you anymore.” She said trying to brush it off as nonchalance.  It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t entirely true. “Ouch.” She could tell he was only mildly offended when she felt him chuckle against her back. Karin was blunt most of the time, and Toshiro was well aware. They both knew her rudeness was more from a place of love than malice. That’s simply how she showed it, instead of a hug from Karin, expect a love punch, and don’t expect it to be soft. “Did you want me to lie?” She wanted to lie, come up with an excuse about her back hurting or something. But he would be able to tell, it was infuriating when he called her out. He read her like she was his favorite novel, the thought made her stomach flutter, from annoyance or excitement she couldn’t tell. “Am I really that ugly?” He pouted, he was goading her but she was used to it. She would never forget the time when he called her cute when she was angry, explaining why he occasionally egged her on. She should’ve been angry but she was too alarmed by the way her stomach was swarmed by butterflies. “Of course not.” That came out of her mouth much too quickly.

“Oh so I’m just too handsome.” Yes. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she huffed instead and rested her chin on her knees. “Don’t flatter yourself.” His frame shook from his laughter, causing her to shake slightly, the warmth from his back simultaneously relaxing her and making her heart hammer in her chest. She wondered if he could feel it. God I hope not.

The butterflies started to dissipate from her stomach, a pit taking their place. This didn’t feel right. Acting like things were normal. What was their ‘normal’ anyway? She couldn’t remember. Karin held so tight onto the hope that Toshiro had any kind of feelings for her and that he was just better at hiding it. He’s probably had years of practice. Has he ever had those feelings for anyone? Has he ever been in love? She wanted to know. But she also felt like it wasn’t her business, even though they considered each other best friends. Or maybe she just didn’t want to hear something she didn’t want to. Why did he have to have such pretty eyes? Why did she have to fall in love with him? Couldn’t her heart choose someone from this world? Someone that didn’t

“Karin, you there?” His voice cut through her thoughts once again, she wanted to kick herself, this wasn’t like her. She raised her head from its perch on her knees, an exasperated sigh escaping her. “Yeah, I’m sorry.” She said genuinely, because she was. This wasn’t fair to him. Here she was having a mini crisis over her developing feelings that she couldn’t stall because every time she looked at him her heart did somersaults, and it was ridiculous. Maybe it was because the time they spent apart made her miss him so much, and so every moment together needed to be cherished. But was falling in love with your best friend more common than she thought? Toshiro could’ve poked at her moment of weakness but he was smarter than her, and caught on to the dip in atmosphere. If anyone could tell, it was him. Giving her a small nudge with his head on hers, he caught her attention again, “What’s wrong?” Karin didn’t need to be facing him to know his eyebrows were knit together in worry. “...Nothing’s wrong. I-” Her mouth was dry, and so were her eyes, for now. “-I guess I’m just out of it today.”

After a moment a long sigh left him and he adjusted to lay his head back on her shoulder looking towards the sky and she let him. Karin felt her heart clench at how much she loved how comfortable he was with her. He trusted her so much, and it’s taken so long to gain it. She didn’t want to lose it. She didn’t want to lose him. She didn’t care if she was being selfish.

“It’s okay Karin. It’s just me.” Her heart was breaking, but she told herself she wasn’t going to cry. Not in front of him. “That’s the problem.” It was a miracle her voice didn’t crack. It’s him. It’s always gonna be him. And that was the problem. There were so many complications and it was making her head spin. Almost as much as it does when he offers her one of his rare smiles.

He froze on her shoulder, and chanced a sideways glance at her. Even from this angle he could read the frustration on her face. He could only throw guesses at what was making her so upset, he had an inkling but it wasn’t going to be entertained for more than a millisecond. Instead, he sat up and faced her, staring at the back of her crouched figure.

“Have I done something wrong?” Why did she have to ruin this perfectly good moment with her stupid feelings? She could blame his eyes for what felt like the tenth time, but she needed to be honest with herself, and with him. But part of her wondered when her feelings started its metamorphosis from seeing him as a friend to something more. They weren’t friends who hugged, but suddenly she wanted to. Move on from high fives to holding hands. She knew something was changing when her hands itched to run through his hair. “No no, you haven’t done anything.” Keeping her head down, she maneuvered to turn and face him but not meeting his gaze which morphed from confusion to concern. Now sitting back on her knees, Karin took in a deep breath and let reality settle in her bones. She couldn’t be wasting what little time they had together with her worries about the future and what they could or couldn’t be. As of right now, they had this moment and she needed to act as if it were their last. You never know. Toshiro watched her finally lift her head and meet his gaze again, this time her eyes were less cloudy, more clear. He’d never seen Karin so muddled. Again, he could only wonder what made her like this, but he had an idea. His thoughts came to a screeching halt when she unexpectedly gave him a faint smile and turned her head to watch the sun start to set. His features relaxed as he attempted to take another mental picture that he’d add to his pile that sat in the deep recesses of his heart. He saved them for rainy days, days when he missed her, which came more often than not. This was one that he’d remember easily, she was like a painting. The way the orange pink hues of the sky painted her face, and how the soft breeze ran through her hair and made it dance. This was his new favorite one. But little did he know that she was doing the same as him.

Turning back, she met those oceans again, now softened and staring right back at her. She wanted to take a dive from the highest cliff into them and float there forever. But reality blinked back at her and she decided she wasn’t going to fall asleep tonight with a heavy heart. Toshiro was teetering on an edge, unsure if he should say something, or let her explain herself. The moment felt like stained glass, so beautiful but incredibly fragile. The last thing he wanted to do was break it. “Do you have to go soon?” Her voice cut through the breeze and his eyes widened a fraction. The setting sun didn’t remind him of his time left in the Human World, he was a bit distracted. No, not distracted, he wouldn’t consider Karin a distraction. Never. “Um, yeah. Soon.” The thought made him sad, as it always did when he visited. And with every visit it got harder and harder, but it had to be done. He was grateful he had these moments with her, he only wished he could give her more of them. But if he was honest he wanted them just as much as her, perhaps it was a bit selfish, but he didn’t care. What caught him by surprise was the way her smile hadn’t vanished, even at the mention of him leaving. A tiny miniscule part of him thought that maybe she was happy he was leaving, and for the wrong reasons. But letting that thought dwell wasn’t a good idea. They were closer than that, right? His ears caught another small sigh before she was inches from his face, having crawled the small space up to him. With Karin’s smile still intact, Toshiro stared straight into her eyes, still as clear as the sky. Yes they were much closer. “Are you sure I didn’t do anything?” He wasn’t going to go back to the Soul Society without a solid answer, because then his thoughts would fester and he’d have even more trouble getting through the towers of paperwork he knew was waiting for him. Karin scoffed gently, apparently finding his question just a little funny. “Yes. I’m absolutely sure. But,” Karin let the head cover her cheeks, and took another breath to gather her courage, “I’d like to do something.” Oh? Karin was being so cryptic today, Toshiro didn’t entirely mind, but he’d like some clarity at least.

“Okay..” He trusted her, but suddenly his heart was putting thoughts into his head and he knew how dangerous that was. But then again, being a shinigami Captain was a dangerous life to live. And in seconds he got his answer, with her lips pressed on his so quickly he almost missed it. He didn’t even have time to close his eyes. Instead they stayed open wide in shock, and he was frozen again, his heart hammering in his chest it felt like it might jump out from his ribcage. Part of him was freaking out over his first kiss while the other was asking for a do-over. Karin pulled back to watch his face grow red, noticing how his blush even reached his ears, appearing redder against his snow white hair. That was new, and adorable.

Finally catching his breath, he attempted to process what just happened and came to two conclusions. One, he wanted to kiss her again. So he did. But this time, he promptly grabbed her face and tilted his head so that he could properly feel her lips against his for longer than a millisecond. He felt her moment of surprise melt into comfort as she returned the kiss and held onto his wrists tightly, willing him to stay longer until his lungs started to scream for air.

Yes, that was much better. A proper do-over. Hopefully he’d be able to practice next time he visited. Oh, and his second conclusion. “So,” He was still out of breath, but he didn’t care, “I am handsome.” Karin rolled her eyes and laughed at his smugness after just kissing her on her rooftop as the sun set. But her heart was still dancing and he wasn’t wrong, so she’d let him have this one. “Is that what had you all distracted?” Again, he wasn’t entirely wrong, but if she told him she literally got lost in his eyes he wouldn’t let her have the end of it. She didn’t erase the smile that was starting to hurt her cheeks, but still gave him a small love tap to his shoulder, her body still buzzing from the kiss.

“I’ll tell you next time.”

#hitsukarin #toshiro hitsugaya #karin kurosaki #bleach #hitsugaya #kurosaki #karin #toshiro #toshiro x karin #hitsugaya x karin

[whetstonefires]

Since you like the Hellboy...*perks up* Can I ask what you like about it? Does this need to be part of the ask game, if so, smash it in there. But opinions! I would love!

Ooh! Hm. This is actually surprisingly hard to articulate.

I’ve been ‘into’ Hellboy for like. Half my damn life now, and while I could have gone on at length about all the things about it I found fun as a teenager it was at its core very much a ‘this makes me Feel Happy’ thing. And now that glow is less intense but it’s bolstered by that habitual sort of attachment you feel to like. Family members.

Let’s see how far I can break this down lol.

I have never been able to much like most of the BPRD tie-in type materials and I was not at all pleased with the films, so to an extent I think I can say confidently part of what I like is the way Hellboy is situated in a superhero-comic-adjacent space while being very much coordinated by one overarching creative sensibility--like, other people were brought in to work on Hellboy a lot over the course of the run, but Mignola always had a unifying voice and even when I don’t actually agree with his taste or values that level of artistic...intentionality? Judgment? Presence? Something like that. Gives the work a sense of...integrity? Maybe just unity.

Anyway makes it feel less plastic than comics often do. This is a corporate product of course but it’s also just Mike Mignola hanging out doing whatever he thinks would be cool. Drawing rocks and monsters because that’s what he wants to draw. I like that.

Some of the higher-quality webcomics you get nowadays, when they don’t take themselves too terribly seriously but aren’t outright comedic, can land similarly in terms of voice, but even just fifteen years ago webcomics weren’t really at that point yet as a medium, and even now most are still amateurish as well as amateur. Which is fine, but different.

To get slightly less meta, I love the collection of genres that are smeared together for Hellboy--we’ve got a lot of detective noir stuff cut together with cosmic horror and like...the genre where people research folklore and then mostly punch it. Does that have a name? And then there are a bunch of other influences stirred in, sometimes for only a single issue, sometimes more.

Mignola managed to be significantly less offensive than average about the way he adapted world folklore into his weird groddy kitchen-sink fantasy system, which is pretty funny because he doesn’t come across as being careful about it at all. Not that I think there was no effort made, but also he just used research as a basis for narrative much more often than he started with a story premise and stretched the creature to fit, which by default gave him less scope for dickery.

Also I think the only god he ever fights is Hecate and she’s handled from a 19th-century-occultist angle rather than a Classical angle.

Also Hellboy fights Nazis and cyborg gorillas as well as like. Baba Yaga and vampires. The balance of schlock and gonzo nonsense to pathos and sensitive emotional bits is usually about where I like it.

The episodic format is really well used. It lets the storytelling style lean heavily on the late-19th-through-mid-20th-century short story genres that it borrows a lot from, and which honestly has always worked better for comics than end-to-end long-arc serialization. I like how the anachronic order of many sections of the series allowed for a lot of ‘building outward from the middle.’

Also it means the story can stay true to its roots and kill off a lot of characters in gothic excess without constantly sloughing main cast or having to do fakeouts.

...I can’t believe that since Hellboy isn’t really emotionally involved with the issue of his birth parents except inasmuch as it explains the world-ending stone hand, the single angstiest part of his backstory is technically when he went on a drinking binge road trip around Mexico in his teens and made friends with vampire-fighting luchador triplets but then the youngest one whom he was closest to was kidnapped by the vampires and Hellboy had to kill his best friend, and this is all established in a random side story that pushes the intentional genre absurdism to its breaking point and is equal parts comedic and grotesque.

(The second angstiest is probably the bit in volume 1 when he finds his dad murdered by frogs.)

I also just love characters who wear trench coats and are actually really clever and knowledgeable and kind but tend to resort, in extremity, to just hitting problems really hard. Okay? I like that. That’s a fave.

Hellboy’s whole character design is very strong, a bunch of dramatic broad-strokes decisions that contrast interestingly against one another, and then a lot of subtler elements layered in crosswise.

The way his relationship to the narrative ‘occult-fighting antichrist figure’ could be really straightforward, but keeps stepping a little sideways off the usual shape of the tropes in a way that creates depth.

He’s a giant red demon guy who stopped aging in the 50s; he’s never going to be able to be ‘normal’ or pretend he isn’t what he is--but also he’s a dude with a government job and probably a Social Security Number who goes and interviews people about the situation and says ‘I’m Agent Hellboy’ and gets called ‘Mr. Boy’ and is just this guy who knows his shit and can take a beating.

(This was one of the major things I hated in the first movie, that they decided to make him this weird secret cryptid whose dad keeps him locked in a vault when he’s not fighting.)

The way the identity thing is never reduced to comfortable binaries with him except by enemies trying to psych him out is just really satisfying. He fights monsters not because he hates them or himself but because he was recruited into this career young and he’s really good at it, and he feels good about helping people who are being victimized.

When something occult isn’t hurting anybody he’s down to chill, and if it turns out they secretly are after all he’s always so tired and disappointed, and if they really aren’t then he has a new friend. Whom he may never see again or may hit up for a game of cards next time he’s in town.

(I also like how he combines ‘being pretty private’ ‘being very casually friendly’ and ‘being an asshole who makes a lot of enemies’; it’s not that unusual a combo for his type of main character but it’s one I enjoy.)

When he breaks off his own horns as part of his rejection of being Anung Un Rama it’s not ‘choosing humanity’ or w/e it’s choosing not to be used for this. His name is Hellboy, which is an objectively awful name but it was given to him by people he loved and who chose him, not the people who made him or brought him to this world to be used, and he chooses it.

And that has weight. That has force enough behind it to carry a world.

Just in general in spite of all the identity stuff he gets swamped with he’s really good at self-knowledge and letting other people’s ideas of who and what he’s supposed to be just wash over him. As the story goes on and shit gets weirder his sense of identity gets shaken, but he never quite loses that anchor in the knowledge that he is the ultimate arbiter of his own identity.

His exasperation on being told via stabbing that he doesn’t get to be King of England even if he is the first male descendant of King Arthur since Mordred is so funny. Why is this a thing, says Hellboy. Why am I finding out like this. Why do I always find out this shit like this. Why would anyone think I wanted to be King of England. I already punched so many skeletons about not wanting to be King of Witches.

He’s got so much righteous anger that comes out when people are treated as disposable, or as less for being not human or less human or superpowered, and of course it’s founded in his own experiences and his own fight for respect but it’s not about him. It’s about the person who’s suffering now.

One time his combat one-liner before shooting something started with ‘The Torch of Liberty said I was the worst shot he ever tried to train’ that’s so funny! I love that!

He’s my boy okay.

#have this rant lol #hellboy #my opinions #fandom recruitment pitch #i have all 12 volumes and a number of very disappointing tie-ins #i almost didn't get them all because i was collecting at a leisurely rate #and then all the bookstores stopped stocking it because it had wrapped up #and guess what??? #volume 11 of 12 ain't easy to find used! #comics #writing #identity #names and naming #beastenraged #ask #hoc est meum

[nat-roman0ff]

the dog house

the dog house

chris evans x female reader word count: 3,036 warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, and all that), splinters, & power tools. - summary: it’s sunday, and chris tries to build a dog house. a/n: i’m really bad at summaries and this is my first time writing for chris!

-

You’re awoken to the sound of a very loud buzzing. 

 “What the fuck?” You whisper to yourself, the Sunday morning sun burning your sensitive, tired eyes. 

 You hear it again, and it’s less of a buzzing and more of a sawing? 

 You look over and notice the empty spot in bed beside you. Weird, Chris usually woke you up in the mornings (either by knocking something over, tripping over the dog, or by poking your side until you finally opened your lids). 

 Dodger was gone too, and you sit up, rubbing your sleepy eyes and check the time; 7:38 AM. 

 “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you whine to yourself. 

Not like you had anywhere to be or anything to do. It’s Sunday - a day you and Chris constituted as a “do nothing together” day. But still...sleeping until at least 8 would have been nice.

 You slip on a pair of slippers and pull on Chris’ hoodie over your sleep shirt. The sawing sound happens again, and you can hear it grinding through something. As you explore the house you realize it’s coming from the garage, and your heart sinks to your ass when you open the door from the kitchen to the garage and find Chris shirtless, in a pair of sweatpants and safety goggles cutting wood with a reciprocating saw. 

 He notices you and smiles, pushing the goggles up his face, “oh, hi babe!”, he says, brushing the saw dust from his chest and pants. 

 You look at him sideways, “what in God’s name are you doing?” 

 He shrugs, “couldn’t sleep in, took Dodger for a walk and someone was giving away free wood! So I picked it up and I’m making him a dog house!” Chris exclaims with childish glee.

 Your palm immediately meets your face, “do you know what you’re doing? I didn’t even know you owned power tools.” 

 He shrugs again, “I looked it up on YouTube.” 

 You roll your eyes and chuckle at your ridiculous boyfriend, “care for a cup of coffee before you lose a limb?” 

 Chris pulls the goggles back over his eyes and you can’t help but laugh again at how utterly stupid yet incredibly sexy he looks, “already have a pot made for ya,” he winks before getting back to work. 

 Dodger follows you inside and sits at your feet, whining for his breakfast. You oblige (because who can resist that little face?) and even give him a little extra of his special wet food. 

 Spring is just around the corner, the buds in the front yard are starting to bloom, and they carry the scent of fresh flowers throughout the house through the open windows. You let out a breathy laugh every time you hear the saw start up again. 

 Chris was a busy body almost to a fault. It made him a workaholic, and more work meant more time away from you. It had been nice having him home for more than a few weeks at a time. But when he was home, the man could never stay still. As evident by the various home projects the two of you had completed over the last year or so. The two of you had repainted the living room three times (Chris argued the first color was too light, you argued the second was too dark), rearranged the master bedroom, installed a hot tub in the backyard, and then there was the incident with the ceiling fan (Chris doesn’t like to bring that one up). 

 Dodger gobbles up his food quickly and joins you on the couch for belly rubs. If there was anything Chris loved more than you, it was Dodger. It had been something you almost resented at the start of your relationship, but you’d grown to love the pup just as much as Chris did.

 “Fuck!” You hear from the garage, followed by the banging sound of something heavy falling to the ground.

 You put down your cup of coffee and rush to find Chris clutching his hand, nearly tripping as you scramble over to him. 

 “What happened?” You ask, uncovering his hand. 

 Chris pouts those lips you love, “splinter.” 

 You roll your eyes and push on his chest, “you scared the shit out of me! I thought you cut a finger off or something!” 

 Chris laughs and kisses the tip of your nose, “no, I’d be screaming much louder than that,” he says peppering your cheek with feathery kisses, “but thanks for checking up on me.”

 “I know a way I could make you scream louder,” you say, cringing at your own words. 

 Chris snorts, “oh, that was bad,” he groans, “like a two out of ten. You feeling a way this morning, darling?” He asks, his voice dropping at darling, and a sneaky hand sliding up the back of one thigh.

 You shrug, “honestly, no. But watching you try to halfass a YouTube tutorial with power tools kinda has me a little randy.” 

 “Should I build things more often?” He asks. 

 You shake your head, “no, Captain Build-A-Bear, absolutely not. I need all your limbs. Every Last Finger,” you poke the center of his chest, “but we do need to get that splinter out.” 

 Chris starts to follow you but you turn quickly on your heel and shake a finger at him, “uh-uh, you are not bringing all that saw dust into the house. I just finished cleaning yesterday. Pants off.” 

 That cocky, shit eating grin creeps across his face as he very quickly rids himself of his grey sweatpants and follows you like a puppy into the bathroom, nipping and touching you every chance he gets. 

 You sit him on the edge of the clawfoot tub in your master bedroom and his bright blue eyes look up at you behind long lashes and you swear you could turn into a puddle right then and there, but instead, it’s starting to pool between your legs with every lingering touch Chris leaves on you. 

 “Hi,” he grins at you as you pull a pair of tweezers from the vanity drawer, “whatcha about to do to me?” 

 You roll your eyes, “Jesus Christ, and I’m bad? One and a half out of ten, loser. I’m about to pull a sliver of wood from your skin. Sound sexy enough for you?” 

 Chris very loudly fake moans, echoing through the bathroom, “the sexiest thing you’ve ever done for me.” 

 You shake your head, “you’re insane. Give me your hand.” 

 Chris opens his palm, you can see the red spot and tiny sliver of wood that’s poking out from beneath his skin. You play with it for a second, trying to figure out the best angle to tug it out, and watch Chris’ face scrunch in pain. Once he catches you watching he relaxes and you let out a breathy laugh to yourself, “not so tough now, huh?” 

 His eyes narrow, “I’ve had splinters before.” 

 “Sure,” you tut, “ready? On three. One - two -” 

 You pull before you reach three and Chris shrieks, “you said three!” 

 “It’s better to do it when you’re not expecting it!” You defend. 

 “And who told you that?” 

 “I don’t know...my mom?” You laugh. 

 Before you know it you’re hunched over laughing at your serious faced boyfriend clutching his hand to his bare chest. Your bearded, beefcake, Captain-Fucking-America boyfriend hurt over a damn splinter. The whole thing was so ridiculous you did what you did best when your brain didn’t know how to handle something: laugh. 

 “Oh you think this is funny?” He asks, his voice stern. 

 You can barely breathe out a yes in your fit. 

 “Yeah?” His voice is softer now, “I’ll show you something funny!” 

 Your laughter ceases when Chris scoops you up, throwing you in one swift move over his shoulder and brings you to the next room. He drops you on the bed with a bounce and crawls over you, locking his body over yours. 

 “You’re right, this is funny,” you say, tracing the side of his face with the back of your finger, you can’t wait to feel that beard between your legs soon, “you thinking you’re the one in control.” 

 It takes all your might, but you manage to flip the two of you over so you’re straddling his waist, his half hard cock pushing up against your ass. You lick your lips at the thought. 

 “Honestly?” Chris starts, “I’m not even mad. Do your worst, darling,” he finishes, folding his fingers behind his head. 

 You get to work quickly, pulling off the hoodie of his you’d put on earlier along with your thin sleep shirt. Your nails get to work scratching up and down his chest, feeling his strong muscle constrict under your touch. It’s killing him not to touch you right now, and you wonder how long he’ll last this way. He loves watching you ride him; fast, slow, he loves watching the way you take him all the way in, and the way your face contorts when he hits that spot. 

 Chris chews his bottom lip, hard, and you can feel him swelling beneath you, “you are so fucking perfect,” he says, licking his lips and releasing one of his hands to slide up your bare upper half, “and all fucking mine.” 

 You rut your hips slowly, grinding delicate lace to cotton, two thin pieces of fabric separating you from him. Chris lets out a low groan and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, “fuck, babe are you already wet? I can feel you.” 

 “Want to find out?” You ask slyly. 

 His eyes widen, “uh yeah, I think that’s pretty fucking obvious,” he laughs. 

 You snort and quickly wriggle out of your panties, Chris laughing as you almost fall from the bed. You love the ability to go between funny and sexy with Chris. It’s so fluid and it just works. The two of you together, intimately, could never be one thing at a time. It was always a beautiful mixture of love, lust, laughter and pure bliss. 

 You settle your bare core against his boxer strained erection, your slick leaving an evident wet spot on the fabric. Your body jumps a little at the contact, your bud sensitive and ready. Both of Chris’ hands are on your hips now, thumbs gliding against the soft flesh at your hips. 

 “I want to watch you cum first,” he says as the rough pad of his thumb meets your clit, “use me, do whatever you need to.” 

 Without hesitation you start to move your hips against his rock hard cock, still covered with his boxers. It won’t take long, you think, not with the way his thumb is working against you. This man knew everything that made you tick, he knew exactly how fast or slow to move his fingertips to make you succumb to his touch, each thing that got you off. 

 Your breath catches in your throat as the first tiny shockwave hits you, your body jolting. Chris smirks, “keep going babygirl,” he encourages.

 You rut harder, faster, he adds another finger against your swelling bud and that familiar warmth starts building low in your belly. 

 “Chris - I’m gonna fucking -” You pant, your eyes wrenched shut as the feeling overcomes you. 

 Chris continues rubbing you through your orgasm, your body collapsing onto him, shaking with each aftershock he rubs into you. He eventually slows down, and brings his fingers to his lips to lick one by one. 

 Filthy motherfucker. 

 You rise back up slowly, perching yourself on top of him once again, “I think it’s time for these to go,” you say, pointing at his soaked boxers. 

 The fabric is discarded in an instant, and you wrap your fingers gently around his throbbing cock. There’s a look of almost relief on Chris’ face when you touch him, his strong chest heaving up and down in a steady rhythm as you stroke him. It doesn’t take much to get him to where he needs to be, his cock pink and thick, ready for you. 

 Chris takes your hips between his hands again, this time tighter, his fingertips leaving red marks where he’s touched. You align yourself with him, and both let out a feral moan as you drop down. It always takes a few seconds of delicious burning to adjust to his size, eyes squeezed shut and a steady stream of air whistling between your lips. 

 “Take all the time you need,” he says just above a whisper, and just like that he’s tender again. 

 “I’m ready,” you announce, eyes opening up to his, leaning forward to rest your palms on his chest and dipping down for a chaste kiss before arching your back. 

 Your hips move methodically; not slow, but not fast either, leaning forward at an angle just enough for Chris to watch the curve of your ass bounce as you move up and down his cock. If this isn’t heaven, he thinks, this is as close to it a man like him will ever get.

 One hand reaches around to squeeze your ass, his long fingers leaving prints behind, “fucking mine,” he growls, “think you can go faster?” He asks. 

 You grin, “I’ll do you one better.” 

 Chris raises an eyebrow and you cease movement. You lift your body, silently screaming at the loss of fullness when you completely lift off of him. Before he can ask what you’re doing, you turn around to face the end of the bed. Chris smirks as you lower back onto his cock, this time with his favorite view. 

 “I would love to personally thank whoever invented reverse cowgirl,” he gloats, “I owe them my life.” 

 You laugh, leaning forward to rest your palms on his legs, looking back at your boyfriend, “you’re absolutely ridiculous.” 

 Chris gives you a stinging spank, “get to it then.” 

 Without a moment wasted you lift your hips and get to work, moving at a quickening pace. The sound of skin slapping echoes around the master bedroom, mixing with your dueling pants and moans. You swirl your hips as you bounce and when you land at a particular angle you hit the spot. It comes as a surprise to you both; he feels your walls clench around him, while the breath is sucked from your lungs.

 Chris hits it a few more times before your body stabilizes again. Your pace only quickens, desperate for your release as the coil deep in your belly begins to twist again. You feel hot all over, from your toes, to every strand of hair on your head. The skin between the two of you begins growing slick with sweat, thighs sliding against each other. It feels like the temperature in the room has increased twenty degrees in just a few minutes, and you push back a clump of hair that’s begun to stick to your sweaty forehead. 

 As the heat grows, there’s a pain in your thighs that you can’t ignore, and you remind yourself why leg day is so important, “can you take over?” You ask Chris just before your legs give out. 

 He slows your hips gently, and you suck in air between your teeth as his cock slides out of you, leaving your core throbbing for the ending you were so close to getting. 

 Chris gently cradles you for a moment before sliding between your legs, putting one over his shoulder, “this okay?” He asks, and you nod, the stretch feeling relieving. 

 He gives himself a few quick pumps before gliding back into you, licking his lips as he watches your cunt devour him. 

 “Always take me so fucking good,” he revels, “this pussy was made for me.” 

 The new angle completely overtakes you, your back arching up off the mattress, nipples just barely grazing the hair on Chris’ chest. Even the smallest touch sending a new surge of shockwaves through your body. The sound of thrusting, the filthy wet sounds of your slick cunt taking him over and over again fills the room and the heat starts rising again. 

 Chris is moving faster than ever, damp skin slapping against damp skin, his forehead scrunched in concentration. He loves watching you take him in time and time again, all of him, bottoming out with nearly every thrust into you, desperate to watch you hit your high. It’s like a drug to him, watching you cum. 

 “I’m  c-close -” you stutter out through pants. 

 Chris reaches a hand between you to rub your clit. The feeling is almost too much. With each thrust he hits your most sensitive spot, while he etches delicious figure eights into your bud. He’s getting close too, you can tell by the increasing sloppiness of his thrusts and the shaking in his thighs. Chris always wants you to come first though, it’s what got him off more than anything; watching stars light up behind your eyes, and the flush rise from your chest up to your cheeks in the most beautiful shade of pink he’s ever seen. The way your back arches and chest rises to meet his and he can feel your pert nipples brush against his skin. It’s exactly what it takes to spill him over the edge. 

 Your end comes abruptly, tearing through your body with everything it’s got, orgasm completely rocking your body, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

 “FUCK - Chris,” you moan as he continues to pound into you through your high, sending your body through aftershock after aftershock. It’s when your fingernails scrape down his shoulders that his orgasm comes, and he fills you, body collapsing on top of yours, nestled between your legs. 

 The two of you stay like this for a moment, coming down from your highs, sticky skin pressed into sticky skin. He feathers kisses across your collarbone and neck, eventually pulling himself from you long enough for you to cuddle back into him, resting your face in the crook of his neck, taking in the scent of him and sex. 

 “That was nice,” you murmur. 

 Chris sighs, “yeah. I just have one concern though.” 

 You furrow your brows, “what’s that?”

 “What are we going to do with all that fucking wood?”

#AHHH THIS IS TERRIFYING #hi this is my first chris piece #of course it's smut lmao #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans fic

[thiswasinevitableid]

if you're in the mood for requests i would absolutely LOVE something from the hidebehind au? (maybe including blindfold sex??)

Here you go! I decided to do this for monster march. We’ll figure this counts as prompt 18: claws.

All things considered, Duck is lucky. He’s employed which, given when the newspapers are calling the great depression raging across the country, is a blessing. His days are spent among the mighty trees of the Pacific Coast, he has a small cabin all to himself, and a cat to keep the mice away. 

He just wishes he wasn’t working for a fucking logging company hundreds of miles away from anyone he’s ever known. 

Winthrop Logging needed someone with an arborist or botanists training to make sure the woods stayed healthy before they were chopped down. So they pay Duck a fine sum to make sure diseases or pests don’t send their prospects toppling like dominos. As he traverses his usual route between the trees, he wonders if there will ever be a way to convince them to preserve some of the land rather than profit from it. 

He stops, studying a pine. There it is again, the feeling that someone, or something, is behind him. Watching. Waiting. 

It started three weeks ago, when he was deeper in the woods than usual, humming to himself and occasionally talking to the trees. The skin on his neck prickled, all his senses forcing him from his thoughts and into the present moment; something was there, tracking him as he moved. Not a bear, our a cougar, as the birds still called and the insects chorused. Whatever it was stood directly behind him, yet when he turned to look, there was nothing but the path. 

For the first few days he tried to spot it, never got more than a flicker in the corner of his eye. He came home exhausted, the day spent on high alert as the primal part of his mind demanded he remain on guard for the moment his hunter decided to strike. 

The moment hasn’t come, and Duck is growing used to the gaze crawling up his spine. He decided to ignore it, pretend it was just his imagination and some days that worked. 

Today, there’s no getting around the fact that something is peering over his shoulder. Twice now he’s felt fingers millimeters from his neck. When he feels them again, he reaches his arm back, eyes firmly on his notes, and grabs hold of his stalker.

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

Humans are not known for their speed. Indrid’s foresight showed this one as no exception, so when the man is fast enough to grab his leg, he chirps in surprise. 

“Fuckin knew it, there is someone back there.” Warm fingers smooth across the short down of his leg.

Indrid appreciates being called a someone instead of a thing, but not the position of Duck’s hand. 

“Please let go. That is my thigh you are grabbing. My upper thigh.”

The hand stays put, “Anyone ever tell you it’s mighty rude to stand right behind a fella when he’s tryin to work?”

“I cannot stand anywhere else, though the proximity is due to-”

“Uh huh, sure, just like you can’t help but play and hide and seek whenever I try to figure out what’s goin on. Lemme guess, you’re one of the other fellas from the loggin camp playin tricks on the new guy?”

“I am nothing of the kind.” Indrid contemplates moving the hand himself, but it feels so very nice.

“One of the locals then? I keep tellin you, I’m a country boy, I’m not gonna get scared by campfire tales or weird noises in the woods. Try that government fella instead.”

“What about the part of me you are touching suggests I am human?”

“Probably a left-over monkey suit or somethin’ from Halloween.”

“I am not a costume, I am a Hidebehind.”

The human pauses, then shakes his head, “No such thing.”

“You are literally touching one.” Indrid stamps his foot, frustrated by the turn this is taking and the fact that futures do not show the human believing him any time soon. 

“Don’t believe I am.” The human turns his head. Indrid’s body whips sideways, keeping him from view. The human holds on, tries again from the opposite direction, only for Indrid to be wrenched back the way he came. 

“Stop movin!”

“Stop trying to look at me!” He’s twisted to the side once more, wrenching the humans arm in the process. 

“Ow!” The grip on him tightens, “quit this fuckin game right now. You don’t lemme see you, I’ll drag you right back to camp with me.”

“I can’t!” Indrid chirps, panicked, the noise continuing into a wail of alarm at what might happen if he’s surrounded with nowhere to hide. 

His fear must register as genuine, as the human releases him with a sigh. After a moment he removes his hat, running his fingers through his hair but not turning around. 

“You still there?” 

“Yes.”

“Why are you even followin me in the first place?”

A peek at the futures says the truth will be most effective, though almost all timelines end with the human telling him to “get gone.”

“I find you intriguing. You do not chop or hack at my home, you study it. You speak to the trees when you think you are alone. You look soft to touch, especially the fur on your head. I like looking at you and being near you. That was why I stood so close.”

“...You been followin me because you’re sweet on me?” The drawl, as soothing as movement of water through plant limbs, seems confused. 

“I do not find you sweet. I could only do that if I ate you. Which I do not want to do.

A chuckle, “Not quite what I meant. You been hangin around me because you think I’m swell and wanna get to know me. Guess I can’t fault you for that, I'm a decent fella to know if I do say so myself.  You got a name?”

“Indrid.” This is an unexpected turn of the timelines. 

“Nice to meet you, Indrid. I’m-”

“-Duck” Indrid says along with him, “apologies, I can see the future and am thus a bit ahead in conversations.”

“Huh. Well, I gotta head back to town. If you wanna talk again, I won’t mind. Just tell me you want to instead of lurkin, you hear?”

Indrid grins, “Yes. I hear you perfectly.”

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

“Fuck” Duck picks himself up from the dirt where he fell, brushing pine needles from his coat. He’d been angling for a better look at a set of roots and tripped over a different set in the process. 

“Are you alright?” A now familiar voice asks from behind a tree to his left. 

“Depends. You see me make a fool of myself by fallin on my face?”

“Yes.”

“Then my body is fine but my dignity is real wounded.”

A laugh like spring breeze through new leaves, “I suspect it will recover. You do have quite a deal of leaves in your hair. May I help you with them?”

Duck nods. Slender fingers pluck at his hair.

“Ohhh, it is just as soft as I thought it would be.” Indrid murmurs, “does it feel nice?”

“Don’t feel like much--oh, uh, fuck, that does though. Feels damn good.” Duck groans as claws scritch his scalp. The first time he felt them on his shoulder when Indrid was talking, he tensed; The hidebehind isn’t small, and the claws suggest he could shred Duck to bits and scatter him across the woods. But after weeks of keeping him company, Duck knows the worst Indrid might do to him is steal too much of his lunch. 

The hidebehind, endlessly fascinated by Duck’s job, will sit out of sight as he works. Duck asked him if he only watched Duck the entire time. It turns out the creature draws as well, and Duck now recognizes the sound of a pencil under the rustle of leaves and calls of wildlife. Indrid also spares Duck dangerous climbs into the trees, offering to look at marks or discoloration and describe them if they’re too high for the human to see. 

Turns out he also gives a mean rubdown, his claws moving from Duck’s head to his neck, banishing the knot that’s been bothering him all morning. 

“I like touching you.” Indrid chirps. Duck hasn’t forgotten their first meeting; if a man had come to him with such flattering shyness in his voice and an interest in Ducks body, he’d have been in Duck’s bed by the end of the night. 

He’s not ready to take a hidebehind home, but he’s ready to tease one.

“Seems mighty unfair that you get to touch and I don’t.”

“You would have to close your eyes to so much as shake my hand. My form does not care how little of me you would see, it will pull me into hiding regardless.”

“Then I’ll close my eyes.” Duck does just that, tips his head back so Indrid can see it’s safe. One hand continues massaging his head, while a spindly arm reaches around his chest.

“Bring your arms up, towards you a bit more, yes, there we are.” 

Duck runs his hands over the limb; it reminds him of Manzanita bark he saw in the Sierra Nevadas, smooth but unmistakably of the woods. Towards the elbow the texture changes to soft, short feathers, like the ones on Indrids leg. 

The hidebehind tightens his hold, pulling Duck to his torso. More feathers prickle the back of his neck and the creature shudders. 

“You alright back there?”

“I...it has been so very long since anyone or anything touched me. I foresaw my body being sensitive to it but the intensity is, is-” he lets go so suddenly Duck stumbles, “I am sorry, it was too much and yet I wanted, wanted more.”

Images of Indrid surrounding him, chirping and purring as Duck touches him all over, flood his mind. The embarrassment in his voice keeps the arborist from acting on them. 

“You, uh, gonna show me that Saw-Whet Owl nest?”

“Of course, sweet human. Take the right fork of that deer trail just ahead, and we shall go from there.”

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

“I have something for you. Close your eyes.” 

Duck, still perching on the stump he was using as a lunch chair, does as instructed. Indrid sets a piece of paper in his right hand. 

“You may now look.”

An illustration fills the entire page. It shows a being with stick-like arms and legs leading to a narrow body covered in short, leaf shaped feathers in mottled browns and greens. The face is angular, shaded to suggest it’s dusted with fuzz, and leads to several stick-shaped horns. The eyes are wide and black, the claws long, and there are short, triangular shapes behind its shoulders. 

“Holy fuck, you’ve got wings?”

“Indeed. I do not use them much. I believe they help my kind migrate when our habitats dwindle.”

Duck traces the face on the paper, “How long did it take you to make this?”

“Two days, as the lakes I use to study my reflection tend to attract townspeople and loggers looking to take a break from their toil.”

“You did all this just ‘cause I said I wished I knew what you looked like.”

“Not solely. I...I wanted to show you it as well. So you might know the face of the one who, ah, whose days you brighten.”

Carefully, Duck folds the portrait and tucks it into the inside pocket of his coat, “Find I like my work even better with your company too, ‘Drid. Would you, uh, be okay if I tried to match what you showed me to what I can feel?”

An intrigued chirr floats through the air as Duck shuts his eyes and waves to the ground in front of him. A scuff and rustle of dirt and leaves, and then he feels Indrid in front of him. Cool hands guide his own onto the multicolored feathers.

“Shoulders?”

“Correct.” Indrid moves their joined hands upwards, stopping on velvet-dusted cheeks, “oh, oh goodness, I have always wanted to be held like this.”

“Yeah?” Duck’s heartbeat is in his fingertips, “what else have you always wanted?”

“To, to be touched, to be known, toMMMphohh” a rough tongue laps at his lips as he pulls Indrid into an awkward, bowed kiss. 

“How’s that, darlin?” Duck kisses along what he thinks is Indrids’ jaw, “that the kind of knowin’ you in the mood for?”

“Yes, oh my sweet human you spoil me, oh” claws grab his shoulders, “I, do you really wish this, with me? This was in so few timelines I assumedAH” he squirms adorably as Duck gropes the feathers of his chest.

“You better believe it, sugar. It’s the weirdest goddamn thing I ever wanted and I want it, want you, more than I’ve wanted anything in a long fuckin time.” Curious and eager to fill every one of his senses with Indrid, he buries his face against his upper chest, finds skin beneath all the camouflage and bites down. The hidebehind keens, pulling Duck from his seat into his lap. Duck laughs, bites down once more and gets a nose full of fluff. 

“AhCHOO!” His eyes pop open on reflex after he sneezes, sending the hidebehind out of view and Duck flat on the ground. 

“Blasted physiology” Indrid chirrs, frustrated. 

Duck sits up, Indrid’s cries of pleasure ringing in his ears and giving him all kinds of reckless ideas. 

“Don’t worry, darlin. If my hidebehind wants to romancin’, that’s what I’m gonna do.”

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

He takes to wearing a kerchief around his neck at work. The loggers and company pencil pushers assume it’s an affectation, not a tool for covering his eyes for some uninterrupted kisses while deep in the woods.  Today, he’s not sure kisses will be enough. 

Duck woke up hard, dream of Indrid looming above him in bed fading into the morning sun. His hidebehind has yet to show himself, so the humans mind has nothing but his fantasies to distract him on his trek through the woods. 

He’s ahead on his tasks for the day. He’s five miles deep in the woods. And he’s got an idea. 

After rinsing his hands with water from his canteen, he leans back against a tree and undoes his suspenders, followed by his fly. Closing his eyes, he slips his fingers into his underwear, teasing himself and sending soft moans into the air. It doesn’t take long before he’s wet enough to push two up into himself with ease.

“‘Drid” he gasps, letting his head loll back, “‘Drid, fuck, that feels so fuckin good.”

A single leaf crunches in front of him, and his kerchief slowly slides up his face to shield his eyes. 

“It is about to feel much better, dear one.” Indrid kisses the top of his head, “Shall I take this shameless display as evidence that you wish for me to, ah, fuck you?”

“That it does. And I’ll have you know I got plenty of shaAAmeWHoah.” Duck flails as his pants fall down and his body flies up in one smooth motion. Indrids claws prick his thighs as he spreads them open, holding him against the trunk with ease. 

“So very polite of my sweet one to prepare himself for me. It makes this all the easier.” A round, bumpy cock teases his folds, pressing in with a stretch that makes Duck twist in his lovers hold. 

“Fuck, fuck, that’s so fucking good but holy fuck, are you packin a fuckin pine tree down thereOH, ohfuckdarlin, that’s, that’s as far as it’s gonna go.”

“Half of it? My, who knew my human could take so much? Wait, it is not too much, correct?”

“N-nope, just the right amount” the bumps rub every inch inside him, one on the shaft catching his cock as Indrid thrusts and wiggles his hips. 

“Wonderful” Indrid purrs, “I have dreamed of this all dayAHnnncareful” he chides after Duck bites the part of his arm he’s able to reach, “or I shall take you so roughly your back will wear imprints of bark for days.”

Duck whimpers excitedly, very aware of thick pre-cum dripping into him, “Yeah lets do that.”

He can hear the grin.

“If you insist.”

“FUCKohfuckohfuck” his hands scrabble at the tree and at Indrid’s arms, “that’s it darlin, that’s it, fuck, gonna give you the best goddamn rub-down after this, touch you until your body forgets what it’s like to be without my fuckin hands on it.” Leaves scatter in his hair and down the back of his shirt as Indrids fucking turns frantic. 

“I, I shall hold you to that AHhnn, sweet one, you are so tight, so deliciously slick and inviting, I, I am not going to last long, you are too perfect, just touching you makes me burn like wildfire” His thrusts sharpen, never pushing too deep but making Duck feel like a log split beneath an axe of ecstasy, “Duck, sweetheart, yes, yesyesyes” Indrid spills into him, cum running out of Ducks body and back down his shaft. 

For a minute, Duck is nothing more than a pinned specimen, spread eagle on the tree as Indrid shudders, purrs, and drags fuzzy kisses along his throat. Then his shirt rides up as he slips down the tree, but Indrid doesn’t put him down. Instead, a rough tongue glides up one thigh and then the other. The human gasps, gripping Indrid’s horns for balance as Indrid buries his face between his legs.

“Ohhhhhh, oh I do so love tasting how we mingle together.” Indrid’s breath is ragged and hot against his dick, “I am going to do this every day.”

“Please” Duck squeezes his horns, his orgasm painfully close, “please ‘Drid, wanna cum on your tongue, want you holdin me up while I, I-ohfuck.” His legs kick weakly as Indrid sucks him off, tongue lavishing his cock with so much friction he goes hoarse from moaning. The fact he cannot see makes it all the better, makes his world nothing more than Indrids mouth, his claws, his desire that wraps around Duck like vines. 

He cums, arching his hips into the “thank yous” Indrid presses to his legs. 

When his boots touch the ground, deft claws begin pulling his clothes into order, Indrid kissing and caressing him as he does. 

“Y’know, I can get my own britches up.” Duck ruffles a nearby patch of feathers. 

“I know, but I wish to take care of you. Hidebehinds are attentive to our mates, and while I cannot build you a nest, and I can least clean you up after you let me do something so wonderful with you.”

Duck wraps his arms around the cryptid, resting his cheek against him, “Would you wanna do this, uh, wonderful somethin again?”

“Of course.”

The human smiles, reaches his hand up to stroke Indrids cheek. This means he feels the hidebehind smile when Duck says, “Glad to hear it. But I’ll have you know, one of these days I’m gonna expect a nest.”

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #monster march #reader request #trans duck newton

[fickle-tiction]

Death Spot/Holding It In

Prompt #11& 18 for Tickletober, requested (forcibly requested?) by @anasticklefics

It’s my personal headcannon that Jim really isn’t ticklish, which frustrates Bones to no end. That is, until you find that ooooooooooone spot, and then all hell breaks loose. I’ve either written a fic like this before, or I’ve read one like this?? But with different characters. I honestly can’t remember, so if I’m stealing anyone’s idea please tell me!

Also, this was not meant to be this long....oops...?

~~~

“I am----going to---kill you---one day!” Bones somehow manages to huff this out, between bouts of strangled laughter as Jim finally finally starts to let up, and slow his dancing fingers down. McCoy is red faced and laughing quietly as Jim finally leaves his ribs alone, in favor of laying on his stomach, chin propped up on a closed fist, as McCoy curls away from him on his small dorm bed. 

How they managed to have these epic, and epically one-sided, tickle wars on these tiny beds without falling off and breaking several bones is a mystery, but it is almost a daily occurrence. Ever since Jim found out that his room mate, best friend, and all around grumpy asshole, was incredibly, adorably, ridiculously ticklish, Jim hadn’t left him alone. It’s been almost two weeks of nonstop pokes to McCoy’s ribs while he’s reading, or squeezing his sides while he’s reaching for the box of bran flakes on top of the fridge, or fingers wiggled inside of his ear (which doesn’t tickle, damn it Jim! It just...feels...weird!). Leonard doesn’t remember the last time he laughed this much (of course he doesn’t, he’s never laughed this much. He hasn’t had an hour of peace since Jim’s little discovery.)

It’s not as tragic as it sounds. For all that McCoy grumps and growls and yells out death threats, he’s never once asked Jim to stop; a fact that Jim has picked up on and has been waiting for the perfect opportunity to taunt him with. Jim’s pretty sure if he plays his cards right he can get his friend to blush, something he would not have thought possible two weeks ago. Judging by how alarmingly fast Bones’s face turns red when Jim is going to town on his ribs, he’s pretty sure the man has a blush hidden in there somewhere.

Naturally, Leonard’s tried to get Jim back. Several times. It’s never ended well for him.

~~

“You are fucking dead!” Jim probably would have taken Bones more seriously if he had bothered to catch his breath before threatening his life. As it were, Bones’s voice with still huffy with the remnants of his laughter, hair tousled and sticking up in the back, dimples so deep they could probably hold a pencil.

“Oh, I’m so scared, Doctor Dimples.” Jim mocked, cocky smile in place as Bones dove for his sides. The good doctor squeezed up and down, wiggling his thumbs into the front of Jim’s stomach much like Jim had done to him moments ago. Jim just reclined back into the couch cushions, hands folded behind his head, as he whistled a song he heard in a holovid the other day.

“You almost done? I have class in fifteen.”

Bones growled in response, fingers moving faster even as they got no reaction from his infuriating best friend.

He missed the way Jim’s entire body tensed up when Bones’s long index fingers wiggled into the backs of his ribs. Thankfully, Bones gave up after another minute, but not before swearing his vengeance

~~

Tuesday was the first day in a very long week that Jim hadn’t pounced on Bones, or surprised him while he was doing homework, ambushed him when he came out of the shower. Naturally, Leonard saw it as an opportunity to get some well-deserved revenge. Maybe, he figured, if he could sneak up on Jim first before Jim got it into his head to tickle him, he’d have the element of surprise on his side and he’d finally get a reaction out of his friend.

Bones was pretending to read a book at the small table in their small kitchen area, conveniently only a few feet from Jim’s bed. His patience paid off when Jim finally got up to use the bathroom, and once the door closed Bones casually readjusted his chair so it was angled facing Jim’s bed, without the table being directly in front of him. A minute later, Bones heard the sink running and then Jim emerged. Bones held his breath, stared at his book, counted to four, and then pounced, tackling Jim into his bed.

Leonard wasted no time, burying his wiggling fingers into Jim’s armpits, searching for a reaction. He heard a snort of laughter and his heart soared, before realizing Jim was laughing at him and not at the tickling sensation. 

“Really Bones?” Jim asked, face squished into his mattress. “Ambushing a guy that just left the bathroom? Have you no shame?”

“You did that to me two days ago.” Bones pointed out, pressing into Jim’s back with his hands as he settled his weight onto the backs of Jim’s thighs. He didn’t notice Jim tensing under his fingers, nor did he catch the quiet huff of relief when Bones started lightly scratching up and down Jim’s ribs.

“Just so you know,” Jim started, craning his neck so he could at least see Bones out of the corner of his eye. “Whatever you do to me right now, I’m going to do to you in about, ohhhhh, two minutes.” He smirked as the smile dropped off Bones’s face, cataloguing every renewed attempt Bones made to get him to crack. The poor guy really brought that one on himself. 

~~

“Give me your feet.” Bones demanded, earning a curiously raised eyebrow from Jim.

“Uhm, why?” Jim asked, even as he shifted sideways on their couch and swung his legs up, feet landing softly in Bones’s lap.

“Because you’ve got to be ticklish somewhere, damn it.” The way Bones said it almost sounded like he was pleading with some unknown presence, and wow he really was getting desperate to get Jim back. (He still, however, hadn’t asked Jim to stop.)

Jim watched as Bones began scratching at the arch of his foot, wrinkling his nose at the feeling. It didn’t tickle so much as it itched. After a few seconds of that Bones grunted before dancing his fingers up to Jim’s toes, making sure to wiggle into the spaces just beneath them. He glanced up at Jim and scowled at the blonde’s smirk, renewing his efforts as he tickled around his ankle.

“So,” Bones could almost hear the shit-eating grin in Jim’s voice, and his head whipped up at the inflection. “Are these all spots that you’re ticklish?” Jim asked, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer. 

Before Bones could answer, Jim had yanked his feet back and the two began an epic wrestling match that ended on the floor of their small dorm, Leonard on his stomach, Jim on the back of his thighs and facing his feet. Jim held Bones’s right foot in a headlock with his left arm as he tickled his sole viciously with his right hand. Bones was begging him to stop after literally five seconds. Jim was quick to coo that that’s the first time Bones has ever asked him to stop.

Jim was right. Bones could blush.

~~~

“Oh, good. Are you going to give me more ideas?” Jim asked, grin wide as Bones finally caught his breath enough to muster up a real glare.

“There’s no way I’m more ticklish than an actual infant.” Bones growled before uncurling from his ball and pouncing. 

“What’s with the theatrics?” Jim asked with a laugh, not doing anything to defend himself as Bones settled onto his back. “I am happy to let you explore, Bones. It’s very telling. You always go after what happens to be a great spot on you.”

Bones huffed and rolled his eyes, even though Jim couldn’t see it from his current facedown position. Bones thought about going for Jim’s neck, figuring there was no harm in that spot since Jim already knew about it. As expected, Jim just closed his eyes and relaxed onto the bed with a smile as Bones tried to take him apart, one wiggle at a time. 

He thought about trying the backs of Jim’s knees, but he wasn’t sure he could take Jim getting revenge there just now. He was too exhausted. 

Where else? Where else? 

Bones idly tapped his fingers on Jim’s back as he weighed the pros and cons of tickling the backs of Jim’s thighs, which contained a multitude of very sensitive nerve endings. It took him a minute to realize Jim had gone stiff under him, and when Bones looked down he realized Jim not had his eyes squeezed tight, and was biting his lip. Bones stilled his fingers and was going to ask what was wrong when Jim let out a sigh of relief and went limp.

And then, it clicked.

“How are you not ticklish?!” Bones growled out, louder than he intended, but he was excited damn it. It was hard to contain himself. He waited until Jim smirked and craned his neck to look back at him before he went to town.

“I guess I ju--nahahaaha-Bo-hohohoh-bones! NO!” Jim cackled, burying his head into the mattress as Bones wiggled his fingers up and down the backs of Jim’s ribs. Jim tried to reach back and knock Bones’s hands away, but he wasn’t in a great position to do so and he merely left an opening for Bones to walk his fingers up into Jim’s armpits. 

“Oh Ho! What’s this!?” Bones asked, gleefully digging into the sensitive hollows of Jim’s underarms. Jim snapped his arms down reflexively, bright bubbly laughter flowing from his mouth as Bones finally finally got his revenge.

“Bo-hohohohoho-ones!” Jim giggled, trying to squirm his way out from under Bones.

“Yeah Jimmy?” Bones asked, grinning wide as he eased up enough that Jim loosened his death grip and let him pull his hands out from under his arms. He wasted no time in reaching behind himself and digging his fingers into the tender flesh at the back of Jim’s thighs. Jim nearly bucked him off he jumped so hard, before dissolving into deep belly laughter.

“I ca-hahahahahaha-can’t!” Jim wheezed, eyes crinkling at the corners as he cackled.

“Sure ya can.” It was Bones’s turn to smirk and he walked his fingers down to the backs of Jim’s knees and lightly scratched at the thin skin there. “I just needed to find that one spot, and now the floodgates are opened.” When he said “one spot” Bones quickly went back to tickling the backs of Jim’s ribs, causing the younger man to shriek before breaking out into high pitched, slightly panicked laughter.

“Now let’s see,” Bones pretended to think as he danced his fingers lightly over the sides of Jim’s neck and ears. Jim scrunched his shoulder up, high pitched giggles falling from his mouth as Bone’s managed to tickle down onto his collarbone. “Where else have you tickled me in the past two weeks?” He asked, hands quickly darting behind himself to tickle at the backs of Jim’s thighs again and making him jump. He took the opportunity to raise up onto his knees and let Jim scramble onto his back. Bones came down hard on Jim’s thighs before he could get very far.

“Truce!” Jim shouted, smile stretched across his face as he pushed at Bones’s chest. Bones wasted no time in slipping his hands under Jim’s shirt and lightly scratching at every inch of skin he could reach. Jim once more dissolved into laughter, trying to squirm away and push at Bones’s chest. Neither was very effective, but Bones did enjoy alternating between tickling under Jim’s arms to get him to clamp them down, and then reaching back to squeeze the tops of his knees to get him to try to push Bones away again. It was a vicious circle, and Bones only let up when Jim’s face started turning pink.

“Now, what was that about more ideas?” Bones asked, grinning triumphantly as Jim collapsed onto the mattress, a tired smile on his face even as his hands hovered protectively in front of himself.

“I-” Jim huffed, gasping in more air. “-Am going-” He cracked his eyes open to watch Bones smile drop from his face at this next part. “-To wreck you.” 

Jim pounced as Bones shrieked.

#idiots in love #mckirk #tickling #tickling fanfiction #Star Trek Fanfiction #ticklish!bones #ticklish!mccoy #ticklish!kirk #tickletober2020

[comradekatara]

sunset glow - a short mai x ty lee fanfic for mailee week (PG, 3k words)

Stuck in a cell together, they find themselves, surprisingly, without a lot to talk about. They’ve just spent months traveling together and experiencing everything as a pair, but how do they talk about what just happened?

Ty Lee breaks the silence first. “Sad about your uncle’s record,” she offers.

“Sad about our future,” Mai returns dully, not taking her eyes off the wall directly opposite her.

It’s surprising, really, that they were put in a cell together. Surprising Azula didn’t forbid it. Normally any special treatment they receive on their travels is because of Azula, or if a certain type of man is involved then maybe Ty Lee, but Mai wonders darkly if her status as the warden’s niece is what’s helping them now. It figures that the one time things go favorably for her would still end with them both in prison.

Still. It is unnerving Azula let it happen.

“Do you think the Princess is alright?” Ty Lee asks, eerily echoing Mai’s stream of consciousness.

Mai cocks her head to look at her. She swallows. “I don’t think we’re gonna find out either way.”

Ty Lee stretches one of her arms sideways across her chest, then the other. She keeps her gaze on Mai. “Probably not.”

--

It seems that at night, the firebender guards extinguish the torches in the hallways and patrol with their own palm-sized flames. Ty Lee watches the guards patrol in the hall through the small slot in the door while Mai tries to get comfortable on their ratty mattress.

“It’s weird that they have firebender guards here, isn’t it?” Ty Lee remarks quietly. “You’d think they’d all be in the army. The Firelord talks like that’s where all our esteemed firebenders should be directing their ‘gifts.’”

Mai rolls onto her side and faces the back wall. “I guess bender guards make it easier to break up fire fights,” she says.

“Firebender guards and firebender prisoners, huh,” Ty Lee muses. “I thought they were supposed to be the best the world has to offer.”

Mai laughs out loud. Facing the wall, she doesn’t see that her laugh makes Ty Lee smile.

--

They get two interruptions a day. Every morning, a guard takes them to wash and relieve themselves. When they get back to the cell, there’s food and water waiting. The only other interruption they get is at night, when the guards take them to the latrine again just before lights out. If they need to relieve themselves any other time during the day, they have to call for a guard. Mai hates the way the guards look at her, with a mix of disgust and pity. Usually Ty Lee takes care of talking to the guards for both of them.

There’s only one mattress their first night and they share it. On the third night, the guards dump another mattress in the cell. It smells slightly better than the first. Ty Lee insists that Mai take it, and crawls onto the old one before Mai can argue. But even though it’s summer, it’s cold in their underground cell, so by the fifth night, they’re back to the original sleeping arrangements, squeezing as tight as they can onto the first mattress with the second one awkwardly on top of them like a blanket.

It’s not comfortable. They both thrash in their sleep when they dream.

--

By the end of their first week, they’re both starting to look disheveled, and Mai offers to braid Ty Lee’s hair. To her surprise, Ty Lee accepts. Mai sits on the mattress with her back against the wall and Ty Lee sits between her thighs, leaning her head down.

“Do you think our parents know where we are?” Mai asks as she works hair over hair. She’s trying to be both gentle and neat, but above all, to keep from touching Ty Lee’s neck and shoulders unnecessarily. Ty Lee is sitting stiller than Mai has ever seen her, and Mai just has the strange feeling that it would be embarrassing to touch her by accident when Ty Lee is making it so easy not to.

“My parents don’t even know I was with Princess Azula,” Ty Lee admits.

Mai tries to visualize Ty Lee’s family. When they spent time together as children, they’d mostly done so at the palace; it was always more of an effort for Azula and Zuko to leave the palace grounds than it was for Mai and Ty Lee to just come visit. But she vaguely remembers Ty Lee’s parents, a harried mother and disinterested father, overwhelmed by too many daughters who all had to look presentable and be excellent.

“It happened fast,” Ty Lee adds. “I was at work, then the Princess came to invite me to join her, and then we were on the road. So I just didn’t have time to tell them.”

A dot of sweat blooms on the back of Ty Lee’s bare neck. Mai stares at the hair in her hands and then back at Ty Lee’s neck in time to see a second dot of sweat materialize. She’s never seen Ty Lee up close from this angle before. She starts to wonder if Ty Lee might have made sure of that. If this might be a particularly vulnerable position for Ty Lee. If she sweats from the back of her neck when she lies.

If she agreed to let Mai braid her hair because she’s growing to trust her.

“My parents knew,” Mai says quietly. “A royal summons was basically the only way to get away from them. Otherwise I’d still be in Omashu cleaning up after Tom-Tom.”

Ty Lee swivels all the way around at the mention of Tom-Tom. As she turns, Mai’s hand grazes her neck. Ty Lee doesn’t seem to even register it, but Mai stares down at her hand as she processes the unplanned motion.

“How is Tom-Tom?” Ty Lee asks, looking fond and earnest. “Does he talk yet?”

Mai racks her brain. It’s only been a few months since she left Omashu, but life before she was involved in the war feels like a lifetime ago. “I don’t remember.”

--

Day seven and the guards give them their kindest indulgence yet. In the evening, Mai and Ty Lee are given an hour in the yard outside, without any of the other prisoners.

They step outside and Mai immediately tilts her head up to the sun, unable to resist the breeze on her face. “Close your eyes,” Ty Lee advises as she does the same thing, but it’s a second too late, and Mai is already seeing blue spots in her vision. She has to look down and blink repeatedly before they go away. Sheepishly, she closes her eyes hard before she tilts her head back up to enjoy the sunlight on her face again.

Ty Lee shifts beside her and their shoulders touch. Neither one moves away. “Okay, would you rather have to spend all day in the sun every day, or never see the sun again?”

Mai ponders that.

“Before we got here, I would have guessed you’d pick never see the sun,” Ty Lee adds, and suddenly the warmth of her shoulder is gone, and Mai hears the rustle of fabric as she moves away. “But now that we’ve been inside, is it different?”

Mai tilts her head back down and opens her eyes. Ty Lee is gone from eye level. She follows her voice and looks down to find Ty Lee laying on the ground, her eyes still closed.

“Yeah, it’s different,” Mai says, and she sits down to join her. She keeps her eyes open and looks down at her lap for a long moment before she lays back. “I pick sun.”

The hour feels like an instant.

--

On day ten, Mai tells Ty Lee about what happened with Zuko.

She feels stupid, because “girl talk” has never come naturally to her and she can’t imagine a less worthwhile subject than the shitty ex-boyfriend for whom she unintentionally gave up her freedom.

“It’s so stupid,” she says as she finishes her story. “There was no reason to fight Azula for him. It’s not like we were ever gonna get back together. I didn’t even like dating him.”

“You didn’t?” Ty Lee says, but her tone makes it clear that she knew this and said nothing.

Mai looks down at her hands. A flush tints her cheeks. Ty Lee spares her from having to answer by adding, “He didn’t seem like a very good boyfriend.”

Mai snorts. “He wasn’t. He was self-involved. I mean, I think he’s just caught up in his own shit.” She looks down, allowing her hair to fall into her face and hide her eyes as she goes on, “But... I don’t think it would have been different with any other boy.”

Ty Lee nods exuberantly. “Boys are exhausting,” she agrees. Her expression looks serious, and as Mai eyes her curiously through her curtain of hair in search of an underlying meaning, a twitch in her posture seems to convey assent. “It’s good that you’re single.”

--

The weird thing about sleeping side-by-side is how attuned they become to each other’s breathing.

Sometimes, Ty Lee wakes up in the middle of the night and when she opens her eyes and looks to the side, she always finds that Mai’s eyes are open too.

--

Day eighteen is different. The torches in the hallway come on like always, but the guard who takes them to bathe doesn’t show up until later. By the time she shows up, Ty Lee is already desperate for a bathroom. She starts to hurry out of the cell but the guard stops her. “Just her,” the woman says, jerking her chin toward Mai.

“What’s going on?” Mai asks, getting to her feet.

“Just come with me,” the guard repeats. “Your uncle’s orders.”

Mai barely manages to make eye contact with Ty Lee -- a fleeting, awkward, almost apologetic expression -- before the guard takes her shoulders and steers her away.

When they reach her uncle’s office, Mai finds him stuffing items into a bag. He tells her, without meeting her eyes, that there are rumors that a large military operation is heading for the Earth Kingdom. Many of the guards have been summoned to help with the invasion, and the Boiling Rock will be vulnerable. There are even rumors that they might miss a food delivery or two. He explains that it isn’t standard operating procedure for the warden to leave, but under the circumstances, and here he waves a hand at Mai...

“What about Ty Lee?” Mai interrupts sharply. “If you’re trying to protect me, you need to protect her too. She’s my same age and she doesn’t belong here either.”

But as with everything Mai ever says to the adults in her life, it falls on deaf ears.

They leave by gondola within the hour.

--

They spend the night at an inn. Mai gets her own room. Her uncle lets her in, but then he keeps the key. He tells her sternly not to leave.

It feels surreal to have privacy for the first time in weeks. More than that, really; it wasn’t like she had any real privacy while traveling with Azula. Even on the nights when she had her own bedroom, she could never completely rule out the possibility that Azula might intrude on her during the night and demand an audience for some new speech or change in plans.

She bathes, relishing the soap and towel, and then lays back on the bed for a moment. It’s such an improvement over what she’s become used to, but it’s also chilly and eerily quiet without Ty Lee breathing beside her. Mai gets up and rifles through drawers until she finds paper and ink and starts to write a letter.

There’s no way to send it. Prisoners of the Boiling Rock don’t receive mail. She writes until she’s out of space, and then she folds it up and puts it in her pocket for safekeeping.

--

The night the comet passes overhead, both Mai and Ty Lee are inside and very far away from windows. They don’t notice the streak of fire in the sky. They just live to experience its aftermath.

--

For Ty Lee, the aftermath is that one day they open the door to her cell and tell her she’s received a special pardon from the Firelord.

Ty Lee isn’t sure if this is good news or not, since it begs a follow-up question: who’s the Firelord?

Her shoulders collapse with relief when they tell her.

--

Mai and her uncle get word of the official change of regime while traveling by carriage from the first inn. A hiker literally runs through the road and screams the news. It sounds almost laughable before Mai realizes they’re still in the Fire Nation, and this guy is in Earth Kingdom robes, seemingly unafraid of where he is and to whom he is speaking. 

Mai’s uncle wants to make an immediate detour and go into hiding. He’s worried about the consequences for a man like him, someone who personally endangered the new Firelord, tortured him, and almost killed him.

Mai does not want to go into hiding at all. For once, she argues with her uncle with the intent to win. She points out that if the Firelord wants to find him, he will, and in the meantime, her uncle’s best chance at survival is if he makes it to the capital with the young woman who personally saved the Firelord’s life.

She wins the argument and they continue on course for the capital.

--

Mai’s welcomed with open arms, of course. Zuko gives her a teary apology, going on and on about how he was selfish and mean and he was only hurting himself more when he allowed himself to forget to respect her. It’s awkward but he means it, so Mai forgives him. They’ll never be together romantically, of course, but they agree they can be friends. With this out of the way, Mai asks her new friend for her first favor: for him to pull Ty Lee out of prison immediately. Zuko assures her that Ty Lee is already on her way. He sent the Kyoshi Warriors to pick her up. They’re bringing her back on the Avatar’s bison.

“By the way,” Zuko says, cracking a smile more sincere than any smile she’s seen on his face in years, “it’s time you met Aang and the rest of my friends.”

--

Ty Lee’s trip to the capital can best be summed up as a joyride. She also has an apology to make--to Suki, the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors, who happens to be piloting the bison today. But Suki is quick to forgive her. The two of them have been failing to hide their creeping respect for one another since their first meeting in the Earth Kingdom. As they fly (which is an absolute delight, and an experience Ty Lee will never forget), Suki shows Ty Lee how to use a fan, and Ty Lee returns the favor by showing Suki a thing or two about pressure points. By the time they make it back to the Fire Nation, Ty Lee has a job offer and Suki has a bit of a crush.

--

When the Kyoshi Warriors new and old dismount the bison in the palace courtyard, Ty Lee has to hold her hand above her forehead to see in the sun. It’s a beautiful day and the courtyard is bustling with activity. As she blinks her eyes repeatedly to adjust to the light, her gaze lands on a cluster of people gathered around an outdoor table. Suki pulls her over to the table by the hand.

Ty Lee’s eyes focus and she sees that the people are Mai, the Avatar, and some of his friends. They’re playing pai sho, Mai against the earthbender girl. The earthbender is winning.

“Hi,” she says, with an awkward wave.

To her surprise, the whole group greets her with, if not warmth, then at least a neutral friendliness. Introductions are made, and Ty Lee squeezes into a seat next to Mai, feeling a refreshing sense of ease when their hips touch the way they always used to on their shared mattress. There’s some small talk while Mai and Toph finish the game, and then as the sun starts to go down, everyone starts to disperse. Mai and Ty Lee stay outside.

“I missed you,” Mai says immediately, the moment they’re alone.

Ty Lee smiles. “Me too.” She reaches out her arm for Mai’s hand, her arm loose and limp but still purposeful, and Mai allows her to take it. “Did Zuko send for you?”

Mai snorts. “My uncle abandoned his post and took me with him. Either to keep me safe or use me as leverage, we’ll never know.” She looks like she has a suspicion, though.

“And the Princess?”

Mai drops her gaze and starts to pull back her hand. Ty Lee just holds it tighter, and Mai doesn’t fight back. “She’s not doing so well,” Mai admits, and her voice cracks. “But she’s not a threat.”

“Oh.” A few frightening images spring to mind. Ty Lee tries her best not to dwell on them. She adds, unnecessarily but honestly, “I don’t want to see her.”

“I know. Me neither.” Mai’s voice cracks again but she doesn’t move her hand. “You know I used to always wish we could be in this courtyard just us. No royal siblings.”

A rush of warmth for Mai fills Ty Lee’s chest. “I did too!” she says. “It’s beautiful. It was so sad to only be here to experience, like, emotional mind games.”

Mai squeezes her hand. “You want to take a walk around the grounds with me?” She hesitates. “And then maybe if Zuko doesn’t have a room ready for you, we could share again. I think we’re getting the hang of it.”

They’re standing in the coutyard on the west side of the palace, with nothing westward but open field. The sun is on its way down the horizon. Mai looks completely content with the last touches of sunlight on her face.

Ty Lee threads her fingers through Mai’s. “Yes. Of course.”

And that’s how they spend one of the most beautiful nights of the summer together--their first night of freedom.

#mai #ty lee #maixtylee #maileeweek #fic #oh god!!! i rly wrote this!!! oh boy!!! #c

[crystalninjaphoenix]

MerMay 2021 Day Twenty-Six Fish in a Barrel

A boat was floating in the middle of the ocean, some ways away from a rock poking out from under the water. Said rock was the only bit of land for miles. Other than the boat, there was no motion on the surface of the sea. Until two heads poked out and stared at the boat for a minute. They quickly ducked back under, not wanting to be noticed.

“Okay...how do we do this?” Chase muttered.

“This was your idea, clown boy,” Anti rebutted. He would have folded his arms stubbornly if his hands hadn’t been tied together. “You figure it out.”

Chase winced, and gave Anti a sideways look. Jackie had been keeping an eye on him up until now, but he didn’t want to come along this time, explaining that he’d already been here once and thought that the humans might be looking out for him if they’d spotted him before. Marvin and Jameson had also declined, but they’d given Chase the siren stone, wrapped up in a blanket woven from reeds so that Anti couldn’t use it before the designated time. Schneep had considered it, but ultimately passed. Probably for the best. This was going to be more of a stealth mission than anything, and more merms meant more chances to be seen before it was time. 

These were all quite reasonable decisions, but that didn’t mean that Chase had to like being stuck with the merm that kidnapped his kids. In fact, he’d rather not be the one to go. But he had to. Because they weren’t sure if the humans would understand the commands from the siren stone if they were in merm language, and Anti admitted he didn’t speak any human language. Chase only spoke one, and honestly, the humans might not even understand the one he knew. But he was the only one who could speak a human language, even if the others could understand some of them. So here he was. Holding onto a bag with a siren stone and keeping a dangerous merm on a tether.

“Okay, soooo...first, I think we should go check out that weird rope Jackie mentioned,” Chase said. “C’mon.” And he started swimming, with Anti following soon after.

It wasn’t hard to locate the “rope.” Chase spotted it instantly. He stopped a few feet away, examining it from afar. Really, it was more of a cable. With those spherical weights attached so it would stay on the bottom. He crept a bit closer, swimming over it to examine it from the other side. There was no reaction, but then—

“Shit!” Chase immediately swam away, pulling Anti with him.

“Don’t fucking—oh, it’s a rope, what’s so scary about that?” Anti snapped. “Coward.”

“It had a camera attached!” Chase hissed.

“A what?”

He stopped swimming. “Oh. Right, of course, you wouldn’t know. And Jackie wouldn’t know. Which is why he probably didn’t tell us. The camera was kinda small, but—a-anyway, they could’ve just seen us. We have to hurry, c’mon.” He immediately started swimming towards the boat, ignoring Anti’s harsh comments as he followed.

The two merms found the boat quickly, and paused as they circled around the anchor chain. “I mean...if we just pop up out of the water, they should notice us, right?” Chase reasoned.

“Mm-hmm. Yeah. Maybe we should throw shit at them, just in case,” Anti drawled.

“You’re saying that to annoy me, but that’s not a bad idea.” Chase took a deep breath. “Alright. No time like the present.” And they headed upward, quickly breaking the surface.

The boat was small, with just a single cabin, and didn’t seem to have that much space below deck. There was one human on deck, leaning against the railings and looking the opposite way from where the two merms popped up. “Alright, we’re not gonna pull the siren trick out right away,” Chase said.

“You just said we need to hurry. Do you have the memory of a clownfish along with the tail of one?”

Chase glared at Anti. “Dude, shut the fuck up.”

Anti looked a bit surprised at the straightforwardness of that comment, but nodded, and actually shut up.

“Great. Now.” Chase paused. God, he was so nervous about this. But what could go wrong? At best, they wouldn’t find what they were looking for. He straightened, propelling himself a bit out of the water, and whistled, hoping to get the human’s attention.

It worked. The human jumped, and turned around. Upon seeing the two merms in the water, his eyes widened. “Holy shit!” He shouted, and headed into the cabin.

Wait, no. They didn’t want them to go away. “We’re getting closer,” Chase said, inching up to the side of the boat. Anti looked reluctant, for obvious reasons, but followed anyway. In unison, the two merms reached the boat, then caught the edge of the deck and pulled themselves up. At this point, they were mostly out of the water. Chase scanned the deck. The door to the cabin was open, but he couldn’t see inside from this angle. “Hey!” he called. “Hey! Hello! We want to talk to you!”

“I told you, throw something at them,” Anti muttered.

Chase glared at him, then looked down and started to rummage in his bag with one hand, using the other to keep himself up on the deck. There was some random stuff in here. Maybe a small rock had fallen in while they were swimming, and he could use that.

Suddenly, Anti stiffened. And out of nowhere, he threw himself at Chase, knocking him to the side and into the water.

Chase went down with a yelp, which was quickly swallowed up by the water. He immediately started thrashing. Anti was betraying them, of course! It was only a matter of time! But why here? Why now?!

“Ow.”

Wait...Chase stopped moving. He slowly realized that Anti wasn’t attacking him. In fact, Anti wasn’t looking at him at all. He was looking behind him, back towards the surface of the water. Something flew through the water, passing right by the two of them in a stream of bubbles. Another something shot towards them, and would have hit Chase in the shoulder, but Anti moved at the last moment, covering him with his arms. The something lodged in the back of his hand, and Anti flinched. A small silver dart. And there was another in the back of Anti’s shoulder.

“Holy shit,” Chase whispered. Why hadn’t they anticipated this?! Obviously, something like this was bound to happen. They hadn’t even considered it. How stupid.

“No!” Anti suddenly shouted, and with all his strength, pushed Chase away, to the side. Chase went tumbling through the water, heading downward. When he managed to stabilize himself, he looked back towards the spot where he’d just been. Anti was the one thrashing now, caught up in a fine mesh...a net.

“Anti!” Chase shouted, and started swimming towards him.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Anti yelled, glaring at him with green eyes. The net started to pull him towards the surface, and he cried out. But then he looked back towards Chase. “Get out of here! Tell your healer friend I don’t owe him anymore!”

“What are you—?! No! Hang on, I’ll—” Chase kept swimming.

“God, you fucking moron! You get a chance! Leave! Run! Go!”

Another silver dart shot through the water, barely missing Chase. He stopped. “I—we’ll come get you!” Chase shouted, backing up. 

Anti didn’t answer, just looked at him. For a moment, he looked absolutely terrified. And then the net pulled him out of the water.

Chase kept backing up, then as another dart flew through the water, he turned around, and swam as fast as he possibly could. His tail pumped through the water, and soon he was breathing heavily. But soon, the rock and the boat were out of sight.

It was only then that he let himself slow down. That—that was—He didn’t expect it to go that way at all. Should he have expected it? Probably. But the fact remained that he didn’t. And even though Anti had hurt them in the past, Chase couldn’t help but feel sad that they’d lost him. Even more so than that, he was absolutely shocked that Anti had saved him, at his own expense to boot.

He had to tell the others. Now. They had to figure out what to do next.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticegos #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticeye au #septic egos #septic egos au #antisepticeye #chase brody #brigid writes fanfiction #mermay snippets

[gisachi]

OMG! No.19 with my Shinran babies please! Love you!

Thank you for this number, Anons! I have a particular idea stuck in my mind for this one when I first came across the prompts list. So I’m excited to finally write it down.😆 Hope you like it! Fluffy ShinRan ahead! 💞

19. One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss. (1,937 words)

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Among the multitudes of traits Ran admires from Shinichi, it’s his confidence that always gets her.

Ran loves the way his lips tug to an accomplished smirk whenever he completes all puzzle pieces of a baffling mystery, or the way his bright eyes glint when he quotes his most favorite lines from Holmes’ cases. She loves how easily he captivates big crowds with his proud, gallant voice, streamlining facts that would put any expert to shame. She loves how he, despite his energy, turns cool and collected when facing a crisis, because as young as he is he knows how to make judgments better than any adult ever can.

She loves him like that. And she loves him even more when he’s like that, to her.

She remembers the first time he held her hand as his girlfriend during their walk home from school — he was all smiles and charm with no hint of reluctance in his eyes. The same way whenever he presses his forehead against hers to check her temperature, or when he tucks her loose locks behind her ear on her stead. He doesn’t hesitate stroking his fingers on the corner of her lips to remove grains of rice stuck on them whenever they dine out, only to eat them afterwards and laughing at how red she’ll be from that.

In those gestures, it’s like he’s teaching her how to be physically comfortable with him. Which she does learn so easily. She likes it. It makes her feel the legitimacy of their relationship. They’re not only best friends but two human beings who love each other and find comfort in each other’s physical closeness.

But as much as she feels his confidence translating through these gestures, there’s one thing he hasn’t done.

He has never kissed her.

This dawned on her when she notices how his face only goes as far as touching her nose when he presses their foreheads together, though her lips are out in the open. That, and when he drops her home after a date, he’ll get really close and it’s ridiculous how her eyes flutter in anticipation for a kiss but he won’t; instead he’ll just squeeze her hand and say his goodbye.

He’s never kissed her.

Not even an attempt.

She doesn’t know what to feel about it.

“Is there something wrong?”

Shinichi slumps beside her on the bed, body nestling comfortably albeit the worried expression he wears. She remembers they’re in her room doing homework, a routine they have after class, which they do alternately between his house and hers.

Earlier, she told Shinichi she’ll lie down for a moment, and judging by how he follows her five minutes after she said that, she figures her somber tone must’ve bugged him.

“Are you sick?”

Ran vigorously shakes her head, and it looks like she’s answering him but in truth she’s veering her brain away from her silly thoughts, embarrassed by where it has drifted to.

Notwithstanding that, he presses his forehead against hers like how he usually does. Even if he’s done this a thousand times, she still can’t help but blush.

“Weird. You aren’t.” Shinichi remarks, voice evident of concern.

“Like I said.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

He observes her for a little longer, caressing her cheek with slow strokes of his thumb, handsome blue eyes serious, unyielding.

This is embarrassing.

His face is only inches away and her breath hitches, unsure of where she must look but in the end settles for his eyes, which stare right at her like he’s seeing through her soul, reading her thoughts.

Then, Shinichi closes in and goes for it.

On the lips.

Ran releases a surprised ‘mpfh’ right when he presses on her, and her temperature begins to rise like she’s truly in a fever.

Even with the littlest movement of his mouth over hers, she feels like she’s going to pass out from the drastic temperature change in her body.

His lips are so red, so warm.

She can’t breathe. She can’t move. She can’t—!

He pulls back.

Ran dumbly looks at him, shaken by the entire feeling of them lying on her bed and him suddenly giving her a kiss. A kiss which, though abrupt, is enough to unleash all the butterflies trapped in her belly.

Shinichi just kissed her.

On her lips!

But...

“I-...” he withholds his words, eyes wide, as if startled by his own actions. The hand framing her cheek quivers.

Something isn’t right.

Something‘s bothering him.

Unsure of what she’s done wrong, she touches his cheek, only for him to flinch beneath her fingertips.

“Shinichi…?” Her voice quivers, too.

The look in his eyes before he captured her lips was so sure. Now, he gazes at her like he’s having second thoughts; eyes lidded with delicate love and affection but behind them lie badges of uncertainty.

She doesn’t like it.

All his life he’s been so confident of his choices, but why, now, does he seem to doubt giving what she secretly anticipates from him for the longest time?

“I uh… I’m sorry I-...I might’ve been rushing, I just...crap,” he hides his reddened cheeks with his back hand, averting his gaze away.

Wait.

No.

If she pays close attention to the stillness of the room, she can hear his erratic heartbeat thumping mercilessly against his ribcage.

If she observes his face carefully, she can count each drop of sweat dotting his forehead.

The more he speaks the more he jumbles up his consonants.

All of these he desperately tries to conceal with his hands but it isn’t working because they, too, shiver like it’s winter.

It’s not that he’s doubting.

He’s…

“Do you want to...do this?”

Ran blinks her doe-like eyes at his question, and in that instant he flits his nervous eyes back at her.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, voice muffled by his hand.

“I mean we can…not, like, if you’re not read-”

Silly boy.

Removing his hand from his face, she silences him with a press of her lips on his.

What do you mean I’m not ready?

Torrents of emotion brew inside her as she recreates his kiss from earlier, though instead of making it brief, she does it longer.

You’ve prepared me enough—it’s about time.

She doesn’t expect him to get flustered at this. After all, he’s Shinichi. But like all other guys whose knees get weak when they receive a heartfelt kiss from their love, his whole resolve collapses, dissolves through his fingertips, as though she’s absorbing all of that from him and he’s letting it.

Wow. The power her kiss has over him.

Nothing can get any better than this.

However.

It is one thing to kiss, but another to be good at it. Though she surges on him with so much passion, she finds herself...stuck.

Does she move? Where does she place her hands?

She plants awkward kisses along his mouth, and with every passing second the confidence she mustered begins to wane.

She’s horrible. Pathetic.

He must be hating this.

“Ran.”

Shinichi breaks away, stares at her for what seems like forever.

She waits for him to laugh, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he guides her hand to his nape, cradles her jaw and smiles, “May I?”, before pulling her to meet her mouth and kiss her again.

It might be his confidence regained or a natural talent, but the way he delivers is magical. Heavenly. “Like this,” his voice comes out breathy, as he leads her mouth to a specific motion over his. Oh god. She feels as though she ascends the skies, floats above the clouds, flies with the birds with every brush of lips. It doesn’t take long until their mouths dance in perfect rhythm, lips melding comfortably like melting iron.

This is...surreal.

The bed shifts and suddenly she’s facing the ceiling instead of sideways, his upper body hovering above her. His tentative kisses become more decisive, more characteristic of him, and they fill her body with outrageous warmth as he punctuates every kiss with a soft, wet sound, and she cannot filter her next actions so she hums in his mouth, silently.

His lips are like strong armors, clashing against hers so powerfully and she’s willing to lose. The way he grazes his tongue over her inner lip makes every fine hair on her skin tingle, and she sighs in bliss as he delicately tilts her head in an angle more comfortable to them and albeit faintly, he moans.

Everything around her disappears, it’s just him and her, being intimate like this. Being more intimate than ever.

A sudden bite on her lower lip however jolts her and she opens her dazed eyes to see him with his shut tight, brows creased in concentration, his full undivided attention to her, kissing her with an intensity greater than the heat of a thousand suns and it’s...ridiculous. Ridiculous how mad her heart beats at how frustratingly handsome he looks. How her ears flush and cheeks flare up at how foreign they sound. How her vision blurs and blurs until she can no longer keep her eyes open and just fall, deep into his embrace, into his lips, surrendering her will slowly, sweetly…

His mouth leaves her with a quiet pop, weight above her lessening a little.

She cannot open her eyes, but she finds herself lifting her head, wanting to feel his lips again. At this point, it’s already a crime to stop.

“Ran?” He sounds croaky, and she doesn’t realize how dry her throat has become until she replies with an equally hoarse ‘Hn?’

Why are you stopping? Don’t!

“...Your father might kill me if he sees us like this on your bed.”

Her eyes open, reality kicking in.

She’s not in the clouds. They’re still in her room.

“Ah... you-you’re right!”

Shock and embarrassment pass over her face, realizing how much her body reacted to him like it had never reacted to anything before. Her heart rate refuses to slow down.

Oh my god. We just...

He chuckles lightly, pulls her up until she’s sitting Japanese-style on her bed.

They share a minute-long silence, allowing themselves to absorb what just happened, before he starts.

“Hey, Ran.”

“Yes?!” she squeaks, a complete opposite from Shinichi’s tone. She wants to slap herself for sounding too hyper from still being so hung up on the intense kiss they just shared.

“We’ll um, take it slow, okay?”

He soothes her with a cold but steady hand, and she feels herself gradually calming down.

“We’ll take it slow if we’re going to do more of, um... that, from now on.” He mumbles the last part of the sentence, scratching his cheek shyly, averting his gaze again like a bashful boy that he apparently is.

Shinichi stuttering, blushing, being a shy mess.

A sight she doesn’t know she needs.

“...Yes,” her lips tilt with her head, “Yes, of course,” before they widen into an adorable beam. “Then, please take care of me, Shinichi!”

His face flushes once again, more crimson than he’s ever been.

Shinichi may not know it, but Ran will always admire Shinichi for his confidence.

But seeing him like this - being a vulnerable, nervous, mess of a man - is a different story, as she realizes how she wants to see more of this, too.

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe the day after that.

Maybe, for the rest of their lives.

After a little moment of sharing shy giggles, he stands up, extending his hand to her. “Let’s finish homework?”

She nods, takes his hand. “Okay.”

.

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#shinran #fanfic #kiss prompts #almost 2k again arrrggg #but oh well i didnt want to cut it down! haha #good choice anons i like this number too ^^ #i wanted to write a flustered shinichi so i hope it worked for this prompt! #and please kindly excuse grammar or spelling errors if i ever miss any! #thank you and hope you enjoy this~ #btw i have to add! the *Like this* line from Shinichi? #is a line inspired by a kchk fic i read and I like to give credit to it #once i remember the title i’ll add it here!!! #/edit: found it! it’s The Reaper by thevoidyouknow

[shotgun--rider]

One Digit Off

A Jared x Reader Oneshot

After a hard day at work, Y/N just wants some peace and quiet. Instead, an accidental phone call might just change the whole evening. 

Word Count: 2300

Warnings: Brief discussion of suicide attempt (not a main character), bad t-shirt puns, cat Rowena, useless fluff

*Reader gender/pronouns: any

A/N: Some silly apology fluff because I’ve been a useless rat about posting. 

The couch in your living room was an overstuffed monstrosity that liked to consume anyone that sat on it, slowly but surely. It had been a thrift-store purchase in college years ago that somehow left anyone who sat on it pulled so far into the cushions that there was almost no leverage to stand back up. Nevertheless, it made the perfect place to hide at the end of a long week. 

After the exhausting and entirely depressing shift you’d had at work, you wanted nothing more than to give in and let the couch eat you. You were wearing your favorite old, worn novelty t-shirt, the completely stupid one that read ‘SQUIRRELS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN’, and an equally embarrassing pair of shorts with tie-dyed handprints on your butt. Armed with a plate of haphazard snacks, you settled in on the hungry hippo couch, laying sprawled sideways and accepting your fate. You’d already taken a shower and jammed your hair behind a messy bandana, solidifying your look of “disaster got run over by a truck”. It was classy. 

You just wanted to get cozy, watch some TV that you knew well enough not to have to think about anymore, and try to forget the sounds of a hysterical ten year old in your headset, screaming that Mommy was killing herself. 

Working as a 911 dispatcher meant that you heard people in the worst moments of their lives all the time, and most of the time, they hung up without you ever hearing the ending. You were trained to talk down panicked callers, to get the most important information out of them in the quickest and safest way possible, to keep everyone calm and everyone alive until the first responders got there. And you were good at what you did, good at compartmentalizing what you listened to so that it didn’t follow you home, so that it didn’t distract you. And most of the time that worked. 

You blew out your breath and refocused on the TV, having put on one of your old favorite Supernatural episodes as a distraction. Your black cat was huddled up kneading her paws on your feet, the couch was slowly swallowing you between the cushions and the backrest, and the hollowness in your chest eased bit by bit as you listened to Sam and Dean bicker. 

On the coffee table in front of you, just past your snack plate and out of reach, your phone lit up, buzzing with a FaceTime call. You lifted your head halfheartedly to peer at the screen, unable to make out the caller at the angle you were at. It didn’t matter anyway; you weren’t in the mood to talk to anyone. Besides, it wasn’t like you really had anyone in your contacts who would be especially put out if you waited until tomorrow to talk to them. Your friends were all very casual people. 

Stuffing a ranch-dipped cucumber slice into your mouth while you were sitting up, you proceeded to flop back down onto the couch, earning a death look from Rowena for moving your feet. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered to the cat. “You’re the one sitting on my feet, you know what you signed up for,”

And now you were talking to your cat. Great. This was probably the sort of thing that kept you perpetually single, you reflected absently. There weren’t a lot of people out there in the market for a put-crazy-cat-ladies-to-shame introvert who worked weird hours and was more awkward than entertaining. Not that it mattered, though. You weren’t really relationship material in general, you’d found, and after realizing how many boyfriends you just seemed to inevitably disappoint, you’d decided you were fine being single. 

Ten minutes later, just as Sam was losing his shoe down a storm drain, your phone buzzed again. There was no contact photo coming up, which probably meant it was a wrong number, and you ignored it once more. Until it rang again, and again, followed by a flurry of pinging text messages. 

Cursing to yourself as you fought your way upright (dislodging Rowena, who hissed at you), you flailed for the phone, not bothering to read the texts as you picked it up. If a wrong number was going to call you that many times, they either had an emergency or really needed to be set straight. Pushing your bandana higher off of your forehead carelessly, you swiped to answer the FaceTime call, setting it on the couch next to you without even looking at the video loading on the screen as you fumbled to pause the TV. “God, what!” you snapped in the vague direction of your phone. “Stop hissing at me, cat,” you added irritably for Rowena’s benefit. 

There was a long pause, and then a man’s voice. “Um,” he said inelegantly. “I’m sorry?”

Rowena prowled over to the phone, then, batting at it with one paw and nosing the screen inquisitively. “Rowena, you menace!” You reached over, trying to pry the phone out from where she was currently sitting on half of it, sighing heavily. 

“Hey, look, I think you called the wrong number, and I’m really sorry my cat’s sitting on you right now--” you started, just barely able to make out the bottom half of a man’s torso in a loose gray shirt from underneath Rowena’s black fur. 

A laugh, then, “No, it’s a cute cat. Well, as far as I can tell,” 

Your phone’s speaker was muffled by Rowena’s tail, but there was something about that voice that almost sounded familiar. “Jesus Christ, Ro, let me apologize to this guy properly,” you huffed, failing once more to pull your phone free when she batted her paws at you defensively, claws out. 

“Wait, your cat’s name is Rowena?”

“Uh, yeah,” you frowned, trying to figure out why hearing your cat’s name in a stranger’s voice bothered you so much. “Yeah, I--Rowena give me the phone!” you snapped suddenly, making a dive between her paws. Finally, your cat relinquished the phone, fixing you with an Oscar-worthy dramatic look of anger befitting her namesake before flouncing off the couch. “Damn cat,” you grumbled, finally lifting the phone to get a look at who’d been calling you. At least being virtually sat on by a cat meant he got a little payback for harassing you with calls for the past half hour. 

As soon as you brought the phone up to your face, you froze, your slow blinking the only proof that the screen hadn’t just frozen up on you. “Uh.”

He was several years older than the one currently paused on your TV, wearing a black beanie and looking mostly ready for bed, but no, that was definitely Jared freaking Padalecki staring back at you. And you were wearing a squirrel shirt and had a rat’s nest for hair. Clearly, the universe had just built this entire day to laugh at you, because what the fuck. 

He was smiling at you, eyes crinkled up at the corners and looking unfairly put together compared to your gremlin-impersonation in the corner screen. “So, are the squirrels having fun?”

“What--oh!” you looked down at your shirt, embarrassment flooding through you, and decided on the spot to go with it. It wasn’t like this could get any weirder. “They were,” you returned, “until somebody called them six times in twenty minutes,”

Jared’s expression turned sheepish. “Yeah...sorry about that. My buddy got a new phone number and I obviously saved it wrong. I wouldn’t have bothered you if I didn’t think it was just Jensen ignoring me,”

A slightly incredulous sounding laugh burst from your lips, and you shifted on the couch, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you were casually carrying on a conversation with Jared Padalecki. After your cat had sat on him. “You didn’t bother me that much,” you conceded. “Sorry I snapped at you. Rough day.” 

“Oh yeah?” Jared tucked one arm behind his head, shifting around but never taking his eyes away from your face. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Um,” you faltered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t need to spill your guts to a random wrong number who also happened to be one of your favorite actors. What you did need to do was get out of this with some decency, hang up the phone, and forget about it.

“You don’t have to,” Jared was saying softly, his forehead pinched like he was concerned about you. (Which was laughable).

“No…” you shook your head, wrinkling your nose. “I don’t know, I just...isn’t this weird?”

“What do you mean?”

“Uh, talking to a stranger because of a misdial?”

Jared pouted, his eyes turning dangerously puppy-looking. “And here I thought you liked me,” 

“Wishful thinking, Padalecki,” you shot back without thinking, only realizing after the words were already out that you’d just confirmed that you knew who he was. 

Meanwhile, Jared’s eyes had lit up triumphantly. “If you know who I am, then you’re not talking to a total stranger,” he pointed out, smiling easily at you. 

He didn’t seem like he minded, but that did little to put you at ease. Pinching the bridge of your nose to stave off a stress headache, you sighed. “I’m sorry, that’s got to be so awkward, I--”

“What? No,” Jared just looked genuinely confused. “You’ve got a cat named Rowena, I kind of figured you’d know who I was,” 

You groaned, covering your entire face with your hand now as embarrassment burned through your cheeks. “You probably think I’m some crazed wild fan, naming my cat after a character,”

“I don’t,” Jared reassured you firmly. “I think you’re funny, and I like the squirrel shirt,”

You peeked out from between your fingers. Jared Padalecki liked your dumb squirrel shirt. “You’re just saying that,”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, I’m not! This is the best thing to happen to me all week,”

“You must have had a pretty lame week,” you observed sarcastically, leaning toward your phone to better examine your own image in the corner. “I look like a gremlin,”

“You do not!” Jared was laughing at you now, shaking his head emphatically. “You look cute,”

“I look--and feel--like I crawled out of a trash can, but thank you,” you deadpanned, a yawn distracting you from Jared’s further counterargument. You heard the smile in his voice before you opened your eyes to see it, and something caught in your chest at his soft expression. 

“Tired?” he asked gently, shifting onto his stomach on the screen, face propped up on a pillow to look at you. Vaguely, in the back of your mind, that surrealness of being on a FaceTime call with Jared Padalecki was still there, but mostly, it just felt unbelievably normal. 

“Twelve hour shift,” you confirmed with a nod, one hand moving beside you to lazily pet Rowena, who had apparently decided to forgive you. At the look of puzzlement on Jared’s face, you elaborated, “I’m a 911 dispatcher,”

“So when you say you had a rough day…” Jared’s face cleared in understanding, his expression patient. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want,” he reminded you softly, falling silent after that as if just content to watch your gremlin face on his screen. (Which would be ridiculous).

Your mind flickered back to the sound of the panicked girl on your headset, and you sighed. “No, it’s fine. I, uh, picked up a call from a girl today. Moriah. She was ten. She, uh, she found her mom in the bathtub with a knife,”

Jared sucked in a breath. “I’m so sorry you had to listen to that. Did she...uh, is she okay?”

Your mouth twisted wryly. “That’s the thing. Everybody hangs up as soon as the ambulance gets there. I hope so, though. Kid said she had vitals,”

Jared was shaking his head at you. “And you do that every day,”

“I mean, not every day, it depends on shifts. But yeah.” you shrugged. “I try to help,”

“That’s incredible. You’re incredible.” he murmured softly. 

Squirming at the praise, you scowled playfully at him. “You don’t even know me,”

“I’m not taking it back,”

“Yeah, okay,” you feigned annoyance like there wasn’t a blush all over your face. Then you winced, suddenly noting the little red battery symbol on top of your screen. “Crap, my phone’s gonna die,”

That seemed to shake Jared out of just staring vaguely at the phone screen, and you watched him sit up cross legged on his bed, still with that same heart-stopping smile. “Yeah, we should both probably go to bed anyway,”

You sighed with a nod, strangely reluctant to hang up. “I’m still sorry Rowena sat on you,”

Jared laughed, throwing back his head. “I’m not,” he told you brightly. “You probably woulda hung up on me if she hadn’t. Tell her she’s a good cat,”

“I will not, it’ll make her head bigger,” you retorted easily. “Goodnight, Jared,”

Jared touched his fingers briefly to his lips, covering the camera with them a second later. “Goodnight,” he whispered, ending the call before you had any time to process what that meant. 

It only took a few minutes for your phone to buzz with a new text, and you opened it with a laugh, scrolling briefly back through Jared’s pestering of “Jensen” before focusing on what he’d sent you this time. 

So since you turned out not to be Jensen, I need a name for my contacts

Are you sure you’re keeping my contact? You shot back, smirking at your phone screen.

Yes??? Jared sent back carefully, and you could almost imagine his hesitantly sheepish expression. 

Jensen 2. Not-Jensen. Crazy cat lady. 

He sent back a sad emoji. C’mon. 

Y/N L/N

Goodnight, Y/N. 

You tossed your phone back onto the coffee table, falling back into the couch with what was probably a vaguely stunned expression on your face. Jared freaking Padalecki. You fell asleep with a little smile still playing on your lips. 

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