#he does it casually unless pointed out and then he just goes STIFF.

[inky-the-artist]

tf2 mercs playing beat saber because i love the game

Scout: songs with less than 3.50 notes per second bore him, but he doesn't do that good with pattern changes, so he usually plays sped up songs on Hard, occasionally some Expert ones. he has crazy stamina and can play these fast songs until the headset's battery runs low. very competitive.

Soldier: he always puts his everything into every note, which is extremely tiring, so he usually plays Normal difficulty songs, one or two on Hard every once in a while. he finds it pretty fun, and when the others compete, he usually joins in. when he's tipsy, he'll sing along with the music.

Pyro: (let's pretend a headset can fit over their mask for a minute) they're just there for the vibes, and they love the funky colours and backgrounds of the maps. they don't even need to play the songs, Engie often downloads them modded maps that just focus on the surroundings and it's enough for them. they also enjoy watching others play.

Demo: he's dogshit at the game when he happens to be sobered up, and the drunker he is the better he gets, but the less energy he has for it. one evening he can beat three Expert+ levels in a row and pass out on the couch, other evening he'll play songs on Hard for the entire evening. he's down for a friendly competition.

Heavy: it's not his idea of fun, but he won't walk out when others play, he's content to just sit nearby and watch the casting from the headsets, he'll play a few levels on Normal just for the fun of joining in, but he won't play unless someone asks him to, nor will he play it on his own in his free time. not competitive at all.

Engie: he's crazy good at the game, pretty much the only person in base who can keep up with Scout's preferred song speeds and difficulties. he'll compete with him too, he's not hell-bent on winning but he's not gonna go easy on him. mostly plays Expert and Expert+.

Medic: Medic is the opposite of Scout - he does really well with different patterns, but has trouble keeping up if it's too fast. will SS rank most maps on Hard and slower maps on Expert. does try a slowed down Expert or Expert+ level every once in a while. not very competitive when it comes to this, but when others compete and he has the time for it, he'll join in, and he will laugh at whoever he happens to beat.

Sniper: Sniper is a very casual player, he plays songs on Hard difficulty with the occasional Normal or Expert. he's super stiff when playing, but when he has a drink or two he loosens up. he'll also join a friendly competition if it goes on, but he can't play for too long because the lights hurt his eyes.

Spy: Spy will say this is beneath him and not join the others when they're playing, but truth be told, he tried it once, got his fancy shirt sweaty, failed the level and hasn't wanted to try it again since. when others play, he might hover nearby and point out how goofy they look to the outside world though.

#first headcannons post yay!!:D #team fortress 2 #tf2 headcanons #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro #tf2 #tf2 demoman #tf2 heavy #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #headcannons #beat saber #inky's occasional writing

[pre1ude]

Muse speech patterns. by Memesomething.

do they use contractions and shortenings ("can't" but also "gonna"): More likely to say 'cannot' and 'going to' than shorten. Especially when emphasizing.

do they use multiple contractions (shouldn't've): Not a chance. 'Should not have'.

do they talk Around a point or do they talk To the point: If he isn't being short and blunt then he's stalling or being insincere. One of his tells. Not very obvious unless you know him well. Occasionally he'll talk in circles to ease himself into getting to a difficult point. Of the 'that is to say' variety. Most of the time, though, he's the type to acknowledge the obvious without preamble and address elephants. Politely, of course.

what is the 'feel' of the way they speak? does it feel ancient? does it feel refined? does it feel comfortable, gentle, warm? does it feel safe? (does it feel crass, dangerous, on the edge of danger?): In public: Classy, polite, a little stiff. Very clear and enunciated, understandable. Habitually uses a limited part of his vocabulary, lots of emphasis words/phrases like certainly, definitely, of course. 'Good-natured host' voice and manner of speech. In private around trusted company: Naturally refined without much effort. More casual yet richer, doesn't mince or think of which words to use.

how urgently do they speak, is it rapid? do they take their time to figure out what they want to say before they say it?: Sprawling pauses. He thinks before he speaks especially when his opinion is asked. Even when upset, stressed or mad his speech defaults to cracking pauses rather than rapidfire. Only gains verbal momentum when talking about his passions. Every other time? Even pace.

do they say things by mistake, do words sometimes come out of their mouth that shouldn't come out of their mouth?: No, more likely to stop talking altogether than blurt something out. The only slips happen with his power where he may put too much emphasis on words, to the point of supernaturally imbuing them.

do they include pronouns when they're not strictly necessary ('I'm going to to the shops do you want anything' vs 'Going to the shops, want anything?'): Yep. Habit. He just speaks that way.

do they have the jargon for a particular topic and if so do they use the jargon around the person they're talking to: Proper classical music terminology or death. He doesn't care, he'll explain thrice what a cantata is before he waters down his speech even a little.

colloquialisms? slang?: No. Has to be manually taught. Dude, pop culture slang?? Forget about it.

do they rely on the relatedness principle ("Is the news on?" / "It's six o'clock." and they rely on people assuming the answer is related to the question) or do they prefer to explicitly spell things out ("Is the news on?" / "Not yet, but it will be in another half an hour."): Explicit. Clear and understandable. Wouldn't like to repeat himself.

what are the words or turns of phrase they often use to change the subject or bring up something new ("Tell you what though-", "Although...", "On the other hand,", "Anyway-"): Just goes for it if there's a pause. Tends to let a topic run its course rather than interrupt, though, if conversation is actively continuing in that direction. Otherwise? 'Now-', 'Well,-', 'I wanted to mention-' and all such manner of pause-provoking words, for the sake of natural diversion. A little apologetic about it too.

do they mimic their speaking partner's linguistic traits at least a little i.e. if their partner says "fuck" are they more likely to say "fuck" themselves? or would they stick with whatever word they naturally use?: Swearing's not the best example because sometimes he'll go the length of correcting them for it. He does adapt up to a point. Can adjust his vocabulary around specific company, but uses his own speech patterns. He doesn't care if it's weird, it's how he speaks and it's the intended way besides.

does your muse swear?: Never in public, it's improper. Precedes rude terms with 'pardon but' in private.

does your muse use the words 'i promise' to make promises or do they just say something ("I love you.") or use another version of the words ("You have my word."): More severe. You have my word or I swear. Clear vows only.

do they say 'please' and 'thank you' to strangers? do they say it to their friends? loved ones? how do they say 'please' and how do they say 'thank you'?: Golden words: Please, thank you and I'm sorry. He uses them habitually, even when he probably shouldn't. Casual to friends, other more severe varieties like My apologies, My thanks, Forgive me/my-, Pardon, I beg-, etcetera to strangers or his mother.

how do they go about disagreeing with someone?: If it's a matter of subjective disagreement then kindly at first, rather roundabout. 'I wouldn't say-', 'I don't think-', 'I rather-', all personal and loose phrasing. If it's objective? A blunt but polite no. Depends on if the person can be disagreed with. Oftentimes he won't even bother if it's clear there's no leeway for a conversation, just an argument. Might just sigh and leave.

Tagged by: Just found it.

Tagging: Just Do It.

#➻ 𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐀 —《headcanon.》 #(dash games.) #found this one fresh out the oven #& it was fun!! #daniel perkins. prim proper posh fuck that you are

[glassesblu]

Ingo doubling down on being the older brother in the reverse age au tough. He is suddenly more authoritative with Emmet around Gear station, calling him by childhood nicknames more often, introducing himself as the older brother constantly. People visiting think he is just jealous that he is now younger in age than Emmet , that he wants to feel more important and that he feels like he gets let's respect for his youthful appearance next to Emmet. But actually... It's all for Emmets sake.

Ingo knows Emmet desperately wants this, he does his best not to show it but he wants to feel like the little brother so badly at times it hurts. Ingo hugs him from behind while he's cooking and Emmet just goes stiff for a second "I am Emmet... You don't have to do this." "Oh?" "I'm not the younger one anymore." And Ingo just kisses his neck and whispers "What? Just because you gained a bit of weight and got some wrinkles you can't be my cute little brother anymore?" "Ingo-" "Just because you had to fend for yourself for so long means I am not your Nii-san anymore?" Emmet starts to shake slightly but doesn't say anything. Ingo starts kissing his neck and speaks in a slightly sing songy voice to him " Emmy~" and Emmet let's out a half laugh half sob before turning around to bury his face in Ingos shoulder. Ingo reaches around to turn the stove of before hugging him tightly. As the older brother he has to be responsible after all...

Hi anon! Sorry it took a bit to get to this

There's some parts I have the same ideas and some where I don't! Let's talk about it.

While I think Ingo in some respects resumes his older brother role - there's just some things he won't be capable of doing. Technology has advanced even more than what he can scrap to remember, so he'll have to relearn as well as learn new things about the station and how it works. I think he definitely tried *something* and at some point embarrassed himself. That will only happen once haha.

I think though Oemmet does still call him Nii-san, and when he's more comfortable, want to look to Yingo for support. But unless it's something important, I don't think Yingo wants to disturb the work balance that the station has developed without him. Maybe he wasn't sure if he'd even be allowed to return to work there actually. At least, not where he used to be.

I think though in the privacy of their own home he is more apparent with it. He likes to make plans and will be forward about it, he'll take to caring for Kudari, making him extra treats or getting him something special. Especially with affection. I think Oemmet and Yingo really keep observing each other, and while Emmet might have initiated their prematurely aborted tryst (see collar) it is of my opinion that Ingo initiates the next one. I think after Collar they try engaging more with even just physical affection like casual touch, kissing, and cuddling. And Ingo tries his best to initiate those and show Emmet that he loves him very much. And in the next tryst, he tries to focus on what Emmet wants.

#blankshipping #oemmet #yingo #submas #anon #reverse!agesAU #asks #blankship HCs #headcanons #if this doesnt post in the tag i'll steal a book and use whiteout and the whole book so it becomes a blank book #reverse ages au

[comradeacerbus]

Danse Headcanons

Because he is a good boy who needs love too okay

- Always needs to be organized, writes everything down.

- To do lists. They’re everywhere, and he always has a notebook on his person.

- Quite likes crosswords. Always needs something to do with his hands, and they help if he starts getting antsy. PTSD is a bitch.

- Smokes. Prefers cigars. Also likes black coffee.

- Is actually gruesomely funny, but you wouldn’t know unless you really get to know him. He’s got a really dry sense of humor so it automatically makes his sarcasm even funnier.

- In spite of the fact that he can be bitterly sarcastic himself, he doesn’t always understand sarcasm immediately. He’s very literal.

- Very much a dad friend. Not to be confused with the mom friend. Don’t expect to be coddled by him. He’s great for practical advice, but don’t expect him to go soft if you go to him about a problem. If he thinks that you’re at fault for your own problem, he’ll make sure that you know it.

- “I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed”

- Overall, he’s just brutally honest, almost to a fault. He’s a terrible liar!

- Still, he’s a very good listener and will keep his trap shut. Once you tell himself something, it’s in the vault, so to speak.

- On that note, puns are not typically appreciated.

- He’s good to his friends overall, and is highly reliable, but like a knight of Catarina, he will never forgive a betrayal. The guy can hold a serious grudge.

- As a lover, he’s very shy at first. His other half will have to make most of the moves initially. Once he’s comfortable, he’s actually quite affectionate.

- Turns out the fucker has some serious libido too.

- Gifts and acts of service are his main love languages, though in private, physical touch quickly rises to prominence. A lot of gentle touch, nudging, shoulder pats for reassurance, that kind of thing in public.

- He’s a virgin. Absolutely. He’s shy about banging at first because he’s embarrassed that he’s inexperienced, in spite of the fact that he’s getting into his thirties. It doesn’t take him long to get confident in the bedroom.

- Cuddly sleeper. Also sleeps hot.

- Really likes Johnny Cash and Marty Robbins, but he’s got room for Mel Tillis too.

- He has a habit of slipping right into lecture mode, even after his exile. He gets better about it as time goes on, but it’s really annoying for all parties involved until he does. He’s just so used to dealing with stupid soldiers and having to lecture them as a superior that it’s become second nature.

- He’s very literate and an avid reader. He prides himself on his extensive vocabulary, even if the casuals find it annoying.

- Always eager to learn a skill in case he might need it later. Doesn’t hurt to be a jack of all trades in the wastelands after all. In the immortal words of my father, “Always take the chance to learn something, if you get it. Once that knowledge is yours, no one can take it away from you.”

- An excellent mechanic, and not just for PAs and related things. While he’s not good at coding, he is good at robotics repair and the like and can disassemble and reassemble a laser rifle blindfolded.

- Has fixed up Codsworth a number of times.

- Very literate with guns and ammunition, both with technical as well as historical information. He has a soft spot for old guns.

- Getting kicked out of the brotherhood took a huge toll on him. Aside from his identity crisis, Danse prided himself on the sophistication of the Brotherhood and the fact that he could be a part of it. On top of that, he has no living relatives, so that faction was his only family from the time he joined up. He had a lot of emotions invested in the group overall, even though he refuses to admit the fact that he does indeed have feelings.

- He has trust issues for a while after the whole ordeal. You can’t blame him. One moment, these people would die for him based on principle alone, and the next, they’re trying to kill him.

- He constantly denies the negative emotions that he feels. For a while, he just avoids things that make him think of the brotherhood so he doesn’t have to process what happened to him. He has a sense of abandonment after being thrown to the side by Maxson, but it immediately translates to anger because he just doesn’t know how to deal with it.

- When he finally finds someone who legitimately cares about how he feels and how he’s doing, he doesn’t know what to do, and it sort of gets worse before it gets better.

- He’s very embarrassed of his PTSD because he has a lot of masculine pride, so again, he doesn’t want to face it or his emotions.

- He’s just grouchy and mildly paranoid after his exile until Sole drags him back to the real world and helps him recover. Afterwards, he’s almost like a different person.

- He does still retain some things from the Brotherhood. For example, he always keeps a stiff posture, and when he’s fixated on something, he walks in step, not unlike a soldier. During a fight, specifically shootouts, he’ll use the military codes and signals he was taught.

- He is still very wary of synths (understandable) and very much hates mutants (also understandable), but is okay with Nick, after they come to an understanding between each other.

- He also still has trouble sleeping by himself. He’d never admit it, but he cant stand sleeping alone, since he’s used to sleeping in a military base with a bunch of eyes to watch for trouble. When he eventually does get with Sole to the point they share a bed or room, it’s easier for him to sleep.

- Danse LOVES affection, but he’d never admit it verbally. Sole knows lol but it’s a secret he’ll take to his grave. Cuddling and forehead kisses are his weakness.

- Approval from his lover is like a drug to him. Really, just a “good job” can make his day.

- He’s also weird about asking for sex or affection. He’ll usually get all bashful and quiet, but will sort of hover around Sole. Like, stand behind them or next to them and nudge them, maybe give them a knowing look. Or he’ll just get very clingy in bed or something.

- He blushes very easily.

- Snores. Denies it.

- He LOVES dogs, but is really more of a cat person. He adored Emmett, back on the Prydwen.

- Because he is a workaholic, he opens up a lil store in Sanctuary. Sort of goes back to what he did in Rivet City, but with a more focused goal in that he specifically scavenges for gun parts and the like. Just a warning that he keeps a sawed off shotgun under the counter. Try to rob him and he’ll blow your head off. This man takes the Second Amendment very seriously.

#fallout 4 #Paladin danse #fallout 4 headcanons #headcannons #i’m not stalling you’re stalling #I needed something to do okay #video games

[starlightsearches]

8. kisses on the cheek and 24. kisses for a cover with ben or frankie from tf? I love your writing 🙈

Ahhhhhh thank you, friend! I love Benny Miller so much (and Frankie too but this isn't about him) 💖

Kiss Prompts List

Requests are open ✨

Benny Miller x Reader (GN)

Warnings: language, some guy is creepy, a bit of cheeky banter, some kissing 😘

Lemme know what you think!!

"Is he still looking?" Benny leans on his elbows over the sticky edge of the bar, beer in hand, rolling his shoulders back the way he always does when he wants to look intimidating.

You tilt your head casually, laugh a little like he just said something funny, and flit your eyes to the corner of the room, fighting to keep your frown at bay when the man standing there looks back.

You see guys like him all the time: expensive suit with his tie worn loose, strong jaw line and a car-salesman smile. He winks when he catches your eye, the permanently cheery look on his face unphased when you grimace in response.

"I'll take that as a yes," he says, finishing off the rest of his drink, "I don't know why we even bother trying to fake the couple thing; we're not even good at it. So what if some guy with freakishly white teeth wants to buy you a drink?"

You roll your eyes. You've been best friends Benny long enough to know that conversations like this don't go anywhere. "Because I have better things to do than listen to somebody talk about the ins and outs of bitcoin, Miller."

He smirks, too charming, too cocky. You've seen him use that look on other girls, never failing to make them weak at the knees.

"Oh yeah, like what?"

You scoff in mock offense, punching him on the arm and ignoring the hard flex of muscle beneath your knuckles, "like hanging out with you, asshole!"

He just laughs, elbowing you back, giving you a real smile this time. "Admit it, I'm your asshole."

You can't help but giggle, despite the alarms in your head are growing steadily louder when you catch the white teeth guy points you out to one of his friends, jutting his chin in your direction. Too friendly. You have to step up your game.

"Gross, Benny."

You will your fingers not to shake, placing your hand on his shoulder, rubbing your thumb gently back and forth over his shoulder blade, caressing every ding and scratch in the worn leather of his jacket.

"Is he looking now?" he whispers, reading your signals, his breath brushing up against your cheeks.

These are the hardest moments in your friendship with Benny; not when he disappears for days at a time because he decided to go camping last minute and didn't bring his phone, or when he shows up in the middle of the night at your apartment, completely hammered, and passes out on your couch without telling you first. It's the times where he looks at you with those stupid, too-deep-to-be-real blue eyes, and you wonder if this is what it feels like to be somebody he wants.

You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat, and he leans closer with a cheeky grin, tapping the swell of his cheek.

Your lipstick leaves a sticky print on his skin, just below the week-old bruise staining his cheek yellow from his last fight. Sitting in the crowd, you promised yourself that you wouldn't go to any more of his matches, no matter how many times he begged. You couldn't deal with the echoes of pain through your own jaw every time you saw him take a punch.

He pulls back, still laughing, but it's different now. "You kiss like a grandma," he says. His heart's not in the insult, the faintest hint of pink dusting his cheeks.

But maybe that's just the lighting.

"Fuck you, Miller, I'm a fantastic kisser." You fidget with your half-empty glass, looking for something to do with your hands.

"Oh yeah? Well it looks like Mr. Suit-and-tie is headed this way to test that."

"Ah, fuck," your eyes go wide when you confirm that he's not just playing a trick on you. The man you've been trying to avoid all night sliding through the crowd. You shift in your seat, ready to hop down off the bar stool. "Maybe we should just go."

Benny stops you with a hand on your thigh, his warm fingers burning your skin even through your jeans. "No, don't do that. You haven't even finished your drink yet."

"Come on, Ben. We're not gonna make out at the bar just because some prick can't take a hint."

He goes stiff for a second, catching his fingernail on a scratch in the tabletop.

"We could," he whispers. You're stomach drops.

"Not funny, Ben." You're about to leave for real this time, but he stops you again, caging you against the bar with one outstretched arm.

"What? This guy's being an asshole and I'm just trying to help you out." He stops, staring at some spot over your head, "unless you don't want it."

You roll your eyes, pushing gently on his shoulder. "Humility is not a good look for—"

Before you can finish your sentence, his lips are on yours.

There's no use in denying it—Benny knows what he's doing. As soon as he can tell that your not going to pull away, he's got his hand on the back of your neck, holding his lips against yours. They're softer than you thought they would be, but he tastes like you've always imagined: like his favorite beer, like salt and sweat. Like those late nights your stomach ached from laughing and he let you fall asleep on his shoulder, even though he pretended to hate it when you missed half of the movie he picked up just because you'd never seen it before.

He tastes like home.

Jesus. You really shouldn't be making out with your best friend in some shitty bar, but once you've started, you can't stop. Your hands stroke over the back of his neck, scratching at the little blond hairs that grow there, and he moans when you press your teeth into his plush bottom lip.

He pulls back, breathing shallow, like he's trying to hide the way his chest heaves. "Do you think he's gone?" You don't even bother looking.

"Maybe we should do that again," you hop back on the stool, pulling him close, "just in case."

#ben miller x reader #ben miller x you #triple frontier #ben miller fanfiction #ben miller fanfic #ben miller one shot #benny miller #benny miller x you #benny miller x reader #benny miller fanfiction #benny miller fluff #ben miller fluff #my writing #i wrote this in like two hours and maybe the slightest hint of seratonin syndrome so i'm sorry if it sucks #requests #anons

[evening-starlight]

Warm Beers

Taglist is OPEN! Dm or comment to be added

Posting Schedule: Monday, Wednesday, Friday

This takes place before season one!

All Works Master List

Warm Beers Master List

11

Word Count: 1808

    Kenzie slips out of her room, quietly closing the door behind her. JJ was still asleep, cuddling into one of Kenzie's pillows with the green dinosaur squishmallow John B. gifted Kenzie last year under one arm. He looked so peaceful that Kenzie couldn't bring herself to kick him out, even though it was already eight in the morning, and she could hear her dad downstairs making breakfast.

    "Does JJ want eggs?" Shoupe asks, back turned towards Kenzie when she enters the kitchen. His daughter stops in her tracks and stares at his back. How the hell did he know? Kenzie made sure that everything was put away and that they stayed quiet all night. "You're not as sneaky as you let yourself believe, Z," Victor points out and looks at his daughter with a knowing smirk.

    "Dad, I'm so sorry," Kenzie starts to apologize, knowing she broke one of her dad's rules. Again. No boys were allowed to have sleepovers until after she was eighteen.

    "Don't apologize. I've known since the first night. If I wanted to get you in trouble, I would have," Shoupe points out, turning back to the scrambled eggs in the pan. "You're too good to that boy, you know?"

    Kenzie slides into a barstool and leans against the counter. She rolls her eyes and protests, "He just needs some extra love. You've seen the deadbeat dad he got stuck with."

    "I know. I'm just giving you shit. Now, does JJ like his eggs scrambled or over easy?" Kenzie shrugs. "You're best friends, and you don't know how he takes his eggs? Are you even best friends?" Victor jokes.

    "I'm sorry, I didn't know I had to know his damn egg order to be considered best friends. I'll demote us to acquaintances again," McKenzie sasses with a roll of her eyes. Shoupe laughs at her and dishes his eggs onto a plate.

    "You didn't want any, did you?" He asks as he takes his place next to Kenzie at the kitchen island. Kenzie shakes her head. She wasn't the biggest fan of eggs unless she was low on protein. If they had more cheese than egg, she would eat them, but the Shoupe household was out of cheese at the moment. Which Kenzie considered a crime punishable by death. "Didn't get any sleep last night?" Kenzie shakes her head again as Shoupe's phone starts to ring. He sighs when he sees the caller and answers it. McKenzie slips off her barstool and goes to grab a breakfast shake from the fridge while her dad gets called in early for work.

    He sighs and hangs up, looking at McKenzie. "I have to get going, Z. I'll see you later tonight?" Kenzie agrees and hugs her dad goodbye. He leaves the house with his plate of eggs and his ceramic coffee mug. Victor had already gotten dressed and everything he needed for his workday when he decided he had enough time for breakfast. Which, obviously, got cut short.

    Kenzie moves to the living room couch and sits on the far end, drinking her shake and scrolling through social media absentmindedly while she thinks about her plans for the day. She should probably clean up her bedroom, or she could forget that and go play with the Pouges on the water.

    She glances up from her phone when JJ sneaks downstairs, looking around for the deputy. "He's already at work, Maybank," Kenzie calls up, causing the boy to jump. She giggles and waves him over. JJ jogs over and jumps on the couch next to her. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

    JJ rolls his eyes and slaps Kenzie's phone out of her hands. "What the hell, JJ?"

    "I wanted your attention," JJ shrugs, smiling at her innocently. "The fuckers have work today, so it's just you and me until three. So, what are the plans?" JJ asks, heading tilting. Kenzie rolls her eyes and picks her phone up from the ground.

    "Who said I wanted to hang out with you?" Kenzie jokes. JJ pouts and crosses his arms like a child throwing a tantrum. "I'm kidding, J." Kenzie laughs, pushing JJ's arm lightly. "I thought that I should clean my room but would rather play games," Kenzie suggests.

    "I say we play games all day," JJ inputs, causing Kenzie to giggle. Her eyes catch the Hello Kitty band-aid still stuck on his chin, heightening her giggles into a real laugh. "What?" JJ asks, forgetting the bandaid is stuck there.

    "You have a kitty on your face," She laughs. JJ's hand slaps the plaster and starts to giggle as well. "You look so stupid," Kenzie continues to laugh as JJ claws the Hello Kitty off of his face.

    "You're the one who forced me to wear it last night," JJ exclaims, rolling up the bloody band-aid and tossing it to the floor. "What's the plan, Ken?" He asks, trying to forget the way his heart melted when Kenzie kissed the wound late last night. It didn't mean anything - to either of them - but it was such an innocently sweet thing Kenzie always did to make JJ feel a little bit better.

    McKenzie rolls her eyes, picks up JJ's disgusting plaster between two fingers, and takes it to the kitchen trash can. "I'm always picking up after you disgusting idiots," Kenzie says, shaking her head as she walks back to the living room. JJ just smiles a Cheshire cat-type smile as he lounges on the couch. "Pick a game, Loser," Kenzie instructs as she plops down next to him.

    JJ starts up her game system and scrolls through her options before landing on a first-person shooter he knew he'd beat Kenzie at. As she takes the remote, JJ grabs her legs and sets them on his own. She squeals slightly as she gets pulled closer to him, practically sitting in his lap. When given a questioning look from Kenzie, he just shrugs and starts the game. He just needed a little extra physical love this morning.

    The two yell and push each other when the opposite kills them during their numerous rounds. Kenzie's tongue sticks out the corner of her mouth as she concentrates on the game in front of her. JJ takes notice when he glances over at her.

    Kenzie's hunched over, feet planted firmly on the ground instead of over his legs after he brutally killed her. The controller is clutched tightly in her hands as if the pressure she hit the buttons with would make the attacks hit JJ harder. Her tongue pokes out, and her eyes squint at the screen in concentration. JJ could feel his heart pick up in pace as a smirk spreads across McKenzie's face.

    "Bomb! Headshot, Maybank," Kenzie cheers, jumping up from her seat and doing a small victory dance in front of JJ. He forces the smile that creeps across his face down as Kenzie continues to dance. She was so happy that she won against JJ that she was practically glowing. Her smile spread so far across her face that her chin dimple appears.

    At this point, JJ knew there was something else besides beers and not eating causing his upset stomach. But it didn't hit him until Kenzie turned to face him, smiling wide and eyes bright, that the feeling came up, and he felt like he needed to throw up. Kenzie was one of the most beautiful people JJ's ever had the pleasure to have in his life. Both inside and out. But was he going to confront these feelings? He's JJ Maybank. Of course he won't.

    "I let you win," JJ pouts, crossing his arms and leaning back into the couch. Kenzie giggles and jumps on the couch next to him, knees tucked under her. JJ rolls his head to the side and glares at Kenzie. Her eyes glisten with victory as she stares back at the boy.

    "You didn't let me win; you got distracted," Kenzie points out. She obviously saw JJ staring and used that to her advantage. He wasn't as sneaky as he liked to think he was. Drool was practically flooding out of his mouth as he looked her over. Kenzie was a little flattered that JJ got distracted by her, but it also made her stomach clench.

    "Yeah? By what, Ken?" JJ prompts, sitting up so he's even with Kenzie. Something was yelling at him to lean in, to make a move on his best friend. JJ knew he shouldn't, but the urge to kiss those pretty pink lips grows the longer he looks at them.

    "My unfathomable beauty," Kenzie teases, leaning closer to JJ unconsciously. JJ smirks and glances down at Kenzie's lips again. They just looked so fucking kissable right now. Kenzie's tongue pokes out and licks the soft skin, egging JJ on more.

    Kenzie can feel JJ's breath fan across her face as they slowly gravitate towards each other. This was wrong on so many different levels. They were best friends, and there was the no-Pouge-on-Pouge macking rule. But being this close and this intimate was causing both teens to get upset stomachs and throw caution to the wind.

    The garage door swings open harshly, and the deputy follows soon after, carrying his empty dishes and looking around frantically for something. Kenzie jumps to the opposite side of the couch while JJ leans back into the soft sofa cushions casually. As if they weren't about to kiss.

    "What are you looking for, Dad?" Kenzie asks, scratching the back of her neck. Shoupe takes one look at the teens and rolls his eyes. They looked like love-sick puppies who longed for the other's sole attention.

    "I got to the station and realized I left my badge at home. Have you seen it?" Victor asks, still looking in the kitchen.

    "You didn't have it this morning, so it's probably still upstairs, in your room, on your dresser," Kenzie says, knowing exactly where Shoupe keeps his personal belongings. He sighs out a thank you and goes to retrieve it. The teens stay silent and avoid all eye contact.

    This had got to be the most embarrassing situation Kenzie has ever been in. It was getting hotter in the room by the second, and Kenzie and JJ continue to ignore the other's presence in stiff silence.

    Kenzie's dad yells down that he's found as he trots down the stairs. He places a quick kiss on his daughter's head and eyes JJ suspiciously before bidding his goodbyes and running out the door. The friends continue to sit in silence, staring at the floor, before Kenzie breaks the silence.

    "Are we going to talk..."

    "No," JJ answers curtly and picks up a remote. "Let's just play." Kenzie agrees silently and goes back to fighting JJ, who won't let up on the poor girl.

Taglist: @queenofallhobos @gwenlovesharrystyles @gviosca @x-lulu​ @cognacdelights​

#jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank obx #jj maybank series #jj maybank story #warm beers #obx #obx1 #obx series #obx story #obx fanfic #obx fanfiction #outerbanks fanfic #outerbanks fanfiction #outerbanks #outerbanks series #outerbanks story #outer banks #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks series #outer banks story #outer banks imagine #outerbanks imagine #imagine #romance #love #teen story

[harrygroves]

a simple favor - chapter five

part four

“Billy, get on the horse.”

“Steve, for the tenth time, I am not getting on that thing.” Billy repeats, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why not?” Steve asks, atop his own horse, growing impatient.

“Look at what you’re on, Steve. That thing is huge.”

“Yes, they are, but it’s safe. I swear.” Steve promises.

“Nope. No fucking way. I’ll pass on this.”

Steve gives him a murderous smile, talking through clenched teeth. “Billy, my mother is watching through the window, alright? Get on mine then, just come on!”

Billy looks over his shoulder, back at the house where Mrs. Harrington is indeed watching them.

He turns back to Steve. “You want me to ride with you?” He asks.

“If you won’t ride on your own then you can ride with me.” Steve replies with a shrug.

Billy deflates, defeated. “Fine, but I’m not wearing the stupid fucking helmet.” He snaps before approaching Steve and his horse.

It’s a big, strong looking American Quarter (according to Steve) horse with soft brown hair and black, inky eyes. Billy has never been this close to a horse before and it’s scaring the absolute shit out of him.

Steve instructs him. “Right, so put your foot there, and grab here and hoist yourself up.”

Billy does so with shaky hands and the horse moves while he hoists, and it freaks him the hell out and he settles behind Steve, wrapping his arms around Steve’s middle tightly.

Billy can feel the laugh vibrate through Steve’s body. “Wow, you’re really scared, aren’t you?” Steve says.

“Yes, I am not just trying to grope you, I am in fact, fucking terrified right now.”

“Well, then you’re not going to like this.” Steve says before making a loud noise and kicking the horse.

“Oh my god, oh my god.” Billy shouts into the back of Steve’s neck as they take off.

Galloping. They’re fucking galloping.

Billy’s going to murder him.

*

He doesn’t get used to it, not for a single second and when Steve finally slows the horse to a light trot, he realizes his body is rigid and unmoving and it takes a great deal of effort to untangle his arms from Steve. His limbs are stiff, but he can’t fully let go of Steve; he’s the only thing keeping him on the fucking horse, so he settles for lightly gripping his sides.

“I h-hate you.” Billy sputters out, voice shaking.

“Aww, sweetie. Love you too.” Steve replies cheekily over his shoulder.

Billy had kept closing his eyes while riding, and hadn’t fully looked around him. They were in a meadow, near a pond, a couple ducks gliding along the water.

Steve leads the horse to the water and lets it drink. Billy tries to stop trembling but it’s not going away.

“So, how do you think this is going?” Steve asks nonchalantly.

“I fucking hate it.” Billy snaps.

“No, not the horse, you dolt, the plan.” Steve bites back.

“Oh. Uh. I don't know. Fine I guess. Your parents are a fucking nightmare, but you warned me about that. Do you think they’re buying it?”

Steve is quiet for a moment. The horse shakes it head around, steps back and moves forward a couple times and Billy finds himself gripping Steve’s sides harder.

“I think mom is too mad to look any deeper.” Steve finally says. “I can’t read dad. I’ll have to ask Robin.”

“What do you mean?” Billy scrunches his nose, confused.

“I mean, I’m not gonna actually ask, like, do you think dad is buying this?, but I’ll ask her if dad likes you.”

“He’d tell her?”

Steve nods. “They talk a lot more than he and I do.”

“Oh.” Billy says, feeling an awkward silence fall between them.

The silence is broken by Steve kicking the horse again and they’re off, Billy letting out a surprised, scared sound and wrapping his arms around Steve again.

*

After Billy gets off the horse, his legs feel like jelly. Steve brings the horse to the stable and takes the time to brush it, cooing and whispering at the thing like it’s a human child. Billy smokes a cigarette and rolls his eyes.

Finally Steve is done and they make their way back into the house.

Robin runs into them in the hallway and asks how it went.

“Lovely.” Steve says at the same time Billy says, “Fucking awful.”

Robin laughs, a deep-belly sound that actually makes Billy smile. She’s genuinely a fun person to be around and Billy’s starting to like her.

“What are you guys doing the rest of the day?” She asks once the laughing subsides.

“Probably prepping him for another interrogation at dinner.” Steve says with a long, tired eye-roll.

Like an afterthought, Steve reaches over and takes Billy’s hand, squeezing it lightly. The exchange might appear as though Steve was trying to comfort Billy, so Billy smiles at him slightly before the attention goes back to Robin.

“Alright, fine, but I want a day with him.” Robin says, crossing her arms.

“Uh. What?” Steve says, dropping Billy’s hand.

“Oh c’mon, Steve. The last guy you brought here was, like, two years ago. And I didn’t even get to know him. Let Billy and I hang.”

“I...don't...uh...stories!” Steve blurts out. “You’ll tell a bunch of embarrassing stories, and I won’t allow it.”

Billy wants to facepalm. He wants to cry. Steve is so bad at this.

“Sweetie -- ” Billy starts with a sickening smile. “ -- I think it’s a great idea. It’ll be fine. Promise.”

Billy reaches an arm over and wraps it around Steve, does it casually like it’s a common occurrence. Steve is tense beside him, mouth pursed and Billy can tell he’s not happy with this plan.

“Yay!” Robin claps her hands together. “We can curl each other’s hair and talk boys.” She says with a wink before saying goodbye and leaving them.

Steve shakes out of Billy’s arm and gives him a mean look. “You’re such an asshole.” He grumbles lowly.

“Aww, c’mon Stevie. We had a barely tolerable afternoon, don't ruin it.”

“I fucking hate you.” Steve continues, storming away.

“Steve? Steve! Wait for me! Seriously, I’m not getting lost in the Winchester Mystery House.” Billy shouts, running after him.

*

They’re arguing in Steve’s room.

Steve does not want Billy spending alone time with Robin.

Billy doesn’t understand why.

“It shouldn’t matter why.” Steve tells him, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m paying you for a job, and this is not a requirement for that job.”

“Jeez, boss. Re-lax.” Billy says, laying on the bed.

“She’s going to...look, she’s going to tell you a bunch of stupid stories and I don't need you knowing anymore about me, other than the totally necessary shit for this stupid charade.”

Billy snorts. “A charade you designed.”

“I will fucking suffocate you tonight, I swear to god.”

“I honestly think you could with these pillows.” Billy mentions airily. He sits up. “Look, dude, this is stupid. I don't care what she says, I literally will not absorb any of it, swear. Unless it’s incredibly humiliating and I can use it against you in the future.”

Steve’s eyes are daggers and he looks like he wants to yell. Instead he stalks into the bathroom and slams the door.

*

Dinner is another awkward affair and Steve is mad at him, which makes it much worse. Robin keeps looking between them with interest. Billy tries to keep up appearances and puts his hand on Steve’s leg. Steve roughly shoves it off.

It’s like the kid forgot why Billy was even there.

Irritated, he cuts into his steak and eats angrily.

After dinner, Steve and Billy excuse themselves. They go back to Steve’s room, and Billy takes off his clothes, leaving him in boxers, before slipping into bed without a word.

Steve turns the television off but keeps it low. Billy isn’t facing him but he can tell Steve is still pissed. So is he.

Whatever.

*

The next morning Billy is plastered against Steve, one arm underneath him. Their legs are tangled together, hips touching. They’re both hard in their boxers. At some point last night, Steve had changed into a black-and-white striped tank top and taken his pants off.

The weight of Steve against him is comfortable and weird at the same time. His hair smells good. The tank top has ridden up, revealing mole-speckled skin. His mouth is open and the stale stench of morning breath wafts out, but Steve’s lazy, almost pleasant expression is what Billy is more focused on.

It’s nice.

It’s actually kind of nice.

Billy wants to kiss him.

Fuck.

This is...not good.

If he kissed Steve, would Steve wake up?

Would he kiss Billy back?

Would something else happen?

Billy zones out for a moment, thinking about that, but then realizes he absolutely cannot think about it any further because heat is pooling down his back, down his front and he has the overwhelming urge to grind against Steve.

Billy clears his throat and starts slowly trying to separate himself and Steve.

Steve only half wakes up, eyes fluttering open briefly. Billy’s moved his lower body away, but Steve’s still lying on his arm.

“Hmm?” Steve hums.

“Kinda...trapped here.” Billy says awkwardly.

Steve moans a little, sleep-heavy, and rolls away from Billy.

Billy leaves to use the bathroom, forcing himself to only pee and not jerk off.

When he returns to the bedroom, Steve is still lying on his side, but he’s looking at his phone.

Billy starts to say, “Good mo -- , ” but stops himself because oh yeah, they’re angry with each other. Steve looks at him briefly before turning his attention back to his phone.

Billy goes to the closet and grabs sweatpants and a t-shirt.

He needs coffee and a fucking cigarette.

He doesn’t say anything to Steve before leaving to try and find the kitchen.

Billy doesn’t get very far. He overhears fragments of a conversation coming from one of the libraries, or at least, Billy thinks it’s a library. He can’t keep track of the rooms in this damn house.

It’s Steve’s parents.

“ -- not thinking straight, obviously -- ”

“ -- Billy is just a phase -- ”

“ -- fighting all the time, just heard them the other day -- ”

“ -- don't think they’ll last -- ”

“ -- push off the money if Steve’s this unstable -- ”

Well fuck.

“ -- go talk to Steve right now -- ”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Billy ran as quietly as he could back to the bedroom.

Steve was sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Billy peeked out the door, looking down the hall. He saw the unmistakable hairstyle of Mrs. Harrington turning the corner and shut the door silently.

“Fuck.” Billy rubbed a hand over his face.

“What?” Steve yawned.

Billy turned and looked at Steve apprehensively. He guessed he had about thirty seconds and had to move quickly.

Billy took his shirt off, throwing it aside. He went over to the bed and slid under the covers, pouncing on Steve and pinning him down, Billy’s legs pushing Steve’s apart.

“What, what the fuck?” Steve all but shrieked, trying to move away, twist out of Billy’s hold.

“Dude, shut up. Listen to me.” Billy hissed. Steve is still hard and it’s pushing against Billy’s inner thigh but Billy tries to focus. “I overheard your parents talking, I’ll explain that part later, your mom’s coming in here. I need to -- ” He cut himself off, looking down at Steve’s mouth.

Steve seemed to understand and looked away briefly, but only for a second before giving a tight nod in response.

“It is extremely important that you act like you’re enjoying this.” Billy informs him and tries to sound as serious as possible.

Steve doesn’t say anything but Billy doesn’t miss how his cheeks are flushing and yeah, Steve’s dick just twitched.

Billy leant down and kissed him.

Steve was unresponsive for a moment, but Billy lets one of his wrists go and reaches down to pull at Steve’s tank top, pushing it up to his neck. Nipples exposed, Billy puts his hand on Steve’s chest, digging a finger against one of them.

Steve gasps against Billy’s mouth and Billy takes advantage of it, plunging his tongue in Steve’s mouth.

Billy feels Steve’s free hand grab at his hair and Steve’s suddenly kissing him back, making these little, desperate, almost confused noises in the back of his throat.

Billy drags his hand down Steve’s body, further down, dragging Steve’s boxers slightly down with his hand. He grips at Steve’s hips, which jerk in his hold. Steve whines a little. The blankets are pooled at their hips, so Steve’s mom wouldn’t even be able to see that, but Billy’s being a little greedy right now. Truthfully Steve hasn’t stopped moving since they started kissing, like he’s trying to move his body away, trying not to push against Billy, but he can’t stop shifting and squirming, and Billy wonders if it’s intentional or for show cause it’s doing things to Billy that he’s trying not to overthink.

Another desperate sound falls out of Steve’s mouth and Billy is starting to get hard again, knows Steve can feel it.

It was hot.

His heart is hammering. He kisses Steve harder, starting to lose himself in the way it’s making him feel.

He’s desperate to touch Steve, and his hand moves down a little.

“Steven, I -- ”

They jerk apart.

Mrs. Harrington stands in the doorway, eyes wide in shock.

“Mom!” Steve yells angrily.

“I. Oh. I. Oh no.” She’s short-circuiting, clearly embarrassed, and stumbles backwards out of the room, shutting the door.

Billy doesn’t move. He waits a full ten seconds before turning back to look at Steve who is staring at him, face bright red, and it’s spread down his neck, his chest.

They’re still so close and Billy’s still holding his wrist, other hand gripping his hip.

He glances down at Steve’s mouth and he wants, god does he want.

Billy moves ever so slightly towards Steve.

Steve’s breath hitches. “Get off me.” Steve says quickly.

Crashing back to reality, Billy pulls away, moving off Steve.

Steve yanks his shirt down, pulls the blankets over him and lets out a long, shaky breath.

“What the fuck was that about?”

So Billy tells him.

chapter six

#harringrove #my fic #yay reluctant making out #i might move this over to a03 cause its getting pretty plotty #thoughts?

[aonogifreactions]

Hug Headcanons: Revisited

a/n: ive felt like i should rewrite this for a while now. i hated seeing those stuped ~180 words, so.. thats why were here! xD i added yukio to the mix as well, since ive gotten this ask >:) huge thanks to @no-remorse​, who beta-read it for me <33

Tiny edit: I’d love to hear the feedback for this one! <3

Warnings: Spoiler in the last headcanon in Yukio’s part!

★ Characters: Rin, Yukio, Mephisto, Lucifer, Amaimon, Astaroth.

★ Words: 2,1k.

Rin:

no matter where, who’s watching, or what had happened before, he’s gonna give you a big, big hug! he absolutely lives for your hugs, it soothes him emotionally so much and works as immediate relief.

almost always his one hand wraps around your waist, while the other one goes on your head as he nuzzles into your neck; his hugs are always tight, almost as if you were about to get taken away from him - he doesn’t really feel like that inside, but.. he likes feeling that you’re here. present. for him.

after a fight, he immediately runs into your arms and almost makes you both fall on the ground as you nearly lose your balance when his arms wrap around you; feeling your embrace, your warmness.. something in his mind switches right away and he’s calm. he’s still shaking, but it gradually stops as he relaxes in your arms.

at first, he might be a little shy, but when he gets comfortable, he can’t keep his arms away from you. He just.. loves feeling you. hugs make him somewhat vulnerable, because he lets his frustration out, and at the same time - Rin gets an extreme dose of serotonin. He tends to place his forehead on yours just before he loosens his hold on you, and eventually moves on do to his things.

depending on your height, he still loves hugging the same! if you’re short - during hugging, he also places his cheek on your head, leaving a soft kiss on your hair. if you’re tall - he loves!! hugging!! into your chest!! or whatever he reaches!! he’s just snuggling into you like a madman.

he gets butterflies in his stomach when you hug him from behind and almost starts stuttering. (do it when he's cooking or sumn,, but u didn't hear it from me) 

also, please, PLEASE wrap your arms around his neck. he’s gonna MELT.

Yukio:

his hugs are rare, but it’s not like he doesn’t touch you - it’s just Yukio being Yukio; hugs make him vulnerable, similarly to Rin, except that it’s Yukio’s way to “open up” about his problems a little. It’s surely a very small step forward, but it shows that he's trying, yet he doesn’t realize how much it actually helps him.

he prefers to hug somewhere where there are not so many people around, not necessary in private completely, but as long as you’re the only one with him in the room, he’s down for a hug if he feels like it (or you beg him enough lol).

he’s usually silent during hugging, but he really “quietly” lets his frustration out, you might even catch him sighing. at first, he embraces you with only one arm and places his head on your shoulder, but when it hits him - the emotions, that he’s been waiting for years and now he’s finally able to tell someone everything - he’s almost crying, but he intertwines his other hand with yours instead. even though there are no real words shared, his love language involuntarily shows the beauty of his complicated personality.

now, he’s a little “unwilling” to hug you, mostly because of all that emotions crashing on him, but he feels so much better afterwards.. it’s unreal, he feels like you used some kind of magical spell on him.

the worst time to hug him is probably when he’s angry - and while it seems like a totally normal thing, it doesn’t work as comfort for him - it makes him even more upset, so it’s really best to leave him alone for some time. he knows your intentions are good though, so usually, he comes back to you with a calmed mind and apologizes.

I picture his S/O being in this mess in chapter 126, where the twins just beat the shit out of each other, and suddenly Yukio’s s/o comes up to him and stops from shooting Rin - he’d have that mental wall blocking him from hurting you in any way, just when he realizes he points his guns at your face or grabbing his hands and attempting to get Rin out of his target range - both of those things and any similar scenarios would end up with him looking at you with those beautiful, yet unfortunate eyes showing so much pain and sadness, along with that broken expression on his face, hoping to understand him.

Mephisto:

we’re gonna have fun here. hugging with Mephisto is pretty common, he likes touching you physically and doesn’t really care if people see it - he’ll push boundaries as far as he can, but unless it’s someone or something really important, he stops and gets serious. 

^unless it’s Arthur, he could politely knock on the door. Hearing the permission to come in, the first thing he sees is Mephisto hugging you with a hand on your lower back, heading dangerously onto your ass while casually giving him random papers and smirking at him. wow.

if you think the twins’ grip was tight, Mephisto’s gonna literally try to squish you into his body - it’s not hugging if your bodies aren’t touching themselves in EVERY possible way. You could be practically glued to him and he won’t complain - in fact, he’s gonna have that shit-eating grin and tease you by saying “hmm, aren’t you needy, darling? you can’t be away from me even if I work!” (even if.. it was him who called you over...)

he GETS handsy and you can’t do anything about it. and he really does it on purpose, just to tease you and see how much time it takes for you to get either horny or snap at him. nonetheless, he likes to place hands around your waist or just on your hips, then shove you into him, so he’s able to whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

hugs definitely show his rather “softer” side, the silly one - but he also doesn’t hesitate to hug you when he’s serious; these hugs, however, tend to be quicker but more intimate. even if it’s just him standing next to you and placing his hand on your hip while watching the dark sky, stars flickering slightly as you feel a slight, cold breeze hit your face; you look at him, wondering what he’s thinking about, this incredibly sharp mind with hundreds, perhaps thousands of different thoughts. Is he reflecting? Reminiscing? Regretting? or is his mind wandering around some silly thoughts? Yet you’re the one left wondering, not noticing his emerald eyes have focused on yours a while ago. You take your eyes off him, slightly embarrassed, hearing only a faint chuckle and feeling his grip tightening on you as you two once again gaze at the glittering galaxy above you.

Lucifer:

due to his body being not as strong as Mephisto’s - he’s usually down for cuddling instead. however, when some of the elixirs do their job, he’s gonna give you hugs pretty often.

prefers to be in private when he really wants to give you a genuine hug; he doesn’t want to show others he fell for the trap named “love”. he lets himself be a hypocrite about it, for once (ekhem satan and yuri).

Of course, tiny hugs wouldn’t be forgotten while attending stuff anywhere else on Dominus Liminis, but they’re just quick hugs when you walk past him. he isn’t ashamed of you by any means, in fact, he’s proudly walking along with you most of the time, having a hand either on your waist or interlaced with yours.

Lucifer’s hugs are very, very confident and send butterflies to your stomach - he radiates that strong energy to make you feel secure in his arms - the world could be falling, but as long as you’re in his arms, he’ll do anything to protect you from any harm, even if this means losing his precious body.

sometimes he hugs you in his own, unique way - he interlaces both of his hands with yours and places his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and sighing softly. while you might think it’s not really a hug, it’s definitely a very sweet gesture. you can get a kiss on the temple or a few sweet and uplifting words whispered in your ear too, if he feels particularly affectionate that day.

his views on physical contact are... a little bizarre; he’s confused and doesn’t fully understand the purpose of it, yet - he will admit it’s quite satisfying. feeling your lover is definitely something that feeds the feelings he’s had deep within him. he might be a little stiff when you introduce him to this too, no matter how many times he’d seen humans do it - experiencing it for the first time is new to him, but surely it is something he grew to enjoy.

 so what’s that “hugging” thing again? you just wrap your arms around someone and.. that’s it? are you supposed to just stay like this? how long? - that’s pretty much half of his thoughts going through his head when he hugs you.

it takes him quite a long time until he “learns” it just “makes him feel better”. he understands (kinda) the idea of it, but deeper down, he’s still pretty puzzled.

In the early stages of hugging, Amaimon didn't realize how strong his hugs were - if he didn’t break any bone of yours, then it’s a miracle. As soon as he noticed you almost passing out, he stopped and the guilt of possibly causing you harm has kicked in, so he promised you to make it up the best way he can.

Amaimon doesn’t realize it - but as time passes he grew used to hugs! Especially greeting hugs, which at this point he doesn’t realize he gives  - it’s become a habit of his.

not a fan of long hugs - to say it bluntly, he becomes bored if it lasts too long (unless there’s been a fight beforehand, in this case, he understands you want to regain the sense of security that physical body is able to give). he likes quick hugs instead, which he gives more often.

Amaimon’s hugs are pretty simple - he wraps his arms around your waist and that’s.. pretty much it. He might rub your back sometimes, but to be honest - he just likes the simplicity. Funnily enough, when Behemoth notices you hugging, he also wants to participate! Tiny demon bounces your way and while it’s near your leg, he starts clinging to it and nuzzling himself (Amaimon’s kinda >:((((((( when he sees Behemoth snuggling, but it’s his boyo so he forgives him).

However, Amai gets really mad when he sees you hugging someone else than him. Unless it’s a close friend or family member, he’s.. somewhat accepting this, but if it’s someone he doesn’t know - he’ll either try to fight them or take you bridal style in his arms and just go away.

He also gets awfully handsy, which he probably picked up from Mephisto. His one hand might slowly slide down to grope your ass cheeks; when you look at his face questionably, he’s just gonna place the other hand on your ass as his answer.

Astaroth:

his understanding is even worse than Amaimon’s, so he’s initially against it. he doesn’t understand the purpose of it and it's very hard to convince him otherwise, saying something along the lines of “if you need your “physical contact” we can fuck on the counter”.

continuously asking him would only make the situation worse, as he’d get annoyed more each second, eventually making him leave the house for a few days. one situation, however, changed his mind the most - he’s once lashed out at you, leaving you crying. he left nonetheless and waited a few days until he cooled off. feeling bad for his actions and regretting doing it for once, he came back, but instead of confronting you - he left a withering rose with a note.

he’s learned a little bit from that situation - seeing that you accept his quirks, he decided to try out some of your ideas - including hugging. and oh boy, how wrong he was.

he will NOT admit he likes hugs for his life; very “tsundere” approach to it, but you can catch his face being relaxed sometimes.

his favorite hug is.. hugging you from behind! whenever you’re cooking or being busy just in general, he loves surprising you with a hug, encircling his hands around your belly as you flinch slightly, not expecting him. as an apology, he places a gentle kiss on your shoulder.

due to him being nasty, you gotta bear with his dirty-talking he’s “performing” every time he hugs you. he also WILL tease you by groping your chest with no shame, attempt to give you hickies, and after a while - move his hands dangerously near your chest.

#Ao no Exorcist #blue exorcist #rin okumura #Yukio Okumura #mephisto pheles #lucifer #amaimon #astaroth #Headcanon #Pure

[whump-town]

If The Lord Don’t Forgive Me

Bi!Hotch returns

I brought Charlie around for round two because sometimes you just need sweet, wholesome gay love. And it’s sweet baby (okay sweet like sour gummy worms but it is sweet and, hey, I cut the whump out just to keep it that way so you’re welcome)

There is cussing, the slight implication to sex (but not graphic and far more like “men sometimes have sex”), homophobia (I know, I know why can’t I let them live in peace?? but I have to get something out of this too and I LOVE angst), child abuse (ugh... :( sorry Hotch but if you’re showing that pretty face in a fic, I’m gonna bring up the fact that your dad hit you...), and probably something else but I doubt it’s that bad

Anyways-- cut to the gay shit but let me hit it off with some “Work Song” by Hozier because... I’m the author and I can do what I want 

My baby never fret none About what my hands and my body done If the Lord don't forgive me I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

Despite it only being eight o’clock in the morning, Aaron Hotchner feels today has aged him immensely.

The morning started with Emily knocking over an entire bookshelf. The decision to move her into his apartment was stupid and on a whim but he’s never truly felt the consequences of that until today. Which is good considering she’s been living there for nearly three years (straight from “dead” in London to living in his house)  but that is not where the focus should be placed. No, it should be placed on the fact that the crash caused him to jump. A normal, knee jerk reaction but not good when in the middle of shaving.

So, he’d come running out of the bathroom-- face stinging because he’s just jerked a razor across it-- to find the living room in shambles. Emily standing on the other side of the room looking to the point of tears but only managing the barest morsel of containment and Jack, school clothes covered in milk from his cereal, lower lip trembling, and little fist clenched for some semblance of control over the tears pouring down his face.

Standing there, the three of them each taking each other in, had felt surreal. Bit by bit, they all came together. Emily wiped her nose and rubbed the tear that fell off her face. She went to get him a band-aid and he went to Jack. That setback was only a step in the wrong direction.

Truthfully, that old bookshelf needed replacement about twenty-years ago when he built it. Its bitter fall was only a matter of time and he has yet to mourn it. The mess of the shelf was easy to clean up. He’d need to take the larger pieces to a dump or ask Morgan if he knows what to do with it. The books just got stacked on the floor and the wood splinters swept up and Jack advised to stay away from there until he or Emily could really go at it a little better and make sure there was nothing left.

The hard things came afterward.

Fighting with Jack to wear other clothes. He’d picked his current milk-soaked clothes out and Jack is reliant on a schedule. Changing clothes is a deviation and no matter how patient Hotch had tried to be, he was finding it hard to keep his cool. So he’d caved rather than lose his temper over something as simple as a second grader’s clothes. So, Jack went to school today in green overalls and blue rain boots that are a little too big. He’d looked silly but he’s seven so it’s technically still cute for him to do.

As for the nice cut he’d dug into his jaw, Emily had come to inform him that the only band-aids in the house are scooby doo. So, he has wood splinters in his living room, blood all over his shirt, Jack in poorly matching clothes, and a fucking scooby doo Band-Aid on his face.

Coffee is the only thing he knows can fix this.

“Uhm--” Leave it for today to also be the day he is confronted head-on with the very repressed sexual attraction he feels for men. “Can I--” his palms are embarrassingly damp. “Can I just get a-- a large black coffee?” The muscle in his forearm flexes and he can’t really force his fingers to grasp his wallet.

The man in question raises his eyebrow but takes the order. “Alrighty,” he answers. “Do you want creamer? Sugar?”

Hotch can feel his throat tightening in and his face heating up. Thank God he’s never been the type to flush visibly or else he’d be in some trouble. He forces his eyes on to the nametag pinned to the apron over the other man’s chest. Charlie, it reads. Hotch glances back up. “Yes-- Yes, please.” If he were a blusher, he’d be beet red.

Charlie smirks at the stammered manners. It’s cute. “You got a name, suit?”

“Ho--Hotch.”

Charlie raises an eyebrow at that but he’s not going to comment. It’s unprofessional and Hotch is more than likely a nickname. He lets it go. “Hotch” comes in enough that Charlie gets used to the strange nickname but to the staff of his shop he refers to the cute stuttering agent as “suit” and it’s easy to understand why.

“A-- A date?”

Charlie is gay but he’s not sure what “suit”/”Hotch” is. He’s thinking at least a little curious because getting the poor man into a stuttering puddle of anxiety and stammering is as simple as deviating from their typical “cream and sugar” discourse.

Charlie smirks, he thinks the stammering is cute. “Suit” is such a composed guy that it is cute. “Well, yeah. Unless the terminology has changed, yeah, suit, a date.”

Hotch’s throat feels impossibly tight. He’s aware of Charlie, very aware of him and his jaw and how hard the pads of his hands are and-- “I’m--” I’m not gay “Ugh, wh-when?”

Oh. Well, he wasn’t expecting it to be that easy. “Hmm, good question. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Charlie sucks his lip into his mouth, thinking. He snaps his fingers with a sudden idea. He bites the Sharpie’s lid off (the one he uses to write names on the cups) and hurriedly scribbles something on a napkin. “Here’s my number. Text me and we can work that out.”

That was… months ago.

Things have been steady. Good.

Pulling in a deep breath, Aaron Hotchner plunges his head under the luke-warm water of his bathtub. Goosebumps have broken out across his skin but the cold kills the ache in his overworked muscles. Besides, he’s entirely too distracted by two things: (1) he’s too fucking big to fit comfortably in this bathtub. Knees bent, his thighs are out of the water making this bath entirely useless. (2) The very unnervingly attractive coffee shop barista who’s shop he goes to, all the time. Who just so happens to be on his way over right now, for dinner.

“Wow.”

Startled by the sound, Hotch jerks and gets a mouthful of water and suds. Coughing and pulling at his burning nose, Hotch scowls at the intruder. None other than Emily Prentiss standing at the side of the tub, one hand on her hip, and the other extending a towel to him. “Emily!”

She raises an eyebrow of indifference as if he’s the one acting oddly. “You can hold your breath for an impressive amount of time,” she says. She moves the towel in front of him, trying to get him to take it from her. He won’t move his hands from where he’s placed them over his groin.

“Emily, get out!”

“Why are you making this a big deal?” she groans, rolling her eyes. “Hotch I have seen you naked!.” She puts the towel near the edge, where he can reach it without it falling into the water or to the floor. She makes a show of planting her hand over her eyes and turning her back. “Such a baby,” she mumbles. “What is the big deal?”

He ignores her.

She hears the water moving with him as he stands, large splashes as he disturbs the surface. “You’re welcome by the way,” she mumbles. She’d thrown the towel in the dryer so it would be warm for when he got out. Contrary to his dramatics, she does love him. He’s her friend and in the same ways that he takes care of her, she makes sure someone takes care of him. “Besides,” she says, turning around despite his disapproving huff of a sigh. “I came to tell you Charlie is here.”

Hotch freezes. Ah… that’s why she’d come in. That deer in the headlights look that she doesn’t see nearly enough of. It’s silly, if not endearing, that Hotch gets so nervous for these dates. Charlie is pretty clearly head over heels for him and it’s a little surprising. Charlie all bright and cheery, a hard extravert. Perfect, always early to their dates, Charlie.

“He’s early,” Hotch stammers.

Emily nods. The date is at seven-thirty and it’s not quite six. “He knows,” she informs him, settling her hips back against the sink. She’s not watching him throw on his boxers but she’s just… standing there, talking as he drops the towel and makes quick work of drying himself off and pulling his legs into pants. “He also knows you’re in the bath so don’t go breaking your neck. I don’t want to tell your seven-foot-tall, beefcake of a boyfriend that you’ve managed to kill yourself in here.”

Hotch huffs, rolling his eyes. It would be just his luck that he breaks his neck in here while buck ass naked, with Charlie in the living room no doubt. Though, that is a bit of a ridiculous thought to care about.  Here Emily is standing, casually watching him pull jeans over his boxers, having already seen him in his full glory. Charlie, even, has seen all of what he has to offer. He’s spent the majority of his life in the company of Jessica. She’s seen him in hospital gowns, bare assed which is strangely humiliating (and there’s the bonus of the repressed memories of Jessica catching him and Haley multiple times).

They’ve all seen him naked but that’s still not something he wants to deal with.

“You really do look strange in jeans,” Emily informs him as he’s shrugging on his shirt. Charlie had warned him against his more traditional polo. Evidently, he’d look like a “stiff” if he chose to wear a polo to the park. He shoots her a glare but it’s true. No matter how many times she sees him in regular clothes… she just can’t get used to it.

Charlie isn’t mean to him when he wears jeans though.

“There you are,” Charlie greets when Hotch steps out of the bathroom. The strange, beautiful thing about Charlie is that he doesn’t really care that Hotch’s life is crazy. He’d been unsettled by the grisly things that seem to occur so brutally to Hotch but he was quick, startlingly so, to remind Hotch that none of what Charlie had just been told sounded like it was Hotch’s fault. Despite Hotch’s swayed narration.

He’d thought it might be a bit strange to have Emily living in his apartment but Charlie also knew about the details leading up to that decision. The loss of Haley putting a strain on Jack’s independence and pattern of life. Being a single parent and a federal agent pulling Hotch every which way. Haley’s father, Roy, falling ill and commanding more of Jessica’s attention. Then, the fateful fall out with Ian Doyle, Emily moving to London, and the internal bleeding that had almost killed Hotch.

The last of which had been the end all be all. Emily came home and she found herself drawn back here by the less than stellar track record of her family. The abrupt decision landed her here, with Hotch, and it’s been beneficial for everyone involved.

Charlie feels a little safer knowing that when he has to go back to his own apartment, Hotch has his own apartment full of Jack and Emily waiting up for him. Even though he’s only been with Hotch a short while, he’s becoming more and more aware of the trouble that seems to follow his partner.

“Your hair is still wet!” Charlie kisses Hotch, fingers slipping easily through the soaked hair at the back of his head. “I won’t take you out in the cold until you’ve dried it. The last thing I need is you getting sick on me.”

Jack nods seriously hearing this. He’s seated beside Charlie on the couch, the two having been discussing superhero comics. It was turning into an argument when Hotch had come out (who would win between Batman and Ironman-- Charlie says Ironman and Jack Batman). “You can’t get sick,” Jack informs him firmly. “You promised you’d make pancakes for breakfast Saturday.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. “All I’m good for to you people is my cooking skills.”

Charlie sucks in a breath, making a I don’t know about that, sort of face. “Just your pancakes, Aaron.” Charlie pats Hotch’s thigh the opposite of tender just downright taunting. “I love you but you can not cook or bake. You literally burn everything.”

The chorus of grunted seconding of that statement behind him feels like a betrayal but he really is bad at cooking. And math. And remembering general the most basic things. So, true but hey! “I’m going to go dry my hair,” Hotch announces, shaking his head. Sure, laugh it up now. They all need him. It’s funny now… brats.

“Get some gloves! There’s a wind chill!”

Emily huffs a laugh and Hotch turns around to catch it. He smirks at the sight of his living room, melancholy swelling in his throat. His family genuinely looks like his lesbian best friend, his ex-wife’s older sister, his son, and his 6’5 ex-college football player turned coffee shop owner boyfriend. It’s a little crazy and yet… comforting because at eighteen when he’d packed up his meager belongings to go to college, he didn’t think he was capable of having any of this.

As Charlie pulls him out the door-- hair dry-- Jack’s actively talking to them both. Something pointless but childish and so, by reason, very important. Emily’s reaching into his jacket and stuffing a pair of gloves into his pocket, throwing a scarf at his head. Jessica’s calling after them too and as soon as the door shuts Hotch pulls in a deep breath.

“They’re smothering,” Charlie informs him as they step off the porch. He offers his hand out to Hotch, scowling down at the icy steps.

Hotch hums in agreeance taking Charlie’s hand out of necessity for touch not help. “You’ll get used to it.” The implication of his statement comes to hit him centerfold but Charlie seems unaffected and Hotch is reminded that not even ten minutes Charlie had said that he loved him. “I love you but you can not cook or bake. You literally burn everything.”

I love you. I love you. I love you.

“Aaron? Did you hear me?”

Hotch blinks stupidly, looking up, and shaking his head. “No,” he mumbles regretfully.

Charlie shrugs it off. “I asked if you were hungry, yet.” Though a year is not altogether that much time, especially when compared to their ages, Charlie would like to think he has an understanding of Aaron. He does know that for certain, actually. He squeezes Aaron’s hand within his own and smiles over at him. He’s got layers, Aaron, and you have to pay a price to understand each and every one.

Somehow, that enchants Charlie. He loves it. There’s nothing he wouldn’t give up to have another layer.

“No need to pretend to be,” Charlie explains as they separate to get into his car. “You either or you aren’t. I just wondered if you wanted dinner now or after the walk.” Charlie wants his opinion. He desperately wants to understand what is going on in Aaron’s head. The thoughts he has when he gets silent like this, his restless fingers digging and rubbing.

Hotch hums, reflexively drawing his arms to his chest after he buckles himself into the car. He fidgets anxiously as he tries to figure out the correct answer. What it is that Charlie wants to hear. Charlie likes to eat early, that’s something he’s noticed. However, if Charlie’s asking him then maybe he doesn’t want to eat early. Would Charlie be hungrier after a walk? If they eat now it’ll be cold outside by the time they can get to the park. Then Charlie’s going to be mad at him because it’ll be his fault for having chosen to eat early and go to the park late. Maybe then Charlie will finally realize how stupid this whole relationship is, that he can do better, someone who isn’t like him, and--

“Hey.” Charlie doesn’t reach out and touch him. That’s a lesson he’s learned over the last few months. Hotch doesn’t mind physical touch but he’s easily unnerved by it when he doesn’t know it’s coming. Considering how lost in thought he just was, there is no way he would have seen it coming. “We can just go after, okay?”

Hotch immediately calms, “okay.” His shoulders fall from where he’d slowly, stiffly brought them up. He nods his head, looking down to his lap, while Charlie drives. He has to calm down.

He looks over, catching Charlie’s smooth movement. His arm is on the center console, palm up in a common gesture waiting for Aaron to take his hand. He blinks for a moment, mind slowly turning over exactly what this is. Glancing at Charlie, Hotch slowly lifts his hand up and shyly slots his fingers between his. Smiling when Charlie doesn’t even react much more than a pleased grin.

Oh, he thinks calmly. He likes holding Charlie’s hand. He likes Charlie. The way that he just fills the silence without ever expecting Hotch to return the vigor. Simply requiring Hotch remain engaged with the occasional hum of understanding or scowl of confusion. And Hotch loves that so much more-- that he never has to find the words to explain that he doesn’t understand. Charlie just knows.

“You can’t.”

Charlie frowns, turning to glance at Hotch. “What do you mean?” That’s where the compensation occurs-- Charlie is awful at remembering things. He forgets his dry cleaning, appointments that he set up, holidays, birthdays, weekend plans-- everything. Hotch seems to forget nothing.

Hotch looks out the window of the passenger side, feeling the cold seeping in from the door, but docile and contently closes his eyes to narrow his attention to Charlie’s thumb rubbing lazy patterns on the back of his hand. “On the twenty-third you have interviews for waiters. Your morning, at the very least, is packed.”

Charlies frowns, well shit. “You know,” he says, giving Hotch’s hand a little squeeze. “If you just came to work with me, I wouldn’t have to have those interviews. It would fix so many of both of our problems.”

Hotch turns his head, smirking at Charlie. Not true. It would fix some of their issues-- how much time Hotch’s job steals from them, Charlie’s need for more staff. However, Charlie just wants him working there because Charlie thinks Hotch would look hot in the apron (actually, he knows Hotch is hot in the apron).

They arrive at the park and the two get out. Charlie immediately regrets coming out in this weather.

The grass crunches under Hotch’s feet but he enjoys the way the snow muffles so much of the noise around them. Leaving nothing but the few courageous birds watching them from their perches. It’s a safety Hotch finds entirely enrapturing. Enough to not mind the cold at all and how Charlie’s been fussing with his own clothes since they set off.

Hotch is just walking along. His hands are cold but not enough to ache and with Charlie’s covering the majority of his right hand, he can slip the left into his pocket. It’s not until Charlie squeezes his hand to get his attention that they stop, that Hotch pulls his attention to his partner and away from the scenery.

Charlie pulls him by the lapels of his dark jacket, turning him so that they’re standing facing one another. The toes of their shoes bumping together. “Come here,” Charlie instructs, words a cloud of condensation around them. He wastes no time in pulling the hat off of his own head to pull it down over Hotch’s. Smiling when it smushes his overgrown bangs against his forehead. “I don’t want you getting an ear infection out here. Gotta keep you healthy.”

Hotch shyly grins, looking down at the ground, “I’ll be okay.” He still turns his cheek into Charlie’s palm, letting him wrap that hand around the back of his neck, turning his chin up to kiss him. His lips are cold and the tip of his nose feels frozen. “It’s not that cold.”

Charlie shrugs and Hotch doesn’t pull the hat off.

“You outta be disgusted by yourselves.”

Hotch flinches, recoiling from Charlie and bowing his head rather than to look up and see who it is shouting at them. But Charlie is not new to this little game and he straightens his back and raises a questioning brow. “Oh? Should we?” He glares down at the woman on the track, it’s clear she’d been running before she decided to come nosing her way into their business. “I’d appreciate it if you left us alone, ma’am. We aren’t hurting anyone.”

She scoffs.

Charlie stands still, unwavering. They’re big men. Hotch may be a force to be reckoned with but Charlie is not, by any means, small. They’re the same height and the woman in question is a petite blonde. They’re intimidating. She rolls her eyes, shaking her head disgusted but stalks off. Whispering under her breath about hell and how their time will come.

“What a hag,” Charlie grumbles, rolling his eyes and reaching down between them to take Hotch’s hand. He steps to move on but he feels the resistance in Aaron. His hand now loosely holding on to Charlie, fingers lightly hooked together. “Aaron--”

Hotch forces himself to take a steadying breath-- drop his shoulders, unclench his jaw, inhale slowly. His eyes peel up off of the ground and he knows he hasn’t moved fast enough. Creases of worry have broken up Charlie’s handsome face, tension that doesn’t belong there. “I--”

Charlie shakes his head, discouraging Hotch’s lame excuse. “What she said…” Charlie can’t tell Hotch that what she said shouldn’t affect him. That he should brush it off and not worry about what a small minded bitch has to say about them but that’s not fair. None of this ever really is. Not when it comes to Aaron. “She doesn’t matter, Aaron. You. You matter to me, okay?”

Hotch furrows his brows, letting out an aggravated puff of air as he fails to work through the shame burning his chest.

Charlie looks around them, tapping his fingers as he contemplates what he should do. “Do you--” How, in all of Virginia did he manage to get the one DILF, Unit Chief with the inability to make a decision or admit what he needs? He means it fondly, of course, but sometimes he’d like to lovingly shake some sense into this man.

Taking a calming moment, Charlie knows that his ability to play out this next scene is vital to his afternoon. If Aaron detects even a fraction of impatience, anger, or frustration he’ll shut down and then Charlie is going to have to spend days if not weeks working Aaron back to where he is now.

“It’s cold out here,” he states calmly. Aaron glances at him, sniffling and rubbing at his wind burned nose. “I’m hungry, I-- I forgot my lunch at home this morning.” Even though Aaron bought him a bright, hunter’s orange lunch box that sits painfully on his kitchen counter so that he has to see it. “What do you say we turn back for the car and surprise Jack with an early return? Order pizza? Watch some Scooby Doo?”

Aaron sniffles again, glancing at Charlie and then to the path they’re clearly meant to be headed on. “But…” he clears his throat. He can’t stand being like this. The anxious partner. The fucked up partner. He was with Haley. Now he is with Charlie. And, well, everyone knows how Haley played out. “You-- You wanted to walk.”

Charlie shakes his head, smiling and playfully poking Hotch’s chest. “No, I want to spend time with you.” Though he’s terrified Aaron will recoil from it, he makes the careful decision to touch him. Smiling when Aaron just looks back at him, searching for something but Charlie isn’t mad so Aaron won’t find what he’s looking for. He strokes Aaron cheek, “I’m cold. You’re cold. We can walk if you want but…”

Hotch looks back down the trail and shakes his head. No, he doesn’t want to walk.

Charlie feels pretty proud of himself. He’s pretty good at this.

And Jack is thrilled to have them back.

Hotch feigns hurt when Jack runs straight past him to Charlie. “Am I chopped liver?” But his light, fluttering chest betrays him and he can’t help a soft smirk as Jack holds Charlie’s hand. Charlie nodding, listening to Jack as he kicks his shoes off.

Emily appears at the mouth of the hall, frowning at the sight before her. She’s in different clothes from when they left. One of her dating apps having finally come through and delivered her plans for this lovely evening. She was just about to call Hotch to tell him she was going to have to call Jessica to watch Jack. “What are you doing back?”

Before Hotch can overthink the question Charlie smirks and motions over his shoulder, “it’s like ten degrees out there. Way too cold for a walk, don’t know what I was thinking.”

Good enough excuse for Emily, she doesn’t care. She has other things on her mind. “I have a date.” Both Aaron and Charlie look surprised. Which is annoying but she won’t engage them in conversation because she’s better than that. “So, I will be out of your hair this afternoon.”

Well, kind of. She steals some of their pizza before she leaves. Even sits down for an episode of Scooby Doo before her date texts and says she’s ready.

“Well, boys,” she leans down and kisses the top of Jack’s head. Wishing him a  good night and a whisper to make sure he’s extra good for his father when Hotch puts him down tonight. “I’m off. I will see you in the morning.” She offers Charlie a cordial head nod and Hotch gets his hair messed with as she passes.

“Be careful,” Hotch calls as she shuts the door.

It doesn’t take long for Jack to fall asleep and Hotch can feel himself slipping with Charlie leaning against him, his hand on the inside of Hotch’s thigh. Warm and comfortable, he doesn’t want to get up. But he manages to get Jack to bed with minimal fighting-- they agree to keep his nightlight, the hall light, and the bathroom light on. Emily even sends a text to confirm that she hasn’t been murdered by her date, he rolls his eyes but appreciates the sentiment.

It’s a good night, all things considered.

For a while, at least.

He’s in bed. Boxers shifted low on his hips as lays atop his beaten, threadbare comforter. The thick, heavy heat of an August night settling thickly over his bones. A blanket of sweat shining on his chest, just barely visible from the light of the hallway peaking into his cracked door. Downstairs, his parents roar on. He can make out every word spoken but if he hums just enough and presses his fingers into the thin mattress until it hurts he can numb out the world.

Nothing.

He thinks about Scott from his biology class. His booming laughter, already having hit his growth spurt and though only sixteen standing over them all in a man’s body. Thick with muscles that Aaron had felt when Scott had pulled him in for a tight, jovial bear hug. Perhaps he’d imagined it but for a split second Aaron had seen a flash of something-- warmth that he, himself, still can not name.

Closing his eyes, he brings back the heat of his stomach. A smile pulling at his lips as he thinks about how it felt pressed to Scott’s chest. Swallowed by the other’s boy’s body. The ache between his hips increases. It’s bad and it’s ugly but it’s Scott that he thinks about. It’s Scott that he wants.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Aaron scrambles upright, both hands planted on the bed as he scurries away from its edge and anywhere near where his father might be able to grab one of his frantically moving limbs. Still, a rough hand is thrown out and Aaron yelps in surprise as his body is yanked to the edge. He can’t hear the words being thrown at him, just looks at his drunken father screaming. Sees his mouth move but knows nothing of their meaning.

He’s wrenched up and out of bed, scrambling to keep up with the direction in which he’s pulled down the hall. To the large, cast iron clawfoot tub in the bathroom. He’s thrown chest first into it’s cold edge, his fingers wrapping tightly around the biting cold of the rim. He knows his fate long before his father’s broad hand grabs onto his hair and hauls him up just enough to push him down into the cold, soapy water.

His ringing ears hearing the slurs being thrown at him. Faggot. He screams as his father punches his exposed chest, causing him to gasp, the bubbles of air hitting his face. He’d used that word before. Thrown it at another boy the way rocks had been thrown at him for doing the same thing-- being too small, wearing weird clothes. He wonders exactly how it is that he can change because he tries. Good Lord, he tries so hard.

“Aaron.”

His vision blacks out for a moment and he’s lifted from the water. Everything feels strangely familiar. He can’t feel the cold water. Can’t feel the water dripping down his face.

“Aaron!”

He can’t expel the water in his throat. The hand on the back of his head tightens as water and his dinner come up, hot and wet against his chest as he’s moved mid-choke. His head goes under and he screams, grabbing frantically at his father’s hand on his head.

“Aaron--”

Screaming Aaron fights weakly against the hands touching him. It takes a moment for the uncoordinated sweeps of his arms to connect with nothing. For him to get a proper amount of space to breathe. The ringing numb of his ears slowly dies and he feels the world creeping back in around him. He blinks into the darkness, chest heaving  First, the dull clicking of fan in the corner of the room. It sweeps left to right, pauses, and comes back right to left. Then the hobbling, swinging of the fan above him. Cold air.

He’s not there in that tiny, suffocating town. In that too-big house with too many places to be seen and not nearly enough to hide.

“You fucking scared me,” pants someone behind him.

A large hand plants itself between his shoulder blades, the bed dipping as weight is moved across it’s top. His body flinches but he’s only minutely aware of the physical movement and, slowly, the rest of him leans into the warmth of the palm. Tears swell as he turns over his shoulder, eyes closed, and going blindly where he knows arms will enclose him. Protect him. “Charlie,” he finally recognizes. His face finds the other man’s shoulder and he feels, rather than hears, the sob that leaves his grimacing lips.

Charlie wraps his arms around Hotch’s shoulder, pulling him closer.

Hotch gives himself over, leaning completely into him. Gently, Hotch feels Charlie moving parts of him to adjust them back onto the bed. “Do you want to talk about it?” Charlie lays back, pulling Hotch’s knee so his hips cant against Charlie’s. The inner side of Hotch’s thighs lies laying across his. There’s no need to open his eyes, to fight. He knows he’s safe.

His tears have slowed but there’s no denying something big has happened. Lately, Hotch has noticed Charlie pushing for him to open up more but Charlie and Hotch’s childhoods are nothing alike. It’s hard to tell him about the dozen times his father put him in the hospital, each time with a better story than the last, and always Hotch’s fault. Had the whole town believing Hotch to be some miscreant kid.

And he was bad but not the sense that was ever true. He’d smoked and drank but that was small-town stuff. Everyone gets into that sort of thing one way or another. He’d had sex but no one he and his partners knew about that, his male partners, anyhow. The first time he’d slept with Haley he’d been proud to have fallen for a woman.

There was an old run-down barn that he’d take boys out to. There was one wall, facing the woods, that was strong enough to support weight and you could lean up against it. He’d been caught only once and the old farmer had beaten him with the wooden end of a rake. The other boy had managed to run off. Hotch’s pants had pooled against around his ankles and the other boy hadn’t taken his completely off his hips. That was a mistake Hotch only made that one time. Not that it would have mattered.

After that day, everyone knew what he was.

Which is what bred his nightmare. Though, that night had gone nothing like his dream. He’d come home with welts and broken ribs from the beating that old farmer gave him. As soon as he opened the door, he knew what was waiting for him. It was from the first floor that his father had dragged him, by his hair, to the second floor. Where Sean’s dirty bathwater sat cooling all afternoon.

But Hotch won’t tell Charlie about that day. It’s not worth it. So he changes the subject. “We need to clean the sheets,” Hotch finally sniffles. His voice is rough from the night’s activities and he remembers what they’d done before he’d fallen asleep and knows that surely did not help. Under his left hip, there is dampness to the old cotton sheet, like something wet has been drying. Sheets probably should be replaced but these are the back-up sheets and the goods ones are in the dryer.

Charlie hums, a vibration that Hotch can feel all the way down to his toes. “That would be your mess,” Charlie informs him matter-of-factly. Pressing his lips to Hotch’s forehead. “I did try to clean you up if you recall.” Charlie’s fingers have wrapped protectively around Hotch’s body, thumb lazily rubbing back and forth over his bare hip. “You told me to fuck off so…”

He remembers. He was still sensitive, shaking with exertion, and hadn’t taken kindly to Charlie dragging a slightly too cold wash rag over his ass. First of all, it was way too wet and secondly, it was cold. What was he to do other than protest?

Charlie’s chest shifts underneath his head as he bends to look at the clock. Yawning deeply Charlie pulls the blankets back over them both, rubbing at Hotch’s hip. “Let’s get some sleep,” he mumbles around another yawn that manages to overtake his breath. “Don’t be afraid to wake me up,” Charlie mumbles. “I want you to wake me up, capeesh?”

Hotch closes his eyes and turns a little more into the warmth of Charlie’s body. Trying to think of nothing. To slow the rapid progressions of his thoughts. There is no way that this was a good idea. A relationship. A life. He brought Haley into his world and looked at what happened. He’s a swirling storm of trouble, sucking in the best parts of the world and ruining them. He’s a liar.

“I love you, Aaron,” Charlie whispers, straining his neck to kiss the top of Hotch’s head. His hand holds Aaron still against him. “I don’t want you to be lying here suffering afraid to talk to me.”

I love you. I love you. I love you. That’s not good. It can’t be. He’s not worth that. Charlie is great. He’s gentle and he’s kind and he’s loving and Hotch can’t even decide when they should eat. If a walk in the park is better than a movie.

“You have not tricked me.” He wonders how Charlie sees so clearly into his mind. It’s not mind reading, Charlie can feel his pounding heart and tense muscles. He’s always so tense. “I love you completely, entirely, enchantingly by choice.” Charlie sighs softly. Content. He wishes desperately to bring Aaron the same peace that Aaron brings him. It's a content, pleased sigh that leaves his mouth and that confuses Aaron so much. No louder than a whisper, seemingly more to himself than to Aaron Charlie whispers. “There are worse life sentences than to be tricked into falling in love with you.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jack hotchner #bi!hotch #tw homophobia #tw child abuse #criminal minds fanfiction

[headcanonstation]

Sonic Cuddle Headcanons

Your conductors are screaming at the wheel together... wait, why is there a wheel in a train?

Sonic

Let it be known that the blue blur enjoys cuddling, and all his friends are allowed to snuggle with him.

He just doesn’t really cuddle often or feel the need to.

Sonic is a lazy cuddler with anyone, even his s/o.

He’s not partial to anything specifically when it comes to cuddling and goes with the flow.

He’d just prefer something not going on too long because he does feel like he needs to do something, and running tends to be a thing he likes to do.

And, well, cuddling is hard while running.

There’s not really anything specific with his s/o he does aside from occasional lazy nuzzles and kisses.

Sonic isn’t too into spooning really.

It’s not often he’s cuddling as is, so he’s really not doing much spooning either.

The most he would have is his s/o on his chest, but Sonic is the type to get restless in bed to really do much snuggling in bed.

Knuckles

A flustered boy, especially with his s/o, who would be the only one he’d be cuddling with.

He just has the mind that snuggles is more so for intimate relationships like romance.

He’s not very good with PDA in general and gets easily flustered by it, so he much prefers his snuggling in private.

He’d still be pretty nervous and red faced with cuddling his s/o in private at the beginning of the relationship, but as time goes on, he doesn’t get as flustered.

Most definitely a big spoon. He just wouldn’t feel as comfortable being held and would prefer to be the one doing the holding.

Amy Rose

She cuddles everyone. She’s the poster child for cuddling.

She really enjoys snuggling with her friends and especially her s/o.

In fact, her s/o gets special ultra cuddles.

Amy has a large preference on being a little spoon, though she could do just fine being a big spoon.

But she’d prefer being the little spoon because she’d like to have the warmth around her and feel her partner hugging her. But, it’d also be due to wanting to be like the movies and books where a strong man holds a delicate woman.

Even though she could absolutely punch pretty much anyone through the wall.

Shadow

Not into PDA, so not a big fan of cuddling with friends in a casual way in public.

Snuggles are really only reserved for his s/o.

Even then, he doesn’t really actively show or indicate how he feels about cuddling or if he even wants them.

So his s/o is really the only one of the two to initiate any cuddling.

When they do cuddle with him, he doesn’t exactly show how he feels about it too much.

Shadow doesn’t hate cuddling, but he doesn’t love it either.

Not to say he doesn’t enjoy cuddling, he just doesn’t show how he’s enjoying it much aside from a soft smile every now and again.

Shadow isn’t a fan of spooning too much, but if he is doing it, he’ll only be the big spoon.

He isn't the little spoon. He’d like to have control in the situation.

Rouge

Proud cuddler.

Shamelessly so. 

She does only the lightest of cuddling with friends, but not much. 

Closer friends she totally doesn’t mind getting into the “this is a straight up cuddle session” vibe. 

Her s/o has to deal with a new level of cuddling. 

Rouge isn’t clingy, but she’s needy and will not be subtle about wanting some snuggle time. 

She likes to have pampering done to her, but she’s certainly all for doing some loving on her s/o easy. 

She’s absolutely both a little spoon and big spoon. It really just depends on her s/o and their preference.

Silver

Awkward cuddler. 

He likes to cuddle with either of his friends or s/o, but he’ll end up pretty nervous throughout the whole time. 

At some point he’d let himself relax more when he does it more, but a new cuddle buddy will be faced with a stiff boy. 

When he finally enters a relationship with his s/o or crushing on his s/o, he’s back to being stiff and awkward again for quite awhile. 

There’s an incredibly high preference to being a little spoon, and he makes it clear that this is his preference. 

He wouldn’t mind being the big spoon if his s/o wants to be a little spoon, but he’s never volunteering to be the big spoon. 

And, although he loves doting on people, he really loves being doted on himself.

Blaze

She’s also an awkward mess when it comes to cuddles. 

Only her s/o would be allowed to cuddle with her. 

Blaze doesn’t necessarily look to having cuddles unless it's been a long day or she’s totally stressed and needs the attention. 

She’s more inclined to be a big spoon, but she’d be fine being a little spoon as well. 

It really depends on who her s/o is. 

Though if given the choice, there is a much larger preference to being the big spoon so she can feel she has more control in the situation.

Espio

Cuddling privileges with Espio are restricted to his s/o and Charmy and Vector to a degree. 

Vector more so has accidental cuddle action on both parties. 

Nothing too much though, most being Espio leaning on Vector and falling asleep during a movie or when they’re out camping for whatever reason. 

Charmy however is a cuddle machine from the start. 

The bee needs affection, and Espio doesn’t mind giving it to him. 

There’s been plenty of moments where the two are just sleeping completely knocked out on the couch (or Charmy wide awake with Espio asleep and perhaps with marker drawings on his face and horn). 

Or when Charmy gets a nightmare and doesn’t go to Vector for the night, Espio is fine with giving the bee comfort. 

Any sort of domestic cuddles can happen between Charmy and Espio. 

With his s/o, Espio doesn’t seek cuddles unless he was deathly worried about them and just needed to have it cemented that they’re with him. 

Similar to Charmy, he also wouldn’t mind giving cuddles to his s/o if they wanted it or see they clearly needed it. 

He doesn’t really do spooning and would need to be reminded he’s not the only one in bed. 

Espio doesn’t seem like the type to lay on his side often since it gives an opening to any attackers. 

So the fix it here would be to have his s/o laying on his chest with his arms wrapped around him.

Jet

Cuddles with Jet are only with his s/o rather than with friends. 

He wouldn’t actively search for cuddles really. 

The times he does is when he’s genuinely tired or after an extremely bad day where he’s bitter but also completely exhausted. 

However, he doesn’t necessarily outright say he wants cuddles but rather strongly suggests to his s/o that he wants cuddles before they give in to what he wants. 

When he isn’t having tired cuddles, he sometimes gives the occasional snuggle, just not much. 

Typically, he only gives the cuddles when his s/o wants to, but he certainly has his moments when he’s relaxing that he alludes to wanting to cuddle. 

His preferred style of cuddling would be where his s/o is on his chest. 

Jet is also determined to be the big spoon, and sometimes he manages to keep being the big spoon, but he typically ends up falling into being the little spoon naturally.

Wave

Her s/o practically drags her for cuddles. 

Wave really just likes to do things and doesn’t enjoy doing nothing. 

She can certainly do nothing for a bit and relax, just not too long and wants to be doing something. 

As a result, Wave doesn’t actively seek snuggles. 

She’s also the type where when she’s not doing it, she sees no appeal or point of cuddles. 

But when she’s actually having a cuddle fest, she melts into it. 

Wave seems like the type to have too often a broken sleep schedule to really be spooning anyone with her going to bed when her s/o is getting up. 

If any spooning does happen, it’s really give or take as to if Wave is the big or little spoon with who she’s with and who’s more awake. 

Some nights, there’d be no spooning taking place. 

She’s overall not very affectionate in a physical sense, but wouldn’t mind receiving or giving attention. 

However cuddles are off limits for friends.

Infinite

Not at all a cuddle buddy really. 

Tends to avoid it. If he does cuddle, it’d only be with his s/o, and even then it doesn’t happen much. 

He’s more mixed feelings about cuddling and doesn’t actively try to do it. 

When he does, it’s certainly on part by his s/o or complete accident. 

Subconsciously however, Infinite is certainly a big spoon and often reaches anything in his grasp to spoon something.

Honey the Cat

Honey adores cuddles, and her snuggles are reserved for her s/o and incredibly close friends. 

She tends to lowkey make sure when she’s cuddling with someone that it’s all aesthetically pleasing. 

Sometimes it’s on purpose, other times not so much. 

Honey prefers being the little spoon, but she’s occasionally willing to be the big spoon.

Bunnie Rabbot

CUDDLE MACHINE. 

This woman will suplex you into a hug. 

She’s just dandy about giving cuddles to anyone who’s a friend, family, and so on. 

Bunnie wants to be the big spoon all the time, wrapping herself around her s/o. 

Just giving nuzzles and kisses every now and again.

Antoine D’coolette

Easily the most flustered boy. 

Whether platonic or romantic. 

Once he gets around, he very much enjoys his cuddles. 

However, to him, cuddling seems too intimate for something done between friends. 

So only really his s/o and children would be allowed for snuggling with him. 

Antoine would have the preference of a little spoon certainly, though he wouldn’t mind being the big spoon every now and again. 

He’s just embarrassed to say that he prefers being a little spoon.

#sonic headcanon #sonic the hedgehog #sonic #knuckles the echidna #amy rose #shadow the hedgehog #rouge the bat #silver the hedgehog #blaze the cat #espio the chameleon #jet the hawk #wave the swallow #infinite the jackal #honey the cat #bunnie rabbot #antoine d'coolette #headcanon #headcanons #conductor galaxy #conductor cel #conductor fusion #sth #sth headcanons

[livesincerely]

dress you up, dress you down ch. 3 - business casual

aka the Tie Fic. Chapter two here.

Also on Ao3

00000

“Wait, wait, go back,” Katherine says, barely holding back a laugh. “Jack keeps doing what?”

“So, he’ll start getting ready, right?” Davey explains, gesturing with his free hand. “And then, right in the middle, he’ll get distracted or start telling a story or ask me a question, and end up just standing there for ages with his pants half buttoned or his shirt hanging open, like it’s totally fine, no big deal.”

Davey glances left and right to make sure the road is clear, then continues on, Katherine’s hand tucked companionably in the crook of his arm as they walk along.

“It’s driving me crazy, Kath, I am this close to losing my mind,” Davey says, thoroughly caught up in getting this all off his chest. “It’s a miracle I’ve gotten through these last few weeks without throwing myself off the fire escape; no one should be expected to withstand the full force of Jack Kelly first thing in the morning, it’s too much to ask of any one person. And I can’t even just try to avoid looking at him, because if Jack notices he always starts asking me if I’m okay or if anything’s wrong and I can’t say, ‘oh, no, Jack, I’m fine, it’s just that you’re too pretty for this mortal plane and I’m kind of struggling to exist in your presence’ because obviously, so then I have to make something up—“

“You aren’t a good liar,” Katherine comments.

“—And I’m not a good liar!” Davey exclaims. “And I’m definitely not a good liar when Jack is looking at me with his stupid, soft brown, puppy dog eyes and his dumb, messy, adorable hair, or when he says ‘Dave’ in that voice and I just— I cannot express enough how difficult it is to convince Jack that there’s nothing wrong with me when I can barely look him in the face.”

Katherine doesn’t even attempt to stifle her next snort of laughter, the sound bursting out of her.

“It’s not funny, Katherine!” Davey says. “I had to start using Les as a human shield just to get through the morning!”

“No, it’s pretty funny,” Katherine disagrees, shoulders shaking.

Davey huffs out a breath.

“I don’t feel like you’re appreciating the gravity of the situation,” he grumbles.

“Oh, boo hoo, a pretty boy likes to stand around your bedroom half naked, giving you plenty of opportunity to ogle at him uninterrupted,” Katherine says, rolling her eyes at him. “What an incredible hardship you’re facing.”

Davey flushes.

“...I don’t ogle at him,” he mutters.

Katherine raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t!” Davey insists. “I can barely keep from embarrassing myself when I’m doing my best not to look at him—I’d have spontaneously combusted by now, otherwise.”

“Uh huh,” Katherine hums, pinning him with a knowing look. “Right.”

“This is your fault, you know,” Davey continues quickly before Katherine can press any further. “I was perfectly content with my life as it was, but no, you wanted him to have nice work clothes and now I’m the one that has to deal with how painfully good Jack looks in a tie on a regular basis.”

“He’s actually wearing it?” Katherine says, surprised. “Given the stink he put up while we were picking it out, I figured we’d hardly ever see him in it unless one of us made him wear it.”

“Well, I wish I could make him stop wearing it,” Davey grouses. “I swear he does it just to torture me—the damn thing is practically haunting my dreams at this point. I’m pretty sure I could fix him up with one hand behind my back, he wears it so often.”

“Wait,” Katherine starts slowly, her expression caught somewhere between judgement and glee. “Have you been.... tying Jack’s tie for him?”

“He doesn’t know how!” Davey protests, face flushing a touch deeper. “He doesn’t know how and I haven’t had time to teach him yet, so I always have to— Stop laughing!” Davey sputters, swatting at Katherine’s shoulder when she devolves into a flurry of giggles. “It’s nothing, it’s not a big deal.”

He decides not to mention the fact that, whenever he goes to fix Jack’s tie, he swears he can feel the weight of Jack’s gaze like a physical presence—almost thrilling in its intimacy, like the warmth of a hand on his cheek or the feeling of fingers carding gently through his hair—except that whenever he works up the nerve to check, Jack’s always looking somewhere else, casual as can be.

How he can’t tell if it’s actually happening or if it’s a figment of his imagination, the sparking tension that seems to flash and flare between them, how he has no idea what he’d do if he actually caught Jack’s gaze in these moments, but that just wondering about it sends his heart beating a few paces faster.

Even if he wanted to try to explain it, he’s not sure if he could put it all into words.

Thankfully, Katherine doesn’t seem to have picked up on his sudden bout of introspection; she nudges Davey playfully in the ribs.

“Sure it isn’t,” she says, clearly delighting in his embarrassment. “Please, tell me more about how you and Jack have built an entire morning routine together—“

“Oh, look, we’re here,” Davey hurriedly interrupts.

The doors to The World stand as tall and imposing as ever, though the effect is softened somewhat by the flood of workers rushing out of them, heading out into the city for their lunch break.

Davey and Katherine linger on the sidewalk, waiting for Jack to come out and meet them, but he never appears.

“He should be here by now, shouldn’t he?” Davey asks, after a few minutes pass by with no sign of Jack.

“Lunch started ten minutes ago,” Katherine confirms. “If he doesn’t hurry, he’s not going to have time to eat.”

“He probably got caught up in one of his art inspirations,” Davey says with a shrug. “I bet he didn’t even notice the bell ringing.”

“Then let’s go fetch him, shall we?” Katherine says, stepping confidently into the building, tugging Davey along behind her.

Davey’s been to The World several times by now, but he still isn’t all that comfortable being inside the building, always feeling distinctly out of place. Katherine, of course, walks right in like she owns the place, which she sort of does, leading the way through the lobby and up the main staircase until they reach the floor for the Art Department.

They find Jack right where they thought he would be, seated at his desk with a pen in hand, deeply engrossed in his latest series of sketches and totally unaware of the world around him... including the small gaggle of his coworkers standing just off to the side, whispering and giggling amongst themselves as they watch him work.

A small part of Davey’s brain can’t blame them for staring: Jack makes for quite the sight in his dark slacks and matching vest, a crisp white button up tucked underneath. He’s become a bit disheveled in the hours since Davey last saw him—his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie loosened slightly, exposing the line of his forearms and a hint of skin at his collar—and he wears it incredibly well, looking far more handsome than he has any right to after half a day’s work.

The rest of his brain, however, stands at attention—a fierce, heated sort of irritation prickling just under his skin. Davey feels himself slow to an uneasy stop, a frown pulling at his features.

He happens to catch the eye of one of them: a young woman who appears to be about his age, with blue eyes and dark, curly hair, stepping out of the crowd as if about to approach Jack at his desk. Davey’s not sure what his expression does in this moment, but when their gazes meet she freezes, her cheeks flushing a touch pink as she ducks her head, and she quickly returns to the safety of the crowd.

“Typical Jack,” Katherine says with a soft shake of her head. She doesn’t seem to have noticed the flock of admirers waiting in the wings. “Okay, let’s grab him and get out of here—“

“I’ve got it,” Davey says abruptly, stepping forward.

Jack doesn’t acknowledge his approach, utterly focused on adding a few precise bits of shading to the cartoon he’s hunched over. His fingers are dotted with ink stains, his hair a little ruffled from where he’s been running his hands through it, and Davey feels himself soften at the sight of him, that sharp edge of annoyance fading as quickly as it appeared.

Mindful of not startling Jack while he has a pen in his hand, Davey carefully calls out, “Jackie?”

Jack glances up, distracted, and then does a double take, his expression quickly turning sheepish.

“Aw, hell, is it lunch already?” Jack asks, setting his pen down.

“At the same time as always,” Davey confirms, leaning against the corner of Jack’s desk. “Figures you’d get so caught up in a project that you ignore your stomach.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack says with a grin, pushing his chair back. “I know, don’t start.”

He stands up and stretches—full bodied, with both arms over his head—giving Davey a long, generous look at just how well everything he’s wearing is tailored to him.

“Where’s Kath?” Jack says, oblivious to the way Davey’s eyes are riveted to the subtle flex of his shoulders and chest as he shakes the stiffness out of his hands. “Is she meetin’ us there or...?”

“No, we walked here together,” Davey says, clearing his throat. “We’re just waiting on you, Jackie, love.”

The endearment slips past his lips of its own accord, far too affectionate and far too honest.

Jack stills, blinking at him in open surprise, clearly catching his mistake. Then his expression shifts, a bright flicker of warmth lighting up his face.

“So, let’s get a move on,” Jack says with a soft smile, blessedly allowing the moment to pass without comment; Davey lets out the breath he’d been holding, relieved. “At this rate, I’m not gonna have any time to eat.”

“And whose fault is that, hmm?” Davey says, trying for something casual, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. “What, you didn’t notice everyone else leaving all of the sudden?”

“Shuddup,” Jack says. “You know I don’t mean’ta get distracted. An’, hey, everybody ain’t left yet.”

Jack gestures to where a few of his coworkers are still standing, who try to seem as though they haven’t been watching when they realize Jack is looking at them. Davey’s earlier frown returns with a vengeance.

“See, it ain’t just me,” Jack says.

“I thought we were getting a move on,” Davey says lightly, hooking two fingers under the front of Jack’s vest and tugging slightly to get his attention. Jack’s eyes snap back to his with a speed Davey can only describe as gratifying. “Lunch isn’t going to buy itself.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jack murmurs, allowing himself to be steered back towards the staircase. “Where’re we goin’?”

“It’s Kath’s turn to pick,” Davey says.

“So uptown, somewhere weird and expensive that she won’t let us help pay for,” Jack surmises.

“She promised not to pick anything too strange anymore after last time,” Davey offers, though he’s a bit apprehensive himself. “It won’t be that bad... probably.”

Jack snorts. “It’s the probably that I’m worried about.”

“Buck up, Jackie,” Davey says, curling his hand around Jack’s forearm. “If I have to eat it, you have to eat it.”

“Hey, Jack,” Katherine says once they’re close enough, hitting Davey with another knowing look when Jack steps forward to hug her. Davey bites his lip, gaze falling guiltily to the floor. “Ready to go?”

“You mean, am I ready for your latest poisonin’ attempt?” Jack asks. “Sure, if that’s what’cha wanna call it.”

“I was not poisoning you!” Katherine volleys back. “Those were a delicacy⁠—”

“They was disgustin’, that’s what they was,” Jack replies. “So what’s on the table today, O’ Queen of The World? Sautéed rose petals? A single black bean roasted over an open flame? The left claw of the rare Chesapeake lobster?”

“Why do I even bother?” Katherine dramatically laments, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “You uncouth swine.”

“You’re the one that dated me.”

“A momentary lapse in judgement, I assure you.”

“Hey!”

As they head back downstairs, Davey can’t help but throw one last parting glance over his shoulder⁠⁠—Jack’s crowd of admirers has mostly dispersed, the various workers going back to their desks to eat or sulk now that there’s no one to gawk at⁠—and surge of satisfaction rushes through him, unbidden, yet undeniable. 

“Dave!” Jack calls, he and Katherine having made it most of the way down the staircase in the meantime. “What’re you doin’? C’mon!” 

“Sorry,” Davey says, hurrying after them.

“What, there somethin’ interestin’ goin’ on up there?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow. “Somethin’ caught your eye?”

“No, Jackie” Davey says simply, not quite able to resist a smile. “Nothing at all.”

00000

Chapter four here

Tags!

@yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @corbinthecowboy

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #the tie fic #*final cut #*editor's note #*the writing desk #tease series #jealous Davey is right up there with flustered Davey tbh #listen: i love them

[heretherebedork]

Sorry for the long break, I’ve been trying to think of some good premises :’)

Premise: Laundromat setting where our introverted ML likes to relax at once every week late at night. He normally is there alone until someone starts showing up and seems very determined to annoy him as much as possible.

Oh, my apologies as well! Dark is not my talent and I'm still staring at the other one with a slack jawed expression of uselessness.

Okay, ML lives at home still. He's the middle child of five and all of them live at home, as well as his grandparents, one uncle and two aunts. He is constantly surrounded by people, always. There's nothing quiet at home. Ever.

So, almost every other day, he finds an excuse to go to the laundromat after dinner. There's enough people and enough laundry that all he has to do is volunteer and someone else will take him up on the offer. And then he gets quiet time because no one else is ever there right then, not that close to dinner and bed. It's quiet and stays quiet. He brings a book and his phone and he just... relaxs.

Until, one night, Wash shows up. Wash goes to the university as ML but they have different majors and really have only seen each other once or twice on campus. Wash is also a big sports star, one of the university moons and generally a well-liked and popular guy who shouldn't be at a laundromat during dinner.

But there he is.

And ML hates him instantly. Because Wash just wants to talk. The entire time. He wants to chat and converse and joke and nudge and ML just wants to be quiet and to be left alone.

It takes less than an hour before ML explodes at Wash to just leave him alone, to stop talking, to just get away.

And ML instantly feels bad because Wash is basically a scolded puppy. He folds up in on himself and nods and steps away, completely unexpectedly.

But a week later... Wash is back. And he instantly starts chatting with ML again, talking about nothing and everything and ML snaps again. But this time, Wash just pauses and then starts talking again.

Ml is pissed. He no longer feels bad.

Soon, this starts happening at the university as well. Wash pops up whereever ML is trying to be quiet and alone and starts talking. How does he find him? No idea. ML hates it so much. He's so stressed. He can't get any time by himself. He's losing his mind.

And the next time Wash shows up, ML explodes before he can get a word in edgewise. It's all about wanting to be alone, wanting some quiet time and why Wash is so determined not to let him have any and it's a real explosion, words and tears and anger and hurt.

Wash goes quiet before he explains that he thought ML was lonely. He knew that ML didn't have many friends, really any friends, and had seen him sitting alone all the time. After seeing him alone in that laundromat when he'd gone in to do an emergency load, Wash had decided to befriend ML to make sure he wasn't alone.

ML feels guilty and vindicated and annoyed and like a bad person. He sighs. Wash is still looking like a dejected puppy, squatting on the ground and pouting at ML.

This time, at least, ML agrees to talk. He sits down with Wash and tries to explain himself... but meets a wall. Wash is a huge extrovert who just cannot wrap his mind around the idea of not wanting a huge group of friends and, frankly, Wash is way more stubborn than ML.

So they make an agreement. ML will spend time with Wash's friends on campus but in the laundromat, they're quiet. No talking unless ML starts it. And no more following him around.

Thus begins a really awkward friendship. Wash introduces ML to dozens of people all across campus, multiple sports teams, huge social groups and ML... deals with it. He does make a few friends along the way, despite himself.

And Wash starts spending a few quiet hours in the laundromat with ML one or twice a week. ML would still rather be alone sometimes... but it's not so bad when all Wash is doing is playing on his phone or reading a book or napping.

Wash starts to get more possessive of ML when they're out with his friends. He's quicker to sit at his side, wrap his arm around him and monopolize ML's attentions. He's really like a puppy now, clinging and all over him. ML's pretty confused.

Until Lime, one of his new friends, points out that he's pretty sure Wash has a giant crush on him. ML had never considered that an option. But the more he thinks about it, the more likely it seems. And the more ML admits that Wash is pretty cute. And very kind. Even if he is a bit overwhelming.

The next time they're alone in the laundromat, ML finds himself watching Wash. Especially because Wash has figured out that ML won't stop him from sitting at his feet and leaning against him. So now they sit in the laundromat with Wash snuggled against ML's legs and typically napping.

And ML watches him sleep. He slowly reaches down, touching his cheek and his forehead and then, ever so gently, his lips. He's never felt like this before. Never. And he's also never felt the absolute panic before when Wash opens his eye and crosses them at the sight of ML's fingers on his lips.

Shared panic sends them apart at that and Wash is bright red and ML is still staring at him in return. Wash opens his mouth, remembers their agreement about the quiet laundromat and covers his mouth with both hands.

But ML knows they need to talk. So he sighs, groans and comes to sit down beside Wash for a real talk. It's awkward. It's painful. ML hates it and Wash keeps giggling and blushing and scooting closer.

But, in the end, there's an agreement in place. ML will try very casual dating and Wash gets his wish of being able to wrap his arms around ML and sit on him and just generally cuddle with him.

Yeah, the first fight is the next day when Wash bounces over, flops into ML's lap in front of the rest of the school and beams up at him. ML flushes, grumbles and a moment later he's lecturing Wash about appropriate boundaries and Wash is pouting, lip trembling, and everyone is staring.

This time, Wash runs off in tears. And ML watches him go, watches everyone turn to look at him disapprovingly and groans. He goes after Wash and finds him, eventually, in their laundromat.

Wash is hurt and sitting at the foot of the chair ML normally sits in and looks up at ML... and says he doesn't want to go out any more. Not if it means getting yelled at. Not if it means walking on eggshells.

ML accepts, as much as it hurts. Agrees to go back to being friends. Nods and exhales and steps back out in the world when Wash says he wants to be alone.

But ML doesn't expect how much it would hurt. And Wash withdraws more and more each day. And Wash looks sadder each day. He's a hurt puppy and ML hates seeing him like that.

Worst of all? Wash stops coming to the laundromat.

It only takes a few days before ML finally breaks down. He stops Wash, tugs him off away from the crowds and talks to him. Asks if he's okay. Asks how he feels and expects an honest answer.

He gets tears. Wash hates pulling away from ML. But he wants a relationship where he can be open and he doesn't want to see ML uncomfortable with that either. He wants them both to be happy, as hard as it is to say that while being friends.

ML stares at Wash. Then he asks why, exactly, Wash didn't say that when they talked about trying dating? Why he didn't say he wanted to be open and public?

And ML wraps Wash in his arms in a hug, pulling the soft jock into an embrace. He sighs, admitting that he had never thought about going public. Or what that could mean to Wash. He'd really only been thinking about himself in the relationship, not both of them.

So they sit down again. And they talk. Really talk. ML forces himself to listen and Wash has to be honest. And new ideas are laid out. Wash wants to be public. He doesn't care about much else, but he wants to be able to affectionate in public, wherever they are. ML just needs Wash to still respect his quiet times and to let him leave a group when he's tired. There's more, but those are what's truly important.

And then there's a little epilogue of a postgame party where Wash and ML come out to the team via Wash plopping down in ML's lap, kissing his cheek and looking at his teammates.

No one cares.

Ooof, this one just did not quite wanna come together. BUT THERE. I definitely picture Wash as looking like a jock but really just acting like a puppy. Sweet as sugar and soft as can be and nothing like what you'd think while ML is more petite but very quiet and very stiff.

Lime is a goofball when he's on screen and he has a bestfriend named Coconut who's the sweetest girl in the world who adores Wash but doesn't have a crush on him and is one of the ones who comforts him when he breaks up with ML.

#premise anon #write my own bl #i have too much fun with these #writing this while my dog barks at fireworks #very exciting #ugh i feel like it didn't quite come together #but i like the characters enough to post it

[stray-tori]

TPN S02E09 - Initial Thoughts (anime-only)

[ Reaction video w/ captions/subs ] we collectively have a breakdown about the pen, please enjoy it pff-

.

... hmmm... yeah I... ain’t feeling it. I think my tpn feelings overall are carrying this more than anything pff. I didn’t hate it, it was just...... mediocre... like if this wasn’t tpn, I probably would have dropped it at this point.

BUT IT IS TPN SO LET’S GIVE SOME THOUGHTS.

.

. Random thoughts I don’t want to re-arrange

when Emma was like “share your pain with us!!”, I liked how Norman turned to Ray like “Ray. help. tell her I’m right” kind of like Ray did in s1 pfff-

Norman cried the words he didn’t allow himself to say in s1 :( I’M EMOTIONAL. it might not be the icing on the cake execution wise but GOD MY HEART. And knowing he’s going to die to it’s just- (well not if the pen has something to say about it but more about that later)

where- wheres my trio hug :((( RAY HUG THE CHILD NOW

it’s interesting that while Emma got the entire emotional speech spotlight, only Ray got a reaction shot to “I won’t live long”?? equivalent.... exchange...?

I thought Norman had a seizure when he broke down in front of Emma and Ray and I kinda wish he had because while it’s good to have him say it outright (a win for communicationnn), imagine THE ANGST. “I want to live with yo- *coughs up fountains of blood*”.

So. yknow that hideout Cislo or Vincent referenced when talking to Emma and Ray. Yknow where Norman hid the children they stole from farms, making it look like demons did it? ... w-what about them? will we see them? Are they getting left behind? it would have worked for Norman’s plan, since all they had to do was stay put and wait for demons to be yeeted. But now... he’d have to take them all too. But... I doubt we’re gonna introduce a bunch of new designs and characters? Or are we? Who knows. I don’t. I have unreasonably amount of protecc feelings for those children I’ve never even seen haha- WHERE ARE THEY. I mean... the plan rn is to immediately use the gate right? or is the plan to eradicte the GF farm staff and higher ups? I guess if thats the plan it might work. Or I guess the plan is to save Phil for now???

the idea of Sonju just... slicing his arm and throwing it at demons in a loop sounds so funny to me please someone make that.

I liked that Mujika turned to the lambda kids after giving a cup to the demon children but then we didn’t see their reaction or anything and then it cuts to the temple??? that was weird. was there sth missing there? confusion.

I also like Isabella remarking "[a radio] was supposed to be there" regarding the shelter, because it further heavily implies they know of the shelters and just let them be. Which further confirms that they should have just reframed the shelter and had the kids escape from it quickly but oH WELL.

I really liked demon Emma apologizing and Norman's reaction to that. it was a sweet little moment and like, the realization of apologizing for something that she didn't do but is aware of and all that. Cycle of hatred and all that shiz hell ye. Ik the anime won't rly delve into that but I kind of relish in the angst potential of the village - sure it was undone but some were still eaten and died and transforming people back won't bring those back. So, that’s some hella terrifying implications for families; and I'm assuming Norman is aware of those so. guilt time! not that he wasn't aware it was bad but yeah- I teared up at that moment :<<

I feel like this season really does its best when it’s doing the whole two worlds/species angle. Mujika and Sonju, the village, demon and human Emma... all that stuff.

I wish we had gotten more time (god this is really the season’s downfall) thought to see Vylk talk to the GF kids more often. it’s implied he told them not to hang out there before but I would have liked to have him show up a few more times before that but yeah. Runtime very RIP.

I also feel like CW is bending over backwards to put cliffhangers at the end of episodes. that was already a problem in s1 when they had Phil come in when Don and Gilda were in Isabella's room. it was obvious it'd be a copout but they still did it. I'm just wondering why we had to have Vincent disagree with the group to this extend (and if the shock value might play a part in that). we have 2 more episodes, why are they introducing more plot threads? Just streamline it you dofuses. I just don't know what good can come of it unless it's like an ultra big brain move to help them?? (and then we're back with the forcing cliffhangers thing) - if it's actual conflict, this'll just make things more confusing and clustered, and we don't have time for that right now imo. But who knows maybe it plays into something I just don't understand yet and it'll work out somehow

.

. Animation flow kinda dead.

I felt like this episode was kind of... awkwardly executed whenever something that was a slightly dynamic movement happened?

The whole bit while Emma is walking up to Norman could have been better, but it’s passable, except that a lot is spelled out for us.

But then she takes his hand really weirdly in a far away shot with bad inbetween timing?? what is that haha-

Or him collapsing is cut really weirdly. you barely really see it, you just kinda piece it together from Emma’s reaction and her catching him.

Most facial expressions are good though, which is arguably the more important part in this scene. I feel like a better execution just would have elevated it even more.

The only one I felt was really awkward in its entirety is Barbara’s scene with the children demons. I felt like that was in particular kind of stiff and the cut between the child and her was too sudden and felt jarring. TPN anime doesn’t really do that sort of stuff a lot, so imo it’s kind of “??” when they do it. With Norman it was too, but that at least had a good transition over to it (with bg and fg panning) and nice animation. Barbara’s just kind of switched. Tbh don’t switch it out, and as the child screams, switch over to her facial expression as her own voice fades into the scream? I think that would have done it too and also be low effort.

I think it’s moreso the flow of the shots than the actual shots though? it’s a bit too fast paced and sometimes missing inbetweens (like the wild demon eating sonju’s hand is literally just 2 frames) - it’s very weird. It’s jarring, but I can’t really explain why.

I’m sorry for the staff, I’m sure the production hasn’t been easy. maybe with the bluray release we’ll get some updated animations/inbetweens.

Some appreciation though:

as mentioned, most of the facial expressions, even if the body language was a bit stiff.

the cut from the trio talking to the eye-transition of the demon and the following breath animation looked nice. Also his arm regenerating!

Sonju smirking as he cuts his arm off, what a bastard

they didn’t have to show Vylk’s arm regenerating casually while they’re talking but they did.

.

. the lambda crew

If only I cared about you guys. Hahhh it’s just... introducing characters so close to the end is just. A mess. A recipe for disaster.

Where has the anime’s “show off the younger kids” angle gone? I thought they were always pretty good at that. but they haven’t really contributed anything since the whole tidbit about the older children always eating less for them. And even then it was just Lani and Thoma.

Potentially, what segments we saw in the shelter will come back for the GF raid thematically but I’m just... EH?

.

. the cure pen

at this point, just stick a syringe part at the end of the stick and just inject it and it’s gonna solve everything probably.

I just don’t understand why that needed to happen. Assuming they go to the human world, it’d be perfectly acceptable for me for medicine to be so advanced that it’d be able to like, lessen their symptoms and significantly improve their lifespan.

Don’t just... REMOVE their struggles. It’s okay to not be normal and cured. it’s okay for their lives to be impacted by it going forward. In fact, I’d much prefer that.

(added in later) OH wait they literally spell out why the cure being in the pen is meaningful - because it opens up a path where they can live through not having annihilated all the demons - it's essentially the moral "reward" for not killing them. Since they probably wouldn't have gotten it if they did that. I still think it wasn't needed and the blueprint on its own would suffice for another pen-convinience moment but I kind of get what they're going for, I just don't think it's worth it . In their case, going to the human world (while they don't know it) means having more medical expertise at their disposal which they can then use to survive. UNLESS they're actually not welcome over there and have to hide or something, in that case... that might be hard, true. I guess I'll come back to think about this once it's over. For now, it feels kind of unearned and it wouldn’t even have to be this way in my eyes which makes it somewhat worse.

But good, let’s say in-universe you need it NOW, then at least don’t put??? the medicine??? recipe??? INTO the hologram.

What if they just checked the GF blueprint and Norman goes “hey, Vincent... do you think this [database/archive room] could have some data on our experiments?” - Norman said he tried to develop a drug to help them but the supporters who had that data were purged. but... they had Smee to help them too. But SOMEHOW, a dude from 15 years ago just HAS the cure??? (at least let Norman develop it himself and have the data be just THE DATA and not the recipe).

It might still check out somewhat??

15+ years ago, James Ratri was assumingly still the gatekeeper since the switch to Peter seems somewhat recent considering his big "era of James has ended" speech.

I guess the implication is that just like Smee => Krone => Norman, a supporter all that time ago gave random person the pen when they escaped.

When Vylk found him, he also had just the data medium of the pen (not the entire pen), so maybe the farm thought they eliminated it and that’s why they didn’t change their methods to not work with those drugs anymore? It's still a bit curious that their experimentation hasn't changed at all in 15 years but maybe that's because they keep killing the smart people instead of making them scientists to research for them :D

Somewhere since those 15 years, Smee gave Krone the pen (probably a few years before she got to GF?), which means that at that point the gate the keyword "future" sent them to, was still in tact when Smee gave Krone the pen. Maybe WM wasn't discovered yet at that point?

then WM got discovered, James was chased. He made that phonecall update and was probably eventually killed, along with the human location (and likely bunkers since they knew a radio was supposed to be there, begs the question why they didn't remove it) being discovered (the one with the future keyword) and the gate there being destroyed.

The problem is just that it can make sense when you think about it for way too long and assume things in good-faith, but it still feels unearned.

Maybe I would care more or this would feel a little more earned if we knew ANYTHING about that person? They seemed fairly young, so it’s probably not Minerva/James Ratri. The “hope” talk reminded me of the book in the shelter, but I’m not sure if that checks out either? The cookies were rotten but not completely. I know cookies hold out relatively long, but would they rly not be completely rotten after 15 years? I MEAN. Maybe not. Who knows. I tried to google it but didn’t find anything. 

But anyway. That tidbit is going into my “shelter kids OC project” I guess.

But even if the worldbuilding makes sense, I think the data set in itself makes little sense?? How did they find that pen part? Did a supporter give it to them? Why do they have the cure? Clearly their group of escapees wasn’t doing too hot (#help) and they seemed relatively young too so they probably couldn’t have worked in the farm.

Were the shelter escapees lambda escapees? but if that was the case, wouldn’t the WM group have secured the cure information more properly than in just one pen (maybe it was and those were just destroyed, to be fair) - it’s just WEIRD to put the cure for Lambda experiments on the same blueprint as the GF layout??? that makes so little sense.

Plus, why would you send them to GF, when it’s so secured and all that, and not just send them to the human support place our GF kids were sent with the “future” keyword, which had a gate. Maybe it didn’t exist 15 years ago (that the humans had control over it, that is), but even then it seems weird to me to imply to send them to GF instead of one of the other gates that existed. I mean. The “future” location’s gate wasn’t destroyed when Krone got the pen right?

I’m guessing maybe it was meant as help for escaping? But then again, why the cure? I guess if they met lambda experiments? I’m just confused.

Also: do we just accept that the layout of GUARDS and SECURITY MEASURES has not changed in 15 years???

.

*sigh* welp. Still looking forward to seeing some stuff with Isabella hopefully. Time... is not on their side and it shows. Neither run-time wise nor production wise.

#tpn anime #tpn s2 #tpn anime-only #tpn #tori talks #tori has opinions

[thecrowmaiden]

“Our Humanity”

There's gossip that Jon and Daisy are "more than" friends, and Jon isn't taking it well. Daisy eventually finds out why, and takes it upon herself to stop the gossip before she and Jon lose their friendship.

// Featuring: the headcanon that Daisy is a lesbian, Jon's self-loathing skewing his opinion of his asexuality, and me projecting onto the Archivist (as usual). Lots of self indulgent Daisy and Jon being friends through their trauma.

Ao3 link will be in the reblog. 4K words.

“Can you believe they’re friends?”

“Yeah, friends with benefits.”

The hushed pair of comments is spoken into battered Magnus Institute mugs, by a man and woman Daisy doesn’t know. Employees from some other department obviously, although based on their lack of self-preservation Daisy would rule out Artefact Storage. If there’s a smile in their whispers, hidden behind that cheap tea, it’s not a nice one. Still, it’s nowhere near the worst thing Daisy has heard, and if she was on her own she might have spared a quick grimace for the thought of being in that kind of relationship with their resident Archivist. On her own, she wouldn’t have felt rage.

But she’s with Jon, and it’s Jon’s reaction to the cruel, offhand remark that makes Daisy want to turn chipped ceramic into chipped teeth.

They had been walking towards the exit when they passed the gossips in the lunchroom, Daisy dragging Jon toward a night of drinks as he pretended to protest in a way that once would have pissed her off; as if he was too busy to go out for normal things—as if he didn’t want to be near normal people. Which...wasn’t actually wrong. But after the Buried, she knew better.

His arm was slung around Daisy’s waist, as much as he could reach with their difference in height and size. It helped keep him balanced mentally and physically, and Daisy didn’t mind. There was something comforting about the light weight of his arm against the small of her back, and his hand near her hip. She had even joked once, the first time he’d worked up the courage to do it, that he was so scrawny it felt like a rope. He had gone to pull away when she spoke, always so damn unsure, and she had wrestled her voice into finishing the sentiment before he could. It had even sounded casual when she did.

 “You heard me: a rope. Like the ones they tie around people to pull them to safety.

 “Like a…a lifeline?”

 “Yeah.”

Daisy had tightened her grip around his shoulders and Jon had relaxed, and that was that.

From then on that was just how they walked together—Daisy’s arm around Jon’s shoulders and Jon’s arm around her waist—keeping them both connected to something besides the hunger that clawed at them. Although they told everyone else it was so it felt less like she was ‘frog-marching him to his death’ when they went to the lunchroom or the pub or wherever else they decided to go. When she had shrugged and pointed out he knew better than anyone how that actually felt, he’d actually laughed. No one else had.

All this was to say that Jon’s physical engagement in Daisy’s dragging him from his office had been hard won, so when the snide exchange makes Jon drop his arm violently…Daisy sucks in a sharp breath that barely stops the growl she wants to voice instead.

The colour is gone from his face, leaving his cheeks ashy under his stubble and his shoulders are hunched. There’s a pinched look to his mouth like he’s sick, or about to be. Daisy can almost hear him refuting what the strangers have said as he twists the hem of his jumper in his hands. That he would never, ever. That it’s not like that. Daisy has enough sense to know it’s not personal to her (not that she would care), even if she didn’t remember Basira telling her about something similar happening between Basira and Jon once already.

In fact, Daisy would bet money his reaction would be similar even if the friend in question was Martin. Not that she’s going to dig any deeper into that mess of pining; that’s up to them to work out. Regardless, she doesn’t think Jon’s reaction has anything to do with if he’s interested. Because it’s not disgust that has him trying to strangle his own clothes; it’s something else. Something that, knowing him, is complicated.

Daisy chooses not to address it this time though, and practically lifts Jon’s feet off the ground as she propels him out the door into the wet London night.

It’s a decent walk to the pub they frequent. Far enough from the Institute that the eye they feel on the back of their necks eases off, but not so far that either of them tires before they get there. The drizzle around them makes the streetlights hazy, softens the sleepless bruises under Jon’s eyes and makes the air seem cleaner. Or that might just be the result of getting away from the Archives. Daisy lets her arm fall from Jon’s stiff shoulders as they make their way down the sidewalk, not bothering to step behind him so they take up less room; no one bumps into them anyway. Jon is too scarred, gaze too sharp, and Daisy knows her very posture still screams cop. It’s the same combination of things that gets them left alone at whatever table or booth they find in the pub.

Five minutes into the walk the wind picks up, chilling their faces and causing their breath to show against the night. The drizzle gets heavier. The dark creeps closer. Neither of them have the energy to run for shelter like the other people out are starting to do—not unless something is chasing them, anyway. So they keep trudging along and ignore the weather apart from wiping the rain from their eyes.

Jon nearly collapses onto a bench with cracked vinyl seating when they finally get indoors, facing the entrance like he always does. He’s actually shivering, and he seems brittle—more so than usual. Daisy doesn’t say anything as she drops her coat over him and goes to pick up what’s typically his first round. Her coat is from before, and while it hangs a little loose on her now it absolutely swamps Jon. A smile almost makes it to her face as she waits at the bar when she looks back to see him half-hidden under the wool.

She’s not immune to the irony that someone who looks like a poorly-rested scarecrow pulled her out of the Buried, but she remembers the strength in his hand when he led her out. It makes it easier to look after him—without the resentment that he needs taking care of at all—when she remembers that Jon isn’t quite as weak as he seems in the dim pub lighting. She still doesn’t like how hollow he looks though, and practically shoves his drink into his hands.

They stay for a while, and Jon doesn’t even attempt to keep up with Daisy. Not that he has since the first time, but she’s used to him at least knocking a few back as they talk about whatever has nothing do with what they charitably call their jobs. Instead, he nurses his first drink in silence as they sit there under a crackling yellow bulb, shying away from her touch that he usually leans into with a sort of desperation. Most nights saw him ducking under the protective curve of her arm at a drunkard’s shout the way she ducks into his office, but tonight Jon flinches away from her.

It makes him seem hunted.

Daisy doesn’t like it.

His standoffish behaviour lasts a week—a week of avoidance and stammers and Jon practically oozing into the floor to avoid her. When Monday rolls around and the world inside and outside the Archives remains uneventful though, the pressure seems to lift and Daisy almost jumps when Jon drops down in front of her with a brush in one hand and a statement in the other. She puts his hair up for him as he reads, tying off his bun with one of the several elastics on his wrist, and when the tape recorder clicks off he gives her a smile that looks relieved.

Just like that, they’re back to whatever they call normal. Scarred hands holding scarred hands so they don’t get separated while taking the Tube, his shoulder digging into her ribcage when she leans over him at his desk to ask what he’s reading this time. Occasional and venomless arguments over their jobs, Jon struggling to help Daisy with her physical therapy without ending up in need of it himself. A handful of silent faces made at each other over an episode of The Archers. They’re not soft together, but whatever they’re doing works.

(Basira had once said they looked like siblings taking the piss out of each other. Daisy thinks that’s about as good an explanation as any.)

The next week is a quiet one in a bad way. Recordings are broken by nothing but a stillness that chokes down the dungeon-like hallways and makes any conversation seem loud. Jon has one of his worrying episodes over Martin and gets even more brittle, the exhaustion in his face sliding towards despair. More often than not Daisy walks into his office to find him slumped over his desk, shoulder blades dimpling a rumpled shirt that might have been nice before he wore it four days running. He doesn’t seem to register her entry until she speaks to him, and even then it’s like he doesn’t quite see her past the big picture trying to squash him flat.

When she finds him unable to actually speak on Saturday, his mouth cracked and dry and his eyes bloodshot, Daisy hauls him to his feet with one hand around his bicep and steers him toward the lunchroom. She’s no homebody but she can make a cup of tea, and that’ll have to do until she can drag Jon down to the pub. She needs to get him out of the Institute. There’s a fizzle of something in her chest as she leads him down the hall, knowing that even as weak as she is without the Hunt she’s still stronger than him. At least it means she can bully him into taking a break.

And a tea break seems like a good plan—

—right up until another whisper lances around the corner.

“I can’t believe they’re still going at it.” The voice is followed by the repetitive clink of a spoon against a mug. “You’d think she would have broken him their first time.”

“Maybe that’s why he looks like he hasn’t slept,” another voice titters, “must be tiring trying to keep up.”

“His desk must be tired too.”

Daisy feels like once upon a time, Jon may have stammered his innocence against such comments. But Jon doesn’t speak to people outside the Archives much anymore, generally tries to pretend he doesn’t exist even there. So he just goes still, his feet rooting him in place as his chest starts to rise and fall with the air he does need to breathe, wild eyes staring towards the lunchroom as if it suddenly has too many doors.

Her hand tightens on his arm in her usual display of reassurance, but Jon jerks away with a violence he hadn’t even displayed when she put a knife to his throat. Daisy is so shocked that she lets him break away and turn on his heel, watching him stagger back to his office with the disquiet in her chest stirring again. It takes a moment to stamp down the urge to confront whoever has derailed her plans, and she follows after Jon with the intent of ignoring his reaction until she can get him somewhere far away from prying eyes and flapping mouths. Whatever is going on, Peter Lukas doesn’t need to know.

But that intent goes straight out the window when Daisy finds his office locked.

Fear spikes through her veins when the doorknob doesn’t move under her hand and for one horrible moment the rushing in her ears sounds like rain. Pressure builds in the air and starts to creep over her skin oh so slowly, like a gentle embrace drawing her in. She closes her eyes, ignores it, ignores the smell of dirt, and squeezes. Gun calluses tighten over the worn brass to the point where it ought to hurt, and with a grunt Daisy twists hard. The cheap internal lock snaps in her grip and she opens the door just enough to slide through, her fingers still strangling the knob until she makes the concentrated effort to let go.

Inside, Jon is sitting with his mouth hanging open in a vague sort of shock as he stares. He’s still hunched over his desk, head in his hands, but he’s looking up at her with an expression that has surprise and guilt mixed in equal parts with something else she can’t place. Daisy ignores him to take a couple deep breaths, before she shuts the door behind her and jams a chair under the knob. It’s not the barricade she would like, but it’ll slow down anyone human trying to get in. Not that she thinks any of them would risk it.

Jon’s eyebrows shoot up briefly at her impromptu lock, before they settle back into the lines that seem permanently carved into his forehead. It’s not a really a frown, just the farthest thing from relaxed. It’s like Jon doesn’t remember how to experience an emotion that doesn’t hurt him anymore—and Daisy has to bite down the urge to be mad at him for it. Her anger isn’t for him, even if he did try to shut her out.

“Daisy, I-I’m sorry.”

She blinks at his strained voice, and her anger ebbs lower. Whatever she had meant to say gets misplaced for the moment, so she wordlessly grabs the chair not holding the door closed instead. Jon winces as she drags it across the floor to his desk with a drawn-out scrape, and she drops heavily down into it so she can fold her arms on the back and look Jon in the eye. They stare at each other for a minute, Jon ashamed and Daisy contemplative. He looks away first.

“Why?” She asks finally, voice even.

“For locking you out. I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t have done that. I know how you feel about being alone—”

Daisy holds up one hand to cut him off, and it’s a testament to how far they’ve come when he simply stops and doesn’t snap his jaw shut with fear. He just watches her, waiting. She appreciates the apology, she does, but there’s only so much talking she can usually get out of Jon before he gets overwhelmed or sidetracked. Or they get interrupted by something nasty. So Daisy barrels ahead, because as far as she’s concerned there are more important things to discuss.

“Why are you so upset that people think we’re screwing around?”

A noise better suited to something being submerged in a bathtub escapes Jon and his glasses slide farther down his nose. It honestly sounds like a cross between an empty kettle and a squeaky toy. He makes a couple more random sounds that aren’t even close to words, gesturing at her with a jerky wave that might be a question mark.

“That’s not an answer. So let’s try again: why are you so upset that people think we’re screwing around?”

“B-because I’m, I don’t, I m-mean we’re not.” Jon finally manages to find his voice as he drags his hands through his streaky hair, his stammering ramping up. “I’m n-not interested in you like, l-like that!”

“Neither am I. Still doesn’t explain why you’re having a fit.”

“Because I’m not interested in anyone like that! And I don’t like people thinking I am!”

Jon throws his hands in the air but drops them quickly as his shout echoes. He knots his fingers together, squeezing them until his knuckles start to lose colour—like he’s trying to keep them attached to his body. His own raised voice seems to have actually shocked him. His eyes dance around the office, skittering over Daisy’s face like he’s afraid what he’ll see. A couple grey hairs are snarled around his shaking fingers, pulled loose from his outburst, his messy bun completely undone.

Regardless of all the times she’s brushed it out for him, Daisy is surprised once again by how long Jon’s hair really is. She watches his bangs mask the expression too mixed to be readable and she briefly wonders why he doesn’t leave it down to hide behind more often. It certainly makes him look less transparent.

A floorboard creaks when Daisy shifts. There’s silence unbroken by even the low crinkle of tapes as she really studies Jon. The dull green of his jumper matches half of the book covers stacked on the shelf at his back: like it’s just one more way his work is trying to consume him. All his limbs are tensed. His glasses are smudged so badly she doubts he can see through them, and she reaches out to tug them off his nose to wipe them carefully on her sleeve. His face goes rapidly mottled with a bad combination of what’s probably embarrassment mixed with apprehension, and things finally click.

“So…no one?” She asks.

“Yes.”

“Does anyone…?”

“Georgie knows, of course. I-I-I think Melanie? Maybe Basira.”

“Mm. Why does it bother you so much?”

“Why not?” The animation visibly burns out of Jon, the fear and anxiety draining away to leave a tired man crumpled at a desk for a job that might kill him and has already tried. He props his head on one hand as he meets Daisy’s eyes finally. It’s so damn hard to remember how powerful he still is under it all, when he’s like this. “I don’t want M—I don’t want people to misconstrue how I am. And it feels violating, to have people assume I do those kinds of things when I never have and never want to. But if I tell them that?”

Jon’s mouth twists, and his lips thin into the horrible knife-edge smile he saves for when he really feels like The Archivist. “It’ll just be one more thing that makes me less human to them.”

It takes every ounce of Daisy’s will not to snap right there.

With all they've gone through, with all they are, how dare the world make him feel broken because of that. How dare it. She barely swallows the need to slam her hands down on the desk and loudly express how incredibly not okay any of that is. Her nails, less ragged now that she and Jon are on each other’s cases about their habit of biting them, dig into her palms to keep them still. Because as justified as she thinks her feelings are, lashing out will only harm Jon. No matter how strange it is to say after everything that happened in the beginning, Jon is her friend. She isn’t going to hurt him with fear. Not if she can help it.

Forcing a long, hard exhale through her nose, Daisy manages to resist the urge to take action. Breathe in for five, hold, and breathe out. Repeat. Rage still pounds behind her eyes, but she shoves it down to a place where it can stew into something approaching helpful action before she speaks.

“Out of everything you’ve done or can do, that doesn’t even make the list of what makes you less human. No arguments.” Daisy holds up her hand again when Jon opens his mouth to disagree, fixing him with her best I-am-still-armed-don’t-fuck-with-me look. “I mean it. Don’t even try.”

But Jon, being Jon, tries anyway.

“You can’t honestly believe people will just, just drink their tea and ignore that kind of thing. They can’t even comprehend a man and woman being friends much less...that.”

“So ignore them instead.”

“Hm. That’s easy for you to say.”

Daisy bites her tongue before she says something she doesn’t actually want to say, reminding herself that her anger is not directed at him. Because in a way, he’s right. In a way, the gossips in the lunchroom are just another potential threat to Jonathan Sims, and there’s no way he can fully ignore that. It’s kind of his thing, after all. Even if those employees don’t physically harm him, Elias or Lukas might do something to them for being a nuisance and that would just cripple Jon with additional guilt.

She sighs at the realization, deflating a bit like he had earlier, and Jon musters up a wry smile for her as they face each other from their respective slumped postures.

“Well, screw them,” Daisy says at last, “and not like that.”

The addition is for Jon’s benefit when he makes a face, and she’s rewarded by another of his attempts at a smile. When she stands and offers him her hand, he actually takes it; and the two of them wordlessly grab their coats. They don’t go anywhere particular that night. Just wherever their feet take them around London until Daisy walks him to his station, and gives him a rough squeeze of the shoulder as he heads into the carriage and off to the flat she sometimes wonders why he still has.

A cool breeze ruffles Daisy’s collar as she pointedly avoids going back to the Institute, wandering the streets as she picks at her earlier rage to see if there’s an idea hidden within it. Something to keep her and Jon’s friendship established as just that. Something to make it clear that no matter how many times they walked somewhere almost connected at the hip, their nearby body parts were very much uninvolved with each other. It's no one's business, but...

Someone laughs loudly nearby, and a group of teenagers tumble out of a small shop, giggling and laughing as they jostle each other while attaching their purchases to backpacks and coats and hats. They’re dressed in a variety of fashions and are loud with nothing but happiness, so Daisy internally writes them off as harmless and moves to avoid getting clipped by any over-excited waving arms. But in stepping aside to let them pass, Daisy gets a good look at one of the badges a boy is pinning to his friend’s shirt.

It’s a rainbow flag.

Hm.

With a quick pivot, she walks towards the shop the teens exited and pushes the door open. It’s a small bookstore, the kind that might be described as ‘quirky’ and sells everything from tarot cards to knickknacks to actual books. A small display near the back counter features more rainbows, and Daisy squeezes through the cramped aisles to get to it. Most of the items at eye-level display the typical pattern of colours that runs red-through-purple, most with an extra black and brown bar at the top.

But some are different colours and some are only four stripes, and some are three, and soon Daisy is half-crouched as she reads labels and info cards attached to the various pieces of merchandise that fill the case. After about half an hour of deciding (and one nervous comment from a staff member that they were closing soon), Daisy makes her purchase. The little paper bag that smells of some sort of incense crinkles in her hand as she walks home, her strides not as strong as they were before the coffin but stronger than they’ve been all day.

She has a plan.

So the next morning she sails into the Institute with purpose, bare arms swinging with her usual quiet confidence as she times her entrance to when the majority of the staff haven’t wandered off to their posts yet. They’re all practiced at not actually looking at the misfits that make up the Archive team, and Daisy makes her way through without much notice. When she finds Jon trying to make himself small as he edges past the others toward the stairs, she throws an arm around him with a flash of her teeth—just enough to catch him off guard. And his loud, breathy little noise of shock when it does draws more than a few looks.

Which is exactly what Daisy wants.

Because as she stands there grinning, with Jon tucked against her new tank top emblazoned with the lesbian pride flag, the entire foyer stutters to a complete and grinding halt.

Melanie is the first to break the silence, letting loose an overdramatic wolf-whistle. Basira sighs next, fondly rolling her eyes, and Martin looks…relieved. The other staff look like they’re having regrets. A lot of them.

Daisy is fucking delighted.

Outing Jon without his consent was never an option, but outing herself to shut folks up? Daisy can’t think of anything that’s less of an issue to her. It isn’t like she ever made a big secret of it, anyway.

From where he’s pressed into her side, she can feel Jon start to shake. When she glances over to see him biting his lip hard as a smile threatens to overtake his usually tired features, she pushes him towards the Archives and out of sight. She only manages to get him halfway down the stairs before he actually starts laughing, a spluttering little chuckle that echoes in the hallway and makes Daisy smile in return.

Because she really doubts the Fears are homophobic after all, so it’s not like they’re going to get any worse. And normal people just don’t scare her. In fact, they seem rather scared of her instead. She didn’t even have to pull a weapon on them either, unless you counted her arms. She shares that last thought with Jon, waiting until he almost has his amusement in check, just to watch his control slip and a new round of laughter bubble up.

There are no more whispers in the lunchroom, and Jon’s arm is back around Daisy’s waist where it belongs when they go out. A couple employees find themselves on the receiving end of pointed letters about human rights and workplace tolerance from Peter Lukas’ assistant, and Daisy takes to randomly wearing her new tank top simply because she likes it. She even goes back to the odd little shop to buy a couple spares when she finds out how comfortable they are for doing her PT.

For Jon, she buys the smallest lapel pin she can find. It’s coloured with what the clerk had said was the ‘ace pride’ flag, shaped like a book and declaring ‘I’d rather be reading’ in silver font across the front. Jon’s hand closes over it with a smile more honest than he usually musters up when she gives it to him, and his thanks is in a voice that’s soft.

He never wears it, as Daisy expected, and he never even takes it out of its packaging. Instead he puts it in an empty tea tin from the lunchroom—hiding it along with a post-it note from Martin that Daisy pointedly doesn’t mention—and tucks it into his desk drawer between a jar of suspicious ashes and a single human rib. It sits there with the grisly souvenirs of Jon’s life, and sometimes Daisy sees him open the drawer to smile at it.

A little bit of normal in the middle of everything that isn’t.

Just like him.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #daisy tonner #ace character #My writing #self indulgent to large amounts

[zutaraangtastic]

I have a prompt idea! This idea fits into more of an Aged up Zukataang headcanon. Drunk!Katara preferably interacting with both Zuko and Aang. On the Fluffy side. I think it would be amusing and cute.

hi! if you're still doing prompts, may I offer "little spoon zuko" ?

Combined these two prompts, accidentally went overboard and wrote more like a whole fic than a drabble! (Can be read without context, but for the best experience, read as a missing scene from ch. 10 of Heartlines by kuchi/Mod K.) - Mod J

There’s always been casual touch between them and Zuko: Katara’s instinctive hand holding, borne of navigating her village with her family during fierce white-out blizzards; Aang’s penchant for hugging him like a panda on a tree, which became all the more comically ridiculous when he outgrew Zuko. 

But it had taken Zuko time to adjust to those habits, even when they meant only friendship. Katara knows to expect some hesitation, now that they’re adding another layer of love to their actions. They’ve agreed to take this slow, ease into the newness of being able to show their full affection.

It’s a good thing, too, because he seems almost overwhelmed just by this, sitting with them in the near-dark as they take turns playing with his hair, leaning into his shoulder, kissing him. 

When Katara breaks their latest, lingering kiss and looks up at Zuko, his pupils are wide, shaken, though she’s already lost track of how many times she’s done this. How many times Aang has. They’ve been in too good a mood for any lingering nerves to interfere. With Zuko’s enthusiastic—if stumbling—assent, it’s hard not to kiss him, and hard not to do more.

Talk has dwindled, but they’ve been here for hours and said all they possibly could. About their feelings, about their future, about everything. It’s a relief to finally let loose after the whirlwind the past few months have been.

The sweet palm wine helps, leaving Katara pleasantly fuzzy-headed. She’s come to suspect Aang doesn’t mind the secondhand taste of it on her tongue, or Zuko’s, nearly as much as he pretends. And she doesn’t mind watching them, feeling the bloom of nervous warmth in her gut, almost like the old eagerness of first-time teenage exploration with Aang.

The lantern’s firelight blurs a fraction when she tilts her head, gaining sharpness only in the twin reflections between Zuko’s and Aang’s eyes, which flicker open as Aang pulls back to let Zuko catch his breath. Katara notices the subtle tell of Zuko about to flip the script, the stubborn squint a moment before he takes the back of Aang’s neck and yanks him in, harder this time. Aang makes a muffled, surprised sound. The warmth in Katara’s stomach drops into a tense thrill, like when Appa plummets suddenly during flight.

Aang is the one left breathless this time, and it’s more than a little impressive, considering he’s an airbender. After a moment, the fierceness in Zuko’s posture eases, and the delightful tension fades. His voice is raspy when he murmurs, glancing to Katara, “Stay. It’s gotten late.”

It wasn’t initially part of their plan, but Katara nods, smiling over the rim of her glass. She’s game if they are, trusts that they can all handle themselves—it’s wonderful that Zuko thinks so too. They’ve shared beds as pairs before, though that was without this passion simmering so openly between them.

“Is that your way of saying you’re ready to take us to bed?” Aang asks, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. Katara might have to think twice about it, in that case, because he’s the only one who hasn’t been drinking, and poor Zuko’s gone strawberry-red.

“Not like that, I’m not – I mean, no pressure, only if you want—”

Nothing will come of it yet, rationally speaking; Aang’s a flirt, but when she thinks back on it, he said things like that to Zuko even before confessing his undying love for him, so Zuko must know better than to take him seriously.

Then again, nothing feels serious right now, everything perfectly light and crystalline and dreamy, all the weight of secrecy lifted from her heart. She can’t help but laugh. It infects Zuko, too, his embarrassed glower slipping and lips twitching into a smile as he shakes his head at Katara.

“So much for waiting for our honeymoon at the palace,” she says, leaning across him to poke Aang accusingly in the chest.

“Okay, okay,” Aang says, glancing at Katara as he nuzzles into the crook of Zuko’s neck with playful smugness. In return, Katara sticks her tongue out at him as she wraps herself around Zuko’s arm. “Maybe His Royal Hotness just doesn’t want to admit he’s getting sleepy.”

Zuko rolls his eyes, but he makes no move to escape them. “I changed my mind. I’m kicking you both out.”

“Too late!” With a huff of air, Aang sends himself flying backwards and lands sprawled on the nearby mattress, making himself at home.

Katara’s laughter keeps bubbling up like a running stream, trickling off only when she curves her arm around Zuko’s head and pulls him into another kiss of her own. When she stands, she’s only a little unsteady on her feet, and takes hold of both of Zuko’s hands to pull him with her. He goes to snuff out the lantern, while Katara sits on the edge of the bed and starts to let down her hair for the night. 

Aang helps without being asked, taking extra care to disentangle the ties painlessly. Katara closes her eyes with a pleased hum, enjoying his familiar hands massaging her scalp.

Yawning, she cracks her eyes open again to find Zuko still crouched by the lantern, watching her and Aang with something inscrutable in his expression, something both fragile and ardent. The low-burning light casts half his face in a mellow orange glow, until he shakes himself from his reverie and puts out the candle’s flame.

“Come on, I promise I won’t let my husband jump you,” she says, patting the space beside her.

“Hey, I’m not planning to do anything indecent!” Aang protests. Katara glances over her shoulder to find him pouting and giving Zuko his best innocent Appa eyes. “I am staying in the middle, though. Unless you want to?”

Zuko shakes his head, drifting closer but still hesitating. “No, it’s just – three’s a crowd, right? I can take the sofa, and you two can have the bed, if it’s easier.”

There’s a point to that—this bed is probably meant to comfortably accommodate two at most, and Aang might as well be a person and a half, all lanky arms and legs everywhere, but Katara’s not about to let that stop them. “Zuko,” she says, with the specific kind of misplaced authority she gets only around the time that tiredness overtakes tipsiness for her. “After everything we’ve said, you really think we’d even think of stealing your bed without you?”

Zuko opens his mouth, closes it again, and eventually says, smiling, “That barely makes sense.”

“C’mere,” Aang says, and finally, Zuko does. 

He’s still awkward when he sits next to Katara, still stiff and uncertain when Aang wraps his arms around them both. She doesn’t know whether to call it silly or sad, that Zuko has such trouble letting his guard down, letting himself accept their love, even after admitting he’s wanted this for a long time. That he never thought he would have it. Maybe that he never thought he deserved it?

She’s reached the point where she wants to cry a little bit, but she doesn’t, just presses her forehead together against his and Aang’s and lingers in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Everything she wants is right here in this room.

Eventually, Aang reaches for Zuko’s casual evening robes, with a gentle “Can I?” As he helps Zuko out of his clothes, Katara unwinds the ribbon securing Zuko’s topknot and adds it to the pile of her hair bands on the bedside table. She smooths out his hair before shrugging out of her own outer layers, down to sarashi. Normally, she likes the freedom of sleeping without the wrappings, but she figures they’re trying to maintain some propriety for Zuko’s sake, both he and Aang keeping their loose pants on.

Katara runs her hands lightly over Zuko’s bare shoulders, presses a kiss to his collarbone and then his cheek. “I’m glad we’re here with you,” she says sincerely, raising her hands to cup his face. “Earlier, I thought, we could be ruining our friendship, that we’d be forcing our feelings on you. And if you ever don’t feel what we feel, we can always stop, or—”

“Katara, please,” he whispers, and it’s a genuine entreaty, his lips ghosting against the side of her thumb. “It’s not – it’s just me, I’m not…good. At any of this. But it’s not that you’re forcing anything, I promise.”

“Hey, you are good,” Aang says, taking both of Zuko’s hands in his. “You’re amazing, in fact. You’ve changed our lives in so many ways.”

Zuko exhales a shaky breath, a hint of a self-deprecating laugh. “Not always for the better.” He pauses, looking everywhere except for them. Katara and Aang exchange a stricken look; it’s always heart-wrenching, to hear the way he mistrusts himself. “I just worry I’ll…what if I mess it up? Everything you have, it’s already perfect, and I don’t want you to have to sacrifice that for me. What if it’s not worth it, what if I’m…not?”

Wordlessly, Aang pulls him into a tighter hug. Zuko makes a slightly distressed sound, but holds on when Aang starts to let go in confusion and worry. With his nails digging into Aang’s arm, Katara can’t help but think he looks almost like a scared animal, utterly incongruous with the Fire Lord she knows, the image of confident power he projects. In a way, she’s always known it to be a projection, at least in part—that beneath the surface, there’s still the old volatility, like a riptide beneath a calm stretch in the waves. 

He’s grown so much, but there’s still something lost about him, something hunted. As if he still doesn’t think he’s earned his peace, and makes himself restless with doubt in recompense.

Katara’s throat closes up, and she blinks through the wateriness in her eyes as she twines her fingers with Zuko’s. He squeezes her hand so tightly it trembles.

“Listen,” she says with difficulty, “I’d gladly sacrifice plenty of things for you, I know we both would. But it is so much more than that, it’s – it’s hoping, and it’s knowing you better every day, and knowing Aang better through you, and seeing you both in everything I do for the rest of my life. You’re not taking anything away from us.”

“You’re giving us so much,” Aang finishes the thought for her, perfectly on the same wavelength. “We’re figuring this out together, all three of us. Maybe it won’t always be the easiest thing, but it is the most freeing. It already makes me so happy, just being able to be close to you. And if this makes you happy, too, then it’s so worth it. You’ve just gotta let yourself trust in it. Do you trust us?”

Zuko nods slowly, but unhesitatingly, and the nervous hunch of his shoulders starts to relax. He loosens his grip on Aang and Katara with an apologetic glance. Noticing her tears, he reaches up to brush them away, and when he meets Aang’s eyes, Katara can tell Zuko’s really seeing him again. He kisses Aang’s knuckles, then hers, softly. 

“We all have to leave in the morning, don’t we?” he says. “It’s probably time to sleep.”

Katara sighs and sinks back into the mattress, and Aang follows, pulling Zuko with him. “I wish we had more time,” she murmurs, resting her forehead against Aang’s back. 

“Someday we’ll have all the time in the world,” Aang says, and he sounds so assured that Katara almost finds it easy to believe the same.

“Maybe when we’re retired,” Zuko says with a small snort.

“Hey, lucky you, you get to retire! ‘Avatar’ is a lifelong job title, Mr. Fire Lord.”

Zuko musters a chuckle, and Katara props herself up with one arm beneath her head, so she can look at him over Aang’s shoulder. He’s lying on his side, facing her and Aang, bathed in the moonlight pooling in through the window.

It’s not the first time she’s noticed their matching lightning scars, the wounds she healed for each of them. These days Zuko is only shirtless during sparring matches with Aang, though, and those are always a blur of acrobatics and heat—not that she ever complains, when she gets the chance to watch. But it’s rare to observe them both so still together. Katara can trace around the familiar, messy red sprawl midway down Aang’s spine that interrupts the line of his tattoo, and almost be able to reach out and touch Zuko’s, sharper and neater on the edges, maybe from his partial redirection back then.

She resists the urge, not wanting to dwell more on the turmoil of the past when they’ve worked so hard to focus tonight on the shining bright future ahead of them. For now, she can content herself with knowing that they’re both safe, here with her.

Aang’s breathing is deepening into near-sleep, one hand extended and tangled with Zuko’s. Katara stretches her arm to join the hand pile, though Aang’s is inconveniently longer and in the way. Zuko scoots closer to accommodate, offering up his other hand to her. His long lashes sweep in a slow blink, but he’s still awake. For the first time, she notices those are mismatched in the same way as his eyebrow, never regrown on the burned side.

“You know, you have to actually close your eyes to sleep,” she says softly.

Zuko gives her a faint smile. “Yeah. I just don’t want to open them again, and find out I’ve been dreaming.”

“Aww, you’d—” Aang interrupts himself with a wide yawn “—you’d dream about us?”

“Hah, you have no idea.”

Aang laughs, and Katara raises an eyebrow with interest. But again, they’ll have to leave that for another time.

“It might help if you get comfortable,” she says, before Aang can tease Zuko further. “Turn over.” After a moment, Zuko complies, but just stays there, facing away. “Not like – I meant, turn over, and come closer, too.”

“Like spoons,” Aang adds helpfully, as Zuko shuffles into cuddling range, his back close to Aang’s chest.

Katara curls her arm across them both. “There. Now, relax. We’ve got you.”

It takes several minutes of hesitant shuffling, tiny adjustments, tensed muscles beneath her palm. While Aang’s hand rests automatically around Zuko’s middle, Katara moves hers up, reaching for his hair to thread her fingers through it, trying to soothe him. Surprisingly, it seems to help. Zuko leans his head into her touch, eases back against Aang, and breathes out a sigh that sounds…relieved.

“Love you,” Aang mumbles, almost asleep for real now. Katara knows he doesn’t intend it just for her, but she kisses his forehead, making him hum pleasantly and tangle one ankle with hers as he secures his gentle hold on Zuko.

As she’s drifting off, she hears Zuko murmur, “I –” and hesitate, his quiet swallow audible in the stillness of the night. “I’ll be better at this next time,” he says eventually. “I promise.”

Katara lays her hand over his heart. It’s still beating too fast for him to be totally at rest, but slowing, little by little. “I love you too, Zuko.”

#zutaraang #zutara #zukaang #kataang #atla #zutaraangdrabblechallenge #mod j #Anonymous