this is what i'm doing instead of catching up on sleep


Alright, HERE we go! Awhile ago I had an idea for a MP100/Voltron crossover, and after mentioning it to @x-i-l-verify​ and loooots of brainstorming later, we have…*gestures vaguely* this. These are more or less screenshot redraws just to kind of get across who is who. :) More info, reasonings and musings under the cut, because well…it got long…

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Better Latte than Never

it’s my birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE 21ST OF SEPTEMBER IS FINALLY HERE, and that means a fic!!! have a destiel coffee shop AU on me. <3

read it here on AO3!!

“What are you having?” Castiel asked with a smile, and Dean’s stomach flipped.

“Um. Regular latte,” he managed to say, and smiled.

“Regular latte,” Castiel repeated. “Coming right up.” He turned away, and began to prepare Dean’s drink, tanned hands picking up a plain white cup which he spun into position onto the coffee machine, glancing up to see whether Dean had noticed. Dean smiled, hoping it came across as ‘impressed’ and not ‘totally smitten’.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other behind the cafe counter, Dean waited for his latte to be ready. He preferred espresso, if he was honest - but lattes took longer to drink, and just recently, Dean had found himself becoming a professional in the niche field of ‘reasons to take a long time over drinking a coffee in a small cafe’. He’d never even liked coffee that much - it had always been more of a necessary evil, utilized when he’d pushed his sleeping schedule beyond the reasonable limit - but that was something that he’d conveniently forgotten, just recently.

In fact, he could date this very specific amnesia to the exact moment that he’d walked through the door of this tiny cafe, tired in the middle of a long day at work and gasping for something to drink on his lunch break. That had been the first time he’d come, but there had been a second time, and a third… and now it was almost a whole month later, and Dean was still coming in every day.

He wished he could say that it was the coffee at Better Latte Than Never that kept him coming back. The coffee was good – or at least, Dean thought it was, though he was no expert - he hadn’t exactly sampled a whole lot of different brands. In fact, recently, he hadn’t even bothered buying his usual packet of filter coffee when he went grocery shopping. He spent so much time in Better Latte Than Never that he was starting to genuinely worry about the effects of overcaffeination.

After all, maybe those effects included giddiness, and butterflies in his stomach, and a heart rate through the roof, all of which Dean had been experiencing on a daily basis - but if he was honest, Dean didn’t think he could blame the coffee so much as the maker of the coffee for the symptoms.

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cosmicfic  asked:

If you're willing and able to do dan crying from overstimulation I'd give you my soul willingly. And perhaps add in cockslut? I wouldn't be able to relate to any of that whaaaaaat? I'm totally not living vicariously through Phan fic idk what your talking about

Aren’t we all? But here you go, the cocksluttiest Dan I could manage, with masturbation, multiple orgasms, and overstim.

Dan shouldn’t be in this mess. He isn’t even supposed to know about it. This has all been caused by a single dumb mistake on Phil’s behalf; one that should have just made things a bit awkward between them for a few days, but has ended up ruining Dan’s life instead. It hadn’t been meant for him, and if things had gone the way they were supposed to, he wouldn’t be in this hell. He wouldn’t be spread out on his bed, hard, squirming, mouth absolutely watering at the thought of his best friends’ cock.

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Happier (Aren’t You?)

Summary: Can you write something to do with the new Ed Sheeran song Happier? I was thinking in like the view of Dan’s ex who’s watching him fall in love with Phil?’

Genre: Songfic

Song: Happier

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Elements of angst

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It’s been the longest month of her life and she has a million things on the tip of her tongue she’s dying to say and confess, but not whilst everyone is around. And not whilst Dan has the biggest smile on his lips as he looks down at his phone a couple of minutes later.

“Who are you texting, Howell? We’re all right here!” someone jokes, and Dan laughs and holds up his hands in surrender.

“Just Phil” he replies, the smile never once faltering.

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“So you’re not gonna talk to me? ’S that how will it go?”

Harry asked, still a bit irritated from the fight the both of you had that was quite unresolved from last night, also stood in front of the front door for a few moments, looking at your figure on the couch that’s wrapped in a blanket, not a single acknowledgement that he was here being given.

Harry rolled his eyes, putting the car keys on the designated spot and taking off his shoes, about to go turn off the TV out of habit until he realized that it wasn’t even turned on.

His confused eyes went to your figure who was shallowly sleeping because of the flu you think you have at the moment, even the slightest bit of movement enough to remind you that you have a horrible migraine, shivering from the coldness and how thin the blanket is to suit your need, but didn’t have any choice because it pained you to find another one.

His gaze got more concentrated when he realized you were sleeping and a blanket around you, attempting to lift it off that made you immediately wake up and wince because of the bright lights, in a conclusion that it was too shallow to be even considered as sleep, let alone as rest.


Harry got more confused by the second when he heard your voice weak and hoarse which he wasn’t used to.

He hesitantly pressed his hand to the crook of your neck, eyes widening when he couldn’t believe how hot your temperature was just by touching it.

“You’re — you’re burning up.”

Harry said, retracting his hand from your neck and closing it, lips pursing on what he should do next.

“No, no. I could manage.”

You were halfway through finsihing the sentence when you stood up and had your legs give up on you at that moment, your vision blurring from the sudden move.

Harry immediately brought his hands out to catch you out of reflex and as response on what he saw.

“Dear God.”

He muttered under his breath the moment he catched you, a small amount of weight being lifted from his chest when he genuinely thought you were gonna collapse, but was replaced with a bigger one when he realized that there’s a high possibility of you doing so because of your current state.

“Easy does it.”

He said more to himself than to you, being nervous at the close call before carrying you gently, leaving the blanket on the couch because there was a comforter in your shared bedroom you could instead have.

He carried you snugly and securely, knowing that you love it when he does, head pressed to his chest and hands on his back.

Harry opened the door, closing it with his shoulder before going under the sheets with you still on top of him, pulling the comforter until it reached your neck.

His hand stroke your hair out of habit, slight hesitation still left.

“I — I think we should go to the hospital later. Get a-…”



Harry asked, frowning since he knew what he’s supposed to do, but also didn’t know how he was supposed to do it.

Although he does know that there’s a thermometer in one of the cabinets on his dresser, although not sure if there’s any medicine.

“I, uh, I think I don’t know what to do.”

“I noticed.”

Honestly speaking, Harry was nervous on how alarming your temperature was and what you’re feeling, be it minor or major, under the classification of being okay.

He has the thinking that maybe the fight last night is already disregarded, but he couldn’t really assure himself that since he genuinely doesn’t know what to do next.

Harry’s too on edge, stopping his breathing once in a while to feel yours, hand pressed on your back, wanting for moments like this for him to take the pain.

“Please tell me you’re okay. Just want to hear it.”


2 |

SCREAMS  (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ


Thank you for your patience, nonnerson~~ nyahaha Anyway I recommend reading (or re-reading part 1)


Click Here for: [Part 1]

It had been a year.

The thought crossed your mind as you exhaled the smoke from a cigarette, watching as it disappeared with the wind. Just like you had, a year ago.

The sun’s rays peeked out from behind the familiar, tall building in front of you, spreading its light over the shadows where you hid. Rika’s old apartment building. The same place where he had brought you to, and the same place he had taken you away from.

Even now, you were unaware of their intentions for bringing you to the RFA and then stealing you away, but… it didn’t matter. No, nothing mattered anymore.

You crumpled the lit cigarette with your bare hands, tossing it to the ground to stamp out the flame, feeling satisfied by the small crunch! sound it made. You wouldn’t have started to smoke, had it not been for the influence of Mint Eye. Sure, you knew it’d kill you, but everything you’d learned at Mint Eye had opened your eyes to the world—that nothing was worth living for in the first place. What did it matter if you killed yourself a little more?

It didn’t.

“MC?” A familiar voice called out to you, making you snap out of your thoughts. Your eyes widened with recognition as you stared at the person before you, but you quickly narrowed them, pursing your lips as you gazed at them coolly.


  • He did a double take, as his eyes roamed over your face, taking in the familiar features of your face that he hadn’t seen in a year…
  • “MC? Y-you’re MC, right?”
  • His voice was filled with hope and desperation, and he subconsciously reached out to you, as if he wanted to catch you before you slipped away.
  • But you didn’t reply, instead brushing past him, barely acknowledging his presence. As you passed him, he noticed the cold look in your eyes, and shuddered. That… that wasn’t the kind and warm MC he had grown to known. You wouldn’t look at him like that, no… not you.
  • Yoosung could only stare after you in disbelief, but he never gathered the courage to approach you again, not even to confirm your identity.
  • It couldn’t have been you. You wouldn’t look so… so… empty.
  • He’d lament about it to Zen later, drunkenly babbling that he’d seen someone just like you on the streets… admitting his fear that he was too much of a coward to find out if it had been you.
  • “I’m scared if it really was MC… Her eyes looked so distant… so empty… so cold… it can’t be her,” Yoosung would deny, shaking his head with a drunken grin on his face. “MC… our MC would never…”
  • He refused to believe it, avoiding the thought completely. A tear fell from his eye as he gazed at Zen through his glass of champagne. “You should’ve seen those scars on her body… god, no, they can’t… they just can’t belong to her,” he hiccupped, still shaking his head in denial.
  • Even as he fell asleep from the heavy amount of alcohol he’d consumed, he would continue to cry in his sleep, dreaming of the broken girl that he’d been too afraid to even talk to.
  • “Not MC…”


  • You didn’t bother sparing him a second glance as you met eyes with him, but he grabbed your arm before you could even turn the other way.
  • His eyes were shining almost too brightly, and you could practically see a tail wagging excitedly from behind him like a dog. “Jagiya!! Oh, I knew it was you. I would recognize your pretty face anywhere. I’m so glad you’re okay, jagi, I can’t wait to tell the others! I’ve missed…”
  • Zen trailed off as he noticed your unchanging expression, but he mustered up another smile to cover up the fact that your lack of reaction dampened his mood. After all, it had been a year since he last saw you. He didn’t want to waste any more time with you, and he didn’t want to be gloomy with you after so long.
  • “Come on, why don’t we sit down somewhere to catch up?” he smiled warmly, tugging at your arm gently. He didn’t miss the unusual way you winced a bit as he did.
  • Zen loosened his grip on you arm, worry building uncomfortably in his heart. “MC… is it okay if I roll up your sleeve? Please…” His eyes searched yours for an answer, not just to his spoken question but to the millions of questions bottled up.
  • You… you felt torn. Why was he acting so nice to you even though you weren’t even a part of the RFA? Even though it’d been a year? Even though… even though he had no reason to be nice to you? You felt a pain tugging at your heart, but you tried to ignore it instead.
  • Zen looked at you while rolling up the sleeve of your right arm, watching your expression carefully for any hint that he should stop.
  • But you let him.
  • You let him see the dark purple bruises lining up your arm, the faded scars that left scabs in their place… the pain. The pain you’d suffered the past year.
  • He felt sick. What had happened during the time you had gone missing…? Why… why couldn’t he be there for you? Why did this have to happen? Why weren’t you saying anything? Why aren’t there even tears in your eyes? Why wouldn’t you look at him in the eyes?
  • So many questions were spinning in his mind, but he couldn’t voice a single one. “I’m sorry,” he whispered instead, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
  • His hands were trembling as he held yours, bringing the tips of your fingers to his lips as he kissed every one softly… treating you as if you were the most delicate thing in the world.
  • “I’m so sorry I let them hurt you.”


  • Her eyes had dark circles under them, even larger than the ones you’d last seen on her face a year ago. You wondered, could it be that you’d caused that? But you quickly brushed aside the thought. ‘I don’t care,’ you told yourself.
  • It took her a moment to really look at you, her tired mind barely processing what was going on. “MC…?”
  • She just barely recognized you. Gosh… you looked so different. You were wearing dull, dark clothes, even gained a piercing… There were obvious scars at the base of your neck, travelling down toward your chest… But your eyes. Your eyes looked so dead.
  • Jaehee had always thought that she herself looked stressed and tired enough… but seeing you today made her think twice. You looked far worse than her, and she hadn’t even thought that was possible.
  • She swallowed her thoughts, choosing to make small talk with you instead. “You’ve… changed a lot, MC,” she commented softly, unsure what to say.
  • You cocked your head at her. How were you supposed to respond to that?
  • “Uhm, maybe we could grab some coffee?” she tried, still trying to get over her shock of seeing you after your disappearance a year ago. Jaehee had no idea what exactly had happened to you, and reality hadn’t quite hit her that you were standing in front of her just yet, but… she was so, so glad to see you.
  • Your heart swelled at the delighted expression Jaehee wore, and you flashed a small, sad, tired smile at her. You’d missed her. She’d been the only female in the RFA, so you’d put in a lot of effort to befriend her. Jaehee had been one of your closest female friends in your entire life, despite the fact that you had only known her for a short period of time…
  • But no matter how you felt, you couldn’t do anything about it.
  • “I’m sorry.” You pulled her into a tight embrace, closing your eyes briefly to savour the moment. But you quickly let go before she could even wrap her arms around you. “I… don’t want to put you in danger.”
  • With that, you turned on your heel, leaving a confused, sleep-deprived Jaehee behind to suffer from your absence yet again.


(Reminder: he’s unaware of Mint Eye in this.)

  • “MC!” His voice was urgent and desperate, very different from the gentle tone you remembered him by. “MC… I’m so glad you’re okay…”
  • His eyes were filling with tears, relieved to see you after so long. He noted your features… the bruises, the healing injuries, the broken look in your eyes as if you’d lost all meaning in life. Dread and guilt overwhelmed his relief, his body growing stiffer and stiffer the more details he noticed.
  • Because it was his fault.
  • He was the one who swore you’d be safe. And yet…
  • He almost choked on his tears as he managed to whisper, “Oh god, I’m so sorry, MC.”
  • Reality hit him. It was all his fault that this had happened to you. If only he hadn’t convinced Jumin… if only he’d ensured your security… if only it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t have these scars.
  • “Leave me alone,” you muttered, brushing past him. He watched you walk away, your eyes downcast and lacking life. He could almost hear his own heart cracking more with every step you took.
  • Because he had no right to stop you. He had no right to interfere with your life and risk ruining it more than he already had.
  • Your brief meeting with him had started with a broken girl, and ended with a broken man.


  • His heart was hammering as he stared at you with wide eyes. He almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He took quick, long strides to make his way toward you, but you broke into a sprint, running away from him.
  • No. No. Not him. Not Jumin. No.
  • You knew how he’d felt about you. Hell, you knew you’d felt something with him, too. If you looked at him any longer, all the feelings, all the memories, would come rushing back. You couldn’t let him see you.
  • But he chased you.
  • God, there was no way he’d let you go again.
  • He ran the fastest he’d ever run in his entire life, ignoring everyone and everything around him, only focusing on catching you. But then he tripped just as he got within an arm’s reach, and you halted in your steps on instinct. A pained smile crossed his face as Jumin grabbed at your ankle tightly, making sure you couldn’t run off again.
  • “I knew you would stop for me,” he murmured softly. He stood up slowly, his eyes trained on you. “I thought I’d never get the chance to see you again. That I’d never be able to tell you how sorry I am for letting you go that day… Even after a year, you’re still the same kind, gentle MC I know.”
  • You held back your tears, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not the same, Jumin,” you started, your voice coming out as an unintentional whimper. “I… You don’t know what they did to me, Jumin… They t-touched me, and drugged me, and hurt me and killed me in so, so many ways… I… I’m so disgusted with myself…”
  • You didn’t know why you were telling all this to him. But you couldn’t help it. He was the man you had loved… The man you probably still held feelings for. Even if a year had gone by, the way his mere presence made you feel safe and loved never changed.
  • He gently cradled you in his arms. “I promise you, MC. I will do anything and everything in my power to protect you. I will never let this happen again, I promise,” he murmured in your ears, his chin resting upon your shoulder. You felt dampness on your shoulder, and you realized… Jumin Han was crying.
  • “How? Seven couldn’t even protect me,” you muttered, holding yourself back from returning his warm embrace.
  • He didn’t answer you. Instead, he acted immediately on his words. Jumin exposed your identity to the world, requesting an international TV station to release the news. Everyone would know you. If Mint Eye attempted to take you again, they wouldn’t be able to do so without raising the public’s suspicions. Furthermore, he assigned you trustworthy guards and increased security around his apartment with Seven’s help.
  • They had let you go once. They wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
  • It would take time to help you recover from your traumatic events, but.. They would never let anything happen to you, ever again.
  • Because they love you. They all do.


  • He would recognize you anywhere. Even worse, he recognized the glazed look in your eyes immediately, too.
  • Come with me right now,” he scowled, grabbing your hand roughly. You tried to pull back, but his grip was firm, and you couldn’t fight against his strength.
  • As he led you angrily through the streets, throwing you into his car and locking the two of you inside, a million thoughts were filling his mind.
  • “Who did this to you?” Seven demanded. He was seething, his golden eyes flashing with detest.
  • You only glared back at him, refusing to answer his question. What good would it do you? Mint Eye had overpowered him and his security once. Even if you went crawling back to the RFA, they would only get you again. It was hopeless. Everything was fucking hopeless.
  • Hurt flashed across his face as he realized what you were thinking, and he lowered his eyes, guilt clouding them. “You think I’m useless, huh. I know. You entrusted your life with me and I only let you down. I can’t promise you that I can help, but please, at the very least, let me try. Tell me what happened, MC,” he pleaded softly.
  • “Even if I told you, what could you do?” you replied in a quiet, tired voice. “It’s an entire organization, Seven. Mint Eye, if you must know. Look, I don’t expect you to do anything.” An empty laugh escaped your lips. “You claim to be this amazing hacker, but you couldn’t even find one girl. You… you have no idea what I went through.”
  • With that said, you left his car, slamming the door shut behind you.

  • That night, when you returned to Mint Eye Headquarters, you noticed that everyone was in a frenzy, running around like mad dogs. “What’s going on?” you asked someone passing by.
  • Their eyes reflected yours with fear. “We’ve been exposed. Revealed to the world. We have to get out, NOW. They’ve sent the government and news stations after us. Each man for himself, run for your life!”
  • You stood there, shocked as you realized that Seven had taken action immediately. Your phone buzzed with a notification, and you noticed a distinctly familiar number texting you.
  • 707: It’s been a year, MC. I haven’t done nothing throughout this time. I always swore to myself that if I finally found you again one day, I would save you.
  • Your eyes welled up with tears as you read his messages.
  • 707: If you trust me, come to this address: [Address Here]
  • 707: We’re waiting for you, MC. Everyone’s waiting.
  • You started to run away from the building and towards your friends. Yoosung… Zen… Jaehee… Jumin… Seven… V…
  • The thought of their smiling faces, greeting you, was enough to bring a smile to your face. The first genuine smile since you’d been taken away from the RFA. 
  • It wouldn’t be the last.
Who You Should Fight: Greek Gods Edition
  • Zeus: Don't fight Zeus. You'll only end up sleeping with him. On second thought, do fight Zeus.
  • Hera: Look, I'm not saying anyone is really going to try to stop you, but I am saying she is petty as shit and will dedicate the rest of your life to destroying you in other ways. Your call.
  • Poseidon: You could probably fight Poseidon. Dude is built like a brick shithouse but he'd think it was a good time and buy you a beer afterwards.
  • Demeter: Are you fucking kidding? She created a new season the last time someone really pissed her off. Do not fucking fight Demeter.
  • Hades: Fight Hades, but only in spring, and then ask to see pictures of his dog.
  • Hestia: Are you Satan
  • Aphrodite: Arguably the lowest reward to risk ratio on this list. What is even the point here. Might as well save us all some time and punch yourself in the groin.
  • Athena: If you must, a sneak attack is required, and even then you’re still probably boned. Alternately, distract her first with statements such as "Mozart is an overrated hack" and "Garfield is not funny."
  • Hephaestus: You could beat Hephaestus. You could not beat Hephaestus' robot army. Do not fight Hephaestus.
  • Ares: Absolutely fight Ares. This is a no-brainer. Literally everyone wants you to kick Ares' ass including Ares. You might feel bad when he starts crying but only if you are weak.
  • Artemis: Do not fight Artemis. Do not talk to Artemis. Do not look at Artemis. Do not think about Artemis.
  • Apollo: What did I just fucking say
  • Hermes: You could beat him if you could catch him, but you can't, and even if you did, he would convince you to talk it out instead, buy you a drink, and be gone before you noticed your wallet was missing. Avoid.
  • Dionysus: Dionysus is an easy fight until he decides not to be. You could fight Dionysus but under no circumstances force him to give a shit.
  • Persephone: Don't fight Persephone. She will beat you up. Her mom will beat you up. Her husband will probably also be unpleasant and disapproving in some way. Listen to trash pop with Persephone instead.
  • Hebe: Idk man, she bites.
  • Iris: Yo have you ever tried to punch a rainbow?
  • Heracles: Dude has seen some shit. You may think you're bad enough but you really aren't. There is literally no way this could end well for you. Do not fight Heracles.

anonymous asked:

Steve calls Bucky 'his sunshine' every chance he gets. Steve getting seriously hurt and Bucky (and Steve) thinking he might not make it so Steve sings 'You Are My Sunshine' to him and I'm crying

“There’s my sunshine. Let me see that smile,” Bucky says, grinning like the jerk that he is.

Steve’s so mad he could spit and Bucky’s not helping matters. He gives Bucky the dirtiest look he can muster, which judging by the way Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up to the top of his forehead, is a pretty mean one. “Don’t be like that, Sweetheart. It’s just one 4F.”

“Those assholes don’t know what they’re talking about. I can fight. I’m fine.”

“So is it your ticker, diabetes or asthma you want them to ignore?” Bucky asks him.

“All of it. I want to fight, Buck. This isn’t right. I just want to do what’s right,” Steve’s shoulders sag as he says it. He knows he’s not as strong or healthy as a guy like Buck, but he thinks he’s more than capable of being a soldier.

Bucky seems to sense how upset he is. He wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders and says, “You’ll get in. Next time.” His eyes say he’s lying but Steve ignores it, knowing in his heart that Bucky’s wrong. “Come on, Steve. Where’s my sunshine guy huh? Where’s that smile.”

Steve sticks his tongue out instead.


Steve did make it, made it past basic, made it past the serum, made it into the hydra base where Bucky was and made it back to base where they’re both safe. Even after seeing medical, Bucky still looks so pale. The skin around his eyes is a little sunken. He has his own tent and gets Bucky inside it, fussed over him for a minute while Bucky settles into his bed.

“Where’s my sunshine?” Bucky asks and it makes Steve want to cry just as much as it makes him want to rip all of hydra apart with his bare hands.

“Right here,” Steve says. He gets into the cot with Bucky, squeezing their bodies tight. He runs a hand over Bucky’s cheek, all the cuts and bruises there. “What did they do to you?”

“What did they do to you?” Bucky says, mustering a tiny smile. “Look at you.”


“Look at my sunshine guy. My only sunshine. Now I have to share you with the whole world.”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat, and by the time he’s ready to tell Bucky that he’ll always be his, Bucky’s already falling hard into sleep.


He has to practically carry Bucky back to the quinjet. He knows he should take off as fast as possible, run. His mind’s screaming at him as he sets Bucky down gently.

Sam, Wanda, his friends, Tony- he was his friend too. He can’t breathe correctly, his chest rattling from what could be a punctured lung. He has to get them out of here. Where could they go? Oh god, his shield. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky-

Bucky’s eyes are barely open, his head’s lolling to the side as he slips in and out of consciousness. The pain from losing his arm again did him in. Steve can’t let himself think about how this isn’t the first time Bucky would have felt that pain. He realizes then, that he’s not going anywhere right this second. Bucky’s body heals like his, he bets. He just need to give Bucky a minute. He picks him up again and arranges his body so that Bucky can lay on his lap. He runs his fingers through Bucky’s blood-soaked hair and reaches for the closest first aid kit, getting some gauze to apply pressure.

“St-” Bucky tries, his eyelids fluttering.

“Shh,” Steve whispers. “I got you. Where’s my sunshine guy?” Steve doesn’t know what makes him say it, but when he does Bucky lets out a sigh that lets Steve know he remembers. So Steve does what Bucky did so many years ago when he was too sick to get up. He sings. “You are my sunshine. My only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray. You never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

Steve strokes Bucky’s hair the entire time. At this point he just wants Bucky to finally let everything pull him under. Steve will find them a place to stay safe. “The other night dear, when I was sleeping. I dreamt I held you in my arms. When I awoke dear, I was mistaken. So I held my head and I cried.” But Bucky’s here now, and Steve’s going to keep him safe no matter what. His eyes are drawn to something outside the quinjet window. When he looks up, he sees T’Challa.

for @izzybabewoods bc she made this post and she asked nicely and i love her!

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.

Magnus looks up from the old book he’s been reading for the past few hours and at the clock on the wall as it strikes twelve. Alec was supposed to be home by now, but Magnus hadn’t heard from him for hours - on Alec’s ‘paperwork nights’, it was rare for even half an hour to pass without him getting a text from Alec.

With a sigh, Magnus puts down the book and reaches for his phone instead. He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting. Maybe a text telling him that Alec is on his way, or maybe a heads up that he’ll be late. But the only thing on Magnus’ screen is the two texts he and Alec exchanged a few hours earlier.

I only have a handful of reports left to go through - I should be done in an hour. I can’t wait to get home to you. I love you.

Okay, I’ll wait up. I love you too ❤️

It’s not like Alec to be late without letting Magnus know. In fact, it has only happened once or twice in the time they’ve been together, and it’s always meant that either Alec or one of his siblings had gotten themselves into a life threatening situation.

After a few unanswered texts and a call that went straight to voicemail, Magnus gets up from his chair. He’s not going to let himself worry too much before actually checking if everything is alright, but he can’t stop the knot that’s building in his stomach.

He pauses for a moment, checking his wards to make sure he hasn’t somehow missed Alec’s presence before waving his hand to create a portal.

Keep reading

skye07  asked:

Ohhh!!! you wrote the knitting Tony story!!!! I've been hunting that story for a long time!!! (was on a reading spree on your Tony tag, I'm having a swell of a time) So HOW ABOUT!! Someone finding or just ended up in Tony's stash room (it might be a floor if we are being honest, I would with his resources). I am salivating just imaginging the AMOUNT of yarn Tony must have collected, of all colours and types. Just, please. I would love you even more if you decide this prompt worthy~~

You mean that story I sent to bloody-bee-tea about Tony knitting? I’m surprised I haven’t written more Tony knitting, tbh. Hope you like it! Look out for under the cut!

This work can also be found on my Ao3 here.

Natasha had been investigating her new home when she stumbled into it. The room was gigantic, cube shelves covering the walls. Every single shelf had balls of yarn in it, starting with red in one corner and spreading in a circular rainbow of yarns, except for the few columns of shelves that were filled with needles, hooks, counters of some sort?

Natasha felt nervous for a reason she couldn’t explain. Perhaps because this room felt deeply personal? That the person who had set it up had taken time to organize it just right?

She stayed just long enough to tuck a gun under some soft yarn before she left. Each room needed at least one weapon hidden in it.

“Why would you ever need this in my stash?” Tony complained, shoving the gun into her hands. “You can use literally anything in there as a weapon. The straight needles can be used to stab people and the circular needles can be used as garrotes. My double-pointed needles can be used in close combat. And if your attacker is allergic to wool, he’s gonna be in for a bad time.”

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shel silverstein quotes for the signs
  • aries: now i lay me down to sleep, i pray the lord my soul to keep, and if i die before i wake, i pray the lord my toys to break. so none of the other kids can use 'em. amen
  • taurus: oh, if you’re a bird, be an early bird and catch the worm for your breakfast plate. if you’re a bird, be an early bird— but if you’re a worm, sleep late.
  • gemini: do a loony-goony dance 'cross the kitchen floor, put something silly in the world that ain't been there before!
  • cancer: i'll take the dream i had last night and put it in my freezer, so someday long and far away when I’m an old grey geezer, i’ll take it out and thaw it out, this lovely dream i’ve frozen, and boil it up and sit me down and dip my old cold toes in.
  • leo: listen to the mustn'ts, child. listen to the don'ts. listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. listen to the never haves, then listen close to me...anything can happen, child. anything can be!
  • virgo: if we had hinges on our heads there wouldn't be no sin, 'cause we'd take the bad stuff out and leave the good stuff in.
  • libra: i will not play tug o' war, i'd rather play at hug o' war, where everyone hugs instead of tugs, where everyone giggles and rolls on the rug, where everyone kisses and everyone grins and everyone cuddles, and everyone wins!
  • scorpio: she drank from a bottle called DRINK ME and she grew so tall, she ate from a plate called TASTE ME and down she shrank so small. and so she changed, while other folks never tried nothin’ at all!
  • sagittarius: how many slams in an old screen door? depends how loud you shut it. how many slices in a bread? depends how thin you cut it. how much good inside a day? depends how good you live 'em. how much love inside a friend? depends how much you give 'em!
  • capricorn: when the light turns green, you go. when the light turns red, you stop. but what do you do when the light turns blue with orange and lavender spots?
  • aquarius: there is a voice inside of you that whispers all day long, 'i feel this is right for me, i know that this is wrong.' no teacher, preacher, parent, friend or wise man can decide what's right for you; just listen to the voice that speaks inside!
  • pisces: my skin is kind of sort of brownish pinkish yellowish white. my eyes are greyish blueish green, but i'm told they look orange in the night. my hair is reddish blondish brown, but its silver when its wet, and all the colors i am inside have not been invented yet!

“See?” said Damian. “I told you I heard footsteps. He didn’t go to sleep.”
Which was impressive enough, honestly, given the amount of pain medication that Jason had literally seen Tim take— he should have been out for hours. But what was even more impressive was the mess he’d made of his room.
Tim’s walls were papered with pictures and notes. There was barely any blank wall left, but extra pages were still spilling out of Tim’s printer. He’d run a spool of yarn through a set of thumbtacks, movie style, until it crisscrossed around the entire space in a spiderweb of connections— Jason had to duck underneath it to fit inside the door.
Tim was sitting at his desk, surrounded by stacks of paper and rolls of tape. He didn’t seem to notice either one of them until Jason tapped on his corner.
“Hey. Everything okay in here?”
“Shut up,” Tim told him. “I’m working.”
“Oh, that’s what this is,” said Jason, gesturing to the walls, “Work. You sure about that?”
“Obviously.” Tim pulled a sheet of text from one of his piles and moved over to the wall, searching for a place to hang it. He settled on an empty bit of space and tacked it on— Jason was pretty sure he was leaving tiny holes in the paint. Alfred wouldn’t be happy. “I’m making a network.”
Jason pointed to the center of the mess. “This is a picture of a slice of pizza.”
“I was hungry.”
“It’s connected to a drawing of me.” At least, Jason assumed it was a drawing of him— in reality it was a stick figure wearing an oversized red helmet, complete with tiny guns and “pew pew” written out beneath it, but Jason was willing to be generous.
“I was asking you to bring me pizza.” Tim said, like it was obvious, and he looked around his room like he was hoping Jason had actually brought him one.
“Oh, okay. So instead of texting me like a normal person…” Jason trailed off, waving a hand in Tim’s direction— Tim frowned at him for a few seconds, clearly concentrating, before he sighed and walked back to his desk.
“You’re right. I can do that now, if I can find my phone. Where did I put my—” He started digging through his piles of notes, knocking stacks of them off the desk. After twenty seconds of silence, Damian tapped out a text on his own phone and followed the tone to Tim’s mini-fridge. He pulled open the door: an alarming selection of Red Bull products and Tim’s cell phone, laying across the shelf. He passed it over to Jason with his text still on the screen (Just when I thought you could sink no lower).
“I can’t believe he’s the one that survived,” Jason told him. He was pretty sure it violated natural law. “This is embarrassing. Hey, Tim? You don’t have to text me. I’m standing right here.”
Tim was busy straightening out his yarn, so he didn’t answer.
“Just out of curiosity, how many of these things do you drink every day?” Jason pulled an empty can from the carpet and tossed it at Tim— it bounced off his chest and fell back to the ground. “More than one?”
“One. Five. I don’t know.”
“You skipped a couple of numbers there.”
“Hm.” Tim dropped his voice into an imitation of a GPS. “Recalculating.”
“Oh my god.” Really, Bruce? Jason thought. You replaced me with this? Whatever. Didn’t matter.
“Pass me the post-it notes.”
“Fine.” Jason grabbed the stack off Tim’s desk, read the top, and handed them over. “What is ‘Theseus’ supposed to mean?”
“The Court of Owls has a labyrinth beneath the city.”
“Why didn’t you just write that?”
“Because it’s a code.” Tim stuck his post-it to the corner of the pizza slice and wandered back towards his desk. “I don’t want Damian to read my stuff.”
“Okay, Damian is also standing right here.” Jason pointed behind him. “See? Try to focus. I really don’t think you want to start a fight right now.” Damian didn’t look mad— more amused than anything— but who knew how long that would last? Jason was surprised Tim could walk at this point. He definitely couldn’t defend himself.
“Damian?” Tim asked. He looked shocked, like he really hadn’t seen Damian before Jason pointed him out.
“You’re alive?”
“Yes.” Damian raised an eyebrow in Jason’s direction. “Really, Drake, try to— No. Drake no do NOT—” He tried to duck away, but he was too late; Tim grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him into a hug.
For the first few seconds, Damian stood frozen in shock— mouth open, arms at his sides— and Jason was frozen too. Then he remembered that he was still holding Tim’s phone, so he snapped a picture and ran, out the door and down the hall, as fast as he could. He was halfway down the staircase when he heard a thud behind him (presumably Tim hitting the floor) and Damian’s steps on the landing.
But really, with that kind of lead, there was no way he could catch up.

for the anon that requested another round of Tim (very high) on pain meds

anonymous asked:

A concept/prompt: we've had them being business like whilst being boyfriends (mr lightwood/mr bane) but what about the first meeting as the mr lightwood-banes?

it was a sunny late september afternoon and the hunters moon was empty, devoid of it’s usual customers and quiet as magnus pushed the door open. it was always empty like this, every second monday of the month for the cabinet meeting. sunlight was streaming through those thick front windows, spilling out onto the bar as magnus stepped in. the wind outside blew his long coat up and it shifted around him as his eyes roamed the room and he shut the door behind him.

they were all already there, which he had expected. alec and luke were standing by one of the tables, embroiled in a discussion it looked like. raphael and meliorn were seated near the back so raphael wouldn’t burn, as they always were. maia was the only one close to the door, standing behind the bar idly wiping a glass down, the sunlight glinting off of one of her rings. she was the first one to look up, raising her head, the light spilling through her tight curls and immediately she graced magnus with one of her huge smiles.

“and here he is,” she said, turning towards him and setting the glass down on the bar. “can i get anything for you before the meeting starts magnus?” she asked and he returned her smile as he stepped deeper into the bar.

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anonymous asked:

I have insomnia through genetics (I'm very very tired) but what if Peter ends up with insomnia because of patrol? What if he's too tired in the morning to put his binder on?

-peter really doesn’t get much sleep at all

-he has school, homework, and patrol 5 days a week, homework and patrol on weekends, and academic decathlon once a week too

-plus like,, socialization and being a teenager

-peter’s probably single-handedly keeping redbull and monster in business due to his consumption of their products

-so a few months into school and its really starting to catch up with him

-he usually eats while doing homework but then he’s not focusing as much so he barely has time to catch a meal and his sleep schedule is essentially nonexistent

-its even messing with his healing factor so he’s healing slower than he should

-tony eventually finds out and makes him take 2 nights off patrol a week

-peter tries every night anyway and gets a pretty stern message from karen and tony both

-even with the two nights off though he’s still getting to bed at 3 am most nights and waking up at the ass crack of dawn to get to school on time

-he’s pretty much always exhausted but it’s getting progressively worse

-one night in particular was a really busy crime night and peter didn’t get to go home and sleep

-he was almost late because he had to get home and shower and change

-after he showered he was kinda frantic and still pretty exhausted so without thinking he puts on a sports bra instead of a binder

-he’s already out the door and a few blocks away by the time he realizes

-he can’t have another tardy so he’s just gonna have to deal

-he texts mj and asks if they’ve left and if not, could she bring him a sweatshirt

-a minute later he reads their text that just says “you’ve stolen every single one of them except for my grey one and im not letting your grubby hands snatch that one too”

-he texts a quick “thats fair” then asks ned if he can bring him one

-ned tells him he should have one in his locker that he’s welcome to as long as he gets it back within a week

-”i make no promises”

-”boy if u dont”


-peter and ned meet up and ned gives him the sweatshirt and its really warm and cozy

-he’s pretty self conscious and dysphoric bc he feels really noticeable but 

-its a really nice sweatshirt ok

-the guy in the chair saved peter’s ass once more and peter’s really thankful to have him

-he also flips mj the finger when they pointedly zip up their grey hoodie at lunch which makes them all laugh bc they’re nerds and they love each other a lot

-also peter really has a problem with stealing clothes

anonymous asked:

The sugar daddy headcanons were so good I'm gonna... cry.....,,,,,,,,...... is there some way u could do more headcanons please for it? Maybe this time with stuff like: sugar daddy to lover type stuff? Old hope that's not confusing!! With 76, reaper and mccree again? Ilyyy

When the sugar daddy’s nut so good that you tear up

I kind of understand what you’re asking (or, at least, I think I do) so I shall try provide what you desperately thirst for. >:0

Continuation of this:


Soldier 76

  • It really wouldn’t be surprising if it went from a sugar daddy/baby relationship to a romantic one
  • You guys have already the companionship piece down and the sex is great
  • The relationship probably just kind of evolves into romance over time
  • Expensive dinners at restaurants turn into home cooked meals
  • Trips to the movie theater turn into movie marathons at either of your places
  • Sex isn’t really a necessity anymore
  • Instead there’s a lot more cuddling and kissing after dates instead
  • Neither is buying/paying things for you but he still does it every once in a while
  • Is still always taking care of you, though you take care of him too
  • Where he was closed off about his work and life before, he now isn’t
  • You both have a couple drawers of your own things at each other’s place and take turns staying the night at each other’s houses
  • He doesn’t make you leave when he has to go to work like he used to; instead he’ll save you breakfast in the fridge and kiss your forehead before he heads out
  • When he comes home and collapses in bed, you make sure his shoes and visor/glasses and uncomfortable jacket get taken off, then make sure he has a blanket over him
  • On the days he doesn’t work, you let him sleep in while you make breakfast and even tidy up his house a bit for him (it’s a little messy after three straight weeks of work)
  • He does the same for you when he’s staying at your place


  • He slipped up and mentioned his feelings for you at some point
  • He freaked out right afterwards and tried to tell you that it wouldn’t happen again and that he was sorry and just to forget everything he said
  • You gotta shut him up with a kiss, probably
  • Afterwards, not much is different, except he’s way more open with his feelings and pampers you way more than before
  • If that second part’s possible
  • Still pays for your things and sets up expensive dates until unless you tell him not to
  • He probably has you move in with him so he gets to be around you more
  • Sex becomes a rare thing; it’s mostly heavy cuddling and warm kisses 24/7
  • Also becomes hella protective, which was another side of himself that he hid from you as a sugar daddy
  • He’s an absolute lovebird, straight from a cheesy rom-com
  • It’s almost ridiculous but it’s also amazingly adorable on the big, bulky, usually edgy and intimidating man


  • As soon as he realizes he’s catching cooties feelings, he tries to replace you
  • Even goes so far as trying to make you hate him so you leave him
  • Of course, you’re smart and his personality change is the most obvious thing ever, so you’re not about to go down without a fight
  • So you set up an elaborate plan of seducing him and getting him a little tipsy so he tells you what’s wrong
  • It works but tipsy Jesse also realizes what you’re up to when you start asking odd questions, so an argument breaks out
  • And that’s when he slips up and tells you the big news
  • He’s got the romantic feelin’s for his baby
  • And when you’re quiet with surprise, he kisses you to prove it
  • Jesse does everything but kiss his sugar babies on the mouth
  • Boy is he good at kissing too
  • That night’s one of tipsy, giddy romping
  • Instead of rough and fast, he goes slow and takes his time to kiss and touch every inch of your body
  • So much kissing
  • He’s gotta make up for all that time he hasn’t been kissing you
  • God he loves kissing you
  • From then on, his favorite thing is kissing your sweet little lips
  • He gives you the cutest and most random nicknames ever
  • No longer presses you/buys you things to keep up with beauty standards; his favorite thing is seeing your messy hair and your smeared makeup/unwashed face in the morning while wearing his shirt and/or hat when you come out to breakfast
  • Totally cooks for you all the time, whenever he gets the chance
  • Still buys you little gifts and spa trips and short vacations (that he joins you on, of course) whenever you show the slightest sign of stress
  • Way more protective of you than before, if possible
  • Also gets jealous easily but hides it well until he can pout later when you’re alone
  • Half of your stuff is now at his place and he loves to spend most of his free time at yours
  • You have a key to his place
  • While he loves a completely obedient sugar baby, in a relationship he loves those pointless little bickering moments and end up in chuckles and sweet smooches
  • K I S S E S

anonymous asked:

I want some Shadowhunter who just transferred from a different institute to be at Magnus' loft because idk he was asked to go to Magnus for a potion or something and for Alec to come home and that Shadowhunter is like "Mr. Lightwood? What are you doing here?" And Alec to be like "wym 'what I'm doing here?? I /live/ here??" That's all I want in life.

We’re going to pretend that this a)isn’t one month late, b) isn’t somehow something Jimon worked its way into, c) isn’t unbetae’d
For real, thank you so so much for the prompt, I hope you’re still around to see it ❤️

Jace slams a file on Alec’s desk, pulls the uncomfortable chair out from under said desk dragging it on the floor and sits down with, Alec is pretty sure, as little grace as he can master.

Alec raises his eyebrows before he lifts his gaze from the mess that is the deal he’s working on with the Faeries.

Jace is clearly fuming, arms crossed over his chest, he’s staring angrily at Alec’s desk, and Alec is kind of worried it’ll catch fire.

“I take it something’s bothering you,” he says, deadpan, and Jace’s stare is positively murderous when it focuses on Alec’s relaxed-only-because-he’s-so-goddamn-tired expression.

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anonymous asked:

um, can i get a sick!viktor fic featuring viktor calling yuuri lots of petnames, yuuri catching viktor's sneezes and coughs in tissues, and a lot of sniffling and sneezing and just general needing-to-be-taken-care-of viktor?

I’m out of order yet again on the requests, but this one is so freaking cute that I can’t help it! Anyways, this is set post-series, with Yuuri and Victor living together in Russia. I used google for the nicknames, so hopefully they’re accurate (translations at the end). Warning for copious amounts of sappiness. Enjoy!

“Yuu-ri!” Victor singsongs from the living room. “I’m lonely! You need to come cuddle with me.”

Well, that’s certainly a change from this morning, when Victor had pushed him away every time he tried to get close, saying that he didn’t want to get Yuuri sick. He pads out into the living room. “What’s wrong, Vitya? Do you need more tea?”

“Vitya” is currently a pathetic-looking lump of blankets on the couch. Only his face remains visible, revealing a pink nose and pale cheeks. “No, no. I said I needed snuggles!”

One look at Victor’s face tells him what happened: his fiancé looks dazed and his eyes are slightly unfocused. Yuuri sighs. “You took the nighttime medicine instead of the daytime one, didn’t you?”

“What?” Victor just seems confused by the question. His brow wrinkles, his eyes narrow, and he stifles a sudden sneeze into the blankets.

“Never mind.” Yuuri just shakes his head. He loves Victor, he really does, but sometimes he wonders if his fiancé has any common sense. Victor reaches his arms out like a grumpy toddler, still determined to get his snuggles. It’s very endearing, and Yuuri gives in, settling himself onto the couch next to him.

Victor wraps his arms around Yuuri’s waist, burying his face in Yuuri’s neck and twining their legs together. Yuuri grabs a blanket (one of the ones that Victor did not just sneeze on) and covers the both of them with it. Victor makes a small sound of contentment. “Comfortable now?” Yuuri asks fondly.

“Mhm.” Victor nods into his shoulder. Yuuri can feel a little wetness from his nose seeping into his shirt, but decides to ignore it for now. “Your skin is so soft, Yuuri. And beautiful. I have the most handsome fiancé in the world.”

At this, Yuuri blushes a deep red, glad that Victor can’t see his face as he snuggles closer. “I missed you while you were gone, kotyonok.”

“I was only gone for a few minutes,” Yuuri points out, giggling a little.

Victor pouts. “Mmph. Still too long. I want to be with you always, Yuuri,” he murmurs into Yuuri’s neck. His warm breath tickles, and it makes Yuuri shiver a bit. “I love you.”

Yuuri doesn’t hesitate before he responds. “I love you too,” he says softly. It’s funny, they say it every day, at every possible opportunity; they say it so often that other people (aka Yuri) complain about it. But each time, Yuuri feels that he means it even more. It’s the one certainty in his life: he is deeply and hopelessly in the with the beautiful, ridiculous, and wonderful Victor Nikiforov. How did he get so lucky?

Of course, Victor interrupts the heartfelt moment when his chest starts to hitch with an impending sneeze. Fortunately, Victor is practically famous for his long buildups, so Yuuri has ample time to snatch a tissue from the box on the coffee table and cup it over Victor’s twitching nose.

The sneeze itself is tiny, in sharp contrast to the dramatic, hitching buildup that preceded it. Yuuri has always found Victor’s sneezes amusing. His fiancé is normally so loud, but his sneezes are so tiny and quiet, like a kitten. “Bless you, dear.”

“Thank you, lybuv moya,” Victor says, taking the tissue from Yuuri and wiping his nose. Then he looks at Yuuri in horror. “I’m going to get you sick.”

Yuuri tactfully decides not to point out that they’re already cuddling, so he’s blown any chances of not catching this cold. “I was probably going to catch it from you anyway. We do live together, after all. It’s kind of unavoidable.”

Victor hums in agreement; the sound catches in his throat and sends him into a small coughing fit. Yuuri grabs a handful of tissues and presses them to his mouth. The fit doesn’t last long, but it’s enough to set Victor sniffling wetly and make his eyes run. Yuuri dabs gently at the moisture around his eyes, frowning. “Your cough sounds about the same, but are you sure that you don’t feel any worse?”

“I’ll be okay, solnyshko,” Victor reassures him. “As long as you’re with me, that is.” He tries to sound seductive with his low, raspy voice. The attempt backfires when he has to cough again, and it’s immediately followed by several sneezes that Yuuri barely manages to catch in time.

“You sound absolutely dreadful,” Yuuri scolds lightly.

“Really? I was going for sexy, actually.”

“Nope.” Yuuri shakes his head firmly.

Victor huffs through his nose, mindful of his sore throat. “You have wounded me, zvezda moya.”

Yuuri kisses his forehead in apology. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. Why don’t you try to get some rest? I’m sure that you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“Not tired,” Victor protests, right before he’s interrupted by a huge yawn. Yuuri smirks at him. “Okay, maybe a little bit. Stay close to me?”

“I won’t leave your side,” Yuuri promises. Victor is already drowsy from the medicine, so it doesn’t take him long to drift into a deep sleep, his head pillowed on Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri carefully extricates one of his arms, reaching behind him for his phone. “I love you,” he whispers into the silver hair nestled beneath his chin.

(kotyonok-kitten, lybuv moya-my love, solnyshko-small sun, zvezda moya-my star)

there was only one thing on magnus’s mind as they stood there, lit up by the morning sun spilling through the curtains. magnus’s arms were around alec’s waist, his fingers under alec’s shirt and alec’s fingers were lost in magnus’s hair. with their hips pressed flush, bodies still warm from sleep, it was hard to think of much else. alec’s gaze kept dipping and magnus knew that his was too.

it was only a matter of time but it was a dance until then, magnus soaking in alec’s tiny reactions as his hands slid over the warm skin of his back, rubbing circles on either side of his spine. he knew alec was doing the same, paying attention every flicker in magnus’s expression as those fingertips dragged and pushed through his hair, sending little shocks of warmth through his body. they were getting closer and closer as they held each other, breath warm between them and it was only a matter of time before they were kissing. the sunlight was playing with alec’s features and magnus’s gaze slid back down, focusing entirely on what he wanted.

it had been what he wanted since he woke up, blinking his eyes open to stare at his husband all splayed out in his bed, lost in the softness of sleep. he had wanted nothing more than to press his mouth against those lips. he had wanted nothing more than to pull alec against his body, slide his fingertips over his thighs and feel alec’s lips part against his mouth. but alec had been peaceful, still lost in dreams, his chest rising and falling, sunlight catching on his chest hair and magnus hadn’t had the heart to wake him. instead he watched, feeling alec’s fingers twitch in sleep, the way he shifted his head, his lips twitching, his breathing so slow and even.

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spitfirechick  asked:

If you're taking prompts, could you do #83 from the "99 ways to say I love you" for NurseyDex please?

(sorry, this took me a little while! thanks for your patience!!)

83. “Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

At first, all he means to do is knock on Chowder’s door and sleep on his floor. He’s done it before; it gives him time to think and vent if he needs to, and then by the morning he’s usually ready to apologize, as is Dex. But even if he’s not, he knows that his wonderful, amazing goalie friend will always let him stay a few hours longer, because he’s Chowder and he’s far too polite to kick Nursey out when he has no place else to go.

Who apologizes first depends on a number of things. Sometimes it’s Dex who taps once or twice on C’s door with an invitation to walk to Annie’s, hands fidgeting and tired eyes examining the floor. Other times it’s Nursey who slips a note under their door, lunch? or Walk me to class?, before slipping outside to wait for Dex on the front porch.

But this wasn’t like any fight they’d had before; this time, there was no ‘usually’ or ‘sometimes’ that applied. It wasn’t about money or gifts or parents. They hadn’t lost a game, neither had had a particularly bad day, and they had told everyone who mattered a month ago. Together.

This was two in the morning, running on empty, things you don’t mean but can’t take back, and yelling that woke up the entire Haus - even Chowder, who’s slept through more of their arguments than Nursey can count.

So when Dex suggests he leave (at the top of his lungs), Nursey doesn’t even bother grabbing a jacket, just brushes past a concerned Chowder, a cranky Bitty, a solemn Whiskey and a confused Tango and leaves. 

He walks. Where, he isn’t really paying attention, but he’s wide awake and he can’t stop himself from replaying their fight over and over in his head. He knows he messed up, knows he should’ve just gone to bed when Dex snapped at him. But as much as he could blame himself for not being the bigger person, Dex shouldn’t have taken it all out on him, and he knows that they’re both to blame for letting it get this far.

They’ll always be like this, Nursey thinks, too reactive for their own good. He’d try to be optimistic, convince himself that it’s lack of maturity, sleep, or any number of things, but by now he knows better. It’s frustrating, because while he loves a challenge (and what else is Dex, really, if not a challenge), he hates when Dex folds in on himself. There’s always that point in an argument when someone realizes they’re going to lose, but unfortunately for them, realizing that you’re going to lose does not mean conceding your point. Instead, they will inevitably get stuck in some endless loop of you’re wrong, I’m right, every time. 

The thing is, it’s no longer a challenge if there’s no way to win.

With a resigned sigh, Nursey drops down heavily onto a bench and pulls out his phone. 3:30, the screen seems to scream at him, and he runs a hand through his hair. He’s on the opposite side of campus, he realizes, a long way from the Haus and a longer way from Dex. He’s cold - it’s the middle of the night, but he’s wearing a long-sleeved tee and sweatpants and sitting on a metal bench. He can’t even remember what the fight was about anymore, he’s so tired, and the mere idea of hauling his ass back who knows how many miles makes his bones ache. He misses Dex. 

He contemplates calling him, but thinks better of it. Maybe Dex went back to sleep. He’d only be more irritable if Nursey woke him up, and besides, he definitely hasn’t cooled off as quickly as Nursey has. Nursey doesn’t know what he’d say, either. “Sorry,” maybe. “Are you still mad?” probably, even though he thinks he already knows the answer. 

Their first big argument as a couple, they had both agreed to part ways for the night. Nursey had attempted to sleep on the green couch, but couldn’t stop tossing and turning until Dex crept downstairs an hour later to join him. No apology, no notes under doors, and yet when they woke up plastered together the next morning, Nursey knew it was over. 

He clears his head and replays the argument again, pays attention to Dex’s words instead of the murderous glare he gave Nursey that planted a rock in the pit of his stomach. I don’t want to see you right now, Nurse. Just get out.

Nursey knows that “right now” does not mean “ever again.” If Dex meant “ever again,” he’d have said it; he’s not one to beat around the bush. But “get out” is something else. Nursey’s been analyzing tone and diction since he was in middle school, and he likes to think that since he decided to major in creative writing, he’s gotten pretty good at it. “Get out,” like everything else Dex says and does, is efficient and to the point. Go somewhere else. Leave. I don’t want you here.

“Get out” doesn’t come with an expiration date. There’s no implied later, like there is in “right now.” There’s no see you in the morning or but come back when you’re ready. When Nursey thinks about “I don’t want to see you right now” and “get out” in the same breath, he sees tomorrow night spent on his freshman year roommate’s couch. He sees the rest of the week there, too, a slowly growing pile of his things taking up space in the corner. A month goes by, and Dex decides he likes things better this way; he finally has the room to himself, and Nursey doesn’t get underfoot anymore. Two months, and Dex doesn’t need him at all.

Nursey fumbles for his phone so fast that he almost drops it onto the pavement. His hands are shaking as he searches for Dex’s contact and presses the little phone icon, holding his breath as the line rings in his ear. 

Dex doesn’t pick up.

Nursey lays the phone down delicately in his lap and stares at the empty black screen. He gets the message. “Get out” doesn’t mean “leave.” It means “leave me.”

And Nursey hadn’t even been paying enough attention to realize it until now.

He numbly picks up the phone again. If he and Dex are through, he should at least leave a voicemail to tell Dex that he can come by and pick up his stuff in the morning. He’ll stay with Noah, really, it’s not an issue. As he scrolls through his contacts again, he dimly remembers a Facebook post that showed Noah moving to an off-campus apartment with some other junior. Kyle? No, Tyler. He’ll ask if he can stay with them; they’d probably be grateful for the extra help with the rent, anyway. 

This time, Dex picks up, and he sounds wide awake. “Derek? Listen, I-”

“It’s okay, Will, I get it,” Nursey says and feels his chest contract, like his lungs can’t fill themselves up anymore. “'It’s not you, it’s me,’ right? Whatever, it’s chill, I can come by and get my stuff tomorrow morning, there’s these guys I know who have a place and I can probably room with them, I just wanted to tell you so you didn’t think I-”

“Wait, what are you talking about, 'it’s not you, it’s me?’ Why… Is this, are you moving out of the Haus?” Dex asks quietly.

“That’s what you said you wanted, isn’t it?” Nursey’s voice cracks at the end, and he hates himself for it.

“I-When did I say that? Oh my God, I didn’t actually say that, did I?” Instead of pleased, like Nursey was expecting, Dex sounds horrified.

“You didn’t have to, Will. I told you, it’s chill, I get it. I can call a few guys from the soccer team to help me with all the boxes, it won’t-”

“Derek, stop.” Nursey clamps his mouth shut so hard his teeth click together. “I don’t want you to move out.”

Nursey blinks. “You don’t?”

“No, I don’t. Of course I don’t.”

For some reason, maybe it’s the way the breeze whips around him just then or the way Dex says of course like Nursey’s made of glass, he breaks. He’s crying before he can stop himself, and then, like they do when he’s writing sometimes, the words just… fall out.

“Thank God, Will, because it was a stupid fight and I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be mad at you for anymore because I’m not mad at you, I promise, but I didn’t know if you were still mad at me and if you were then you definitely wouldn’t have wanted to talk and so I almost didn’t call but I was terrified, Will, and I miss you, and even if you want me to sleep on the couch or you still need space or you want to take a break, I don’t care, I’ll do anything, whatever you want, I just want to come home.”

“Derek - Wait, you left? Where are you?” Dex asks, concerned.

Nursey sniffs. “On a bench, by Faber.”

“Stay there, okay? I’m coming to get you,” Dex says, and Nursey hears shuffling in the background.

“Okay,” he breathes when the rustling dies down. A door slams, and then Dex sighs.

“Look, Nursey, about what I said before… I don’t want you to leave, and I don’t want to break up or take a break or any of that bullshit. I just… Fuck, I just needed some time to think and you know how shit I am at asking for that when I’m mad. I’m sorry. I’ll be there soon, okay? Don’t hang up,” he adds quickly. “You don’t have to say anything, just don’t hang up.”

“Okay,” Nursey says again, smaller this time. He takes a deep breath in and lets it out. “I don’t want any of that, either, and I’m sorry, too.”

“Good,” Dex says, and Nursey can hear his smile. “It’s gonna take more than some dumb fight to get rid of me, Nurse.”

Nursey grins, despite himself. “Will Poindexter, resident poet and sap.”

“You love it.”

“I do, but I love you more, so-”

“Wait, and I'm the sap?”

Nursey laughs, which makes Dex laugh, and soon they’re back to what they do best, Nursey and Dex, Derek and Will. They talk, bicker, make plans for tomorrow, and Nursey is just planning to tell Dex how much he loves him (again), but the line goes dead before he can say anything.

“No jacket? Jesus, Nurse, it’s gotta be thirty degrees out.”

Nursey’s head pops up so fast Dex is afraid he might have whiplash, but a second later Dex’s arms are full of him and his head is tucked into Dex’s neck, so he lets it go. “What if you catch a cold, you idiot?” He murmurs affectionately into Nursey’s hair. “What am I gonna do with you then?”

Nursey sighs and pulls Dex impossibly closer, but it’s punctuated by a shiver. “Don’t care, s'long as it means you’ll stay.”

“Of course,” Dex says, and it’s different this time. This time, it doesn’t feel like Nursey’s about to shatter; it feels like coming home.

ashinan  asked:


I always have enough time for Ulaz and Shiro. :3

“I’m going to kill him,” Shiro says. The effect is rather ruined by his enormous yawn.

“No, you will not,” Ulaz says, patiently. Shiro’s head is drooping down towards his chest again; he picks it up with an effort just in time. It’s fascinating to watch. “Who would pilot the Yellow Lion?”

“You could,” Shiro offers. Ulaz nudges his shoulder just slightly and tips Shiro down all the way onto the couch, lying prone. Shiro goes without complaint, curling up on his side. He must truly be out of it.

“He’s not - he’s - ” Shiro yawns again, cutting off his words. “ - Yellow would like you.”

“I do not need the approval of another space cat,” Ulaz says, glancing around. Humans prefer to be warm and covered when sleeping; ah. There’s a blanket over the back of the couch. Ulaz snags it with his long reach and spreads the thin but soft material over Shiro’s form. Shiro curls into it reflexively, scarcely aware of his own actions. “Yours is enough.”

“Hunk’s not allowed back in the kitchen until Coran labels every jar,” Shiro says.

Humans are so strange.

“They are labelled,” Ulaz reminds him, amused. “Merely in Altean.”

“Hunk’s not allowed back in the kitchen until he learns,” Shiro corrects, fiercely. It’s somewhat diminished by the slurring of his words, tumbling already towards sleep. What Hunk had innocently thought to be a different form of flavoring for lunch had turned out the complete opposite; Ulaz supposes they’re lucky only one of the Paladins had sampled the food as Hunk prepared it.

It is just unfortunate that it had been Shiro.

“Fear not,” Ulaz says instead. He slips off the edge of the couch, crouching instead to remain at Shiro’s eye level. Shiro cracks open a bleary eye with a supreme effort. “Your Blue paladin has offered to be your taste tester for all ‘surprise ingredients’ from this point on. In future, I highly suggest you take him up on the offer.”

Shiro’s quiet for so long Ulaz is afraid he really has fallen asleep. But no; the Black Paladin’s eyes are open, if a bit unfocused where he’s staring at Ulaz’s knee.

“‘m not really mad at him,” Shiro says, at last. His eyelids flutter again, drooping shut. He peels them back open. “‘m - ‘was an accident. ’m mad at me.”

Ulaz quirks a pale eyebrow. “You are mad at your body’s inability to remain conscious when subjected to an incredible dose of b’lire powder?”

“Had things to do,” Shiro murmurs. He’s glowering. It’s ruined by the fact that he can’t keep his eyes open. “The princess - still planet-side - can’t lead training. Things to do.”

Ah. Ulaz cannot exactly blame him. The responsibilities of leadership can hardly be set down even for accidents outside of one’s control. They have had this argument before.

“Rest,” Ulaz says. The blanket does not fully cover Shiro’s knee at this angle; Ulaz tugs it up, tucking the fabric in. Shiro hums, an unconscious sound from the back of his throat. “I will lead training for you this afternoon.”

“Hate drugs,” Shiro whines. It’s the only complaint he’s uttered since the entire mistake began.

The powder’s working fast, pulling him down despite all of Shiro’s efforts to fight it. If Ulaz hadn’t personally witnessed Hunk chuck the b’lire jar violently into the garbage chute, he’d throw the damn thing out himself.

“I know,” Ulaz begins.

A small chitter catches his attention; Ulaz’s ears twitch. The little blue mouse - Chulatt - perches carefully on the edge of the couch, waving a paw in his direction. Its two friends are helping the third and last mouse - the large one, Platt? - up onto the armrest by Shiro’s head. Chulatt mimes standing guard, striking a fierce pose and waving its tail dramatically.

What odd creatures. Still, Ulaz is grateful for them.

“You will not be alone,” Ulaz says, softly. Mission accomplished, the green mouse - Plachu, Ulaz recalls - slides down the armrest to tuck itself against Shiro’s neck; the red one, Chuchule, chatters something up at Platt. Platt yawns a little mouse-yawn from their content position in the corner of the couch. “Rest, Shiro. I will handle training. And I will be here when you wake.”

Chuchule curls up on Shiro’s shoulder, slipping just under the edge of the blanket. Shiro’s eyes drift shut.

“Make ‘em run laps,” Shiro mumbles with absolutely zero malice, and then he’s out.