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bitsandbobsandstuff · 3 years

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The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons. Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie.

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth.

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders.

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink.

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list.

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.”

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter.

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart.

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly?

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist.

Bliss.

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip.

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare.

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.”

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens.

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers.

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine.

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut.

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon?

It’s worth the mess.

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener.

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display.

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor.

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department.

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down.

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally.

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.”

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace.

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.

It always does the trick.

***

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine

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tlcwrites · 3 years

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By A Nose

Submission for Writer Wednesday 5/12

Summary: If you're going to talk the talk, you better be able to walk the walk. Or, proof Poe Dameron is a terrible loser.

Word Count: 1528

Tags/Warnings: Poe Dameron x Reader, Modern AU. Implied smut but mostly in passing. Some bad words. Poorly edited because as usual I finished this at like 11 and my kids get up at 5 so I need to go to sleep.

Author’s Note: THREE FICS IN A WEEK WHO AM I?

Okay, so I cannot be the only one who saw the photo for this week's Writer Wednesday (thank you once more for hosting, @autumnleaves1991-blog!) and went the direction I did. If I am the only one, well, just further proof my brain is certifiable. Make sure you comment on when you figure out where this fic takes place.

There will also be an accompanying headcanon coming for this probably tomorrow, because there was SO much material I wanted to use but couldn't make fit. Thank you @paper-n-ashes for brainstorming with me and being the best hype-woman ever.

“AAAAHHHHH.”

“WE’RE GONNA DIE.”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!”

“FINN!!” You smack him. “There are small children here!”

But he’s too busy screaming to pay attention.

On the other side of you, Kaydel looks decidedly green. She lets out a pained moan as your vehicle makes a particularly hard turn. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this…”

You pat her knee as you fly through a kitchy town. “Hang in there, honey. It’s almost over.”

The village elder’s well wishes still ringing in your ears, you pull up next to another idling transport. From the driver’s seat, your boyfriend winks at you.

“You’re going down, Dameron!” you holler at him.

He makes the universal ‘I’m watching you’ gesture. “Eat my dust, losers!”

Finn yells back something that has you smacking him again, shooting an apologetic glance to the second row of Poe’s transport, where Snap and Karé are sitting with their daughter Nora. Snap’s hands fly to cover Nora’s ears while Karé laughs heartily.

Next to Poe, Rey holds her thumb and forefinger up to her forehead in an ‘L’ shape. “Second place is the first to lose!”

Before any more trash talking can occur, you see a flash of red out of the corner of your eye and then both vehicles take off, bursting out of the dark into blinding sunlight.

You both fly over the rusty terrain, neck and neck as you navigate under rocky overpasses and around hairpin turns. From the second row of your car, you can hear Maz lobbing profanities at Chewie in the other ride. He’s yelling back in his native tongue (which you still only understand half of). Beside Maz, Leia and Han are both laughing like kids.

A shriek of joy erupts from you as you fly over a series of hills, the momentary weightlessness thrilling. Finn has both hands in the air, while Kaydel grips the safety handle with white knuckles.

Finally, you come out of a turn to see a sharp drop. You look to Poe, who grins back at you, his vehicle slightly ahead of yours. Damnit, you HATE losing to him. He’s the worst winner.

At the last moment, your ride leaps ahead, crossing under the checkered banner by a nose. The passengers of your car cheer and high-five in victory, while Poe’s passengers groan in good-natured defeat.

As you roll through the red-lit cavern, you laugh as you catch sight of Poe’s face. He’s a terrible winner, but he’s an even worse loser. Even if his loss comes at the hands of an algorithm.

Anthropomorphic cars wave you off as both vehicles enter the unloading zone. On the other side of the platform, Chewie is lifting Rey out of the front seat as she pretends to collapse in agonized failure, her laughter completely destroying the illusion. You accept Finn’s hand as he helps you up, both of you turning to support Kaydel as she crawls out of the car.

A ride attendant watches her warily. “Does she need assistance?” he asks Han.

Han waves him off, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders as Maz and Chewie beeline for the ride photos. “She’ll be fine. No protein spills here.” At the cast member’s astonished look, the charming rogue gives his trademark grin. “Ain’t my first rodeo, kid.” As he and Leia stroll past you towards the exit, he catches your eye and winks. “That, and they haven’t changed the lingo since the 70’s.”

Laughing, you rub Kaydel’s back as Rey swaps places with Finn and helps bracket your green-tinged friend. “Let’s get you some water, yeah?”

Kaydel manages a slight nod, and the three of you make your way towards the exit.

Behind you, you can hear Poe and Finn bickering, as they’re wont to do.

“It’s a ride, dude,” Finn is saying, the exasperation clear in his tone.

“It’s physics, dude,” Poe shoots back. “There’s NO way the car on the outside of the turn would be able to finish first.”

Worst. Loser. Ever.

Your rag-tag alliance eventually makes it out of the exit tunnel. Ben’s waiting across the walkway, those ridiculously long arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the guard rail and steadily ignores whatever Armitage is ranting about.

On the bench next to them, Rose perks up, a smirk crossing her pretty face as she sees Poe’s expression. “Well, I don’t need to ask who won.”

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” the most-competitive-pilot-in-the-galaxy grumbles back, adjusting his backpack. You help Kaydel to a bench, where she quickly curls up.

Rey rolls her eyes as she forces her way into the circle of Ben’s arms. “It’s not like any of us could have actually controlled the outcome, you noodle.”

“Not without some kind of magic,” Ben intones dryly, resting his chin on his girlfriend’s head.

“How cool would that be, though?” Rey’s getting her Down-The-Wormhole-We-Go eyes. You and Rose exchange a Look™️ as she starts gesturing wildly with her hands. “Like, imagine if you could just look at something like rocks and, like, make them fly. Or make someone do whatever you wanted them to do. OH!” She looks up at Ben with a slightly manic expression. “Lightning bolts from your fingers!!”

Well-used to these kinds of rambles, Ben gently captures her hands and wraps her into a hug that doubles as a straight jacket. “No more SyFy channel before bed.”

Rose slides her arms around her husband as Finn joins her on the bench. “Did you behave?”

Nora, in all her 6-year-old innocence, giggles. “Mr Finn said a whole lot of swear-jar words.” She casts a critical eye on the young man. “You probably said enough you could buy an Elsa doll.” The ‘for me’ is unsaid, but implied.

Karé rapidly turns her laugh into a cough.

Finn glances down at his wife as Rose smacks him upside the head. “Hey! That tractor thing is terrifying. And Maz said WAY more than I did!”

“Age before beauty, Finnigan,” Maz says haughtily, waving off Finn’s ‘m'name’s not Finnigan, damn it’.

Giggling, you tune out the ridiculousness that is your found family and turn your attention to your still-sulking boy toy. “You know,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his waist, “you make that face for long enough and it’ll stick that way.”

He huffs. “This is just how my face looks.”

“Uh huh.” Considering yourself quite the expert in his face, having spent countless hours studying every crease and line until you could have drawn him blindfolded, you call bullshit, but say nothing further.

“It is,” he insists.

“Okay,” you agree.

The King of Sarcasm narrows his eyes. “You’re doing that thing.”

You widen your eyes innocently. “What thing?”

“That thing where it sounds like you’re agreeing with me but you’re really telling me I’m a dumbass.”

“What?!” You bring your hand to your chest. “Moi?! I would never.”

He huffs again, but you can see the hint of a smirk starting to break though.

“C’mon, First Runner Up,” you tease. “No sulking in Disneyland. Let me buy you a drink at Trader Sam’s, and then we can sneak off to the Haunted Mansion and make out like teenagers in our Doom Buggy.”

He tilts his head, considering it.

“Or-“ You brush an inky curl off his forehead and stand on your toes until your lips are just about caressing his ear and whisper, “-we could get back in line right now and go again.”

Even before you’ve finished speaking, Poe’s grabbing your hand and hauling you back towards the entrance, tossing a “See you jerks later!” as he pulls you under the Radiator Springs Racers sign. Their laughter echos behind you as he leads the way through the mostly empty line (thank goodness for parade lulls).

As you wait in the queue, only a few dozen people stand between Poe and his (re)shot at victory. You see that competitive gleam in his eyes start to come alive again.

“Hey.” You tug on his tee shirt until he looks at you. “If our car doesn’t win, tonight I’ll do That Thing you love.”

“Babe.” The look he gives you is one of pure torture. “You are killing me here.” He really loves to win. But he really, really loves That Thing. “What about when we come in first?”

You shrug demurely. “Then you wear Those Pants™️ tomorrow.”

Hm. Poe’s always been quick to calculate his odds, and this is quickly turning into a win/win situation. If you lose, he gets That Thing. But Those Pants™️ turn you about feral, and when you’re in that kind of mood- let’s just say Poe still has the scars on his shoulders to prove it.

“Are those terms acceptable, Flight Commander Dameron?” You smile sweetly up at him.

His licentious grin says it all. “Hell yeah.”

For the record, your car does lose a second time. And the next morning, Poe hardly has Those Pants over his ass when you’re ripping them back down his legs and shoving him backwards onto the bed.

Oh, yeah, he thinks to himself. This is better than any dumb kid’s ride.

…doesn’t mean he’s not going to ride it as many times as it takes to win.

A/N: I almost titled this “Tell me you have children without saying you have children”. I am so fucking sick of ‘Lining McQueen’. Yay 4-year-olds.

Thank you for reading; likes and reblogs feed my soul.

#writer wednesday #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fic #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron x gender neutral reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron #hot space droid dad #my writing #modern au #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #poe dameron fanfic

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oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Hard and Mellow – Hoseok

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x reader (nicknamed Giggles)

Wordcount: 1.7k

Genre: smut, established relationship

Rating: 18+

Hello everyone! Stopping by to deliver this quick drabble. It’s been a while since I wrote something because sudden inspiration struck me, so I thought I could follow the mood and this came out.

I’m thanking the best beta reader of this whole galaxy (that I will never thank enough), @joheunsaram. Becoming friends has never been as easy as it is with you. Lob U. I also want to thank a very specific Silent Princess. This is all for you, baby. You’re more extraordinary than words will ever say. You’ve been through so much and I’m so proud of you. I hope this will give you a good time, and someplace you can go back to when you want to escape from the real world. I’d be honoured to call you friend. I’ll wait for you in my next life 💜💐

Do NOT open the “read more” if the following topics trigger you: Sir!Hoseok, Sub!reader, multiple orgasms, vibrator, masturbation and oral sex (female receiving), face fucking and hair pulling (male receiving), squirting, cumplay and cream pies, general messiness, cum eating, heavy breast play (slapping, gripping, squeezing, nipple pinching and tugging), exhibitionism, impregnation/breeding kink, heavy dirty talking, biting, mentions of impact play (spanking and whipping with belt), bruising, mention of blacking out.

Here is my complete masterlist!

Enjoy 💜✨

“Tell me how it feels.”

You simply arched your back and stared deep into his eyes.

“Tell me,” he repeated, curling his fingers and moving the vibrator closer to your clitoris.

“Too good.”

“Too good what?” He teased you.

“Too good, Sir.”

You were barely coherent at this point.

Five orgasms were taking their toll on you. More than that, you had also squirted with the previous two, your body and mind growing increasingly vulnerable.

The fact that he was so clearly going for the sixth, and that he could keep going after that — you knew he could and would — made you grip his hair and shove his face against your crotch.

“So naughty,” he growled with a deep laugh before getting the toy inside you, switching the vibration pattern to a pulsating one that always made you wild for him, his tongue titillating your most sensitive spot with hard, quick flicks.

You tugged at his hair naturally, planting your heels on the mattress before your hips shot up; his hands came to your breasts, gripping them hard before his fingers delivered a sharp, burning slap to your left mound.

He sucked your clit harder, his fingers pinching your nipples while the feeling of the vibrations inside you became way too much for you actually survive his assault.

“Sir, please, stop.”

He hummed and kept going, the growl so deep in his throat that it felt almost minacious.

“Oh, please. No, no, I can’t— Sir!” You screamed, letting sobs fall from your lips just as tears began rolling down the sides of your face.

With a grin in his mouth he kept going, overstimulating you until he felt your release wet his neck and chest.

Nothing pleased him more than feeling you gush for him, over and over.

You could barely believe that the same man who was obsessed with cleanliness and spotless rooms was the same one making you drench the sheets at least once a week — usually with a timing perfectly calculated with the changing of the sheets.

And there was such a deep, bone-melting pleasure in showering while barely alive and falling asleep in his arms with your body brainless, soft and clean against the fresh crisp sheets.

But tonight you were far from that.

You were far from being done.

At least, he was.

He watched your body grow entirely limp underneath him, your eyes closed, your legs shaking as they tried to close, only to surrender to his unfaltering will.

He was hungry.

He was desperate.

He was all things he’d never dared be with anyone else.

He wanted things he never thought he could have.

But now there was you, and even though he was afraid he would lose you to someone who could be reliable in ways he couldn’t, he was ready to tie you down to him in any way he could.

He felt stupid. He felt dumb and reckless and absolutely insane.

He abandoned the slightly sour and salty taste of your cunt, not before lapping at the creamy wetness coating your folds, making them part with a squelching, sticky sound.

He took the vibrator out of you and slipped it into his mouth, eating and licking and sucking at all the sweet release he’d coaxed out of you before letting it rest on the sheets — they were messed up already anyway.

He silently grabbed your ankles and dragged you all the way to the edge of the bed, your body still too tired for you to actively notice anything but the friction of the cotton burning against the bruising skin of your ass and the back of your thighs.

You barely remembered if it had been his hand or the belt — it was a remote memory. Maybe two or three hours ago.

Too much had happened to your body for you to hold on to such fickle facts.

“On your knees. Now.” His order was stark and cold, getting a piercing, squeaking whimper out of you, your legs dangling from the bed before he settled behind you, his thin and strong arms shaping you into the position he required you to be.

You were now sitting close to the edge of the bed, your legs bent underneath you as you finally found enough strength to cooperate.

With your back to his front, straddling him, you felt his throbbing cock against your core, lifting your hips just enough for him to place his tip against your entrance and slide inside once you gave in to the firm, hot fullness of him.

“Yes, my love. Ride it,” his voice came from over your shoulder, one hand coming down to your clit, already looking for one more orgasm, his other palm cupping your heavy breast, bouncing with the needy rise and fall of your hips and with your heavy breathing. Your nipples felt too delicate, too sensitive.

You cried out loudly and shamelessly once he pinched one, tugging at it before rolling it between his thumb and forefinger in a poor attempt at soothing your skin.

His breath was too cold against your sweaty skin.

He managed to bite your shoulder, sucking briefly at the curve of your neck before you felt his rough voice.

“I wish I could fuck you like this on a stage. Show everyone how good I am to you.” He slapped your breast once more before he started meeting your thrusts. “Show them how I make you cum. How I make you squirt all over me.” He bit and growled as he felt you get tighter. “I’m gonna show all of them how my sweet, delicate strawberry turns into the loveliest cumslut for this cock.”

You shook your head and cried out, imagining a thick crowd in front of you, watching in silence, waiting for your orgasm like football supporters wait for a goal, ready to cheer.

“My sweet strawberry. Bet no one can get you half as dirty…” He chuckled. “Such a cute little fuckdoll. Aren’t you hungry for my cum? Don’t you wanna be filled up?”

You sobbed and nodded.

“Say it with your words, Giggles.”

“Sir, please,” you managed to squeal before both his hands grabbed your breasts.

“Please what?”

“I want your cum. I need your cum. I’m empty and cold without it.”

He felt pleasure grow almost too much, ready to overthrow him.

“That’s right. You’re only mine to fill up.” He tortured your nipples some more. “Aren’t you eager to be bred, like an expensive fine pet?”

“Please, gimme babies. I’m your pet. I’m only yours to be filled up, please Sir.” You felt more tears roll down your cheeks.

“That’s right. But this won’t work.” He murmured, helping you on all fours before grabbing your arms and pinning them behind your back, making your whole torso collapse onto the bed, your face meeting the spot where his cock was laying earlier as he ate you out. You could tell by the heavy scent of his sex.

“This is the right position for you to get all those babies. They’re gonna stay deep inside. Like this.” He said, driving his cock all the way inside you, humming at the increased depth and tightness.

“It would be so fun to let everyone see how we make babies, don’t you think? Almost a shame we didn’t film this.”

His giggles were evil and taunting, “I’m gonna cum. Would you like to, Giggles?”

You nodded and immediately felt his hand between your legs, touching you with expertise.

“You’ll get so round and soft. It’ll be so lovely.” Hoseok was reaching the very edge. “Everyone will know you’re getting fucked to be bred.” He bent down, closing his eyes and breathing deeper to control himself. “Being too horny when you’re ovulating, walking around the house in nothing but an oversized shirt.” He slapped your ass once, twice, three times, trying to last at least one more minute. “You’re really begging me to put a baby inside you.”

“Please, it’s all I want, please, Hoseok!”

“Such a good girl. You earned my cum so well, my sweet berry,” he managed to coo before he gave irregular, violent strokes.

“Oh, please!”

He lost himself once you squeezed him as tight as you could, forcing him to spill all his cum inside you, the hot spurts shooting against your oversensitive inner walls while his mouth opened wide, letting a few seconds go by before he actually managed to make a sound.

He rammed inside you with animalistic force, fucking his cum deeper inside you, letting your tight cunt milk him until his balls didn’t feel heavy and uncomfortable anymore.

His sweaty forehead hit your nape, but you barely registered that. Pleasure crested and your body became numb to everything, finally giving in to exhaustion as your vision blacked out.

You didn’t know how long it had been when you managed to come back to reality; Hoseok was quiet behind you, your bodies now resting on your sides.

“Giggles,” he called gently.

You hummed and nodded.

“Are you doing okay, honey?” His voice was raw and concerned.

“I’m okay. Tired.”

He kissed your shoulder, where he could spot a bite mark darkening. “Do you need anything?”

You shook your head. On a second thought, you changed your mind. “Stay inside,” you whispered.

He did as you told him.

“I really want kids, Hobi.” Your voice was shaking and fatigued after all the heavy breathing and crying and screaming.

“We’ll have as many as you want,” he replied, drawing a line of kisses. “Whenever we’re ready.”

You nodded and scooted further back into him.

“You’ll be so beautiful, with a big round belly, glowing in happiness.” His hands caressed your body reverently. “You’ll be so sweet, breastfeeding our child on a rocking chair. And you’ll be the best at lullabies. Your voice is so nice and soothing,” he was getting emotional. “You’ll make the prettiest, gentlest of babies.”

You caught his hands in yours. “And you’ll spoil them rotten.”

“How can I say no to a mini-you?” He took in your scent, the smell of him and you and sex so deeply interwoven with every fibre of your being. “I hope they look like you.”

You tried to cuddle him as you heard him sniffle. “You’ll be the best dad in the universe.”

He gave a small laugh. “For now I’ll focus on the idea of getting all them babies inside you.”

You chuckled and wiggled your hips against him, squeezing around his half soft cock. “I second that.”

#hoseok x reader #hoseok smut #hoseok drabble #houseofddaeng #thetruthuntoldnet #bangtansorciere #thebtswritersclub #hoseok x giggles

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one-more-offbeat-anthem · 3 years

Text

snow day

there’s a big ice/snow storm gracing the southeast US right now and we virtually never get snow, so I had a snow day today! it inspired me to write this ficlet <3

************ Cas woke up Monday morning to a freezing--and empty--bed. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and sliding his feet into his slippers next to his bed. He could hear the radio playing from downstairs, overlapped with toddler chatter.

"Reports say that eight to twelve inches of snow are expected, and that several major roads in the county have already closed. Both the city and county school districts have closed for the next three days."

Cas followed the sound of the news down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Dean was at the stove, scrambling eggs and frying bacon. Their son, Jack, was in his high chair at the kitchen table, and when he saw Cas, he waved his arms and pointed at the window.

"Hey, kiddo," Cas said, crossing the room and scooping Jack up. "Excited about the snow?"

"Daddy said we're gonna build a snowman," Jack said. "Can we?"

"After breakfast." With Jack in tow, Cas turned to the stove and pressed a kiss to his husband's cheek. "I take it neither of us don't have work today?"

Dean shook his head, grinning. "Snow day for everyone. Jack's daycare is closed, anyways--his teacher sent an email."

Cas was a librarian at the local elementary school, and Dean worked for his uncle Bobby's auto shop, which meant that they were occasionally strapped for time when Jack's daycare closed but they still had work. Cas breathed a sigh of relief before setting Jack down and turning to the coffee maker. Snow or not, he was not a morning person.

Jack was a little picky, so convincing him to eat all of his breakfast was tricky on a normal day, and the snow provided an extra distraction. Cas gave up trying to get Jack to eat just one forkful of eggs and let Dean trade his apples for Jack's bacon. But Cas couldn't help being just as excited as Jack. While it snowed fairly often where they lived, it was usually just a dusting of snow, not enough for snowball fights or building snowmen or making snow angels.

After spending about ten minutes wrestling a wriggling almost-four-year-old into his coat, hat, and mittens, they were ready to go out.

The front yard of their little house was a veritable winter wonderland, like something out of a movie--icicles hanging from the eaves, a dusting of snow on the shrubbery, the front walk completely obscured by snow. It was beautiful enough that Dean didn't complain about his car, the Impala, being covered in snow (although that may have had something to do with him not having to dig it out and scrape it off to go to work).

The snow was already halfway up to Jack's shins, but Jack didn't seem to mind, throwing himself face-first into the ground and then rolling over, laughing, his cheeks tinged red with cold.

Cas was too focused on watching Jack that he didn't noticed what Dean was up to until a snowball, cold and wet, hit him in the side of the face. "Hey!" he complained, bending down and scooping up some snow and packing into a ball. Dean laughed at him and ducked behind a bush. A few seconds later, another snowball hit Cas square in the chest. Cas turned to Jack. "You want to help me gang up on Daddy?"

"Yes!"

Cas showed Jack how to make a snowball, although the tiny ones Jack could make with his little hands probably wouldn't make that much of a difference. With their snowballs in hand, they crept around the bush Dean had disappeared behind.

Before Cas had chance to lob his snowball, he was being tackled onto the ground, the snow icy on his neck, Dean grinning at him from on top of him. Seconds later, a tiny snowball hit Dean in the forehead and both Dean and Cas craned their heads to see Jack standing next to them and giggling.

"You're making a monster out of our kid," Dean said, rolling off of Cas.

"Mmm-hmm, that's definitely on me and not the person who started the snowball fight." Cas took the opportunity to scoop up some snow and then grab the collar of Dean's coat, shoving the snow down the front of it. "Ack!" Dean shivered. "Rude."

Cas shrugged, trying not to laugh before another tiny Jack-lobbed snowball hit him in the face.

"That's what you get," Dean said to him, before turning to Jack. "You wanna make that snowman now?"

"Yeah!"

They ended up building a snowman nearly as tall as Jack--Dean did the bottom, Cas did the middle, and Jack enthusiastically made the head, which was shaped more like an oval than a circle. The hunt for sticks and rocks for arms, eyes, and buttons took a while, owing to the amount of snow that had fallen, and then Dean disappeared into their garage, coming back with an old stocking cap to put on the snowman's head. The whole scene was so cute that Cas couldn't help but take his phone out and snap a picture of Dean and Jack putting the finishing touches on the snowman, even if it froze his fingers. The snow was starting to fall faster, though, and was now working its way up Jack's shins, so it was eventually time to head inside.

"The snow will be here later," Cas said as he picked Jack up.

"Promise, Papa?"

"Mmm-hmm."

When they got inside and shed their now-damp coats next to the front door (Cas knew he would regret not hanging up the coats immeadiately later, but right now he was cold), Jack begged for hot chocolate and Dean was, as usual when it came to their son, powerless to say no. While Dean started heating up milk on the stove, Cas went into their living room and turned on the fireplace. Their house was getting on in years, and it could be quite drafty and cold in the winter, especially on a snow day.

The three of them curled up on the couch with their hot chocolate (Jack's had a veritable mountain of marshmallows) and watched the snow fall outside the living room windows while the fire crackled.

"Today," Jack declared, "Is the best day ever."

"Ever? That's a pretty big deal," Dean said. "What makes it the best day ever?"

"We got to build a snowman. And Papa put snow in your shirt." Jack giggled and Dean frowned over his head at Cas. "And I have hot chocolate." He pronounced chocolate with about half the letters missing.

Playing in the snow tuckered Jack out, so after lunch he went down for a nap a little earlier than usual. By the time Dean emerged from Jack's room, Cas was about halfway through doing the lunch dishes--they'd had grilled cheese with tomato soup, a snow day favorite for their little family.

"Sorry about shoving snow down your shirt," Cas said as he finished scrubbing the grilled cheese pan.

"You don't have to lie, you're not sorry at all." Dean came up behind Cas, wrapping his arms around him. "You're right, I did start the snowball fight, although it seems like Jack ended it."

"He's gonna want to play in the snow again after his nap," Cas said, moving onto the soup pot. Dean pressed a kiss to the back of Cas' neck and then disentangled himself to help rinse the dishes.

"He's not gonna be this little forever." Dean said.

"Don't remind me. In the fall he'll be one of the pre-kindergarteners coming to my library." Cas sighed.

They finished washing the dishes in comfortable silence. Once the last plate was balanced on the drying rack next to the sink, Dean turned to Cas. "What do you say we get some rest, too?"

It was a pretty good offer, a nap on the couch, curled up in his husband's arms as the fire warmed the living room and the snowdrifts built up outside. The nap would most certainly end with a toddler jumping on them, but even so, Cas had to agree with Jack: today was the best day ever.

#destiel #spn #toddler jack #snow day #ficlet #offbeatwrites

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pacifymebby · 3 years

Note

HIIII

the same silly question anon from last week

I have a new thing this week maybe everyone can play along with us (and remember if you CATB moots that if you didn’t receive any questions it’s probably because you didn’t enable the anonymous question option in your ask box)

Can you tell us the weirdest/funniest/most random story about you? The one that when you look back you just have a good laugh

And then (if you feel comfortable with) other moots will send you their opinion on which one of the guys does you match by the story you told us

(if you didn't receive it last week but are receiving now you can either ignore it or join me)

Umm gosh I hope people do this now and actually tell me who I remind them of or this is gonna be so embarrassing with nothing to show for it at all.

So I have a bad bad habit of like, when you're arguing with someone and you're a bit too, chilled out about it? Like I'm very dry and sarcastic especially when people are trying to fight me and stuff. And when I was in sixth form I knew this lass who was very like, she thought she was Regina George idk, and she wasn't? She was just extremely brecon gal posh. Owned multiple horses and a yacht u know. That kinda girl.

But she liked this lad who was a very good friend of mine, and me and this boy weren't together and he was like a brother to me and just not my type (not the drop dead gorgeous brunette French girl from my classics class) but Regina George junior convinced herself I liked this lad, and I just point blank did not. But she started orchestrating weird embarrassing situations in which she'd try to humiliate me in front of him.

And we were all at her house this one time for one of our friends birthdays (all parties were always at this girls house because she owned a fucking swimming pool) anyway we've been on the drinks and I've been doing my usual weed and vodka till I can't feel my face combo. And me and the lad were just chilling, and I can't remember what went down exactly, but this girl tried to kiss him, and he didn't wanna be kissed and I kinda went "oh hey man, I think that's meant to be consensual" and then I think one of my other friends might have made a joke like "hey don't they feed you at home" Cause she looked like she was tryna eat the boys face and like, she flipped her shit. But she didn't flip her shit at the friend. She flipped her shit at me, because I fucking snorted at that joke (how could I not man) but yeah I snorted, laughed way way too much and when she turned on me and started trying to get me to fight her (I am very small I don't want that) I couldn't take her seriously, kept just smirking awkwardly and nervously, and like we were in her kitchen, and her mum had this posh looking fruit bowl, full of oranges and limes and lemons and shit and like, this girl, picks up an orange all "are you actually laughing right now, what part of this is funny,"

And lads I can't help myself, she's threatening me with a fucking orange, "are you threatening me with an orange?"

She chucks it at me so hard and I duck out the way so it doesn't hit me but I can't stop laughing, I was giggling anyway like, shes there livid cause she missed and I'm laughing so she picks up a lime, lobs that at me, hits me, bounces off me. I'm kinda there like can't stop laughing like "what are u doing man? What's going on?" but she won't stop.

She literally chases me out her house chucking pieces of fruit at me, like my friend the lad she fancies comes running down the street with me and he's got all the weed and also my vodka, so like we just leave, but I'm in my pyjamas and he's in like a jumper and his boxers and we end up having to just wander back through town to his house smoking a joint and shorting vodka out the bottle. And we couldn't stop laughing about it.

After that i didn't see much of her but we were all in similar classes and we had this college trip to London, me and this lad managed to avoid her almost the whole time but we were in the national gallery and we turned a corner and saw her, we hadn't spoken to her since the night in question. Anyway she gave us this death glare and started walking towards us like we were about to get another lime thrown at us or something and we ended up legging it and spending the whole day shitting it, hiding from her around the national gallery. She was nuts. I still haven't decided whether we deserved it.

#Idk tbh I can imagine multiple members of catb being such dickheads that they get chased by someone throwing fruit at them #Catb #catfish and the bottlemen

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t4bi4-and-b4ba · 4 years

Note

h-hemwo baybee 🥺 can i pls get hcs for boyfriend yuji 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 i lob u 🥺

A/N: My lovebug! Of course you can 🥺 One Yuji headcannon coming right up! 🌷

Alright this boy is an energetic baby

So be prepared for that

Although I don’t feel like the amount of emotional prepping will help

He is into hiking, runs, jogs, like anything that involves the outdoors sign him up

He’s also into fishing and camping like I see it vividly, although I see him getting impatient if he doesn’t get a big fish in the next ten minutes

He’s also into amusement parks, where he will drag you to every ride with a happy go lucky grin and loud cheer

But if you don’t like a certain ride(s), this baby is not gonna force you or leave you behind so he can get on it

Oh no, he respects and loves you and knows that this date is not just to favor him

He thinks of you too through the entire date

Like what you wanna eat and drink, if you need to go to the bathroom before getting on a ride, what are your favorite rides

Regarding the last point, he makes sure to go on your rides first or go on your ride then his and keep doing that pattern

Overall, in dating, Yuji is really respectful and surprisingly mature

And so so loyal

Like bruh he is the type to be very flirtatious and a bit of a player when single, but once he’s dating you, he does a complete 180 and is all about you (which should be the default in life but anyway)

He is the kind of guy to be so freaking rude and snotty to other girls, especially ones who are trying to be all flirty and sneak touches

He has a sharp tongue for those kind of girls and does not apologize for it

You are his princess and he wants to revolve his whole life around you, to which you love but have to remind him that he deserves doing his own thing

But trust me, he will text you or/and send you snaps while he’s hanging with friends to remind you he’s thinking of you

He’s also a major babier

“Oh I’ll get that babe”

“No it’s really not a problem, baby”

Like he will legit try to do everything for you, thinking you don’t need to lift a finger while he’s around

So be prepared to have a pouty Yuji if he ever were to be injured and have to stay seated

But seriously he just wants to tend to you and care for you

But he also respects if you are the type who isn’t always dependent of others

He’ll find that attractive too

But he will still try to do most of the things you want to do for you

Don’t get it twisted either

Babyboy has feelings and does not mind being vulnerable

It’s not something that he’ll be instantly but in time as you guys date for a while, him conveying his emotions will become second nature

Just because he looks like a bad boy with his tongue piercing and cool hair doesn’t mean this guy is allergic to being sensitive and expressive

Overall this baby cares and is a very fun and loving boyfriend

But again his energy is through the roof and have you rethinking life choices

#requested #riza: 🐝#haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu reactions #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu terushima #terushima fluff #terushima #terushima yūji #terushima imagine #terushima headcanons

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rosesisupposes · 3 years

Text

War & Peace

It’s here! My contribution to @sanderssidesgiftxchange 2020!

Adriana, this is for you! @corrupted-sun

Read on ao3

relationships: platonic DLAMPR, intrulogical, prinxiety, moxiety

summary: One of the perks of the mindscape? Even Florida can have a winter wonderland

word count: 2,776

It’s a rare quiet moment. Two walls stare each other down, each hiding the combatants from each other’s gaze. Behind them, the small teams rally themselves to launch once more into battle.

Virgil huddles in the trench, holding an arm around Patton protectively to keep them low and out of sight.

“Pat, I know fighting’s not your thing, but remember: this is war.”

“Isn’t there another way?” Patton asks, eyes huge behind their glasses.

“They’ve left us no choice,” Janus says, checking their supply of ammo. He adjusts his yellow gloves, both eyes glinting. “It’s only a matter of time before an attack comes. It’s either us, or them.”

Patton sighs and takes some ammo. “Just tell me when.”

On the opposite side of the battlefield, Roman kneels, staring off into the middle distance with intensity.

“This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,

Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,

And rouse him at the name of Crispian!”

Logan looks up from their pile of supplies, hidden well into their trench. “Is this really the time, Roman?”

“If not now, my dear nerd, when?” Roman replies, then launches in anew.

“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

For he to-day that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother-”

“I am your only brother here, Woe-man.”

Roman scowls at his twin. “It’s a metaphor, you potato with eyes-”

“I would prefer to not be even a metaphorical sibling to Remus, thanks all the same,” Logan says calmly, doling out piles of ammo. “It would make our dates rather awkward.”

Roman pouts. “Fine, ruin all my attempts at an inspiring speech. Can you at least attack?”

Remus grins, grabbing as much ammo as they can hold. He stands, torso fully clearing the edge of the trench, and starts throwing fast & hard in a steady barrage at the opposing camp. As they throw, he shouts out loud and clear, “LEEEEROYYYY JENKINSSS!”

Across the battlefield, Virgil looks to his left and gasps. “Patton, you’re hit!”

Patton smiles bravely. “It’s just a scratch, Virge.” But both their teammates see a wet patch spreading, stark against their light blue coat.

Janus pulls Patton carefully to just against the trench wall, the safest spot available. He locks eyes with Virgil, who nods with a flinty gaze. As one, they each lob a projectile hurtling over the wall, and another, and another, relying on their intuition to aim, but in perfect sync with each other.

From the field, they hear a surprised shout.

Virgil smirks. “Got’em!”

In the distance, in a voice full of reproach, they hear a familiar call, “Bitch, you ruined my hair!”

“If you can’t handle the slush, get out of the snowfort!” Janus snarks, and throws another snowball over the wall.

Roman brushes ice pieces and damp hair out of his crimson face, pouting even as he grabs more snowballs. “Okay, that’s it. Let’s get them!”

Logan, looking up from his perfectly-arranged pyramid of snowballs, remarks “Once more into the breach, once more?”

“Finally, you get it! Thank you!”

Remus grins at his teammates. “Let’s go!”

They charge over the wall, the twins leading with snowballs in their fists, Logan just behind carrying a stack of pre-made ones as backup. Roman and Remus are yelling incoherently as their arms move like windmills, throwing snowballs as fast as Logan can hand them over.

Virgil and Janus stay behind their snowfort wall, sniping from around the sides, taking time to aim. Virgil aims for the twins’ faces, while Janus targets Logan, trying to disrupt the supply.

Their teamwork functions well, right up until Remus crashes straight into the fort’s wall, falling through the snow fortifications in a crunch of powder and ice. Patton squeals in surprise and pushes a pile of snow onto their face, surprising laughs out of them both.

Remus pops up with snow stuck to his hair, mustache, and chin. “Look, Lolo! I’m Satan Claus!”

Logan smiles and dumps his remaining snowballs on top of his head. “You’ve forgotten your hat, Mx. Claus”

Roman continues the fight, and tries to retaliate with a snowball to Virgil’s face. As he tries, though, a weight grabs him at the waist. He falls back, facing the icy blue sky, lying in the snow, with Virgil on top of him, pink-cheeked from the cold and exertion.

His captor smirks. “Surrender, Princey?”

Roman can’t stop himself from grinning widely up at the taller side, even as he bravely responds, “Never!”

From just outside his vision, he hears a drawling voice say, “That’s really too bad, I was going to make my specialty hot chocolate once the battle was done, guess I’ll need to delay it now…”

Roman stills. “The double chocolate recipe?” he asks cautiously.

“That’s the one,” Janus says with a regretful sigh. “I even got the mini marshmallows shaped like snowflakes.”

Roman bites his lip. “Perhaps we could negotiate a ceasefire.”

Virgil chuckles. “Knew that would work, Princey. C’mon.” He stands, brushing off his purple snowsuit, and helps Roman to his feet too.

Roman sniffs. “I want it noted for the record that you two aren’t winning from your prowess in snow battle, but through bribery.”

Janus grabs the shorter man around the shoulder, messing up Roman’s hair even as he brushes the snow out of it. “Better to be lucky than good, my frozen prince. Let’s go round up the others.”

The other three are sitting in the wreck of the team’s fort. Remus has already decorated the snowy ruins with a dramatic scene of mini snowmen in the middle of a pitched battle, with snow-demons all around the melee. Their hair is sticking in every direction and his tongue is sticking just out of their mouth as he crafts detailed snow-tentacles as the centerpiece. Patton sits beside them, happily building snow puppies around the edges of the snowy battle scene.

Virgil carefully stops short of the display. “Y’all wanna stay out here, or come in for Janus’ hot chocolate?”

Patton and Remus both look up at the same time, eyes alike as they speak simultaneously. “Chocolate? Chocolate?! CHOCOLATE?!”

Logan stands, brushing off his sensible navy coat and adjusting his glasses. “Emile would be so proud of you two.”

Remus carefully extracts himself from their snowscape, waiting until he’s right next to Roman to shake off the snow like a dog. Ice and water spatter out onto their twin as Roman sputters. “Race you to the kitchen!”

The twins are sprinting headlong towards the doors of the Imagination, both trying to shove each other out of the way and laughing the whole time. The rest of the group walks at a more reasonable pace, still pink-cheeked from the cold.

“Virgeeyyyy-” Patton wheedles, their eyes huge and pleading behind their glasses.

Virgil looks over with a grin. “I’m surprised you made it this long before asking, Patty-cake.” He stops and kneels, as Patton claps happily and crawls onto his back. Virgil stands, carrying Pat on his back, pressing a soft kiss to the skin of their wrist where it peeks between mitten and jacket.

“I wish someone would carry me,” Janus says wistfully. “I also don’t want to walk.”

Logan snorts. “Keep on wishing, Jan. I’m not getting into another game of chicken just because Virgil sticks his tongue out at you again.”

“Humph. Guess someone wants to be served his hot chocolate last.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Oh no, what horr-”

“After the twins have gotten into the marshmallows.”

Logan’s head whips around to look at Janus, then back to the twins’ rapidly-retreating backs. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“L, we all know he absolutely would,” Virgil throws back over his shoulder, making Patton giggle as they sway.

Suddenly, a blur passes them as Logan tears after the twins.

“What a dork,” Virgil says fondly. “He never gets less logical than when his sweet tooth is on the line.”

By the time they’ve all trooped back through the Imagination doors into the mindscape, they can hear the bickering from downstairs. Patton slides off Virgil’s back and snaps away their snow gear. “Let’s go see what the kiddos have gotten up to, shall we?”

Janus rolls his eyes as they discover the scene in the kitchen. Roman and Logan appear to be playing keep-away with the bag of marshmallows, both so intent on the sugary treats that neither has appeared to notice that Remus is currently unattended in the living room, starting a fire.Luckily, he actually conjured a fireplace first, this time.

Virgil’s eyes light up as he goes to help them, or at least to go place with matches.

Janus and Patton exchange looks and immediately split up.

Patton calmly hops up on the island in the kitchen as Logan and Roman scramble for the marshmallows.

“Jan promised me hot chocolate!”

“You don’t need the sugar, your diet is terrible enough as it is.”

“Then why should you get it, all you eat is Crofter’s anyway-”

“The brain needs sugar to function!”

“So does creativity!”

Patton just sits and beams at the other two with all the intensity of their megawatt smile. Slowly, both notice them sitting calmly and go sheepishly quiet.

“Ahem. We just wanted to-” Logan begins

“That is, we were making sure that-” Roman stammers.

Patton tilts their head slightly, still smiling, making a small sound of inquiry.

“Sorry, Patton,” Roman says, hanging his head.

“Apologies, Patton,” Logan says, placing the bag of marshmallows gently on the island and stepping away.

“There’s my good boys!” Patton says cheerily. “Now, can y’all get out everyone’s mugs?”

“Heheheheh snap! Crackle! Pop! Rice crispies!” Remus cackles to himself, throwing another branch of dry pine needles into the flame.

Virgil stares into the light, eyes and smile equally huge as he prods it with the poker. “We should add wax!”

“Or newspaper! I like how it delays when it lights!”

“Newspaper covered in wax?”

“Oh fuck yeah!”

They sniggering and toss more flammable objects into the stove.

Janus leans against the wall and sighs, so softly that it would be inaudible, if both Remus and Virgil hadn’t frozen the moment Janus entered the room.

“Remus,” he says calmly, inspecting his gloves.

“Hey there Janabanana!” Remus responds happily. “It’s contained this time, look!”

“Yes, Remus, it is. Was that what I’d said you should do?”

Virgil pushes kindling behind him, trying to move slow enough as if to avoid attention.

“Virgil,” Janus continues, icily calm. “You were there last time, correct? What advice did I give Remus?”

“Um, you know, I think you should ask Logan, my memory is crap-”

“You forgot, Virgey? But I thought you had fun last time!!” Remus asked, their eyes huge and his lip wobbling in a pout.

“Now Virgil, look, you’ve made Remus sad,” Janus says, sympathy dripping as heavily as sarcasm. “You know, it’s funny, I seem to remember my advice was actually for both of you last time. What was is it again? Something along the lines of do not start fires in the Thomas’ home?”

“We’re in the Mindscape, not Thomas’ actual home…” Virgil begins, but trails off at Janus’ raised brow. “Can we keep it going in the stove if we stop adding shit to it?”

Janus hums tunelessly. He gazes through lidded eyes at the two pleading faces watching hopefully, two pairs of mismatched eyes trying their best to look precious rather than chaotic.

But sometimes, a little chaos can be precious.

“Fine, you can keep it, but you two can’t be with it unattended. And I need to make the hot chocolate, so at least one of you is coming to the kitchen.”

Immediately, they both touch their noses, Virgil beating Remus by just a hair of a second.

“Aw, shitfucker,” Remus says with easy humor. “Okay, Jancake!”

As they rejoin the group in the kitchen, Janus gives Roman and Patton a look. “One you needs to go chaperone your boyfriend. He has matches.”

Roman smiles. “As if he could get any hotter!” He twirls out the room, humming something that sounds suspiciously like “Disco Inferno.”

Remus spots their own boyfriend and immediately shifts his shape, shrinking in size just enough that they can literally clamber up Logan’s body. He wraps their arms around his torso, resting their chin on Logan’s shoulder.

“Ah, am I a climbing tree once more?” “Yes you are, Euca-Lo-ptus!”

Janus moves around them all to the stove, listening with a smile

“I was thinking he was more of a Lo-tus, myself,” Patton says with a giggle.

“That may-ple be true, Pat!”

Logan closes his eyes and takes an exaggeratedly deep breath, but the twitch of his lips gives away his amusement. “Must you two always do this?”

“Why, Lolo, wood you rather we leaf you alone?” Remus says with a shit-eating grin. He presses a kiss to Logan’s cheek with a loud smack of lips.

“You know what they say,” Patton says seriously with a nod. “Where there’s a willow, there’s a way.”

“Hey, hey Lo,” Remus says, wiggling with excitement. “If you come up with your own, I promise there won’t be any syca-more of these.”

Logan looks over at Janus, and they share a fond smile at the dorks they live with. “Hmm,” he thinks aloud. “Here’s one. It doesn’t surprise me that you both enjoy tree puns, given that you’re both quite chest-nuts.”

“Oooh, hello Mr. Sassy-fras!” Patton says with a sly wink.

Logan narrows his eyes. “I thought you said you’d stop.”

“Technically, that was just me,” Remus says.

“It’s cause under all that bark, Remus is really just a big old sap,” Patton says, grinning in glee as Logan groans. “I’m done now. It’ll all be oak-ay!”

“Patton!”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m done! Promise!”

“Patton, I’m sorry to say you’re banned from the kitchen for that,” Janus says, mixing ingredients over the stove. “Can you bring out the blankets in the living room?”

Logan finishes taking down the mugs and arranges them on the island, Remus clinging to him like an oddly-affectionate backpack. Janus uses his extra arms to heat two saucepans of chocolate at once, and one extra hand to keep the marshmallows at a safe distance away from the other two.

Once he’s poured out equal amounts into everyone’s favorite mugs and distributed an even amount of marshmallows, Logan and Remus help Janus carry the mugs to the living room, where the other three wait in a nest of blankets and pillows near the fireplace. Roman is lying with his head in Virgil’s lap as Patton leans on Virgil’s other shoulder. They all untangle to accept their mugs, shifting to give everyone equal access to the warmth of the cheery glow.

Janus gives Logan a look, and he responds with a lopsided grin. He sits and accepts two mugs of chocolate, saying, “C’mere, Reme, I got us extra marshmallows.”

Remus is immediately distracted from their beeline towards the fire and makes a u-turn into his boyfriend’s side. “Oooooh, are they the gooey ones?”

“Of course, do I look like a man who forgets my own partner’s favorites?”

“Nah, you look like as big a snacc as the marshmallows,” Remus says, flopping into Logan’s lap. Only ease of long practice and anticipation of their behavior allows Logan to avoid spilling all over them both.

Janus chuckles, wrapping himself in a particularly fuzzy blanket that Patton saved for him. “Before you ask, Roman, yes, I brought you extra marshmallows as well.”

“What need have I for extra sweetness when I am allowed to bask in Virgil’s presence?”

“So I should give them to Remus too?”

“Nooo, gimme!”

Virgil snorts. “Oh princey, you’re so predictable.” Before he starts to pout, Virgil bends down to kiss his forehead. “And adorable too, of course.” Visibly mollified, Roman accepts his hot chocolate without taking his eyes off Virgil’s smirk.

Patton reaches across to get their own mug from Janus, using the movement to snuggle more into Virgil’s broad shoulder.

Janus sighs, relaxing into the heat of the blanket nest and the fire. “Did y’all have a good snow day?”

“Practically perfect in every way,” Roman says dreamily.

“Yeah, it was good.”

“It certainly was pretty cool!”

“Patton- yes, Jan, it was quite enjoyable.”

“I liked the part where the snow looked like jizz!”

Roman scoffs. “Reme, do you gotta-”

“It’s okay, Ro. That means they liked it,” Janus says fondly. “I had a good day, too.”

“Love you all,” Patton says sleepily, already getting drowsy despite the sugar.

Virgil kisses the top of their head. “We love you too.”

#sanders sides gift exchange #genderfluid remus #nonbinary patton #p dlampr #snowball fights #hot chocolate #fireplace #platonic cuddling #ts remus #ts janus #ts virgil #ts patton #ts roman #ts logan

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vcidgalpin · 4 years

Text

Second Chance at First Line Pt 2

Stiles Stilinski x Reader (Eventually)

Season 1 Masterlist

Word Count: 1969

A/N: Scott and Allison’s relationship develops.

Warnings: dead body? is that a warning idk

After pulling on the Wolfsbane, a rope pulls out along with it. Turns out, the Wolfsbane rope thing was buried in a spiral around the wolf’s body. Scott gets mine and Stiles’ attention as he stares down into the hole. Looking in it, I cringe at the horrid site of a body cut in half of a girl. She looks sort of young.

“You have to call your dad. Like, now,” Scott says to Stiles, who is standing, mouth agape at the sight still.

“Stiles,” I say, a bit louder than Scott, snapping the boy out of his frozen state. “Call the sheriff,”

“It’s too late right now, God knows what he’ll think about us being here at night and just so happening to dig up a body by accident,” He made a fair point.

The next day, the three of us ended up back at the Hale house, going there in just Stiles’ Jeep this time, watching Stiles’ dad handcuff Derek and push him into the squad car. Stiles slips into the passenger side of the car, and questions Derek. Not long after, I see the sheriff drag his son out by his arm roughly and start scolding him. I walk over to his side, Scott staying put by the Jeep.

“Okay, well, how 'bout you help me understand exactly how you came across this,”

“We were looking for Scott’s inhaler,”

“Which he dropped when?”

“The other night,”

“The other night when you were out here looking for the first half of the body? Aka, the night that you said you were alone.” I have to force myself not to scrunch my face up at his slip up,”

“Yes- Wait no. Crap,”

“So you lied to me,” Disappointment laced his voice.

“That depends how you define lying,” He’s not making this any better for himself.

“How do you define lying?”

“Reclining your body in a… horizontal position?” He says, gesturing his hands an unnecessary amount.

“Get the hell out of here,” Barely a second passes before Stiles turns on his heels saying,

“Absolutely,” I stand there for a beat, awkwardly. The Sheriff’s eyes scan me, probably confused as to why I was hanging around the boys all of a sudden.

“Hi, I’m Y/N by the way,” I instantly regret speaking, my speech sounded forced and nervous.

“How come I’ve never seen you around Stiles and Scott before? I didn’t know Stiles had other friends if I’m being honest,”

“I just, I’m a new friend.” I pause before the word friend, hesitant to use it as I don’t really think this can be classed as a friendship.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. Refreshing to have a new face around, but I guess those two have already corrupted you enough to drag you into their bad choices. Be careful,” He seems like such a genuine and friendly person. I feel like only a man like him could be able to put up with having such a frantic kid. I smile smally, before wondering over to Scott and Stiles.

---

In the back of the Jeep, I scroll through the tabs on my phone about Wolfsbane being used for burial. It wasn’t something I knew a lot about, so I felt like I had to prove myself more, as this was basically the first thing that I was there to be knowledgeable and helpful about. I sighed after a while, fed up of finding nothing.

“Nothing?” Scott turns to me, and I gently shake my head. I feel a headache start to come on, so I put my phone down and lean back into the seat.

“Maybe it’s like a ritual or something. Or some special skill werewolves can learn.”

“It’s not something you can just learn. I know that much,”

“Yeah and that seems about as far as your oh so large knowledge goes,” Stiles spits back, scowling. I was just trying to help.

“Sorry I don’t know about this one, rare, confusing thing that we have stumbled across okay? You need to chill out,”

“I need to-”

“Stop! Stop arguing so much!” Scott seems to be in some sort of pain.

“Are you okay?” I ask Scott, and lean forward a bit too fast, my head making me feel like I’m spinning. My throat also starts to feel really scratchy and dry all of a sudden.

“No. I can’t- I can’t breathe, my head-” Scott suddenly pushes his hand to the ceiling of the car. It’s happening to Scott too… Wolfsbane. I grab Stiles’ bag from the floor and unzip it, my eyes instantly recognising the rope with Wolfsbane on it.

“You kept it?!”

“What was I supposed to do with it?”

“Stop the car,” Scott basically screams out. Stiles’ does as he says quickly and Scott takes the backpack, jumps out of the car, and lobs it as far into the trees as possible. I hop out of the car, as does the other boy. We walked around the car, to go to where Scott was, but it turns out he had gone. He was angry, and he was missing.

---

We searched for hours before Scott finally texted Stiles back, saying he was at the school, getting ready for practice. Stiles sped the whole way there and rushed into the changing rooms to get ready. I got dragged in there by Stiles. I got a few weird looks from everyone on the team, but I tried my best to ignore them. I faced the wall, giving the boy some privacy, and we went and found Scott.

“You gonna try and convince me not to play?”

“Scott, this isn’t a good idea, and you know that.”

“I want to play. I want to go out with Allison. I want a semi-freaking-normal life, okay? Don’t you get that?” I totally got that. Hesitantly, I nodded, ignoring Stiles’ annoyed glance. I couldn’t lie to Scott. Stiles’ sighs before speaking,

“Just- Don’t get too stressed out there. Or angry. Don't think about Allison being in the stands. Or that her father's trying to kill you. Or that Derek's trying to kill you. Or the girl he killed. Or that you might kill someone. If a hunter doesn't kill you first-” Now it was my turn to glare at Stiles. “I'm sorry. I'll stop. Good luck.”

I rush over to the stands to sit by Lydia, but she gets up just before I sit down, and stalks over to Scott. She pulls him in, so they are standing chest to chest. I don’t miss the jealous look on the second boy’s face as he watches.

“I want you to remember one thing for tonight,”

“Winning isn’t everything?” I shake my head softly. Knowing Lydia, that is definitely not what she was going to say. She laughs in his face.

“Nobody likes a loser,” her hand ran down his clothed arm, and then she pats his chest before walking back to me. The game commences. Scott quickly gets a chance to get the ball, and he runs for it. Jackson also begins to run for it, and rams into Scott’s side, pushing him to the floor. Aren’t they supposed to be a team? Unconsciously, my fingers cross, praying Scott doesn’t let Jackson push him past tipping point. Jackson scores, and eats up the praise he receives. He doesn’t deserve praise, but I stand up with Lydia and Allison smiling anyway. Lydia turns to the two of us and gets us to raise a sign she made. It read ‘We Luv U Jackson!’ in bold letters. I see Scott’s eyes meet the sign and jealousy wells up in them, noticing how Allison is celebrating Jackson’s selfish play. The whole team that was playing, except Scott, all huddled together. I want to listen in, but Allison’s dad is sitting so close to me, I don’t wanna raise any suspicion on myself or Scott. I do still faintly hear Scott start to growl at whatever Jackson had said to his teammates. This is not going to end well.

“Which one is Scott again?” Chris Argent speaks suddenly, making me jump a little in my seat.

“Number 11. Otherwise known as the only one who hasn't caught a single ball this entire game.”

Lydia replies, judgingly.

“I hope he’s okay,” Allison says softly, her voice showing so much care. ‘I hope so too’ I think to myself. The whistle blows and Scott and another boy fight for the ball. It ends up launching up high. Scott jumps onto the other’s shoulder, catching the ball that was still flying through the air. From the corner of my eye, I see Mr. Argent squinting his eyes at this. Scott is going to mess everything up. The boy swiftly dips and dives between players left and right before scoring. The crowd erupts excitedly again. Another play starts, and a guy from the opposing team throws Scott the ball, deliberately. 40 seconds left on the clock, Scott scores again, the lacrosse ball tearing through the net of the goalie. As the timer counts down, Scott starts to clearly struggle, close to freezing up in one spot near to the goal. I hear Allison whisper,

“Come on Scott,” This seems to wake him up from his daze, and he scores again, just as the clock runs out. Everyone in the crowd starts flooding the field, cheering. I see Scott tear off his gloves before sprinting off into the distance where I lose track of him. Stiles finds me in the mass of people, asking,

“Where did he go?”

“I have no idea,” Before we can go off to find him, Stiles grabs my sleeve, not hard, but enough to stop me running off. Confused, I start to ask him what he’s doing but he speaks first.

“Dad? What’s wrong?” The sheriff raises his finger for a moment, telling his son to wait. Must be a call from the station or something.

---

After learning that the medical examiner determined the girl to have been killed by an animal, and not a human, ruling Derek out as a suspect, we hurry off, heading to the changing rooms to look for Scott, Stiles leading the way, his grip on my wrist. Looking around some of the lockers towards the showers we stop in our tracks, seeing Scott and Allison kissing. Not surprising, but I feel a smile coming onto my face, happy for them both. They part after a moment.

“I’ve got to get back to my dad,” Allison smiles, and she turns, noticing they’d had an audience. “Hi Stiles, Y/N.” I raise my eyebrows, teasing her. Her eyes glance down to see Stiles’ hand around my wrist, and she smirks back. I didn’t even notice until that point, blushing hard as I pulled my arm away. Allison leaves, and we approach Scott, who is grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“I kissed her,”

“Saw that,” Stiles replies, breathily.

“She kissed me,”

“Saw that too,” I say, nudging his arm.

“I don’t know how but I controlled it. She gave me control, helped me pull back. Maybe it’s not that bad.” She could be his anchor. I stop myself from saying it, it doesn’t seem like the time. I mean, they’ve only kissed once.

“I hate to be a bearer of bad news, because you seem totally chill and everything now, and I don’t really love the idea of ruining that but, we just heard something,” Scott tilts his head, curiously.

“They looked at the other half of the body we found. They say that it’s clear an animal killed the girl. Not a human. Derek, being human, no longer a suspect, was let out,”

“Are you kidding?”

“Nope. And it only gets worse. They ID’d her. Her name is Laura Hale.”

“Hale?!”

“Derek’s sister”.

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#teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf series #teen wolf rewrite #teen wolf season 1 #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles x reader #stiles x y/n #scott mccall #allison argent #lydia martin #jackson whittemore #derek hale

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whirlybirbs · 4 years

Note

I'm both Soft and Thirsty for Grim???? I love him???

“What’re y’ gonna do about it, huh?”

You could kill him. You could strangle him. He’s insufferable and stubborn and grumpy and sarcastic and charming and standing very close –

Bacta supply count be damned, you’ve lobbed your data-pad onto the empty bed of the med-bay and hooked your finger under the lip of his helmet, dragging him backwards towards the medical supply closet behind you. Wordlessly, you punch the panel and tug him in as you walk backwards, leaving the bright white lights of the transport’s med-bay for the dim hum of the very small closet.

Grim’s gone silent – he’s eating his words, face startled into completely shock when you unceremoniously yank his helmet off his head and slam it onto the shelf beside you. His eyes are wide, honey brown iris nearly swallowed whole by his full-blown pupils. The medic gawks, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

You push him backwards with one hand, sending him staggering against the now closed closet door.

Oh god, this is it. This is heaven.

“Are we gonna keep doing this?” you ask lowly, stepping forward and glaring up at him.

Grim clears his throat. “Doing what?”

“This,” you gesture between you both, “Y’know, the I-hate-you routine? The I-can’t-stand-you-but-not-really show? The let’s-not-talk-about-79′s song and dance –”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Grim begins, raising a finger, “I didn’t say anything about 79′s!”

“You never do!”

… Oh.

Suddenly, you seem to shrink. Grim realizes it, hands reaching out to find your arms as you try to twist away – you’re upset, suddenly at the fact he’s trying to… play this all off. Act like he isn’t waist-deep in his own affections for you.

“If I’m reading into this, you can just tell me –”

If 79′s was a drunken one-night thing, you mean.

“– Can I kiss you?”

You blink.

Grim is fidgeting. “Listen, I’m only asking because I know you said you don’t like it when people don’t ask first and that it makes you uncomfortable, I’ve been thinkin’ about kissing you for weeks, so I just wanna –”

You’re the one who slams your mouth against his, happily so.

#oops #talon squadron #grim

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janellion · 4 years

Note

If you're up for it I wanna request hcs of poly bokuto x you x akaashi, as well as domestic bokuto x you after the timeskip haha I'm a sucker for these tropes (I'm using the same tropes for myself as well)

omg hi anon!! thank you so so much for requesting this!!! i LOVE writing about bokay and also (more recently) bokayshi!! i’m sorry it took me so long to get back to this, i just got back from a trip 🥺 i hope you enjoy these!! (also id love to hear abt your hcs too if you ever want to share! 🥰)

bo x kayla x akaashi aka bokayshi poly hcs

so i see this happening in several aus but i’m going to write it out as an “alternative ending” to the fwb angst au!

our relationship starts out a little messy

i had a long time childhood crush on bo that developed into love somewhere along the line

we had both been teased about it our whole lives - “when are you two going to date already??” etc

bc if this, bo pushes whatever romantic feelings he may have for me down, denying them and manipulating them into feelings of friendship

while i am over here pining for him for ages

eventually i can’t stand the pining and yearning and confess to him sometime during the middle of high school

he turns down my confession, saying that he just wants to be friends and has never seen me that way

akaashi, who we’ve both known our whole lives but has always been a little on the outside looking in, finally sees that he has a chance

he confronts bo first before he goes to me because he wants to make sure that everything is out and in the open between all of us

“bo, i know you might like this girl, but i want to be with her”

bo, still denying the way he feels: “what? i don’t like her, of course you can date”

akaashi goes in knowing that there are unresolved feelings between bo and i but he goes in with the mindset of “i know they have feelings for each other, but this is what i want and i’m going to put the time and effort in to make this work”

i’m won over by akaashi’s determination and the fact that for once, someone is choosing me instead of the pining that i’ve been doing for years

i eventually fall in love with akaashi, he’s so different than bo but it’s so refreshing

he’s kind and gentle and considerate and emotional and patient

the deep blue of his eyes is so different than the gold ones i’ve been in love with forever, but it’s so beautiful, and makes me feel safe

bo is very confused by the way that he feels about akaashi and i being together

he’s always been close to akaashi (as a friend, as a teammate, as a setter) and he’s always been close to me (as a childhood friend, best friend) and it’s so strange to him that suddenly he’s the one on the outside because he wants more than anything to spend time with us

he sees us on dates or spending time together at our local favorite places, and he wants to be there with us, wants to be eating ice cream and going to the beach and dancing at the bar

he avoids us a lot bc he’s working through what he really feels, and years of suppressed feelings (for me) and unrealized feelings (for akaashi, which is a whole thing i may get into sometime)

bo really starts to think about why he’s feeling this way and who it is he’s feeling these things for

as we all know, bo is a pretty single-focus guy so it’s really difficult for him when he comes to the conclusion that “WAIT do i have feelings for both of them? is that okay? what do i do??”

as bo is going through this akaashi and i have been talking about what we’ve been noticing and really working through the feelings that we’ve had

i’ve always been in love with bo and a part of me always will love him

akaashi had a lot of complicated feelings towards bo, admiration, jealousy, adoration

we start to discuss what polyam would look like, if it’s something that we want to try and how it would work for the three of us

meanwhile, bo hasn’t considered this as an option and is feeling so much guilt about having feelings for the both of us

eventually, after we’ve talked about it, akaashi and i propose the idea of polyam to bo, tell him that we’ve noticed the way he’s looked at us, the way he’s withdraw

we tell him how much we want him to be a part of our lives, and how we feel about him

what proceeds from there is a lot of tenderness and uncertainty in exploring the dynamics of our new relationship

at first, akaashi and i worry a lot about bo feeling left out since it’s just been akaashi and i for so long

but bo has always been a part of our lives and holds such a special place in both of our hearts

so things fall into place much more naturally than we expect, and the three of us are inseparable

the dynamic is: bo chaotically wanting to do something, me looking at akaashi like 🥺 please let us do something chaotic, and akaashi with a small resigned smile on his face as he wrangles his two chaotic idiots that he loves

bo loves to sweep both of us up in his arms in a big hug. akaashi always pretends to hate it but he’s the one that loves it the most

@strawbirb had the most adorable bokayshi idea (also wrote some/most of this) so i’m gonna put that here:

one night, i go out with the girls ( @strawbirb @kuronekomama @stcrryskies @shoyosun @anianimol @sstardusty + whoever i forgot to tag i’m sorry 🥺) and get a little too sloppy. i text bo some gibberish along the lines of “pik up plszzz i lob yuuu” and he heads out to go pick me up. akaashi comes along to make sure we actually get back home.

as soon as bo walks in the door my eyes light up and i run over to him, throwing myself into his arms. he laughs and spins me around before setting me back down in front of him. reaching over, i grab akaashi’s hand in mine, giving it a small squeeze as i smile up at him with a face flushed and eyes shining, “thank you for coming, keiji”

akaashi laughs softly, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead before pulling away, eyes smiling. i look over at bo with a glint in my eye, “TIME FOR ONE LAST DRINK!” as i grab his arm and pull him towards the bar

we get there, order a couple drinks, and proceed to have a competition to see who can finish their drink the fastest. akaashi shakes his head slightly at his two lovable idiots and walks over to bo, snaking an arm around his waist to pull his car keys out of his pocket as akaashi rests his head for a moment on bo’s shoulder. “one drink,” he warms, but the fond smile on his face betrays his words

“but keijiiiii,” i try and whisper, voice much louder and more slurred than intended, “i wanna dance!” as i run my hands up the front of his hoodie, tugging gentle at the drawstrings

from behind me, bo is already nodding his head to the music, swaying his hips and trying to pull akaashi and i onto the dance floor

“first off, you definitely do not know this song,” akaashi says, warm and gentle hands grabbing mine and bokuto’s as he gives us both a gentle tug towards the door, pulling us both in close

“we can dance at home,” he says, small smile on his face as he takes in our pouting faces, “just the three of us”

the warm gentle thrum of his voice sends a wave of drowsiness through me, the depth of his blue eyes radiating safety and warmth, and the idea of ending the night with my two favorite people is sounding more and more appealing with every passing moment

akaashi leads the three of us to the car, where bo helps me into the backseat, buckling me in gently with a “there you go!” and a bright smile on his face

he walks around the car, climbing into the backseat next to me and pulling me into his side, announcing “cuddle time!” to the otherwise quiet car

akaashi turns the keys in the ignition, his gaze meeting mine through in the rearview mirror, “close your eyes love,” he smiles, “we’ll be home soon”

he and bo share a soft smile as my eyes drift close before he pulls into the street to head home

+++

THIS ENDED UP BEING WAY LONGER THAN I EXPECTED AHEFAH i’m going to post the domestic timeskip!bo x kayla hcs in another post!! i’ll link it here though when it’s done ((:

folks who may be interested in this: @strawbirb @kuronekomama @sakusakxyoomi @anianimol

🌻 bokay taglist: @deadontheinsidebut @stcrryskies @sstardusty

#i hope you enjoyed this!!#tysm for requesting!!#sweet people 💗#i'll get that domestic timeskip hc post out soon!!#bokayshi #✨bokay thursday✨#bokay 🌻#bokuto 🌻 kayla

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anistarrose · 4 years

Text

Where There’s Smoke, There’s a Scampfire (Stanuary Week 1 - Burn)

Summary: The closest Stan ever came to revealing he knew about the supernatural prior to the zombie incident.

Word Count: 1200

Warnings: none

AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/22077019

For @stanuary Week 1: Burn!

When I first saw this prompt, I was so ready to write angst. This fic is… quite the opposite of that. (You can probably still read into it in an angsty way if you really try, though — it is a Stan-centric fic, after all.)

Set in early Season 1, specifically the day after Double Dipper.

***

“Kids, how do you want your eggs? Fried or scrambled?” Stan called from the foot of the stairs.

“I wanna go back to sleep!” Mabel shouted back. Dipper’s only reply was a muffled groan.

“Well, I’m only making breakfast once, so you’re just gonna have to eat cold eggs then!” Stan warned them, but he heard no sign of the kids getting out of their beds. “Suit yourself!”

He headed for the kitchen and cracked two eggs into the frying pan, then reached for the knob of the stovetop burner. He probably should’ve suspected something when it was already warm to the touch — if not even before, when he’d smelled the scent of burning wood wafting through the room — but as he turned the knob, the burner erupted into a giant column of orange flames that sent the frying pan flying and splattered crispy-around-the-edges eggs all over the wall.

“Fuck!” Stan shouted, narrowly avoiding a faceful of flames — but before he could even make a mad dash for the attic and carry the kids out of what he was sure would soon become a burning and crumbling house, the fire spluttered out, leaving only a few char marks on the ceiling. One degree at a time, Stan turned the knob back into the off position, and though it still felt warmer than it should, there were no explosions this time.

“Okay, that’s fucking weird. How the hell —” Stan muttered to himself while slowly backing away, only to be interrupted by the stove making a sound that could almost be mistaken for a burp.

“And that’s even weirder!” Pulling an oven mitt onto one hand and wielding a bowl of water in the other, Stan approached the stove once again, this time resting a hand on the handle to the oven door. “Let’s see what’s going on in there…”

A ball of sizzling orange flame sprung out, nearly stomping on Stan’s toes with its limbs made of lumber. It shook its head back and forth like a wet dog, sending ash and kindling spraying across the kitchen floor, then bounded towards Stan, who’d backed up so quickly that he’d ran into the opposite wall of the room.

“Hey, watch it!” Without meaning to, Stan spilled some of the water from the bowl he’d filled at the sink, and the fire recoiled. With streams of ash falling from its flickering eyes, it looked genuinely betrayed, and Stan couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt you,” he explained, putting on his calmest ‘talking to animals’ voice. “I’m guessing the smell of those chocolate cupcakes I baked in there yesterday drew you in or something and you got trapped there all night, ‘cause I’ve ran into little guys like you out in the woods before and you’re usually not so high-strung. You just gave me a scare, that’s all.”

The fire made a noise somewhere in between a hiss and gurgle, and the ash stopped falling from its eyes.

Stan lowered his voice to a whisper. “But I can’t keep you here because you’ll either burn this place to the ground or smoke me out of house and home, and I also can’t let the kids see you with me ‘cause then I’ll have to admit to them that the supernatural is real —”

As if on cue, he heard Dipper yell from the attic: “What’s going on down there, Grunkle Stan?! That sounds like a lot of explosions for just making breakfast!”

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Stan yelled back: “I blew up your eggs in the microwave! Your fault for not telling me how you wanted them cooked!”

He turned back to his combusting companion. “See? Now that I’m making a racket, they’ll be out of bed and down here any minute, so if you’d just… lumber on out of here, pun totally intended, that would really be a big help to me.”

The fire showed no sign of understanding English, much less doing what Stan had asked of it, not even as a series of thuds from upstairs indicated that Dipper and Mabel were getting out of bed and soon to be on their way to the kitchen.

“You’re really not leaving me a lot of options here, punk,” Stan muttered, but he set the bowl of water down on the table. He’d always had a soft spot for the sentient campfires that roamed the woods of Gravity Falls, at least compared to the other local fauna — and most importantly, he was beginning to form a plan that didn’t involve extinguishing the little scamp.

“Even if little Brainiac Junior doesn’t try and use you as proof cryptids are real, then Mabel will probably adopt you as a pet and you’ll end up getting me framed for arson and insurance fraud,” he rambled on as he rummaged through the cabinets and fridge. “Not that I actually have insurance for the Shack. Or for anything else, really. You know, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

Going off the his earlier hunch that the fire had a chocolate addiction, he opened a bag of chocolate chips and began to pour them onto the floor, creating a path out of the kitchen and onto the porch. The fire immediately proved his guess right, absorbing the morsels with a series of satisfied crackles until reaching the lawn, where Stan ran out of chocolate. He switched to a half-empty bag of marshmallows left over from last night’s party, which the fire slurped up at a downright unfair speed as it scurried after him towards the woods.

“Okay, buddy, I’ve got one last treat for you.” Stan ripped open a package of frozen hot dogs and held them just close enough to the fire to get its attention, then pulled out the hot dogs one by one and lobbed them into the forest in a variety of different directions. “Scavenger hunt for you! Try and find ‘em all before the gnomes do!”

The fire scampered into the woods, and Stan breathed a sigh of relief. “See ya, little spitfire.”

He stuffed the various pieces of junk food packaging into the trash can as he headed back to the Shack to do damage control, finding Dipper and Mabel standing in the kitchen.

“It smells good in here!” Mabel commented, still wearing her nightgown. “Kinda charred, but also kinda chocolatey!”

Dipper’s hair was uncombed and his eyes were weighed down with bags, but he’d still brought a magnifying glass to inspect the scene. “You said you blew up the microwave, but the exploded eggs are everywhere but there. What’s going on?”

Stan put on his best ‘hopeless incompetent old man’ face.

“That was actually a lie so you wouldn’t worry,” he told the kids. “I actually kinda blew up the whole stove. And on that note, would you rather order pizza or tacos for breakfast?”

***

End notes:

I like to imagine that fire-related creatures and particularly Scampfires always take a liking to Stan for reasons he doesn’t entirely understand. Maybe it’s for some deep and symbolic reason involving his eventual fate and rise from the ashes, or maybe it’s because they just mistake this extremely huggable old man for a giant marshmallow.

#gravity falls #stanley pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #scampfires #stanuary #rosalia writes fic

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Toffee

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Gordon, Grandma, John

Back again with another fic for @gumnut-logic‘s #irrelief! Another one for you, Nutty: “Toffee on the couch”. There are plans for this to go multichap, but until I’ve got that all firmed up, here’s the first chapter as a stand-alone/teaser (it won’t be crossposted elsewhere until I’ve finished writing the whole thing, so don’t expect it on AO3 or FFN any time soon).

Gordon is a lover of many things. Toffee is not one of them.

Gordon was tired. Very, very tired. By all rights, he should have stumbled to his bedroom to flop on his wonderful, soft, comfy bed, but that required tackling stairs and he was too tired for that nonsense. His launch chute got him up as far as the den, so that was as far as he was going. A graceless collapse had him landing face first on a sofa.

His body connected with cushions, as expected. His face found contact with something less soft and desirable – and sticky.

Weariness was immediately abandoned as he lurched upright, clawing at his face in an attempt to clean it of whatever someone had left on the sofa. Squinting, his fingernails came away with something brown under them, and his first instinct was to recoil in horror before the sweet scent registered.

Cautiously, he sniffed his fingers, and scowled.

Which one of his evil brothers had left half-melted toffee on the sofa for him to faceplant? It would have been a stroke of genius as a prank, if not for two important factors: first off, it was not Gordon’s prank, and secondly, they hadn’t left anything between the sticky nonsense and the cushions themselves. Even he was careful not to make a mess that would get Grandma up in arms.

He didn’t know which of his brothers was responsible, but Gordon smelt an accident, not a prank, if only for that fact. If even he didn’t dare push Grandma’s buttons when it came to food on the furniture, then none of his brothers would. Now, the question was, did he ignore it and let it be someone else’s problem, or did he get up and do something about it?

The knowledge that if it was left to someone else, the blame might come crashing down on the resident prankster’s – his – head spurred him into reluctant action. If nothing else, he could just report it to Grandma, he reasoned, yawning loudly. Yes, he’d do that. The clean-up could be done by the brother responsible.

He stumbled down the flight of stairs to the kitchen, where Grandma was almost certainly to be found, to his stomach’s ongoing distress. Sure enough, arguing with the automated kitchen module again, his purple-clad grandmother was wielding a whisk in a manner that was too similar to the wooden spoon of his childhood.

“Hey, Grandma?” Interrupting her in the kitchen was a dangerous business, and already he was formulating several possible excuses to not eat anything he was offered as she turned to him.

“Hello, kid,” she grinned. “Long rescu- What have you got on your face, young man?” she demanded as his toffee-covered face caught her attention.

“I think it’s toffee,” he groaned, making a half-hearted attempt to cover another yawn. It had been a long rescue, and with Virgil off on another mission when the call had come in, and the trouble off the Australian coast, he’d had to launch from the island and complete it solo.

He didn’t do solo missions often. Thunderbird Four often relied on her big green sister for transportation to rescue sites, meaning that Virgil was guaranteed to be with him, and it wasn’t unusual for Thunderbird One to come a-hovering overhead, worried big brother supervising and ready with a helping cable on the off chance it might be needed. Maybe, just maybe, he was used to being able to crash out on the way home, and actually having to pilot all the way back to base was unusual enough to be an additional strain on a tired aquanaut.

“And why is there toffee on your face?” Grandma asked him, finding a cloth from somewhere and wiping at his face like he was a child. He was too tired to stop her.

“Face-planted the sofa and found someone left toffee on the cushion,” he yawned.

“Someone?” she asked, pausing her dabbing to narrow her eyes at him.

“Wasn’t me, Grandma,” he mumbled in protest. “Don’t like toffee. Wouldn’t get the sofa sticky, either.”

She scrutinised him intently for several moments before resuming her cleaning of his face. He leaned against the counter and let her.

“So who is cleaning my sofa cushions?” she asked him, and he shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Not me.”

“I can see that,” she chuckled. “You’re asleep on your feet, kid. Up to bed with you. I’ll find the culprit.”

“Wanna watch,” he protested, and she shook her head.

“I’m sure I can get Brains to record the hunt,” she told him. “Bed, now. Unless you want supper first?”

Supper?

Gordon’s body found another surge of energy, straightening up and stumbling for the stairs.

“That’s okay, Grandma,” he waved sleepily. “I’ll eat something later.”

It wasn’t his record for a kitchen to bedroom flight, but it was still pretty impressive. Face-planting his bed – where he should have gone in the first place, although at least now Grandma believed he hadn’t done it, against whatever claims his guilty brother might make – he made no effort to undress.

“John?” he called out sleepily, and a hologram flickered into life by his bed.

“I’ll record it,” his brother said without prompting. “Get some shuteye while you can.”

“You know whose toffee it is?” he mumbled, and John let out a short sound of amusement.

“What do you think?”

Gordon groaned, because that was either John speak for ‘no, but I’m not admitting I don’t know something’ or, more likely considering the amusement, ‘yes, but I’m bored and I’m an evil, evil brother who wants to watch and laugh’ - or however John expressed his amusement, because flat-out laughter was not his style (although Gordon suspected he just laughed when there was no-one to hear him, thereby preserving his image).

“Sleep, Gordon,” John insisted.

“Sleeping,” he groaned into the pillow.

He wasn’t sure what woke him, but the sun was glaring in through his window which meant it was way past time he should have been doing his morning laps, and he groaned, pushing himself up from his bed and cautiously stretching out his back. A little stiff, but nothing worse than usual.

Nothing a good swim couldn’t fix.

Urgh, he was still in yesterday’s clothes. Forget showering after the mission, he hadn’t even shed his shirt, and the pool hadn’t done anything to deserve something this gross (it suffered enough from Thunderbird One’s exhaust, thank you, Scott).

Okay, shower first, then swim, then another shower. That sounded like a perfect, if belated, start to the day, provided a certain space resident didn’t pipe up and send him out on a rescue.

Speaking of John, he’d been talking to him last night, he was sure of it. What was it..? He stumbled into his en suite, glared at the mirror that greeted his thoroughly dishevelled appearance, and poked at a lump of something brown that had caught in his hair.

Toffee.

The toffee!

“John?” he called, shucking well-worn and stinky clothes and lobbing them out into a dirty clothes pile by the door, ready to be well and truly shoved into the washing machine at the nearest opportunity. Clean freak he was not, but Thunderbird Four was the only place he suffered foul-smelling laundry and body odour for any length of time. The hazards of research trips.

“Did you have to wait until you got rid of your clothes before calling me?” his older brother sighed, ginger head flickering into view. Was it slightly weird that his brother had access to his bathroom? Probably, but rescues didn’t wait for dirty squids (or flyboys, for that matter; Gordon had seen all of his brothers in less clothing than he’d particularly care for during mission briefings before). Besides, it was a great place for private conversations – none of his fellow Earthlings were going to walk into his bathroom unannounced.

“Jealous?” he asked, flexing arm muscles out of habit as he stuck his tongue out. There was at least a concession that the holocam couldn’t detect anything below chest height in bathrooms – whose benefit that was actually for, who knew. It wasn’t like it was nothing any of them had seen before (individual bathrooms was an Island luxury – they’d been sharing bathrooms and even baths at times in Kansas).

“Of what, your height?” John quipped. Gordon narrowed his eyes at him. “I have something you want, Gordon. Don’t try it.”

So that was a yes to the unasked question: Grandma had found the culprit, and there was a recording ready and waiting for Gordon’s viewing pleasure. He looked at the floating head expectantly, hand on hip as he waited for it.

“You’re going to watch it in the shower?” John asked, before shaking his head with a sigh. “How am I related to you?”

“Because we both take entertainment from our brothers ending up on Grandma’s bad side?” Gordon offered. John acknowledged the point. “So now that we’ve agreed that we are, in fact, brothers, can I have that video?”

“One last thing.” Gordon groaned. Maybe asking John to record it had been a bad idea. Maybe he should have trusted Grandma to get Brains or MAX to do it for him. Who knew what he was going to have to pay John for this privilege?

Aw, who was he kidding? No matter who recorded it, John was going to end up with monopoly on who could watch it. He was sneaky like that.

“Two, in fact.” Gordon groaned more loudly. Still, waiting was always worse, and unlike certain other brothers, John didn’t have the sadistic streak of making him beg – much, anyway. He derived his amusement in other factors. Like playing brothers off against each other… Gordon was starting to get an inkling what one of those two things might be.

“Okay, what are they?”

“First is a message from Grandma: She’s got him on laundry duty for the next week, including all of the sofa covers, and says to be creative with your revenge.”

“Revenge? Moi?” Gordon certainly hadn’t been planning to exact a little revenge for an accident that got toffee on his face. Certainly not.

“Secondly,” John continued as though he hadn’t said anything – he was good at that, was John – “You did not get this footage from me, nor does any other assistance that might appear during your endeavours over the next week have anything to do with me.”

Ooh, Johnny-boy wanted to get involved. Gordon’s face split into a grin. This was going to be fun. He hadn’t had a team-up with the second eldest, so-called ‘responsible’ one, in a while.

“What did our culprit do to you?” he asked. The grin he got back was maybe a little chilling, as he was reminded that the current resident prankster was not the original resident prankster.

“Who said they did anything?”

That proved it. John was bored. Gordon almost felt sorry for the brother who left toffee lying around. Almost. His face was still phantom-sticky.

“Play the video, big bro,” he grinned, stepping into the shower.

Grandma on the hunt. He hadn’t seen that in a while (without being the prey, anyway).

It was almost disappointing, how easily she collared the perpetrator. She’d put on a show – one Gordon appreciated – of interrogating each and every non-Gordon Island resident (and even John, although both parties had been too busy trying not to show their amusement for that to be anything but staged), but it was clear even from the very beginning that she Knew.

The final confrontation was pitiful. A confession, right off the bat? Clearly his brother had no understanding of how the world worked. Confessing to a crime of that magnitude did not reduce your sentence one iota, which a crestfallen face at a week of laundry duty showed some belated awareness of.

It did not escape Gordon’s attention that at no point had his unfortunate encounter with the toffee been mentioned. Brothers had mentioned his name, of course (even Brains, oh ye of little faith), but Grandma had expertly deflected them away from his scent. Oh to watch a master – or mistress, as it may be – at work.

Gordon hadn’t done a prank with Grandma as an ally since he was a very small child, imagination limited to switching the salt and sugar. With John and Grandma secretly supporting him, the possibilities were endless.

But really, there was only one way to start this.

“John,” he sing-songed, stepping out of the bathroom after towelling himself dry and pulling on some underwear – if he wanted to pull this off, he was going to need to keep John on his side, which meant keeping him sweet and not playing the usual obnoxious younger brother beyond keeping up the charade.

“Yes, Gordon?” John’s hologram appeared by his bed, this time almost full length and in an almost sitting position.

“How might a squid locate Scott’s toffee stash without the assistance of an eye in the sky?”

He hadn’t even known Scott had a toffee stash until the confession. Crafty biggest brother. Crafty.

Not crafty enough.

Chapter 2>>>

------

As this fic is still in its infancy, any ideas on toffee-related pranks are welcome :D I can’t guarantee using them, depending on if they fit with where this fic is currently trying to head, but I am hopeless at thinking up pranks of any sort myself!

#irrelief #irrelief2020 #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #gordon tracy #grandma tracy #sally tracy #john tracy #title and summary are also still a wip #when a fic decides to run away from you #you were supposed to be a oneshot dammit #no promises when i'll update this one it's not finished #i got a headache trying to decide if they'd call it a sofa or a couch #alan says sofa cushions in earthbreaker i'm going with sofa #americanisms are a pain when you're british #toffee

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danganronpasurvivoraskblog · 4 years

Text

The Towa Assault.

[Towa City, Towa Tower, 8:02pm]

Aah...I remember the good old days when this place used to be my...

Sorry...OUR base of operations...

So...we’re really doing this?

Yeah...It’s now, or never...!

So...do we have a plan?

Hm? Don’t need one.

*Splutter* Wh-What!? B-But there could be a whole damn army in there!

It doesn’t matter how many of them are in there...!

Agreed. I’m not in the mood for strategizing...

Why not!?

Can’t you tell? These guys probably aren’t all that smart.

If they’re dumb enough to hurt Komaru, then they’re basically asking us to teach them a lesson.

Ugh...seriously?

*Nagisa gives up complaining and walks with the other warriors towards the door to the tower.

Hey! What should I do?

Stay out here and be useless?

Seriously!?

No, I need you to do a job for me.

Stand guard here and strike down any assholes who try to escape.

Oh! I get it. Mwehehe! Gotcha!

*Inside the tower, several of the adults are lounging around when the Warriors step in.

Hey! Tower’s off limits to everyone but us assholes. Or did you miss the sign?

W-Wait a second! Y-You’re-

Hey guys. So this is the building where you cut off my Big Sis’s leg, huh!?

Not another step!

We’re gonna ask you this once. Where is Haiji Towa?

You really think we’re gonna tell you shit?

We want your boss, not you trash...!

What he said.

Shut the fuck up! Fine then, if you want a fight, bring it on!

I thought you’d never say that...!

[Music]

Get them!

Hragh!

UGH!

*Two of the goons rush at the Warriors of Hope, but Masaru delivers two decisive fists to their gut.

Eat this!

AAH!

*Nagisa shoots three others with his plasma gun.

Hragh!

*Masaru punches the 6th one out cold.

C’mon! Let’s go!

*The warriors burst into the next room.

What the hell-Hey!

HRAAAGGGH!!

AAAAAHHH!!

*Quick as a flash, Masaru runs up to the nearest goon and punches his arm hard enough to break it. He then gets behind him and knocks him out with an elbow to the head.

RAGH!

RAGAH!

*A second enemy tries to attack Masaru with a knife, but Kotoko brings out her axe and counters.

What the hell is going on in here!?

*A few other enemies step into the room.

Dammit! There’s no end to them! THIS is why we should have thought of a plan!

*Nagisa says this as he begins to shoot electric rounds at the enemies.

Well, it’s a little late now. I wouldn’t worry.

*Jataro readies a bomb and throws it towards the crowd of goons.

AAAACCCK!!

*The bomb explodes and throws all of them at the wall, knocking them out.

C’mon! We gotta hurry! Haiji’s probably getting ready to escape!

Y-You’re not going ANYWHEEEEEERRE!

Ah!

H-Hey! What gives!

Shit!

*One of the enemies that Masaru defeated before gets up on his arms and knees and firmly grabs Masaru and Jataro.

*BAM!*

There they are! KILL THEM ALL!

JUST! STAY! DOWN!

*Jataro tries to pry himself free of the mans grip while Masaru kicks him repeatedly in the head.

Guys! Go! We’ll be fine!

Yeah, but-

Did you not hear him!? We need to go!

Right...Good luck you guys!

If you find Haiji before us, teach him a lesson he’ll never forget!

*BAM!*

*Kotoko and Nagisa kick open another door.

There they are! Kick their asses!

*There are three enemies in the hallway. Two of them rush at the Warriors while the third pulls out a gun.

Hragh!

Gagh!

Oof!

Ugh!

*Kotoko and Nagisa deliver heavy blows to the two goons faces.

Duck!

Wah!

*Monaca’s shout allows Nagisa to just narrowly dodge an incoming bullet.

Sheesh! That was close!

Hm...

Got it!

*Monaca suddenly grabs one of the two goons and holds him in front of her. The other man readies his gun, and aims.

W-Wait! Don’t shoot!

Tcch! You fucking coward! Let go of him!

Heheheheheee...And why would I do that?

*Monaca slowly draws closer towards the man with the gun, alongside her hostage. She powers up her drill as she draws near.

Aah...Aaaah...!

*The man panics.

...

Sike!

AABABBABABABBA!!!

*Monaca suddenly ducks, and as she does, Nagisa shoots an electric charge over her head, hitting the man dead on.

Nice shot!

*Monaca throws her hostage against the wall and gives him a concussion by whacking him on the head with the drill. The three of them rush towards a set of stairs.

Found them! Now let’s kick their ass!

*There are another 4 enemies at the top of the stairs. One of them has a gun.

Ugh! Seriously!? Did gun laws in the country change in the 8 years I’ve been gone!?

No, they’re the same as ever...

Just another reason for us to lay waste to these guys! RAAAGH!

HAHAA!

*Kotoko and Monaca run into the unarmed guys, taking them down with their weapons. Nagisa begins to shoot past them at the man with the gun.

Bitch!

*He aims at Monaca and pulls the trigger. Monaca uses her drill to deflect the bullet and runs at him.

Too slow...!

AAH!

*She runs the drill in the center of his chest and activates it, sending him spinning around at a ludicrous speed. He flies off the drill and crashes into the wall, leaving a dent.

Not much farther now! Let’s go!

Hey! Guys!

You’re ok!

Masaru! Jataro! You guys are alright!?

Pfft! They were nothing!

Come on! Let’s go! There’s no time to waste!

Hm?

AH! EVERYBODY GET DOWN!

WAH!

AAH!

HAAH!

*Nagisa knocks everyone except Monaca down as the men at the top of the next staircase throw down a grenade.

Hm? Grenades? I’ll show you grenades! Serial Killer Bomb Punishment!

*In what seems like an extraordinary feat for someone like him, Jataro runs up the stairs, bounds off the wall and lobs one of his bombs up the stairs. There is a lot of screaming and then an explosion.

Ghaha! *cough* *cough!*

...

*The warriors emerge from the smoke, brandishing their methods of attack.

I’ll kill ya!

Woah! He’s got a gun!

Enough with the guns already!

RAGH!

*Kotoko smashes the guy with her axe and Masaru runs in and delivers a heavy blow to his skull.

Hmph!

*As several guys rush at Monaca, she plants her drill into the ground and handstands on top of it. She activates it and she begins to spin around.

OOF!

ACK!

HAACK!

OW!

*She spreads her legs out and kicks any of the enemies who come near her.

Nagisa! Shoot this!

Huh? Got it!

*Jataro throws a bomb and Nagisa shoots it midair. The electricity in the gun supercharges the bomb.

Duck and cover!

*Kotoko, Nagisa, Monaca, Masaru and Jataro all jump behind some furniture in the room as the bomb explodes. All the enemies in the room are knocked back and smash into the walls.

I can’t believe that worked...!

...Hey...? How far left to go?

...If I remember correctly...

Right...If Haiji is here, then he’s gonna be right through that door.

Then let’s go rip him a new one!

*CRASH*

Th-They’re here!

*Masaru breaks the door open.

...!?

What the...?

Teenage Girl: Teehehe!

Other Teenage Girl: Haha!

*The sight that the the warriors walk in on is a...strange one. A catwalk seems to be set up in the middle of the room, with 4 girls, at least 14 years old, doing a strut dance on it.

Wow...8 Years and my brother hasn’t changed a bit...

This is sick...!

*The girls continue their dance, and for the finale, they all get on their knees, to reveal a man standing in the middle of their circle...

...And voila...Like the performance?

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.

*Clapping* Not bad actually. If it wasn’t for how morally screwed up it is, then I’d be cheering those girls on!

...

Mmyeees?

*Sigh* And here I was thinking that this whole situation couldn’t get any worse...

And then YOU show up...after all these years...Is the universe trying to spite me?

I ran out of oxygen tanks, so I came back home to grab some more. I thought I’d stop by for a bit though.

Why does your reason keep changing!?

Well, as weird as it sounds, I’m actually glad you guys are here. I have something I need to show you.

*Haiji leans in to the showgirls.

Girls. You might wanna get out of here. Things are gonna get a little gruesome, ok?

*The girls giggle and briskly walk away.

Now...let’s get this party started...!

#danganronpa survivor #danganronpa #danganronpa ultra despair girls #drae #haiji towa #monaca towa #nagisa shingetsu #masaru daimon #kotoko utsugi #jataro kemuri #kurokuma #ultra despair gang arc

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lilixloveswriting · 4 years

Text

Shell

Whumptober 2020 Day 19 (Prompt: Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor’s Guilt)

Fandom: BNHA (This is an AU for my Next Gen...AU...😬)

Characters: Hitoshi Midoriya (OC), Mitsuko Midoriya kinda, she’s dead (OC), Izuku Midoriya, Ochaco Uraraka, Katsuki Bakugo, Saisho Kirishima (OC), Eijiro Kirishima mentioned, also dead, Kayda Todoroki (OC), Hisao Todoroki (OC), Akio Todoroki haha...you guessed it (OC)

Word Count: 4582

A/N: This may be a mistake since y’all don’t know these characters yet but it just fits all the criteria for today’s prompt and I just couldn’t pass it up. Umm so I wrote this in the car when I couldn’t sleep on a road trip from 2 am to 9 am. I never acctually planned on posting it anywhere, so...idek what I’m trying to say. It’s the darkest thing I had written at that point (and imo, still is my darkest piece) so...yeah. Buckle up, it’s a sad one also please note canon Hitoshi is not this mean

TW: swearing, dissociation, suicidal ideation, child whump (Hitoshi is 13/14), survivor’s guilt (obvi), grief (obvi), family member death, past death of minor (Mitsuko - age 17), emotional detatchment, blood, ptsd flashback (nightmare), panic attack mention, vomiting mention, eventually Hitoshi has a well deserved emotional breakdown

The pencil spun around Hitoshi's knuckles in sync with the second hand of the clock. He stared at it, waiting for it to hypnotize him so that he didn't have to be there for the rest of his session. It wasn't anything personal, his therapist was fine. Today was just a bad day. Not that his days were ever good, but today was a particularly bad one. One where he felt like running out into traffic, just to see what would happen.

"Hitoshi?"

His voice seemed so far away in his dissociative state. It was nice, kind of comforting actually. More so than the unbearable ringing that would occur sometimes when someone spoke to him. The accident fucked his hearing, that's what the doctors said. The accident fucked a lot of things.

56, 57, 58, 59, 4:00

Hitoshi snapped into action, catching his pencil in his hand and slipping it into his bag as he lobbed it over his shoulder.

"Who's coming to get you today, Hitoshi?"

"My dad." He responded with a grumble, not that it was any of his business.

"Okay. Is he here, or would you like me to wait with you?"

Hitoshi shrugged his shoulders, biting back a sarcastic remark as he turned the door handle to exit his therapist's office and enter the hallway. He knew the way back to the waiting room all too well by now: a left, then two rights, down the elevator, and straight down the hall. Hitoshi heard muffled sobbing as he passed one of the doors, sparing it a glance before continuing. He wondered what her problem was. He was a little bit envious, for whatever it was, at least she could express how she was feeling. Hitoshi never felt anything but anger. Sometimes he never felt anything at all.

He made a beeline for the stairway, not too keen on sitting in another silent room with his therapist.

"Getting your steps in today?"

Hitoshi rolled his eyes as he swung himself around the flat bit of the stairwell. Their session was over, couldn't this guy shut up?

He arrived at the waiting room soon enough, tucking his thumbs into his backpack straps as he scanned the room for his dad. Not here yet.

"Not here yet?"

"No, dingbat. Do you see him?"

"Hm. I've got some time before my next appointment. I can stick around for a while."

"Fuuuck me."

"Hey! Sorry, I went to the bathroom." Hitoshi turned towards the cheery voice he knew so well, a small sigh of relief escaping his lungs. "Hey, kiddo-" Izuku placed his hands on Hitoshi's shoulders, faltering as he moved and shoved the front door open. "Hey, hold on!" He called after his son, and Hitoshi did slow down, but he didn't stop. He left the building, then walked a few steps down the sidewalk, perching himself on the ledge of the window sill, his back to the building.

"Uhh…" Izuku sighed, "bad day?"

The therapist gave a vague shrug and Izuku frowned.

"What did he say? Did something happen at school? Did I do something? His mom?"

The therapist smiled apologetically, "I'm sorry, Mr. Midoriya. You should talk to your son."

Izuku bit down on his lip. "Please, just…tell me something. Anything." The words begged to escape his throat, but he swallowed them down and nodded. He understood doctor-patient confidentiality, but that didn't make it any less frustrating.

He bid Hitoshi's therapist goodbye, then joined his son on the sidewalk.

"Hey, kiddo." Izuku's voice sounded far away too, and Hitoshi wasn't sure if he wanted it to this time. He continued to stare at the curb of the sidewalk, the whizzing of tires lulling him off into another dissociative state. His father's voice was muffled and he didn't remember the walk from the sidewalk to the car.

"What's wrong, Hito?" Izuku turned to him, and he couldn't will himself to look away from the dashboard.

He didn't know what was wrong. Nothing, nothing was really wrong, but everything was wrong at the same time. He felt so fucking numb but ached all over at the same time. It was exhausting, he just wanted everything to stop. He wanted everyone to stop trying to fix him; he couldn't be fixed.

Hitoshi took a deep breath, willing all of his effort to move his tongue. "Nothing, I'm just tired." it was silent in the car, nobody moved and a wave of guilt washed over Hitoshi, though he wasn't sure what for.

"Survivor's guilt is a common occurrence. It won't be unusual for Hitoshi to feel as though he did something wrong for surviving the crash. Getting him into therapy sessions now is probably the best course of action."

"Can we go home now?" Hitoshi inhaled again as he reached for his seatbelt, jerking it over his body and clicking it into the buckle.

His dad put the car into drive and Hitoshi rested his head on the window.

"You wanna get some ice cream?" Izuku asked. Hitoshi shrugged and ten minutes later he had a chocolate ice cream cone in his hand. He had grown to hate the taste, but he ate it anyway because it made Izuku feel better.

It still felt wrong not to pass any napkins to Mitsuko to get it out of her hair.

Izuku flipped on the lights to his apartment; the "bachelor pad" as he called it. He had turned Hitoshi on to the idea of a man den when he was ten. They both knew this wasn't what he meant.

"Do you wanna-"

"I've got homework," Hitoshi said, heading straight to his room and shutting the door behind him. He kicked off his shoes and told himself that he didn't care enough to put them away, but the way they were scattered across the floor was a little too much like her, so he picked them up and lined them up against the wall.

He fell back onto his bed, exhaling deeply as he stared up at the popcorn ceiling. His room here wasn't too bad, it was a decent size and his dad even bought him a desk and helped him decorate it with figurines and pictures. He put the pictures away though, they made him feel uneasy.

"Hey," There was a short knock at the door and it slowly creaked open. Izuku stuck his head inside. "I know you want to be alone right now, but keep the door open, yeah? Just a crack, okay?"

Hitoshi sat up a bit and nodded at his dad, who gave him a weak smile in return.

"Okay. Thank you." He said, and Hitoshi appreciated that he didn't pry, even though he knew his father was worried. "Uh, is there anything you want for dinner?"

Hitoshi shrugged and Izuku sighed.

"Okay. Think about it and let me know, okay?"

Hitoshi nodded a little, knowing he wasn't going to decide on anything. He really didn't care.

"Okay. I'll leave you alone now. I love you," Izuku said and Hitoshi gave him a small smile, then he left, pulling the door closed with about an inch to spare.

Hitoshi let his head fall back onto the bed, exhaling in a puff as another wave of guilt crashed over him. He always saw the look in his father's eyes.

"Please give me something. Anything."

But he couldn't, no matter how badly he wanted to. He didn't even know what to say. His dad had always been emotional, he wondered how many nights he spent crying because Hitoshi couldn't even manage an "I love you."

He wanted to cry. He couldn't really remember what crying felt like, but he knew he used to feel better after he did. Now, he just felt bad all the time. He was tired of it.

Hitoshi flipped over onto his stomach, trapping his pillow between his arms and his face as his eyes fell on his bag. He had homework, but he couldn't convince himself to do it. The mere thought of it was exhausting and Hitoshi turned his head the other way, towards the wall.

The blood coated his fingers like syrup, making an awful squelching sound as it mixed with his tears. He applied pressure, he heard that somewhere, a tv show, he thinks. It was supposed to make the bleeding better or something, but it kept leaking and it soaked into his jeans and shirt and skin. He must not have been doing it right, maybe he was pressing too hard because Mitsuko kept gasping for air. Maybe he was choking her.

She turned to him and took in a shaky breath, eyes wide and bloodshot and she whispered in a spine chilling voice, "Help me, Hito."

Hitoshi gasped and in the moment of fear, loosened his grip on Mitsuko's neck. She screamed as the ground caved in, swallowing her whole, and Hitoshi couldn't do anything but scream her name as he reached in after her.

Hitoshi opened his eyes and lifted his head from his pillow, blinking a few times before looking around the room. He sighed, realizing it had been a dream. He wasn't sure which reality he would rather be in.

The faint smell of food caused him to sit up fully, and he looked at his nightstand to see a plate of pizza waiting for him. His dad had to eat alone again. Dick move, Hitoshi.

He rubbed his eyes as they fell on the window, the sun had already set. How long had he slept for? Hitoshi yawned and swung his legs over the side of his bed, taking a second before standing up and opening his door. He went to the living room, a short walk in the small apartment. His dad turned his head from the tv as Hitoshi stepped into the room, greeting him with a small smile.

"Hey. I don't know if you saw, but I left you some pizza. But if you don't want that then I can see what else I can make you."

Hitoshi shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It's fine." He whispered, and if you weren't listening for it you wouldn't have heard it.

"Okay. Mom called. I told her you were sleeping. You want me to call her back?"

Hitoshi shook his head and Izuku tilted his head to the side.

"Sweetie, you should call your mom." He said, prompting a sigh and a bit of an eye-roll from his son. He nodded in the end, though, so Izuku counted that as a victory.

"Later."

"Not too late. She probably has a shift in the morning, she'll be going to bed soon."

Hitoshi didn't respond to that. Instead, he walked around the couch and sat down next to his father. "What are you watching?" He asked, and Izuku was thrilled to be getting this many words out of him.

"I don't know. The news. Nothing special."

"Pro Heroes Ground Zero and Chargebolt work together in EPIC villain take down!" Izuku cleared his throat, switching the tv off before standing abruptly.

"Alright, it's late. Call your mom and get ready for bed, okay?" Izuku ruffled his hair and planted a kiss on his head. "Goodnight, I love you." He said, then went to his room.

Hitoshi stared straight ahead at the switched-off tv. He should get to bed soon so his dad's sleep didn't suffer. Izuku always waited until Hitoshi had gone to bed before actually sleeping himself. He sighed, staring at the phone on the coffee table. He didn't want to call his mom; calling his mother actually involved talking, and she was much more thorough than his father was. He didn't want to deal with that today. Still, if he didn't call her then it'd be his father who suffered and Hitoshi didn't want that.

She picked up on the third ring.

"What, Izuku?"

"Mom." Hitoshi said, leaning into the phone as it rested on his palm.

"Oh, hi honey. What are you doing on Dad's phone?"

Hitoshi shrugged, sighing in frustration as he realized she couldn't see him. "It was closer than mine."

His mother laughed. "Lazy butt. How was your day?"

"Fine."

"How was your meeting with your therapist?"

"Fine."

"Okay…how's Daddy?"

Hitoshi sighed as he looked over the top of the couch to his dad's room, door open and light on. "I'm slowly killing him."

"Fine."

"Okay, can you give me more than that, please? I miss you. Pretty please?"

Again, Hitoshi sighed. "He's okay. We got ice cream."

"Oooh what's the occasion?"

"He's sad that I won't speak to him." "Just…guys being dudes."

Ochako laughed, which provided some type of relief, even if it was only temporary. "Alright, did you guys get your homework done?"

"Yeah," He lied. He didn't want his dad to get reprimanded for his own destructive tendencies.

"Did you have a lot?"

"Not really."

"Any you struggled with?"

Hitoshi cursed silently, looking for a bullshit answer. "Algebra." Mitsuko was good at algebra.

"Oh, ummm, well did you two get it? If not you could snap a pic and send it to me and I can help. Or you could ask Kayda, I'm sure she'd love to help you."

"We figured it out."

"Of course you did, you're so smart." There was a pause when Hitoshi didn't respond. "Your dad is pretty good at algebra, huh?"

Hitoshi sighed. "Yeah." That's where Mitsuko got it.

"Okay, well it's getting late. As much I know you love talking to me, you need to get your rest."

"Okay."

"Okay. I love you, bubba. Goodnight."

"Night." He said and hung up the phone, letting it sit idly in his lap before he moved. He went to his father's room and peeked inside to see the bathroom door closed. He must have been showering. Hitoshi left his phone on his bed, then went back to his own bedroom. He laid down on his bed, not bothering to get under the covers, figuring he'd just get up and shower when he'd inevitably wake up again in two hours. Everything felt heavy, especially his eyelids, and he let them fall closed as he drifted off into the night.

✱✱✱

Hitoshi kicked at the ground as his hands gripped the sides of the chair. His cousin sat in the one next to him, resting her chin on her hand.

"He doesn't need whatever the hell this is, Katsuki-"

"I don't have anything to do with this, don't start with me."

Hitoshi sighed and bent down to pick up his backpack just as Katsuki and his mom burst through the door to the principal's office. His mom rushed over to him, cupping his face in her hands and repeatedly asking if he was injured. Hitoshi pushed her off and started towards the door, scoffing when Ochako blocked his path.

"Hitoshi, what happened?"

The brunette glanced at his cousin who rolled her eyes as she picked up her bag. "Nothing."

"Obviously, it's not nothing if you're both here-"

"Okay, would you shut up and let me parent my own kid?" Katsuki spat, and Ochako scoffed.

"You're not doing a very good job-"

"Mom," Hitoshi whined. Nothing good was going to come from this.

"Saisho, what the hell happened?" Katsuki asked and the girl rolled her eyes. "Don't you dare roll your eyes at me, do you know how many strings I had to pull to come get you?"

"Oh, yeah. 'Cause it's my fault, right? It's always my fault." She pushed past her dad, ignoring his angry shouts and walked out of the door. Hitoshi slipped around his mother, following Saisho's lead. He just wanted to go home.

"This is the third call I've gotten this month. Saisho, whatever the hell this is, you need to get it together because I'm sick of it."

"What do you think, I like you coming to my school and screaming at me in the halls?!" Saisho whipped around and shouted right back at her father, a few spikes growing on her arms. "Yeah, it's the highlight of my freaking week!"

"Watch your mouth!" Katsuki scolded her but she was ready to fire back with more sarcasm.

"It wasn't her fault, she had a panic attack!" Hitoshi shouted over them, grabbing both of their attention as well as his mother's. Quieter, he continued, "They pick on her, they wouldn't leave her alone. So I stepped in and then her quirk was all…you know and then…"

"What…is this true?" Katsuki turned to Saisho, who's breathing had picked up as she stared at Hitoshi. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you don't listen! It doesn't matter."

"Of course, it matters. How could you even think that? You're supposed to tell me stuff like this-"

"She was just scared-" Hitoshi started, but was quickly stopped by a wry cry.

"Oh my GOD!" Saisho wrung her fingers through her hair, pulling at her scalp in frustration. She turned to Hitoshi, "Would you FUCK OFF?! Stop fighting my battles for me!"

"Hey!" Ochako stepped up next to Hitoshi, offended for her son who simply sighed and cast his gaze to the floor.

"Hey! Not okay!" Katsuki grabbed onto her wrist and she growled, yanking it away with all her might but still not able to get free.

"LET GO! Don't touch me! Stop!" She cried, clawing at Katsuki's hand. "Ugh! None of this would be happening if Dad was here!" She yelled, and that was enough for Katsuki to loosen his grip in shock. Saisho immediately ripped her hand away, stumbling backward in a fit of tears.

"I'm here! I'm here, sorry I'm late!" Izuku threw open the double doors, slowing down at the sight in front of him. "What…what's going on?"

Saisho let out one more frustrated sob and stomped forward, shoving past Izuku to the parking lot.

Izuku gave Katsuki a look, which he ignored and started after his daughter. Izuku grabbed him by the arm before he could get passed. "Hey-"

"Don't touch me!" Katsuki yanked his arm away, whipping around to face Izuku. "You're not the only one who lost someone in that accident, you know?! And that's what it was, an accident! It was an ACCIDENT! I'm sorry! You know I'm sorry! And you can punish me all you want, but don't you fucking drag her into it because she lost a parent!" He pointed out at the parking lot, tears welling up in his eyes and Hitoshi realized this was the first time he'd actually seen his uncle cry.

Izuku didn't stop him from leaving after that, and the broken family watched the blond storm out of the school.

"Okay…what the heck did I miss?" Izuku held his arms out to his sides as he approached his son and ex wife.

"More like why the hell did you miss? Izuku, where were you? I know they called you after they called me." Ochako stepped towards him, arms crossed over her chest.

"I was working-"

"So was I."

"I was all the way across town!"

"What happened to your super speed, Mr. Full Cowling?"

"Okay, I'm not doing this with you right now. Hitoshi-"

"No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to dodge my questions like they aren't important."

"I am trying to check on our son!"

"He's fine! I already checked, because I was here."

"Well I am here now and I would still like to know what happened."

"He was in a fight!"

"You were in a fight?!" Izuku echoed, turning to Hitoshi with a shocked look on his face.

Hitoshi raised his eyebrows and his mouth dropped open in surprise. "What?! No, it wasn't a fight-" He started, but was interrupted by his mother before he could finish.

"Maybe you could have done something to prevent it if you actually talked to him."

Izuku recoiled, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth morphing into a scowl. "I do talk to him."

"Oh yeah? What do you talk about?"

"We…Ochako, this isn't fair-"

"You want to know what isn't fair? What isn't fair is that I'm stuck being his mom after you decided to be his friend! Let me guess what you had for dinner last night: whatever he wanted?"

Izuku frowned. "Actually, we had pizza."

"Oh, pizza! Even better!"

Hitoshi shut his eyes, scrunching his nose up as they continued to bicker. He was sure the classrooms down the hall could hear, and he didn't need to add anything else to his souring reputation. "You guys, can we please go home-"

"Shush!"

"Not now!"

This was how they'd been since the funeral. They argued constantly; over why the dishes weren't done (Mitsuko always did them), about who's turn it was to buy groceries (Mitsuko did most of the shopping), about whether they were going to keep Mitsuko's door open or closed.

The last one didn't last long because Izuku moved out a few months after. He wanted her door closed, but now Ochako could keep it open.

They argued over Hitoshi a lot too, and he remembered when he first saw the headlines: "Pro Heroes Deku and Uravity Messy Divorce After Loss of Child!"

He threw up after reading it.

Things were better after they separated. Well, not better, but at least they weren't fighting all the time. They had gotten better at communicating, but he still hated being in the same room with both of them at a time. It was times like these where he wished his sister was still here, or at least that Saisho didn't hate him.

He guessed this was the type of stuff he was supposed to tell his therapist. But how was he supposed to say it when it felt like talking about her was forbidden? Her name was like a lit match, waiting to be dropped on a stick of dynamite embedded deep inside of the Earth's core, ready to blow his world to pieces. He lost himself in these thoughts, spiraling down and down and down until he'd forgotten what reality he was in.

His dissociation was dangerous because he would sometimes wander without realizing it until someone woke him up. This time, it was Hisao.

Hitoshi blinked as Hisao shook his shoulder, staring at him with a concerned look on his face. "Are you okay? Here, come in." He ushered and Hitoshi listened realizing his clothes were damp. He must have walked there in the rain.

"KAYDAAA!" Hisao shouted, and from the annoyed look on his face it didn't seem like it was the first time. "I don't know where she is. Damn, I've got a thing to go to, I just stopped by to pick up some tools. Here, uh-" He flipped the switch to the fireplace and it lit up. "I'll go get you some dry clothes."

"What do you want?" Kayda came down the stairs, her irritated expression faltering as she laid eyes on Hitoshi. "Hito-chan…what…?" She started and looked to Hisao who shrugged, bounding up the stairs to get clothes for Hitoshi.

Kayda finished down the stairs and jogged over to Hitoshi, who was shivering now. "What are you doing here?"

Hitoshi shrugged. "I don't know." He truly didn't.

She frowned and grabbed a blanket from the couch, wrapping it around his shoulders.

"Mom and dad were fighting." He mumbled and her shoulders slumped. He felt bad for unloading onto her like this. Mitsuko was her best friend after all.

"Okay! They're gonna be pretty big, but it's better than what you're wearing, so," Hisao appeared next to them, handing Kayda the dry clothes. "I'm late to meet with Jisoo, so are you guys okay? Should I…?"

Kayda shook her head. "Go on, we'll be fine."

Hisao muttered a quiet "kay" and quickly left the house, leaving Kayda and Hitoshi alone.

"Here, why don't we get you changed?" Kayda helped him stand and led him to the bathroom, handing him the clothes before he closed the door.

About fifteen minutes later, he was curled up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate.

"You know," Kayda sighed, picking at the blankets they were curled up with, "When Akio died…I wanted to die too. Well, not literally. I just couldn't…grasp the concept of living in a world where he didn't exist. I was so mad at him for…leaving me behind."

Hitoshi stared down into his cup. "It's not the same."

Kayda looked at him, then swallowed and nodded, sniffling. "I know."

Now he made her cry. When was this ever going to get any easier?

"I guess what I mean is," She sighed once more, allowing her hands to fall into her lap, "I've lost two important people within the last couple of years. So if you ever need someone to talk to…"

Hitoshi nodded. Kayda was nice, she had always been nice to him. But if he couldn't talk to his therapist, someone who his parents were paying to listen, how was he supposed to talk to his dead sister's best friend?

"Why didn't I wake up sooner?" Well,he's done it. Kayda raised an eyebrow and he, somehow, continued, "If I had…" He stopped, an involuntary sob bobbing in his throat, "She was just…lying there. She was all alone." He whimpered and his vision went blurry before he felt a warm wetness on his cheeks. "If I had…if I had woken up…s-sooner-" He coughed in his own tears, bringing a hand up to cover his face.

It had been a long time since he cried, and now that it was finally happening he didn't like it. His face was hot, and his head felt like it was going to explode from the sheer effort he was putting in to keep his tears from falling. Effort that didn't matter, because they were falling anyway, like a dam that had been patched up with gum, water spurting out of every crack, every crevice it could find. And to top it all off there was this sharp pain in his chest and he couldn't stop his lungs from seizing as he gasped for air, choking on his sobs and coughing when he couldn't get enough of it.

Warm arms restricted his shaking and he pressed his head into Kayda's chest, her hug providing some sense of security as he cried until his eyes swelled. Mitsuko would have made fun of him for this, and the thought only made him cry harder, pleading to some sentient being for the past year to have been a nightmare. Unfortunately for Hitoshi, said sentient being must not exist, because his desperate prayers went unheard.

She whispered little reassurances, and though he didn't believe them, they made him feel a little bit better. His breathing slowed and his cheeks dried, though his head still pounded like a drum. He would have fallen asleep if he hadn't pulled away, hiccuping as he wiped at his eye.

"I should tell my parents where I am." He mumbled, taking out his phone and struggling to type in the pass code with his shaky hand.

"They don't know?" Kayda inquired, to which Hitoshi shook his head. He hadn't told him he was leaving, and they had been too caught up in their argument to notice.

He shot them a text, nothing fancy or anything more than an address. He didn't want to talk to them. He was tired.

But he did feel better. Even if it was just a little bit.

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