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ihni · 1 year

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Patience

Written for @billyhargrovebingo, square A1; "A price I'm willing to pay".

Rated: G, Words: 1994

(On AO3)

~~~

Flo ran out of patience twenty years ago.

For eighteen of those years, she’s been working for Hawkins’ Police Department. People have come and gone during her time here, but she has remained, through thick and thin.

Besides Flo, Jim is the one who has been here the longest, with his five years. Calvin came in a year later, and Phil only started two years ago when his family moved to Hawkins from Montana.

This means that Flo has been here longer than the three of them combined, which gives her seniority. Sure, on paper they all outrank her, but in reality, she is the one who keeps things running around here and they wouldn’t dare cross her. They all know that Flo has no patience for bullshit.

Not anymore. Not since she threw her abusive piece of shit husband out on his ass twenty years ago, got a job, and managed to raise their three teenage sons by herself despite what everyone said about her behind her back.

Everything at the department runs smoothly, because Flo is in charge of it. The boys know better than to encroach on her territory, and have learned to ask her for the things they need rather than try to find them themselves and risk messing with her system. They’re fast learners, that way. Or maybe her glare is just that terrifying.

“I don’t think they’re afraid of you,” Harold said over breakfast one day when she mentioned it. “They’re simply showing you the respect you deserve, honey.”

Flo huffed and rolled her eyes at that, but Harold had only smiled serenely at her and put another sugar cube in his coffee.

Harold is, perhaps, the only person for which Flo will make an effort to be patient. They met years ago, but didn’t get together until all her sons were already grown up and had moved out, far from Hawkins. And even then, it was two years before Flo let him into her life fully.

All the patience that Flo lacks, Harold has in abundance. Enough to cover the both of them, he usually jokes.

She is thankful for him. He’s a good man. Not everyone is lucky enough to find themselves a good man – she knows that by experience.

Flo has a lot of experience. Which is why her eyes narrow when she walks into the station one morning to find a young man in handcuffs seated at Phil’s desk while Phil is rummaging around in the filing cabinet in the corner of the room.

The young man glances up as she passes him – he’s got a black eye with a swollen eyelid, and splotchy bruising on his jaw – but looks down again before she can meet his eye. Frowning, she walks up to Phil and clears her throat. To his credit, he only jumps a little and immediately backs away from the filing cabinet.

“I wasn’t ...” he starts, “I just needed an empty file.”

She raises her eyebrows and looks at him over the rim of her glasses as he gives a helpless little shrug. Without a word, she walks over to another cabinet where she keeps the empty files. He takes the one she hands him with a low “Thanks, Flo”, and walks back to his desk to deal with his young perp.

Flo listens in as she prepares for the day; brings in the morning paper, starts the coffee machine, goes through the agenda for the day, looks over the unintelligible scribbles that Phil – who had the night shift – calls notes. While she works, she listens to Phil as he talks to the kid – a Mr. William Hargrove, apparently.

It’s quiet in the station in the morning, and Flo hasn’t turned the radio on yet. She may be old, but there is nothing wrong with her ears and it’s not like the other two occupants in the room are talking in low voices. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. She’s the one who types out the reports.

The more she hears, the deeper her frown gets. When Jim finally shows up around nine, Flo intercepts him before Phil can catch his attention. She hands him a cup of hot coffee and pointedly doesn’t comment on the pastry crumbs in his moustache that show that he visited the bakery on his way to work.

“Jim, a word?” And Jim knows better than to cross her this early in the morning, so he accepts the coffee, nods, and gestures for her to lead the way into his office.

“That young man in there,” Flo says as soon as the door is closed behind them and points with her thumb over her shoulder. “Phil picked him up at the gas station outside of town around daybreak. He was slinking around the parking lot, and Phil caught him at the back door, holding a brick. Looking like he was trying to break in.”

“Okay?” Jim says, taking a sip of his coffee. He’ll be able to read this in Phil’s report later, so he’s probably wondering why Flo is telling him this.

She huffs. “The kid is beat up, Jim. He says he got in a fight but no one has made any calls about a fight tonight. There are no marks on his hands. He’s been sitting hunched-over since he got here. And you know what they sell at the gas station, besides gas and snacks?” She raises her eyebrows expectantly. She doesn’t suffer fools gladly.

Luckily for her, and everyone else in town, their Chief is no fool. And he, too, has some experience with these things. His eyes clear in realization. “Pain pills. Basic first aid stuff.” She nods, satisfied that she doesn’t have to spell it out for him. “Who is he? I don’t recognize him.”

“New in town, apparently,” Flo says. “Name of Hargrove. The family moved in from California a week or so ago.”

Jim hums, and Flo knows that he’ll take what she has said into consideration when he inevitably talks to the boy, after he’s sent Phil home to get some sleep. It’s enough. She’s done what she can.

Or so she thinks, until she walks out of Jim’s office and sees that Phil is leading the young man towards the holding cells. The kid looks beaten down. Exhausted.

“Oh just leave the kid here,” Flo says and watches as both of them stop and turn towards her.

“Protocol states –“ Phil starts, but Flo huffs and waves it away.

“Since when do you care about protocol? Jim will want to speak to him soon anyway. I’ll look after him. You go home, Phil. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Phil knows better than to argue. Fast learners, the lot of them. He goes to exchange a few words with Jim before going off his shift, and leaves Flo and the kid alone. She gestures at the chair in front of Phil’s desk, the one he was sitting in before, and the kid sinks back into it. Flo knows she’s not imagining the wince as he’s sitting down. It’s gone in a flash, but it was definitely there.

She turns her back on him, only in part to give him a chance to compose himself. A minute or so later, she walks back to him and places a mug of coffee, a glass of water and two white pills on the desk in front of him.

He looks up at her, surprised. “What’s this?”

Inpatient, she gestures at the items. “What does it look like, kid?”

“I don’t need –“

She’s not about to get into a discussion with him, so she cuts him off. “I’m not forcing you to take them. Take them or don’t. Up to you.”

She turns her back again and leaves him to his own devices. She has her own work to do, after all, the phones won’t answer themselves and Mr. Thompson usually calls first thing in the morning to rant about whatever the neighbor’s kids got up to last night.

When she passes the kid next, the pills are gone and the water glass is empty. She’s glad to see it, even if she doesn’t say anything. The boy is holding the coffee cup with his handcuffed hands and taking small sips, grimacing at the bitterness of it. Flo probably should have offered him milk or sugar, but everyone at the station drinks their coffee black so it didn’t cross her mind.

She meant what she said, though. The kid can drink it, or not. His choice. She’s not his keeper.

She putters around the station while Jim speaks to the kid in his office. Talks a bit with Gail who is passing by with her dachshund, and waters the few spider plants that she has placed on the south-facing windowsills.

The kid emerges from the office uncuffed, with Jim following behind him.

“I’m driving Billy here back to his car,” Jim says, pulling on his jacket. “I’ll be right back. Hold the fort, will you?”

It’s a rhetorical question. He knows that she will.

She spends the time while he’s out typing out Phil’s near-illegible notes for the kid’s file, and adds a couple of details she heard them talk about that Phil forgot to write down. She’s done this for decades, she knows what details are important. She’s just finishing up when Jim comes back, this time alone.

He sinks into Calvin’s empty chair, which is the one closest to Flo’s desk. None of them speak for a moment, then Jim sighs. “I think you’re right.”

“I know,” Flo says, and hands him the boy’s newly typed-up file. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“There’s not really anything I can …” He trails off when she levels him with an unimpressed look. “Don’t look at me like that, Flo. I am the Chief of Police, I have to follow the law. I can’t do anything if he’s not talking. And he’s not talking.”

She purses her lips. “They live over on Cherry, you know.”

He frowns, suspicious. “So?”

“I have a friend who lives on Cherry. Ruth. I haven’t visited her in a while.”

Jim groans. “No, Flo. I’ll keep an eye on the family, okay? You don’t have to get involved again –“

“Who said anything about getting involved? I just think it’s about time I visited my good friend Ruth. We haven’t talked in ages. Maybe she has some new gossip for me. About her new neighbors.”

Running his hand down his face, Jim groans again. “Please, Flo.”

“It’s a small town. It’s important to get to know your new neighbors, after all. As a representative for the Police Department, perhaps I should go and say hello.”

“You’re killing me,” he says under his breath, standing up with a grunt. “I’ll make some calls to an old colleague in California. Happy?”

She levels him with a look and raises her eyebrows. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She does, and they both know it. She’s also not going to let it go. They both know that, too.

“This is gonna blow up in my face somehow, I know it.”

As Chief of Police his hands are tied in a way that hers aren’t. Going through the right channels is just too slow-moving for her. She doesn’t have that kind of patience.

So she shrugs. “That’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

“Of course it is,” he mutters. “Because you won’t be the one paying it.”

“Excuse me?” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Who does all the paperwork around here?”

He inclines his head as if to say ‘fair’, and then adds, “Fine. You win. But if you happen to go and say hello, please take Harold with you. At least he has a sense of tact.”

She glares at him, but it’s half-hearted. Harold will want to come with her, anyway, when she tells him about the boy.

#billy hargrove #flo #stranger things #billy hargrove bingo #ihni writes #listen i just like flo okay #i think she is a gruff old woman who is anything but cuddly #but is efficient and caring in her own way

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imhereformysciencefriends · 6 months

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@mcyt-yuri-week Day 6: Sleep!

You know I had to go for that good good puffychu angst. Read on AO3 here

Things were different now. Things were different here. Niki didn’t need to fear sleep, here, because the nightmares would all but certainly leave her alone. Right? She no longer barred herself in her room, no longer woke up in places entirely separate from where she’d put her head down. She didn’t wake to sores and scratches, to bruises where she’d flung herself against the iron.

Niki didn’t—she was better. She was supposed to be better. She wasn’t alone in her cavernous, empty city anymore. She had a little cottage in a little circle in a snowy glade out with her friends. She wasn’t the same naive girl who followed, wide and star-eyed, after a boy with big dreams and bigger betrayals. She wasn’t the same embittered wraith that burned down the symbol of her own heart and locked herself away in stone walls, metaphorical and literal.

She was a woman, a little rough and a little soft, bread burnt on the outside but still doughy in the center. But she was here, and she was fine, and she shouldn’t have trouble with sleep, still.

Some weeks were worse than others. Some weeks were better.

Sometimes, she was bundled up in a blanket on Technoblade’s floor, back pressed against Steve’s flank and any number of wolfdogs clamoring for the prized spot of resting on her lap. Sometimes, she was on Phil’s couch, mug of tea in hand and mechanical bits and bobs slowly overtaking his floor, chatting while he worked late into the night. Sometimes she was huddled together with Connor and Ranboo in Ranboo’s living room, spitballing and discussing the absolute worst pranks known to human or hybrid-kind until they nodded off one by one. Sometimes, she was in Puffy’s new place, fresh built walls and a fresh-woven blanket draped over her when she woke in the same chair she’d fallen asleep in.

And some nights, she went about her day, and fell asleep in her own bed as thoughtlessly as she brushed her teeth or washed her hair.

But some nights, she laid in that bed and stared at her black ceiling, dark and safe without monsters nearby, lanternlight flickering weakly in through her windows. And stared. And stared. And stared. For hours. She’d toss and she’d turn, maybe, but mostly she just stared, sleep nearby but refusing to visit her.

But some nights, she’d go out mob hunting, justifying that they always needed bones for bonemeal, always needed arrows for the unenchanted bows, always needed rotten flesh to butcher for the dogs and bears and foxes, always needed spider silk for its many uses and gunpowder for—

And she’d go logging, after, because their woodfires were ever burning, and who didn’t always need more wood? Go mining, sometimes, because it was a Player’s code to mine and hey, they could always use more stone. Well, that wasn’t true. But coal! Coal was plentiful in uses, and iron, and gold, and lapis when she dug that far. Even got herself a few diamonds doing it.

And she’d glance at her cute little cottage she’d built herself and the dark, warm little bedroom upstairs and she knew the bed was in it but she couldn’t go to it, she went out to work in their greenhouse for a little late night gardening or wandered over to the village to get the best early morning deals or hell, she even went fishing some nights because hey, all resources are good resources, and while steak was filling the same taste over and over and over again got a little boring!

Some nights, she picked up a boat, picked a direction, and just rowed.

Probably for the best, when she did that. Made it so the phantoms wouldn’t haunt the commune. So that nobody else would know—

Except they did. They all did. Even Connor knew, and Connor didn’t know fuckall about anything. No, no, that was rude, he was–he was fine. Niki was the one with the issues. Niki was the one with dark shadows under her eyes, with a pinched face, legs and arms that moved too slow, an attention span that kept wandering. Niki was the one with a waning appetite and flickers in the corner of her vision.

She needed to sleep. It was factual. It was a basic bodily function that all people did and needed. If she kept going like this she was going to be too shaky to aim right at the phantoms. She could get really hurt. And then her friends would worry, and yeah it was a nice thought that they’d do that for her, but far more pressing was that Niki could not, under any circumstances, inconvenience them more than she already did with the mere fact of her existence.

But every time she thought about the bed in the dark in her room she got—

Maybe, maybe she’d—but then they’d ask questions and Niki didn’t have answers. Well, she had the answers, but she didn’t want to share them. Probably. Who knew! God, it was like she was back down there again, back alone in her underground city with room for everyone she’d ever loved and not a single soul to visit her.

“Hey Niki!” Puffy called brightly, startling her into a jump.

“Puffy,” she said, and she couldn’t quite stop the way her voice came out a little forlorn, a little wistful. “Hey, how are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” she said, her fluffy woolen hair stuffed into the neckline of her coat and making for a fashionable, natural scarf in the winter weather. The velvety insides of her ears were pinked, though, and Niki felt the absurd urge to reach out and warm them up between her palms.

The two had quit dating a while ago. Move on.

“I was wondering if you were up to anything tonight?” Puffy asked, and Niki hesitated.

Because, no, she didn’t have plans. Other than avoiding her bed and the phantoms in equal measure. On the other hand, this very much sounded like an invitation, and a roof could keep the phantoms quiet as they stalked and waited for her to exit, but if Puffy wanted to do something together after nightfall, it’d become clear as blades that Niki had something wrong with her.

“Why do you ask?” she hedged, trying to soften the shape of her words enough to make up for how rude she was being.

“I was wondering if you wanted to do a hot chocolate and book reading night with me!” Puffy said, like this was some sort of commonplace convention and not something she’d just made up. Niki couldn’t stop the giggle. Puffy was always like that, brash and bold and striding forward in a straight line. It made the way Niki cringed in the shadows feel all the more sickly, but she couldn’t help but grasp after that brilliant light that fell off of Puffy wherever she walked.

“That sounds really nice,” she said, more genuinely than she thought it’d come out. Already she could feel her shoulders relaxing, the way her body curled towards the little sheep woman like pins rolling across a desk towards a magnet.

“Sweet!” Puffy said, removing one mittened hand from her coat pocket to grasp Niki’s own, dragging her across the commune to where her nice, neat little house now stood.

Ridiculously, Niki felt the urge to surround Puffy’s house with flowers, reminisce about the store they’d run together—

Stop. They were friends. Nothing more, probably not anything less. Between the Egg and the Syndicate and the nuke that almost went off, their romance had gotten shot so dead, Niki wasn’t sure it could be revived. But the nice thing about a blank slate was they could write whatever they wanted on it, and maybe Niki could do it right this time. She could start by not feeling ridiculous feelings every time she and her friend hung out.

Inside, Puffy stomped snow off her hooves and trotted over to throw another log on the fire before stripping out of her gloves, hat, and coat. Niki hung her own winter wear over the back of a chair, stomping snow off but leaving her boots on. Since Puffy didn’t wear boots to take off, her floor had a tendency of collecting dirt and grime, so Niki figured 1. she wouldn’t mind it, and 2. it’d be wiser for her poor human feet.

“I’ll get started on the cocoa,” Puffy said with a bright smile, making her way towards the small, already-growing-cluttered kitchen. A dishmaid, Puffy was not. “You go find something that’d be fun for us to read!”

“So, what, we’re just reading to each other tonight?”

“Yup!”

Niki laughed softly and examined Puffy’s bookshelves. She only had the two, a modest selection on them, and mostly nautically themed. She saw a copy of one of Techno’s favorite anthologies, probably “loaned” to her from Connor, who had gotten it from Niki, who had borrowed it from Ranboo, who’d been lent it by Phil off of Techno’s shelf. It never left the commune, so Techno didn’t really mind, but he did make a great huff about it at Phil from time to time.

“Have you had a chance to get through this at all?” Niki asked, lifting the anthology from the shelf and holding it up where Puffy could see. Puffy glanced at it over her shoulder, then resumed stirring the cacao powder into milk and sugar on the stove.

“I haven’t, actually! That’s a great idea, we could pass it back and forth between us that way.”

Niki tucked the book under her armpit and leaned against the doorframe near the stairs. Upstairs was the bedroom, down here was the livingroom, bathroom, and kitchen. It wasn’t a particularly large house, though Puffy had never claimed herself a builder. It was cute, though, and despite its newness, felt lived in. Less lonely than the little cottage and the little bed waiting back for Niki.

Her head tapped against the wooden frame and Niki realized that she was nodding off while standing there. Shit. Get it together, or Puffy’ll notice. She’d been spacing out, too, oh no, what if Puffy had said something to her? She didn’t mean to come off like she’d been ignoring her—and she was far too awkward to ask.

Puffy poured the hot chocolate into two mugs and scooped them up with careful bravado. “Alright! So, I know I keep my place colder than you non-woolen folks tend to like: do you wanna do this on my bed? That way we can huddle under a blanket together.”

There was something to Puffy’s cadence that seemed almost practiced, but Niki mentally waved it off as her being tired. Part of her wanted to make a joke about Puffy inviting her into her bed, but she wasn’t sure enough of their relationship to know that it’d be well received.

“Blankets sound nice.” She’d have to be particularly mindful not to nod off in Puffy’s bed. This was just… two friends hanging out. Gals being pals. Puffy insisting on yet another weird social get together, like eating meat so spicy it makes people cry, or like the punch bowl at the banquet—

“Let’s go,” Niki said, turning and leading the way up the stairs. Cutting that line of thought off right quick. Puffy’s hooves trotted up the stairs behind her, and Niki took in the little bedroom as she rounded the bed at its center. It was cute. About what Niki might’ve expected, if she’d expected anything. A picture of Foolish, Michelle, Foolish Jr., and Finnley was displayed proudly on the nightstand next to a small lamp. A chest that looked like it could’ve come straight out of a children’s book about pirates sat beneath the windowsill, the sleeve of something sticking out from the closed mouth. The little potted flower Ranboo had given Puffy as a welcome gift sat neatly on the sill, and strings of sea glass hung from the top of the window. Niki was sure they would’ve glinted nicely in the sunlight. A second nightstand had a scattered assortment of earrings and necklaces, which Puffy shoved out of the way before setting a mug of cocoa down, and handed Niki the other, which she set carefully next to the framed photo.

Puffy then corralled Niki onto the bed, pulling up the big, soft, quilted duvet up around their shoulders and Niki happily tucked herself in.

“Oh, shoot, you’ve got feet,” Puffy mentioned, setting her mug right back down and hopping off the bed. Out of the chest, she pulled a second blanket, and tossed that over Niki’s lap. “Sorry. Hooves, you know, I forget.”

“I didn’t mind,” Niki said, but couldn’t deny: this was cozy as hell.

“You wanna read the first one, or should I?” Puffy asked, and Niki smiled over the rim of her mug.

“I can,” she said. The cocoa was still a little hot for her tongue, anyway. Puffy cuddled up next to her and Niki only blushed a little.

Some chunk wedged inside her heart tugged loose, and Niki could feel tension bleed out of her like a bottle uncorked. She leaned her head on top of Puffy’s, careful not to get a horn to the face, and read the now-familiar tale of Apollo and Artemis’s births. The cocoa held in Puffy’s hands wafted sweetly, filling the space with soft scent, and Puffy was a warm little furnace against her side, heat trapped beneath the two blankets and pillows at her back. It was with some reluctance that Niki handed the book over to Puffy, but her own mug was cooled enough now, and Niki did admittedly want to take a sip herself.

It was with Herculean effort that Niki kept her eyes open during the tale of Narcissus and Echo, Puffy’s voice even and steady and warm. Niki found her mind wandering to how nice it was. She must’ve had plenty of practice reading to her kids and grandkids. Niki didn’t catch much of the story itself, admittedly, but she’d read it before, herself. She knew how it went. Far more captivating was the warm mug cradled between her palms and the warm line of the woman against her.

Niki finished off her mug before setting it down, and mercifully perked up a bit when it was her turn to read.

Mnnmgn, the words on the page were a little fuzzy, but Niki just read slowly and tried not to yawn. Despite reading the tale of Kronos out loud, by the time she reached the end of the story, she couldn’t have told you what it was about.

She’d slouched a bit, without realizing it. She slouched further now, Puffy shifting next to her as well, getting comfy. They were propped up against the pillows, but only barely might’ve been considered upright. Instead of leaning against the top of Puffy’s head, Niki now found herself pillowed against Puffy’s shoulder. And when had she gotten there? She should sit up straighter, like this she was going to…

Fall asleep.

Niki found herself, shock of all shocks, in a very pleasant dream. No iron bars or burning cities or ghosts of men she’d trusted, she was on an adventure of some sort, wild but safe and happy. She was in the middle of locating a geode when she was thrust suddenly back into the realm of the waking, the shoulder she’d been so warmly pillowed against yanking upwards.

Niki let out some undignified noise and flailed, briefly, but even over her own sounds she could hear the gasp wrenching out of Puffy.

“Puffy?” she asked, bleary and disconcerted.

“Fuck,” she heard Puffy say, quiet, just a breath. Then Puffy was untangling herself from the blankets, and in the moonlight from the window and the soft glow of a sea-lantern nightlight by the stairs Niki saw—she was shaking.

“Puffy?” Niki repeated, more awake, more concerned.

“I’m fine,” she said, too fast, too abrupt. “Don’t—worry about it. Everything’s fine. I’m just—gonna get myself some water.”

Too much like she was running away, Puffy all but bolted from the room, down the stairs faster than Niki could respond. Niki clicked on the lamp and had to do her own detangling from the blankets—Puffy must’ve tucked her in—before deciding to throw one around her shoulders like an oversized shawl. It was cold, in the middle of the night, and if Niki had any inkling of what was going on, she was sure Puffy might like the comfort, in a minute.

She followed her downstairs and found Puffy bent over the kitchen sink, tense as a strung bow and breathing slowly, deliberately.

Niki approached her slowly, and from the side. No surprises. No threats. Just a friend, and a friend’s concern. She settled a hand on Puffy’s shoulder gently, and Puffy groaned. Scrubbed at her face with one hand.

“Fuck.”

“Nightmare?”

Puffy grunted, nodding shallowly.

“It happens,” Niki said, quiet in the stillness of night. “I get them all the time. We can talk about it, if you like?”

“No, no, tonight is supposed to be for you, I don’t wanna saddle you with my baggage,” Puffy groaned, still sounding slightly short of breath.

Niki frowned. “What do you mean, ‘supposed to be for me?’ I thought we were just hanging out?”

Somehow, beneath her hand Puffy grew even stiffer.

“Puffy?”

Puffy groaned again, dropping her head and scratching at her hair. “I just—you’ve been, you—I don’t have to lie to you, Niki! You know we know you haven’t been sleeping,” she said, some mix of exasperation and self-consciousness.

Niki flinched back, snatching her hand away. So this was— Eugh, she’d worried everyone, dammit, she knew it. Stupid little Niki, foolish little girl, problems bleeding out all over the place, couldn’t keep a lid on that shit no matter how hard she tried.

But at the same time, despite the immediate guilt of weighing others down with her problems, it felt… relieving, too. To have someone say it out loud. Like the sting of ripping a bandaid off. It hurt to hear but, well.

“I just—wanted you to have a nice night. Catch a few hours. Do something fun.”

“It was fun,” Niki said honestly. Drinking cocoa and reading stories—it was really nice. “I had a nice night. But it’s okay if you need me to help you, too.”

Framing it like that, it didn’t feel quite as much like admitting that she needed help. Like helping Puffy too was less burdensome than simply needing Puffy’s help.

Puffy was silent, a moment. Rubbed a hand up against her eye, then forehead. Let out a long, shaky breath, then nodded.

“It was the Egg again.”

“It’s back?”

Puffy barked a laugh, a hollow, bitter sound. “No, no, it’s still taken all to pieces, scattered around in iron boxes so it can’t reform. It’s gone and dead. But I still…” Puffy gestured vaguely at her forehead. Niki resettled her hand on Puffy’s back.

“I get it.”

“I feel so guilty and—stupid, I held out so long against it but in the end I still—” she hiccupped around a soft sob, and Niki drew her closer.

Pulled her into the crook of her shoulder, pulled the blanket around the two of them so they were both beneath its warmth. Pet a hand down Puffy’s woolen hair and pressed her face against the top of her head, nose fitting neatly against Puffy’s hornbed.

It almost shocked her, how, despite how much the two of them had gone through, how they’d suffered and recovered and changed, Puffy still fit against her so perfectly like this. Still slotted so neatly into her arms, against her body, perfect height for Niki to rest against, her thick arms around Niki’s waist.

“You were so strong,” Niki whispered, holding Puffy as she trembled and choked back sobs. “You were strong, and fought against it so bravely. It’s okay if it didn’t go the way you hoped it would. In the end, we got you out, and you helped us destroy it, and now you’re here. That’s what matters.”

“It killed my son and I still went to it!”

“Shhhh,” Niki soothed, petting gently through her hair. “You fought your best. It didn’t fight fair. Foolish is okay, too. He’ll have his own nightmares, but none of them were your fault. I was there that night—you did everything you could.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.” Niki felt slightly bad to cut her off, but Puffy needed to hear it. Or at the very least, Niki hoped she did. “You did,” she repeated, softer, “and it’s okay if it wasn’t enough. Sometimes, even when we give our absolute best, it still isn’t enough. But we lived to try again another day, and now it’s dead and we’re still here.”

If Puffy had anything else to say, it was drowned out by her tears, no longer able or willing to hold them back. Niki held her as she cried, occasionally murmuring soft nothings that got lost within her hair. She held her as Puffy’s fingers dug into the fabric of her shirt. She held her as she trembled. She held her as she wept.

It was hard to say how long the two of them stood there in the dark of Puffy’s kitchen, accompanied by only the moon and starlight. But eventually Puffy settled. Scrubbed at her eyes and blew her nose. She did get a glass of water, then, and the two returned to bed hand in hand.

Niki cuddled up against her very deliberately, then. The cat was already out of the bag: she was here because Puffy knew she had trouble sleeping. And Puffy needed the comfort too, bundled up in blankets once more and still a little sniffly.

“Thanks,” she said, voice raw.

“You too,” Niki returned softly, and closed her eyes.

Puffy was warm and small and dense. Her arm was once again settled around Niki’s shoulders, and Niki stretched an arm of her own across Puffy’s hips. The two of them probably needed to discuss… this. This thing between them. If they were trying again, if they even still could. Niki was still achingly fond of Puffy, and from the events of tonight she didn’t think herself hopeless in praying that Puffy might feel the same. But that was a daylight conversation. Tonight, they could both really use some sleep. Niki closed her eyes, basking in the warmth radiating off her, the way chocolate still lingered ever so faintly in the air, the steady firmness of muscle and bone beneath her cheek.

Niki went back to sleep counting heartbeats instead of sheep.

#Niki Nihachu #Captain Puffy #Puffychu #CaptainPuffy #Niki #Nikki #dream smp #DSMP #mcytyuriweek2023 #mcyt yuri week #my writing #haro writes #insomnia #cuddling #hurt/comfort #nightmares #listen. you didn't think I was gonna do yuri week without doing the CLASSIC puffychu angst did you #tho tbf I'm a day behind #my beloved is visiting for the weekend and I have been Distacted

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q-gorgeous · 1 year

Text

Why Am I Here

fanfiction

ao3

word count: 1150

Fright Knight has been around much longer than other ghosts. He has seen a lot. And yet this seems to be the most ridiculous thing he's been a part of. @briarlovesu

ridiculous utterly ridiculous

Fright Knight looked around him as he stood inside the throne room of the king’s castle.

“Why am I here?”

Phil stopped putting up the streamers he held in his hand as he turned to face Fright Knight. Fright Knight didn’t know he was also a party planner.

“I already told you, it’s Phantom’s eighteenth birthday today. We are throwing him a party.”

Fright Knight frowned at him. “I heard that part. But why am I here? I’m not particularly close with our king.”

“We are asking all his subjects to attend. We are making it into a royal ball of sorts, albeit a less serious one. Phantom has also never had a big birthday party before and the ghosts that frequent Amity Park seemed very keen on throwing him one.”

“This is ridiculous.” Fright Knight closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Here.” Phil handed him a stack of posters. “Hang these up.”

Fright Knight stared down at the face. Its eyes mocked him.

“Why are we hanging up these pictures of Phantom?”

“It’s an inside joke between him and his friends. Stop asking questions and help us get ready. We don’t have much time left before he gets off of school.”

Fright Knight grumbled as he walked away with the stack of papers. There were all sorts of ghosts here helping set up for the party. But this was something that was beneath him. He’d been a ghost for much longer than any of them here right now. He has seen a lot, but this? This had to take the cake for ridiculousness.

See! Right there! That cake was huge! Why did they need a cake that big?

Nevertheless, Fright Knight went about putting posters up. He himself had been around for a long time, but so had Phil. Phil was no ghost to trifle with, no matter how ridiculous he also was. What kind of ghost needed infinite pockets? He heard that there was still an Observant lost in there, that Phil could never find him. Fright Knight shuddered. No, he didn’t want to get on Phil’s bad side.

He hung up the last poster and he could hear Phil clap his hands together.

“I believe we’re done! Now we just have to shut off all the lights and wait for him to arrive.”

Fright Knight furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait, does he not know we’re doing this?”

Phil waved him off. “It’ll be fine. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go get his friends so they’re here when we surprise him.” He disappeared into thin air.

Fright Knight stood around while he waited for Phil to come back. The rest of the ghosts were hanging out together as they put on the finishing touches for the decorations and food. Fright Knight was about to join them when Phil reappeared by his side with four other people.

“Phil!” Fright Knight clutched his chest.

“Sorry, Fright Knight.”

Phantom’s friends all groaned. One clutched his stomach and sank to the ground. They all looked sort of nauseous.

“I wanted to throw a surprise party for Danny but is it even worth it anymore?” A boy in a beret whined. “I feel so sick.”

“Suck it up- you nerds.” The tall blonde one said as he gagged, also very clearly trying not to throw up.

“When is Danny supposed to get here again?” Said the gothic looking girl. Fright Knight liked her style.

“I think he-” The red haired one started but she got cut off.

“He’s coming! We can see him flying through the zone!”

The lights in the throne room dimmed and everyone got into position. No one told him where he was supposed to stand so he just went invisible where he was standing in the middle of the room.

Phantom finally flew into the throne room, landing on the floor.

“Phil? Are you here? What time is that meeting at? And why’s it so dark in here?”

“Surprise!” Everyone leapt out from their hiding places, Fright Knight just turned visible again, and the lights came back on.

Phantom jumped, startled. “Ah!”

An ectoblast flew from Phantom’s hand and hit his friend who wore the beret in the stomach. It knocked him down on his back and he groaned.

“Why is it always me? I didn’t even go in for a high five that time!”

“Tucker?” Phantom took a moment to look around then. He took in the decorations and the cake and all of the people who were gathered in the throne room. “Wait, did you guys throw me a birthday party?”

“You betcha!” Phantom’s blonde haired friend walked up to him. “Phil here is an expert party planner!”

Phantom looked at Phil. “How did he keep track of the notes and dates for this? He’s always losing everything.”

“I used the whiteboard that you hung up in my room, your majesty.”

“I knew that would come in handy!” Phantom cheered.

The other ghosts that frequented Amity Park walked up to Phantom and his friends.

“You guys are here too?”

“We wanted to do something special for you, babypop!” Ember smiled at Phantom.

“Aw!” Phantom smiled at Ember.

“We heard about how you’ve never had a big birthday party and we thought that was sad and so here we are to rectify it.”

“Aw.” Phantom’s smile turned into a frown.

“But we also haven’t gotten to hang out with you in awhile. Since you banned ghost attacks in Amity Park and all, we can’t just go and have a friendly battle and hang out.”

“Yeah. ‘Friendly battle’.” Phantom air quoted. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

Phantom then took his time to go talk to each of the ghosts that had helped put the party together. Eventually he made his way to where Fright Knight stood alone in the middle of the throne room.

“Hi, Fright Knight. Were you also super excited to throw me a birthday party like the rest of the weirdos here?”

“No. I was forced to participate.”

Phantom looked appalled. “Why are you here if you didn’t want to be?”

Fright Knight shrugged. “Phil made me. I didn’t want to risk getting lost in his pockets like that Observant did a couple years ago.”

Phantom sighed. “Well even if you were forced to be here, I appreciate you coming. You can go if you want.”

Fright Knight nodded. “I will grab a slice of cake and be on my way.”

Once Fright Knight got his cake, he flew out and away from the castle. Such a ridiculous thing, celebrating birthdays. Most of those people there were dead! Why did they care when Phantom was born?

It must be a young ghost thing. He didn’t even remember when his birthday nor his death day was.

But maybe birthdays could be nice. He did get this slice of cake after all.

#gorgi writes #danny phantom #phic phight 2023 #fright knight #phil #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #jazz fenton #dash baxter #fanfiction

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sinninghowlter · 1 year

Text

Danisnotadom

Ship: Phan Rating: E Contains: collaring, pre-established relationship, very light angst, degradation, namecalling, smut, cursing, heavy language, d/s undertones, daddy kink mentioned four (4) times, use of the word "slut" Words: 5746 Summary: Dan's not a dom. Everyone swears up and down that he is, insists he is domming his boyfriend and is too good to take it in the ass.

Phil's not a sub. Everyone thinks he is, everyone thinks his baby is in charge. What they don't know is his hardcore boyfriend is actually a princess. Read it below or on AO3

This fic was a brainchild of mine back in December 2022 and finally, here it is! It wouldn't exist if not for the cheering on of the Superstarkers groupchat on Discord and my writing friend @khalixascorner!! Thank you for believing in me and this fic with two strangers you've never heard of before me. A/N: this is unbeta'd and uses 2015 phandom with 2022 dan and phil. :)

"Alright guys, Dan insists he's starving so I've gotta feed him before he eats me."

"Not like that!" Dan shouts from the other room, "I just have been in the U.S. for so fucking long that all I want is familiar food goddammit!"

"You can't swear on my live streams, Dan!!" Phil shouts back. He begins scanning the chat, hoping that a slew of messages reading "OMG PHAN!!!!1!1!" and "DOMESTIC!!!!" doesn't follow. Instead of the expected messages, he starts seeing a few, albeit more explicit, replies in the chat: 'I bet he likes it that way', 'Dan probably eats him all the time', 'We all know Phil likes his daddy to eat it.' He hides the need to frown and roll his eyes behind a smile, answering an ask about what kind of plant the followers should get. "Um... I think you should get a cactus! They're always a good choice!"

"Phil! I'm starving!! Let's gooooooooOO!!!" Dan whines, now in the doorway. Phil looks up, taking in the younger's form leaning against the white wood. Dan smirks as Phil's eyebrows raised in challenge.

'omgggg look at the way he looks at Dan!!! OTP FOR LIFEEEEEEEE', 'PHAN DOMESTIC!!!!!' the chat reads, but neither of the boys are paying any attention to Phil's live stream.

"What are you thinking for food?" Phil asks, silently hoping for pizza.

"How's pizza?" Dan murmurs, and Phil can't help but smile affectionately at his boyfriend, "I really don't wanna cook."

"Sounds good," Phil replies, trying to tune out the part of his head that hones in on the comments in the live stream about how he does anything Dan says. He's not a simp. He just likes to indulge his boyfriend after he's traversed half the world alone for the first time in 13 years. He wants Dan to feel loved, heard... safe. If that means that a handful of kids on the internet calls him #DanHowellsSlut, well that's on them.

"Text me what you want, and I will order so you can wrap up your stream!" Dan smiles, walking out of the living room and back into the office, watching the end of the stream.

"Alright guys, I guess that means it's time for me to hop off here. For real this time. Danny boy gets fussy when he's not eating carbs." Phil chuckles at his own joke, saying bye to a few people in the crowd. "See you guys next week! Bye!" He signs off the live stream, falling back against the couch, and closing the lid of his MacBook with his foot. "Fuck..." he mumbles to no one in particular. Dan texts him, and he replies mindlessly, requesting the usual from Domino's.

"Daaaaan..." Phil calls, waiting for the man to reappear in the doorway.

"Yeah? You alright?" Dan pokes his head in, eyebrows pulled together in concern. They had just been texting, what was wrong that he felt like talking in person?

"I... it's nothing." He shakes his head, deciding last minute not to bring it up to the other, "Want to watch a movie or something with our pizza?"

"Sure. We should watch something old though, I don't really have the energy for something new."

"How's Hunger Games? We both have seen that loads of times."

"Perfect. Put it on then, I think the pizza is here." He rushes to the door, tipping the person and handing the boxes to Phil. He collects the paper towels and glasses from the kitchen, sitting down on the turquoise couch next to his partner. "Lights on or off?"

"How's lamplight?" Phil replies, distracted by the flatscreen across the room. He clicks on the movie, pushing his glasses up his nose as he grabs a slice of the pizza. Dan does the same, laying his legs across Phil's lap and watches the movie.

After a few slices, Phil takes to scrolling Tumblr on his iPhone. He smiles at the screencaps from his liveshow, likes a couple of pieces of fanart of himself, and reblogs a couple of gifs for the gaming channel.

Then it happens.

He hits a group of posts commenting on how whipped he is for Dan. How submissive he is, and how good he is for Dan. He can't help but scroll through the asks on the blog, reading about how he definitely almost called Dan "daddy" in a recent video. How he definitely wanted to kiss him at 12:23 in the newest gaming video... He sighs softly, turning back to the movie, just in time to see Katniss pick up her bow for the first time.

Dan's fallen asleep by the time the credits roll. Phil can't help but smile at the man wrapped up in his pimp blanket and hugging the cloud pillow. He looks exhausted and a tiny part of his heart breaks for Dan. This is most likely the first good night's sleep he's had in weeks, and Phil can't bring himself to wake him. Carefully, he lifts Dan's socked feet off his thigh, sliding out from underneath him. Instead of turning on the next movie, he gathers the plates, cups, and paper towel roll in his arms, disappearing into the kitchen. Phil deposits the dishes in the sink, vowing to clean them tomorrow, and returns to the living room. He tiptoes past the younger man and cleans up the pizza and coke bottle, trying his hardest to avoid banging into the corner of the coffee table. Thankfully, he doesn't hit anything until he gets the pizza box into the fridge. He cringes, hoping Dan isn't awake.

"Alright, now to wake the baby..." he murmurs to himself, shutting off the light in the kitchen. He returns to the den and presses his lips to Dan's forehead. "Honey? We need to go to bed." Dan crinkles his nose and groans, curling deeper into his ball of faux fur, "Nooooo... I wanna sleep here. 's cozy!" He hides his head under the blanket, attempting to fall back asleep.

"I know, Bear, but you'll be really sore if you don't go to bed. I love you, but I also know that you will complain all day about it."

"Gee, thanks, babe," Dan smirks, finally looking at his boyfriend.

"You know I'm right. Now, c'mon. You'll feel better." Phil reaches under the blanket, pulling Dan's hand until he finally obliges and stands up.

Phil can't help but kiss his boyfriend's cheek. Somehow, even after thirteen years, he's the most handsome man he's ever met. Dan smirks sleepily, resting his head against Phil's shoulder as they stumble into the bedroom.

He tries to sleep. Really, he does. Instead, though, his brain replays the posts, tweets, and messages haunting him for the last three weeks. They've gotten worse since Dan left for tour, it's like the posters have gotten bored and tried to stir up trouble. He presses his face to the pillow sighing deeply. Dan stirs in his sleep groaning softly.

"Whatever you're overthinking over there isn't worth it. It'll still be there in the morning. Go to sleep." The brunette murmurs, nuzzling into his side. They really do know each other inside and out. He nods and closes his eyes, pretending to sleep.

"G'morning," Dan mumbles, pressing into his side, making his hardon known. It's almost a ritual for them. If the weekday ends in y, Dan or Phil will push the other for morning sex. It's a given, almost like eating cereal for breakfast. Before he can reciprocate, though, Dan is staring at him. "I love you but you look like a dead man walking. So how about I take care of you this time, sir." Dan sits up, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Baby, you don't have to... I'm fine. It's not a big deal." Phil replies, hands finding their place on his waist.

"Okay. What's actually wrong? You never turn down sex." Dan furrows his brow, brown eyes locking onto Phil's as though he can read his mind if stares hard enough.

"I just don't feel up to it right now. I'm sorry." Phil gently presses a kiss to Dan's forehead. "I promise it's not you, I just got in my head last night. It's not important."

"I understand that. It's easy to do. Would you like pancakes or cereal for breakfast?"

"Pancakes, of course," Phil replies, thankful for the change in subject. Dan climbs off the bed, ignoring his lack of shirt. "I'll be right there, baby. Don't start without me!"

"No promises! I might eat them before you get in here!" Dan calls from the hallway, disappearing around the corner. Phil pulls his glasses on his face, making the bed and buying himself time. Just to allow his brain a second of clarity before he's met with the feeling of panic when Tumblr throws another post in his face.

-_-_-_-_-_-_

He makes it two weeks before he breaks. The duo had gotten back into their usual routine, reveling in the break in the chaos. Their livestreams were returning to normal and the whole debacle was behind him. Or so he thought.

Tonight's livestream was a joint event. Both men deciding it would be the perfect Christmas present for their fans. They answered questions and it all went smoothly until he sees it. He feels Dan go tense against his arm and Phil knows he saw it too.

A single message.

Nine words.

"Shout out the "Phil Lester Is A Sub Groupchat"!"

"I think we should get indian food tonight, don't you agree? I want that vegetarian bowl I get every time. It just sounds amazing!!" Dan tries, covering the awkward silence.

He takes that moment, disguising it as listening to the older's response, to take stock of the situation. There's a sense of panic in Phil's eyes. One so small only Dan knows what it looks like. He sees something else mixed in too, something he can't quite place. It's as though exhaustion and anger mixed together and created this new thing. He subtly gives Phil a nudge, three bumps on his right hip: 'check your face.' They'd implemented it after Dan rolled his eyes at something in the chat back in 2013. They decided it was best to avoid any issues. Phil blinks a few times, smiling quickly.

"That actually does sound amazing. I really am craving it too..." Phil replies quickly, changing the subject to what games they've been playing recently.

Twenty or so minutes later, Phil interjects, "Dang it Dan, I can't stop thinking about indian food now. But I swear we always abandon these guys for food."

"I'm starving, guys. Soz." Dan laughs, "We can continue this video game discussion on Thursday on my livestream! For now though, bye guys!"

"Bye!!" Phil clicks the button to end the stream and his shoulders drop.

"What was that about? You looked upset that someone called you a sub earlier."

"I am, okay? It's been haunting me for almost a month now. I'm weirded out by the fact that people get the vibe off you that you're a dom or the sub vibe off of me. What does it matter to them?! What we do in our bedroom when the lights are off is between us."

"Or inside us." Dan jests, attempting to break the tension. It works, causing Phil to burst into laughter.

"Jesus Christ, Dannnnn." Phil scolds still smiling. "But no, it's been messing with my head all month. That's why I pushed you off the other day. I was inside my head about the idea that the fans think that you're in charge and when you offered to take the lead it panicked me a little. I was worried they saw something I didn't, and they knew something I hadn't. Like a joke I wasn't a part of." He sighs, scrubbing his palms over his eyes. "I just don't like not knowing."

"Are you not happy being a dom? Do you not want to anymore?" Dan asks, eyes locked on the rip in the denim on his thigh. There's panic in his voice, and it breaks Phil's heart

Phil sighs, raising Dan's chin, "Trust me, sweetheart, I wouldn't trade it for the world. I fucking love being your dom."

Dan's cheeks tint pink, shivering slightly, "If it makes you feel any better, I have been haunted by "#Danisadom" the entire tour. For some reason, our fans are very observant about everything else, but this is one area that they're completely oblivious to. This is #Philtops2k15 all over again. At least then they had it right..." Dan laughs lightly, hoping Phil will join in.

"I remember that! And you're right, we made it through that just like we will this. Because you're my baby, Bear. Nothing is going to change that." Phil kisses Dan gently.

"And you're my sir. But I need you to tell me when you start getting in your head again. Please tell me, Phil. I don't want you hurt." Dan replies, voice low. He presses kisses to Phil's jaw. Before they can get too heated, he pulls away, "We have a meeting in thirty minutes."

"Wha? Dan!" Phil drops his arms to his sides, following the boy with his eyes as he disappears down the hall.

"Don't tell me you forgot! You set the appointment!" Before he can inquire further, his phone dings with a notification on their shared calendar: 'collar appointment'. Dan's voice calls from down the hall, a smirk evident in the tone, "the cab will be here in fifteen. Better hurry if you want to change." The black-haired boy sighs, willing his semi to soften.

"Fucking hell." He murmurs, rising from the couch to collect his jacket and wallet. "Dan, we have to make sure no one sees us."

"They won't, Phil. We made sure to get an appointment super fucking late. I promise no one will see us."

"I know, but I don't want this to get out. I'm not ashamed of being your dom but I don't want the rest of the world to be yours as well. Yknow? I just fear that if they somehow figure out how to manipulate you, then it will become an issue, or the parents will insist we are shoving it down their precious darlings' throats..."

"Phil," Dan touches his hands to the older's shoulders, pressing a kiss to his forehead, "It will be okay, I promise! If it makes you feel better, we can frame it differently." he leads them towards the door, out to where the cab is waiting, "Yknow? If we get caught, we can say we were collaring you." He whispers the last part against the shell of Phil's ear, breath ghosting across his cheek.

"No!!!" Phil whisper-shouts, "I hate you so much!" The two laugh it off, nervousness forgotten.

Almost...

The feeling of unease resurges when they arrive at the shop. "Dan, it's just here." He mumbles, motioning at the doorway. The other man turns back, having walked past it completely.

Neither of the guys knew this place existed, but they'd passed it millions of times. It's a small shop on the west end with blackened windows and a subtle navy tint to the stucco. It blends in where you wouldn't notice it if you didn't look for it.

He pulls open the door, and the words "OWNED" catch the streetlight, dark lettering glinting.

Phil takes a deep breath, leading Dan inside.

When they enter, Phil isn't sure what he was scared of. From inside, you can barely see the streets, and the knowledge that no one else can see inside calms his soul.

Dan's in his element immediately. From the first second, he's holding Phil's hand, pointing at different materials, gemstones, and buckles. "Look at this one!"

"Welcome in, you must be Mr. Lester and Mr. Howell! Pleased to meet you! My name is Gerald Rogers, I will be doing your sizing and fitting today." Both men shake Gerald's hand, their nervousness subsiding. "You guys seem nervous, is this your first collar?"

"It is." Phil begins, wrapping his arm around Dan's hips, "We've talked about it a lot, but I decided it was the perfect Christmas present."

"Well, we will be sure to find one that suits your dynamic perfectly. To start, let's have a seat back here so I can get a feel for your dynamic." The two men nod, following Gerald to the heavy black desk.

"Alright, let's start simple and work to the heavier details." The guys nod, and Dan takes Phil's hand. A silent testament that he's there and they're safe. "What are we thinking for the budget?" Phil replies with their budget and how flexible it is. Gerald begins typing on his laptop, nodding. "Who's going to be collared today?" Dan raises his hand, blush tinting his cheek.

"He is."

"Perfect. And can you guys describe your dynamic?"

"How do you mean?" Phil asks.

"I mean, what titles do you use, how hard is your play, do you tend to get rougher than most?" Gerald raises his eyebrows, hands poised over the keyboard.

"Well, the titles we use most for Dan here are 'baby, honey, sweetheart....' The soft stuff. And then for me--"

"I use "Sir" more than anything. We do joke around with 'daddy' but I don't really want that included this time." Gerald nods, updating his notes. He smiles encouragingly, waiting for the boys to continue.

"Are you wanting to have an all-the-time collar or just a play collar?"

"We are definitely looking for just a play collar. Our fans wouldn't take kindly to Dan suddenly wearing a heavy collar." Phil laughs lightly.

"Fans?" Gerald asks, casually.

"We're YouTubers. I presume you won't release to our fans what we're up to? Our relationship is kind of a personal secret they aren't aware of."

"I promise, discretion is one of the main things I promise with my services."

"Perfect," Dan states, hand squeezing Phil's.

"And are you two rough with your play? I don't mean physically, I mean are you guys planning on attaching leashes, pulling on the collar, or leading by it?"

"We were planning to try implementing it, does the collar hold up to that?"

"Oh, easily. We can do a double-layered flat leather collar with reinforced D rings."

"Perfect." Phil smiles.

"Great, let's get you measured Dan!" He nods, nervousness in his eyes.

"It's gonna be okay, babe." Phil smiles, reassuringly. "I'm right here." Gerald raises the tape measure, and Dan nods. "Don't flinch, it's okay. I'm right here."

"Alright, I've got the measurements." Gerald smiles, writing the numbers on his computer, "I'm guessing you are someone who hates people touching their neck?" Dan nods, never breaking eye contact with his boyfriend, "You did great."

"You really did, Dan." Phil praises, reveling in the way he minutely preens.

"Alright. what materials and colors were you thinking of doing this time?"

"We had been discussing doing a double-layered vegan leather collar in black and white."

"Are you thinking 12 millimeters or more?"

"Ah, definitely 12 millimeters... I think that's right. The site we were looking at said half an inch was ideal for a first hard-play collar." Dan looks at the measurement sheet in front of him, reading the numbers off internally. "I don't want anything too strong around my neck."

"Then that would probably be right around perfect... Let me get something drawn up for you. Wait here." Gerald walks into the back room, leaving the boys to their own devices.

"I'm really happy we're finally doing this." Phil murmurs.

"I am too. I like my collar, but one from the pet shop doesn't work well for us. It'll be nice to have one made special and not for a dog."

"Agreed. Did you want to go for a locking collar, baby?"

"I would be honored." Dan blushes, "But we can't lose the key or forget it's on."

"Oh, I don't think that will be a problem for you two." Gerald interrupts, presenting his sketch.

The piece on the iPad in front of them is perfect. It looks like someone took the essence of Dan and created it. The thick black leather is sewn with white thread and the thin leather on top is sewn with black. There are three sets of eight rivets surrounding three D rings, and Dan can almost feel the black chains ghosting across his collarbones and back. "It's perfect..." He whispers, awestruck.

"I'm glad you think so! Is there anything you'd like to add or modify?"

"Can we possibly add in a few gemstones? Like maybe black gems here and here?" Phil points between the D rings, smiling awkwardly.

"Like... this?" Gerald adds the gems, turning it back. "And were you two considering a locking or belt-style clasp?"

"Locking. Can we get two sets of keys though?"

"Absolutely, that is a default for these collections, just in case one set gets separated. I will make a note on your order though just to be sure." He types it in, "I will have your piece ready in about two weeks." He smiles and clears the approval, having both of the men sign the agreement before reading out their total.

"That is perfect. Thank you so much." Phil smiles, handing Gerald his card.

-_-_-_-_-_-_

Back home, Dan can't keep his hands off of Phil. "What's up? You were trying to hold my hand in the cab, you've been glued to my side since we got home. Is something wrong? Are you having second thoughts about your collar?"

"No! I mean, no. I'm nervous but I'm not regretting it." Dan blushes, leaning against the counter, watching Phil eat cereal from the box, "If anything, I am excited." I can't wait to have something that symbolizes how much you want me to be yours. It's an honor that you want to collar me, Phil. I mean, what did I do to deserve this?"

"You existed, Dan. That's all that matters. You were deserving of it from the beginning, no one has noticed before me. I have wanted to collar you since 2010, but I didn't want to scare you off. Some people classify this as more important than a wedding ring. I mean, you are literally allowing me to put a lock around your neck. My love, you are the most worthy of anyone I have ever known or dated. I can't imagine anyone else would rather be mine than you. You're my world! I--" Before Phil can finish rambling Dan is pressing their mouths together.

"Fuck I have wanted to do that since we left Owned." He reconnects their lips and the quiet groan from Phil reverberates through him. He replies with the softest squeak, and most people would have missed it, but Phil catches it.

"If I had known that getting you fitted would have this effect on you, I'd have done it ages ago!"

"Oh shut up you spoon." Dan blushes, wriggling away from the older.

"Never," Phil replies, smirking. Dan glares playfully, disappearing into the living room. -_-_-_-_-_-_

Dan has been dreading this. It's finally Tuesday and he hasn't even said hello before he sees it:

"Hi, Daddy."

Dan can't help but freeze in his tracks, slipping before he can school his expression. He glares at the message. He hopes no one sees the look, but the chat's speed says otherwise. He doesn't know why it affects him so much. Neither of them has used that title since 2010. But yet it still haunts him.

Because it's not him.

"Have you guys tried any new shows this week? Phil and I-- ope!! Phil and I!" He snaps his fingers and laughs, "We've been watching a new anime! I can't remember the name though!" He deflects the chat, ignoring the comments in chat asking about his sex life with Phil.

"Da-an!" Phil calls from the hallway, walking in with a black cardboard box.

"Oh! Phil! I was just getting ready to call you!"

"You were?" He walks in, box still in hand, leaning down next to his partner.

"I was trying to tell these guys about that new anime we started! What was it called?"

"Oh, it was an old one I watched when I was younger. Vampire Knight?" The chat explodes in reply, half of them asking about the show and the other asking about the box in his hand.

"It's fun. Definitely a teen drama though. which I think makes it funnier. Cuz we're two grown-ass men watching a romance anime made for teenage girls." The two talk a bit more about the show before Phil comes up with an excuse to leave.

"Alright, now. Where were we?" Dan asks, "I have the memory of a gnat I swear to gods... Oh! The new album! So..." His phone dings somewhere in the middle of the discussion and he wishes he'd put it on silent. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a text:

Sir-- 9:08: It's here. 9:09: On the counter in the kitchen, I won't unbox it without you.

He almost whimpers, excitement settling into his body. "Well, I think I need to head out and finish editing the new video for you guys! Hopefully, I can have it out for you in the next six months!" He laughs, waving to the camera, "Bye guys! Talk to you all next week!"

He clicks end live, rushing out of the room. "Where is it?" He calls, words running together with excitement.

"It's right here! I told you I had it! I even showed you the box!" Phil laughs, pushing the box closer to the younger. "I haven't opened it. Do you need a knife?" Dan nods, cutting the box open.

Inside the box, wrapped in red tissue paper is a satin pouch. Neither of the boys can do anything but gape at first, shocked that it's actually real and in their hands. Finally, Phil comes to his senses and lifts the satin out of the box, untying the ribbon.

"I-- it's real," Dan whispers when the leather piece has been revealed. The chains softly tink together, and the loop for the lock at the back waits expectantly. His hands shake gently as Phil raises the leather, eyes meeting Dan's.

"It-- It's--"

"Perfect." Dan finishes his thought, breath coming in short gasps. He touches his fingers to the D-rings, blinking slowly.

Phil can't help but smile at the awestruck look on Dan's face, "Wanna put it on now? I mean, we are done for the night. Might as well test and make sure it fits." The boy nods, nervously.

"Alright. How should we go about doing this? Should I get on my knees or..."

"Just like we always do, bear. This is just another one of our collars. Hold still and I'll help you put it on." He turns around, back to Phil's chest, and digs in the box for the padlock. Dan grabs it, holding it in his hand, waiting for the feeling of the vegan leather on his throat. He hands the lock to Phil when he finally gets it into place, hearing the click when it's finally done.

"How does it look?" Dan asks, turning back to face Phil. The older doesn't reply, eyes wide and pupils blown.

"Holy fuck..." He whispers, causing Dan to blink rapidly.

"That bad?" Dan asks, hands reaching for the band. He grows self-conscious, confusion evident in his expression.

"N-no... No. Quite the opposite, actually. You look amazing, Dan." Phil blushes slightly, "Could you imagine wearing this in a video? They'd die."

"Because the one they thought was the dom is in a collar?"

"No. Because this may actually be one of the top ten sexiest things I have ever seen you in." Dan looks down at his loose t-shirt and joggers, raising an eyebrow.

"This? Phil, I wear this every day. They're literally my pajamas."

"No, I mean this." Phil laces his fingers under the collar, gently pulling Dan against him. "This is the sexiest thing you've ever worn. Probably up there with that one time, you dressed as me for Dailybooth."

"That was one of the first times you said you wanted to collar me." He blushes at the memory, remembering just how hoarse he was the next day.

"I know. And now look at you... All locked up and nowhere to go..." Phil's voice lowers, sending a shiver up Dan's spine. He presses their lips together, never letting go of the younger's collar. "What do you want to do, Daniel? Shall we break in this new toy?" Dan nods, mutely. "Alright. I want you on my bed ready in two minutes."

"Yes, sir. The same stuff as always?" Phil nods, turning back to the box. He digs through the paper, finding the second set of keys. He takes stock of the situation, wondering if this is a new chapter in their BDSM journey. Sure, they've had collars before, but nothing like this.

He thinks back to the time when Dan had asked for a stronger pair of cuffs. He remembers how he wondered then if this would be a new normal for them.

Before he can answer his question, Dan calls from the other room, "You comin' or what?"

Phil laughs breathily to himself, walking quickly down the hallway. "I'm comin', baby, don't get impatient on me or I'll make you wait."

"Yes, sir." Dan murmurs.

Phil opens the door, breathlessly. Before him is his boyfriend of 13 years waiting expectantly, eyes trained forward and collar around his neck. He's taken off every thread of clothing, and the blush on his skin catches the streetlight out the window perfectly.

"Fuck you're going to kill me, Bear," Phil whispers unbuttoning his corgi shirt as he closes the door.

Phil approaches him, connecting their lips. Dan whines, hoping and praying Phil would let him do something, anything to get the friction he craves. Instead of indulging, Phil takes his hand, leads him to the bed, and pushes him back onto the colorful bedsheets. "What do you want?"

"I want you!" He gasps in reply, brown eyes blown wide in desperation. "Please, I just want your cock."

"Aww, desperate already?" Phil growls dominantly, "Pathetic, aren't you."

Dan watches as Phil unzips his black jeans, waiting for the man to reveal what Dan's been waiting for, "C'moooooooon"

Phil glares, abandoning the buttons and instead sliding his fingers underneath the edge of the collar, pulling it up. "I know you're desperate, but you need to remember who's in charge here. I know our fans think it's you, but you and I both know the truth. We're going to try this again, who's in charge, Daniel?"

Dan nods, "Y-you are, sir."

Phil preens at his reply, pushing his jeans off his legs. He grants himself a couple strokes before pulling Dan in closer. "Good boy. What do you want, bear?" Dan blinks, silently communicating with his boyfriend. Phil nods, tangling his fingers in Dan's curls.

Dan blushes, licking Phil's tip. "Can you... Y'know..." He looks up at Phil, expectantly.

"Aww, want me to fuck your face?" Dan nods, parting his lips. Phil pushes his length into Dan's mouth, pausing briefly at the base, the feeling of his tongue too much to handle. "Fuck," He groans and resists the urge to jerk his hips.

Dan blushes, talking as best he can around the intrusion. Phil smirks and tangles his fingers in Dan's hair, pulling his head back to meet the base of his cock.

"That's a good boy, c'mon, take it all." Dan whimpers, suckling at the older's cock. "You're doing so good baby, I'm gonna cum though if we aren't careful..."

Dan pulls back, wiping his mouth, "W-want you to fuck me... Please?" Dan whispers gaze downcast towards his knees.

Phil smirks in victory. His usually articulate boyfriend has been brought to his knees, begging for any attention the older will grant. Phil growls, lifting Dan's chin to meet his gaze. His lips are parted, breaths escaping in short pants. "I would love to do that, sweetheart," Phil replies hotly, "Let's get into it then." He scoots back on the bed, "Did you stretch earlier like I told you too?"

Dan nods, handing the older a well-used bottle of lube, "Mhm, but you might need to check."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you wanted me to finger you," Phil smirks, spreading lube over two fingers and pressing them to Dan's entrance. When they go in easily, he presses into Dan's prostate.

"I know noth-- Oh fuuuuck," Dan moans, pushing his hips backwards. Phil smirks, adding a third finger.

"You know nothing? You're right. You're just a pretty slut. Made perfect for my dick." Phil pulls his fingers out, wiping the excess on his leg. He spreads more lube on his cock, pressing into the younger. "Beg for it."

"Please?" Dan begs, head dropping. "I've been waiting for this all day, sir. Please..."

Phil pushes the tip in, and pauses. "I didn't tell you to stop."

Dan attempts to push his hips back, mewling. "Please, sir... Please please please..." He curls his nails into the sheets, curls falling across his face.

The older shakes his head affectionately, pushing in the rest of the way. "Taking my cock so well, bear. You're such a good little slut for me. Take it all." He tangles his fingers into the back of the collar, using it to gain leverage. "Fuck..." Phil moans, speeding up his thrusts.

Dan tangles his hands into the sheets, groaning loudly. "Please, Please, please... I'm so close please..."

"Good." Phil's thrusts grow rougher, as he bites Dan's shoulder. "Don't cum until I tell you to."

The sound of their bodies colliding causes Dan to tremble. "Please... Please.... Sir... Lemme cum please!"

"Fuck, Dan... I'm so close... Ready?" he nods, desperately, "Okay... Cum for me. Right now, baby, I'm right behind you." Phil groans roughly, feeling Dan squeeze around him, pushing him over the edge. He reaches around, giving Dan's leaking cock a few strokes, helping him through his orgasm. "Good boy... You did so good." He whispers, letting go of the collar and pulling out of the younger.

"I love you so much, Dan." Phil whispers, pressing a kiss to Dan's nose. "You did so good." "I love you too. Thank you." he replies, dazed.

"For what?"

"Loving me, and for collaring me."

"Of course. Just proof your mine forever baby bear."

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!! Likes and reblogs are much appreciated!!

#shut up nika #phan #dan howell x phil lester #phan smut #phanfic

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dutchsonjaa · 1 year

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He never got to enjoy his afternoon tea.

Philza’s POV on the ending of the Dream SMP. 1448 words AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43111627 Huge thanks to my friends @energy-emi1y and @Bokuaka_Official on AO3!

He’d just put the kettle on the fire, preparing it for a nice cup of afternoon tea after an hard day of working outside in the cold, the snow that he dragged in through his boots now laying in half-molten puddles on their hard wooden floor. The lullaby he’d been murmuring as he picked through his stockpile of teabags, neatly stored in an hand-carved basket, searching for something he’d have an taste for halted abruptly in his throat as his gaze found the missile. Gazing through the open window, Philza felt his shoulders sag as he watched the projectile ascend high into the sky until it was finally lost beyond the low-hanging clouds of an cold afternoon. Hands trembling with dread, the man put the casket down before he could lose his grip on it. He’d always known that the long-lasting skirmish between Tommy and the pretend-God would eventually end the world. He never could’ve known it literally would.

The shrill whistle of the kettle filled the room, signaling to Philza that his tea was ready. The noise startled some of the crows, perched on the shelves around the room. Phil let out a small crow in an half-hearted attempt to calm them as he allowed his mind to wander. The tea would never be cool enough in time to drink anyway. It just didn’t matter anymore. Just the other day had he met the golden-haired boy, finding him at his son’s memorial, startling the lad as the Angel of Death had descended the sky with the intent to pay his own respects to the shrine. If Tommy rapidly swept the tears away that shone in the young man’s eyes, Philza had chosen not to comment on that. He’d had let plenty of tears fall when he’d visited this site himself. There had been something fierce in Tommy’s gaze that day; a feral determination that made his sapphire-blue eyes burn like an cold, undying fire as he spoke of his plan. With their goodbyes said, did Philza had watch him go, the lad now armed with the armor and the blessing he presented him. Only after Tommy had turned his back, did Philza whisper an prayer to his late wife to keep the golden-haired man safe.

The murder of crows, the ever-so loyal flock Philza’d affectionately been calling ‘Chat’, were truly panicking now, sensing the impending doom. Their terrified caws seemed to even drown out the still sound of the whistle of the kettle, left behind to burn out on the stove. Philza let out a weary sign; he knew time was running short. The explosion would soon be upon them, destroying everything in its wake. Blowing a short, shrill whistle to his birds, he quickly gained their attention. Black beady eyes fixed on the man as they awaited his command, bristling their wings as they anticipated his words. “Go find Wilbur”, the Angel of Death breathed, his voice sounding stronger than he felt. The sound of flapping wings filled the room as the birds took wing for the open sky as they found their way through the unlocked window. There’d be no more time for goodbyes or I love you’s. It pained Philza deeply to know that he should’ve said it more when there was still time. His son had inherited his mother’s brain though, he’d have to understand. Philza hoped he would understand. The man watched the second-to-last crow reach for the open sky, finding their way to wherever Philza’s son resided. The Angel of Death’s fallen descendant would at last be getting his feathers.

Only one crow remained, as Philza knew he would. Dave, the smallest of the flock, that Philza himself hand-fed and nursed back to health after finding the bird, still just a chick back then, freezing and alone in the winter’s cold. The bird had never really adhered to his commands, nor would he now. Little crow-feet landed on Philza’s shoulder as he tenderly nibbled at his ear. With the bird now happily perched on his shoulder, did Philza found his way to the bed chambers where he knew he’d find his friend resting. Technoblade was right where he’d expected him to be. His pupil, his ally, his best friend, would truly sleep through everything. Even the end of the world, Philza thought, though he suppressed the bleak thought almost immediately. The Piglin-Hybrid lay in a deep slumber, his chest gently rising and falling, blissfully unaware of the situation going outside his personal dream world. He looked so peaceful, Philza realized, giving him a feeling of tranquility as he eyed his friend snore softly in his sleep. They still had one Totem of Undying left; the last one remaining after the failed attempts of trying to resurrect Philza’s son, so many moons ago.

Philza briefly considered shoving the figure into the Hybrid’s hands; saving his friends life. Yet when he watched the man he’d almost consider a second son rest so peacefully, his gaze untroubled, he recognized he couldn’t, even though the thought made his heart break even more. Technoblade would never truly forgive the Angel, nor would he let himself forget, if he were to survive. Instead, the Piglin-Hybrid would waste the rest of his days trying to find a way to resurrect his winged friend; just as he had already done for their fallen friend and member of the Syndicate, Ranboo. No, as much as the thought brought him sorrow, he knew it’d be a kinder fate to let his Technoblade rest alongside him. They’d both reconcile with their Enderman friend soon enough. Philza had to bite his cheek from screaming out in agony, the tear in his heart growing with the weight of his decision as he picked up the blanket from the ground which his friend had thrown off him in his sleep. With trembling hands, he gently tucked in his friend, suppressing the urge to give the other man a peck on the cheek like he used to do with Wil, back when his son still needed him. Delicately stroking a few pink strands of hair away from his friend’s face, he smiled down affectionately at his friend. A single tear ran down his cheek.

It’d be almost time soon. Philza strode towards the stairs, sparing the resting figure of his dearest friend one last glance as he desperately tried to ignore the lump in his throat. Finding his way through their cabin, Philza passed by the portraits of his son and his son’s best friend. He kept walking. The whistling of the kettle had ceased; apparently having given up on gaining his attention. His coat he left hanging on the coatrack as he kicked open the front door, welcoming the icy wind from outside enveloping him. The outside world was eerily quiet; all animals had fled in their attempt to survive. Some would make it to safety. The fresh layer of snow cracked underneath his boots as Philza’s scanned the horizon for the missile, finding it on it already to be on its descent soon enough. His final flight would have to be a short one. Spreading out his wings, ignoring the freezing cold ruffling his plumage, threatening to freeze his smaller feathers, rendering them useless, did Philza take off, scattering the powdery snow surrounding him around with a powerful beat of his wings. He knew that if he turned his gaze towards the air next to him, he’d find Dave, joining him in his final ascend to the horizon. Instead, Philza kept his eyes locked on the clouds, blocking off the sun from view. Though struggling as the air grew thinner around him and his still-healing wings aching, was Philza determined to make it. He let out a yowl as he finally broke through the clouds, enjoying himself despite everything. Dave followed shortly after, cawing happily as the bird flew in circles around him. It was pleasant up here, above the clouds. The sun felt warm upon his face and Philza allowed himself to enjoy this brief moment of peace. Somewhere in the distance, somewhere far down below him on the earth, did he hear the dull sound of an explosion. The Angel of Death exhaled before folding his wings behind him, letting himself fall. Philza did not know if the fall would kill him or the blast of the explosion. The fear still lay deep in his chest as he crashed through the clouds, Dave not far behind as the bird followed him in their final dive. As the ground rushed towards him, the man closed his eyes. He knew his late wife would catch him. Philza never got to enjoy his afternoon tea.

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malibuhabits · 1 year

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helloooo! another snippet from my 90’s fame au. find me on ao3 @ chevymalibu and read the tags and notes carefully!

DEAD ASLEEP (Dreaming Away Your Life)

Once dressed in his new underwear and jeans, Eddie walks barefoot towards the light gray backdrop that has people bustling around it, testing lights and cameras and other tools like their lives depend on it. He sees Vickie having a conversation with a tall and freckled girl, and since the tiny but terrifying redhead is mad at him for once again being a horrible client, he chooses to let them talk and keeps to himself. Just standing there in his boring clothes, wishing he was drinking in his hotel room instead.

He doesn't get to be alone for long, as he never gets these days, Phil already joining him with-

Okay, wow.

Steve Harrington.

Listen. Of course Eddie is familiar with him. The whole globe has been obsessed with the face that’s launched countless luxury brands and magazine covers.

Still, seeing him in real life… nothing could’ve prepared Eddie to the vision.

Thin, bony, and angular, a bit hunchbacked, beauty marks all over untainted skin. Sharp jawline, pretty pink dusting cheeks, unintentionally pouty lips. And that chestnut hair’s just as fluffy and impressive as it’s famous for.

But it’s the eyes that seal the deal. Droopy, drunken and dreamy, basically pools of liquid hazel, holding the spectators charmed and spellbound.

Maybe this photoshoot won’t be such a drag after all…

“Eddie,” Phil tells him, “This is Steve. You’ll be working together in this campaign,” as if it wasn’t previously agreed upon.

They shake hands.

Steve’s is soft and undamaged like it hasn’t done manual labor once. Eddie’s hands are calloused, firm and strong. Steve wears one signet ring on his pinky, Eddie has four chunky ones. The contrast shouldn’t be as deliciously intriguing as Eddie makes it out to be.

“Hello, nice to officially meet you,” Steve says with a hint of accent. It’s light, but it’s there. And it’s unreasonably sexy.

Eddie’s is half chubbed already.

Understandably, he can’t really be blamed for putting on his most wicked grin, showing off his famous dimples and sharpening his heated eyes. See, it’s his thing, being unapologetically raunchy. It’s his brand. People love it.

Usually…

“Pleasure’s all mine baby boy, believe me,” he practically purrs, can’t help it.

Steve gives him a look, head to toe. It’s not a polite one. It’s calculated and frosty. Stand-offish.

Says something in French to Phil who quickly claps his hands like a dorky dad breaking up an argument. “Well boys, I have a few things to put in order, so warm up a little and get more comfortable. Ten minutes tops, and we’ll start with the video and move on to the photos. Sounds good?”

Eddie notices how he casually squeezes Steve’s narrow waist before leaving. He wishes he could do that too. Wishes he could touch Steve and make sure he’s real.

He’ll get the chance to. It already feels inevitable.

He rakes his eyes down Steve’s body, only now noticing that instead of blue jeans he’s wearing a satin dressing gown that’s loosely tied. Really loosely. It’s teasing, it’s a statement, and Eddie is sure there isn’t a single person in this studio who wouldn’t kill to untie the barely-there knot themselves. Nor are there many whom Steve would forbid from doing so.

When Eddie’s gaze lands back to his face, he’s pleasantly surprised to see Steve’s eyes already on him. He’s reading Eddie’s face, gorgeous eyes darting swiftly before settling and narrowing accusingly.

“Aren’t you going to apologize?”

Eddie’s eyebrows jump high in surprise and if he was intrigued before it’s nothing compared to this. He knows a spoiled brat when he sees one.

“Apologize for what, princess?”

“For being late. It’s rude you know, or did the circus you grew up in fail to teach you any manners?”

So. Not only a brat but a full-on bitch too.

And the worst thing? It’s kinda Eddie’s weakness.

Naturally he has to mock a little.

“Aren’t ya clever,” he drawls sarcastically, “were you born this witty or did daddy pay for private lessons?”

Haughty roll of eyes and an impatient sigh. “Still waiting that apology.”

continue:

#steddie #steve and eddie #steve harrington #steddie brainrot #steddie au #eddie munson #supermodel!steve #rockstar!eddie #fame au #90s au #steddie fanfiction #my writing #bratty steve harrington #snippet #famous eddie munson #steve x eddie #eddie munson and steve harrington

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phanfictioncatalogue · 11 months

Text

Teasing (3) Masterlist

part one, part two

Alone ;) Together (ao3) - DavineNaughter

Summary: Phil couldn't remember being this happy in a long time. Not since he and Dan had found each other out as Friend, maybe when they started saying I love you out loud and in their heads. But this was a whole new level of happy, because along with it Phil felt himself overrun with relief.

Brat (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: Dan is a sassy little brat and he’s such a tease.

So Phil decides to put Dan back in his place, that place being on his knees.

His Obsession (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: Phil is completely obsessed with Dan's ass. Even when out to dinner with his parents, Phil has trouble keeping his eyes and hands to himself.

Kiss Me Through The Camera (ao3) - PoisonWrites

Summary: "Phil wasn’t a stranger to seducing someone with just his words, so why was flirting with Dan the equivalent of digging to China with a teaspoon?"

Knick-Knacks (ao3) - blissedoutphil

Summary: Dan wants to get rid of most of their knick-knacks, their forever home has to be minimalistic. Phil isn't helping Dan pack, he's too busy buying more knick-knacks.

Practice Makes Perfect (ao3) - winstonlives

Summary: Phil said he would paint Dan's nails in a live show, and doesn't think much of it until Dan finds someone else to do it. Dan is surprised and amused at Phil's reaction.

seasons change (ao3) - sadlybunny

Summary: The boy is irresistible. He’s got that “couldn’t be bothered” attitude that has always intrigued Phil, always made him want to know Danny a little bit better. Phil knows falling in love with his best friend’s younger brother is wrong. But he just can’t seem to do the right thing.

Senpai and The Schoolgirl (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: Inspired by Amazing Phil's "US v. JAPAN School Lunches with Dan and Phil" video from December 11, 2017, Dan tempts his boyfriend with the Japanese schoolgirl outfit following the conclusion of some sensual and playful filming.

Sensations (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: Sure Dan and Phil usually kept their sex life fairly vanilla, but sometimes they’d play rough and Dan was a screamer and Phil loved taking control.

Sexual Fantasies (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: Dan and Phil are joined by Martyn and Cornelia on their American road trip. Phil has to excuse himself from the casino when he sees the saucy and suggestive update to Dan's Instagram story.

Slow Down - intoapuddle

Summary: Phil knows that Dan can hear him. Phil knows that Dan thinks that two can play at this game. Phil knows that that absolutely isn’t true.

Tangled Up (ao3) - Misha_with_Wings

Summary: It was hard for Dan and Phil to get any time alone while on tour. They were constantly being rushed through meet and greets or shoved to another hotel. Luckily they could sometimes sneak away to the back of the tour bus and get all tangled up with each other.

Teasing - echohowell

Summary: Take some birthday fluff/pre-smut.

The Good Neighbor (ao3) - winstonlives

Summary: Phil's a nosy neighbor, Dan disaproves...kind of. Mostly they love to tease each other.

The Maestro And His Muse (ao3) - Tarredion

Summary: Phil is a professional artist. There are some things he has always wanted to try, and with a motto like Try New Things, it’s understandable that he’ll go through with many of them. Painting on living, breathing, naked human bodies is one of those things.

Unfortunately, he's chosen his good friend, muse, and crush Dan Howell as his subject. What could go wrong?

To The Shop And Back (ao3) - winstonlives

Summary: Dan does the laundry, but Phil needs his jeans.

Warm, incredibly happy, and well loved (ao3) - winstonlives

Summary: Phil wakes up to soft kisses. Dan has a dream, and it inspires him in the bedroom.

What Dan Wants, Dan Gets (ao3) - blissedoutphil

Summary: "i hate men but i want them to touch me"

- actual Dan on twitter

so this fic is based on that lmao

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists #smut #sex tw #teasing #teasing masterlist

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themculibrary · 7 months

Text

200k+ Masterlist 2

Links Last Checked: January 1st, 2024

part one

1796 Broadway (ao3) - rainproof, teaberryblue steve/tony, bruce/natasha M, 460k

Summary: Captain America respectfully requests that all complaints be addressed to him in writing. On paper, the nice old-fashioned way, because the computer screen hurts his eyes.

Put your phone down, Tony.

Bend Around the Wind (ao3) - Scyllaya loki/tony E, 403k

Summary: A few months after the battle of New York the God Loki appears back on Stark Tower under chaotic circumstances. This time however he is on the run. Tony Stark gets caught up in the crossfire and is taken along with the Aesir. Can the two of them ever make truce in order to get away? And even if they do, how does one escape from such a dark corner of the universe, when they are so very far away from the Nine Realms, that not even Loki knows the way back home. But first, they need to survive.

Blue Lips, Blue Veins (ao3) - romanoff steve/tony E, 300k

Summary: Tony Stark is Iron Man.

Before that, he was an man with bigger heart than brain. Before that, he was an asshole with a bigger mouth than sense. And before that, he was was a scared little boy. Not that it matters. Stark's always have had iron in their backbone.

Born from the Earth (ao3) - venusm steve/tony, clint/phil, tony/oc E, 277k

Summary: Tony Stark's born an omega in a world where that means he's supposed to follow certain social rules. He becomes Iron Man anyway: Fuck biology.

If only his biology (and the world) would quit fucking him back.

Counterpart (ao3) - sara_holmes steve/tony M, 217k

Summary: coun•ter•part [koun-ter-pahrt] [noun] 1. a person or thing closely resembling another, especially in function. 2. a copy; duplicate. 3. one of two parts that fit, complete, or complement one another.

Just because Hydra used the DNA of a Captain America from another dimension to create a lab-grown, six-year-old super-soldier, it doesn't mean that said six-year old super-soldier is biologically Steve's, right?

(Where Steve wants to ban Clint from bringing things home from alternative dimensions, until he doesn't.)

God's Righteous Man (ao3) - FoxyAtlas steve/bucky M, 232k

Summary: A story in which the serum doesn't affect Steve's size, the shield goes to Bucky, and they reunite years before the Battle of New York. Also, Steve is a punk, but that's canon.

A timeline starting with the Howling Commandos and going all the way to Pre-Infinity War.

Pieces of Echoes (ao3) - geekymoviemom T, 334k

Summary: When weapons designer and SHIELD consultant Tony Stark and his son are kidnapped following a routine weapons demonstration, newly defrosted World War II hero Steve Rogers is sent to find them.

But what begins as just another mission, a way for Captain America to reintegrate back into society, quickly warps into something more as betrayals are discovered, harsh, long-buried truths are finally brought to light, and Tony and Steve come to realise that their biggest allies are each other.

Pirate's Heart (ao3) - NotEvenCloseToStraight bucky/steve/tony E, 267k

Summary: The 1700s, the Golden Age of Piracy, and Captain Steve Rogers has all he wants: a ship, a loyal crew, Bucky at his side, and the horizon offering a new adventure everyday. But an impulsive kiss gone wrong leads to a marriage between Steve and Tony Stark, and now Steve doesn't know what to do about ANYTHING. Steve loves Bucky, but something about Tony draws him in. Tony is too innocent for this life, but he picks up a sword anyway. Bucky is Steve's, but when he offers his hand to Tony and now the three of them are something new. When the truth about Steve's mission to ruin the Stark name comes out, Tony runs away, leaving Steve and Bucky behind in search of answers to the secrets hidden from him his whole life-- about his company, about Uncle Obie, about his parents death.

Steve and Bucky cant abandon their mission against Stane and Tony cant deal with the answers he finds in New York. Is this the end? Is Tony gone forever? Or will he leave his old life and return to the sea and the Pirates that hold his heart?

Poetic Justice (ao3) - Limmet loki/tony M, 311k

Summary: When the time comes to pass sentence on Loki after the events in The Avengers, Odin decides to go for the poetic justice angle. For his attempt to enslave humanity, Loki has his magic and powers bound, and is sent back to Midgard and given over to Tony Stark to be his slave.

This was not a turn of events Tony had ever seen coming.

Rock Me Gently (ao3) - enigma731, invisibledaemon gamora/peter M, 479k

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#themculibrary #masterlists #marvel #mcu #200k #200k masterlist #superlong

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succubusphan · 2 years

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A Rose of Winter - Chapter 8

Summary: All Daniel wanted to do was escape the stifling life as a Stark of Winterfell and travel the world. Between the looming threat North of The Wall and the den of lions in the capital, he unexpectedly finds love in the midst of a war set to tear Westeros apart. Caught between loyalty to his family and duty, he is torn in a thousand directions that all point to one man: Philip Flowers.

Rating: E (There are only a few smut scenes but it's an M for battles, war, and other adult topics)

Tags/warnings: I removed most triggers (no R or SA, no minors involved in sex, no gore). It does include: Deaths either written without details or in a poetic way if it's an important character (Dan and Phil, Ghost and Balerion will live but everyone else is fair game). Strangers to lovers, Slow Burn, missing each other. The prophecies and stories foreshadowed are fulfilled, a satisfying ending to the entire story without plot holes. Extreme canon divergence. Dan and Phil are not replacing characters, they were written in. GAME OF THRONES AU

Author's Note: This is my OSPBB 2022, Couldn't have done it without my betas @effingmeteors and @filisaceaf.

Word Count: Each chapter will be around 15k and have at least one Dan or Phil pov. The total wc is about 210k.

Read on Ao3

TYRION

“We need to prepare for the siege. Stannis is sailing to King’s Landing with 200 ships and he’ll be here in five days; four if he has good wind.”

“We have strong, high walls,” Cersei said. “We’ll rain fire down from above.”

“You are quoting Father, aren’t you?”

“Why not? He has a good mind for strategy.”

“It’s called tactics and yes, he does. Sadly, he is not here and you know Joffrey won’t do a thing.”

“I am sure he will make appointments when the time comes.”

“If the entire city wants Joffrey dead-”

“I’m not the one giving the boy whores to abuse.”

“I thought it would help.”

“Did you?”

“I was wrong!” Tyrion said, picking at the fabric on his chair. “If we can’t control him-”

“Do you think I haven’t tried? He doesn’t listen to me.”

“It is hard to put a leash on a dog after you put a crown on it.”

Cersei walked over to her bed and sat there, caressing her silk bedding with an absent look upon her face. “I always thought he would be like Jaime… he looks like him.”

Tyrion’s eyes widened.

“... in a certain light,” she finished.

“The boy is more Robert than Jaime,” Tyrion said, giving her the opportunity to deny the truth.

She laughed sadly. “Robbert was a drunken fool, but he didn’t enjoy cruelty. Sometimes I wonder…”

“What?” He asked.

“If this is the price for what we’ve done. For our sins.”

“The Targaryens-”

“Wed between brothers and sisters for hundreds of years, yes. It’s what Jaime and I would say to each other in our moments of doubt. But the Targaryens went mad, didn’t they? What’s the saying? Every time a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin.”

“You’ve beaten the odds. Tommen and Myrcella are good, decent children, both of them.”

Cersei put her hand on her chest and let out a sob. He walked to her and sat at her side, putting his hand on her arms to comfort her, but she moved away, looking at him in shame and wiping her tears.

---

He reminded himself why he was doing the research. It was giving him a pounding headache, but it was a good way to remember that he still had a head on his shoulders which could change if he didn’t prepare well enough for Stannis’ arrival.

Bronn walked in and eyed the book Tyrion was reading, giving him a quizzical look. “What did you need me for?”

“I want you to help me prepare for the siege. And why are you not wearing your cloak? You are the Commander of the City Watch!”

“It makes me stand out,” he huffed. “It’s too heavy and slows me down in a fight. Also the gold catches the light and I can be seen even during night time.”

“You are supposed to stand out.”

“We had a deal and wearing a golden cloak wasn’t a part of it.”

“Fine!” he said, rolling his eyes and pushing a book towards Bronn. There were more important matters at hand. “Help me, then.”

“Books are good for nothing during a siege.”

Knocking on the door but entering without waiting for a reply, Varys walked over to Tyrion. “My Lord, I would like to congratulate you on the drop of thievery within the city, no doubt thanks to the performance of the City Guard.”

Tyrion turned to Bronn, already regretting what he was about to hear. “How did you do it?”

“I rounded all the known thieves.”

“For questioning?”

“No,” Bronn said. “Now it’s only the unknown thieves we need to worry about.”

Tyrion groaned. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Aye, we talked about it. Have you ever been in a city under siege?” Bronn asked.

He shook his head.

“It’s not the fighting that kills the people, it’s the starving. Food is worth more than gold, noble ladies sell their diamonds for a sack of potatoes. When things get bad enough, the poor start eating each other. “Bronn sat across the desk from him and put his boots up. “Thieves love a siege. As soon as the gates close all the thieves steal all the food and by the time it’s all over the thieves are the richest men in town.”

Silence fell on the room.

Varys placed his hand on Tyrion’s arm. “Given the circumstances, My Lord, I believe the extreme measures are warranted. I’m sure the Maesters that wrote the book you are reading didn’t take this information into account.”

“Yes, there’s hardly any information at all, but I think I have a plan.” He stood from his seat and unrolled a city map. “Stannis knows King’s Landing; he knows where the walls are strongest, he knows which gates are weakest.” He followed the line that marked the outer defences until he found what he was looking for. “The mud gate, a ram will bring it down in minutes and it’s close to the water, that’s where he’ll land.”

Raising his eyebrows, Varys asked: “If he does land there, what is our plan?”

“We throw books at him,” said Bronn with a smile.

“Mmm, we don’t have that many books,” Varys replied.

Bronn shrugged. “We don’t have that many men either.”

“What do we have?” asked Varys.

“Pig shit,” Tyrion replied. They were indeed, buried in shit.

“He will have the Kingsguards at his side, he has a sword and the best armour money can buy; nothing will happen to him,” Tyrion said.

“He will not join the fight and that is final,” Cersei said, taking a sip of her wine with a smile on her face.

“He needs to be on the battlefield, it is good for morale. We can’t expect men to fight when The King is hiding behind his mother’s skirt.”

“I don’t care. Find something else.”

“Jaime was a Kingsguard at his age, he’d been in combat.”

“Jaime has always been talented for that; Joffrey doesn’t have that kind of skill.” Cersei smiled widely and gave him a look.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because I’m happy,” she laughed.

“Why?”

“Because I have your little whore,” she sang. “You are shipping my daughter off to Dorne and I am keeping your favourite toy.”

Tyrion tried to keep his eyes from widening, to not give her the satisfaction. Had Varys betrayed him? Was Shae even alive?

“If anything happens to my son, I will kill her.”

“How do I know she is alive?”

She walked to the door and pulled it open, revealing one of the northern whores that had entertained him in Winterfell.

“My Lady,” he said walking to her, she still had a ring he’d given her as a gift. “I will keep you safe, I promise.”

She looked tired and the bruises on her arms were already healing. She must’ve known if she helped him he’d reward her. “Don’t forget about me,” she said with a small smile.

“I won’t. I will set you free - soon.”

“You are pathetic,” Cersei said and waved them off.

Tyrion didn’t argue. Instead, he ran back to his room as fast as he could and slammed the door shut before calling for his woman. “Shae? Shae!”

She walked in from the terrace, looking as beautiful as ever. “What?”

He ran to her and pressed a kiss to her lips when she leaned down. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she smiled.

The following day, Tyrion walked around the City’s defences with Varys and Joffrey, checking the walls and how the preparations for the siege were going.

Stupid as ever, Joffrey only cared about his sadistic fantasies. He showed them his sword with a satisfied grin. “I will give Stannis a smile - a red smile.” Then, he turned around and walked away having achieved nothing in their meeting.

“Imagine Stannis’ terror.”

“I am trying,” Varys said.

Tyrion let out a deep sigh and looked out to the sea. He needed to know what Varys was doing. “What do you want?” He asked.

Varys crossed his arms, his extremely long sleeves forming a golden waterfall in front of him. “If you want to play, you’ll have to start.”

“I thought we could speak, one smart man to the other,” Tyrion tried but Varys raised one eyebrow at him. “Fine.” He let out a deep sigh. “When my brother was 19, he was knighted; when I reached adulthood my father gave me the task to design the sewer system. I never expected to have real power. So when my father named me Hand of The King I -”

“You are very good at being The Hand. Jon Arryn and Ned Stark were good men, honourable men, but they didn’t understand the game and despised the players. You enjoy the game.”

“I do. I never expected to like it - I hope I can continue playing it. If Stannis breaches the gates, the game is over.”

Varys stood beside him and nodded. “They say he burns his enemies alive to honour the Lord of Light.”

“Why are all the Gods vicious cunts? The Lord of Light wants people burned, the Drowned God wants them drowned. Where is the God of tits and wine?”

“In the Summer Isles there’s a fertility God with 16 tits.”

“We should sail there immediately,” Tyrion said.

Varys expression shifted, he leaned down, resting his elbows on the wall and whispered: “This morning I heard a song from the old continent. Daenerys Targaryen lives - she has 3 dragons and a Dothraki horde.”

“It will be years before she gets here and her dragons have grown enough.”

“And when they do, there will be nowhere to hide.”

“One opponent at a time, my friend.”

SANSA

The day had finally arrived. She waited patiently in the Throne Room alongside Shae. He resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the contradicting demands from Joffrey and Cersei; both requesting her presence in different places at the same time and for no other reason than to torment her.

He watched as Tyrion approached them; he was already wearing armour and he even had an esquire. It was an interesting concept, she had never assumed he would be a fighter. He was, by far, the most interesting and less deranged member of House Lannister.

“What are you doing here, My Lady? The Queen has already taken refuge with all the highborn ladies - you should join them.”

Sansa curtsied. “I will, My Lord. King Joffrey kindly asked me to see him off to battle.”

“I see,” he said with an unimpressed expression before he bowed before her and Shae and walked away.

“Sansa!” said Joffrey with the deranged smile he liked to give her on occasion. It tended to come out when he was craving to see her suffering. “I am off to battle today. As my future Queen, I want you to kiss my sword, Heart Eater, for good luck.”

Sansa smiled back at him and nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.” She kissed the blade.

He looked unhappy that she was not disturbed by his request. “You will kiss it again at my return with my uncle’s blood.”

“Will you be in the vanguard and kill Stannis yourself? Will you go out the castle walls to fight?” She cocked her head.

He sputtered. “I - I don’t know-”

She shook her head with a smile. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. Of course you will. My brother, Robb, is always at the vanguard with his wolf and he’s only a pretender!”

“I don’t need to discuss battle plans with silly little girls!” he screeched. “Your brother’s time will come and you will kiss his blood off Heart Eater too.”

She nodded and watched him leave, his hand wrapped tightly against the grip of his slim sword.

Shae grabbed her arm and pulled her to the Queen’s hiding place as she wondered how Arya was, if she was safe and loved. She hoped that the lack of news about her whereabouts meant that her little sister was still alive, with her silly little sword.

They sat away from Cersei and the other ladies quietly chatting, looking around, and frankly a bit nervous by the fact that Ser Ilyn Payne, the executioner, was standing near the door.

“Sansa, come here, Little Dove!” Said Cersei with a smile as she sipped on her wine.

Looking at Shae out of the corner of her eye, Sansa walked over to her set of sofas and sat on the one Cersei silently pointed to.

“You look pale, child. Is your red flower still blooming?”

Sansa blushed but nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Isn’t it fitting?” Cersei asked with a mocking smile. “Men will bleed out there and you will bleed in here.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing at all.

“Pour her some wine,” Cersei ordered her Lady in Waiting, passing the full glass back to Sansa.

“Oh - I'm not thirsty, Your Grace.”

Cersei shrugged. “So? I didn’t offer you water.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“Ser Ilyn? He’s here to defend us. When the doors are smashed you’ll be glad to have him.”

Sansa frowned. “But we have guards to defend us.”

“Guards we have paid. Should the city fall, they’ll be the first out the door.”

One of the Gold Cloaks walked in and bowed before Cersei. “The lads caught a groom and two maids trying to sneak away with a stolen horse and some gold cups.”

“The battle’s first traitors,” she said to Sansa before turning to the guard. “Have Ser Ilyn see to them, put their heads on spikes outside the stables as a warning.” She leaned closer to Sansa and said: “The only way to keep the smallfolk loyal is to make them fear you more than they do the enemy. Remember that if you ever hope to become a Queen”

The executioner walked out after the guard, which Sansa found odd. “You said he was here to protect us.”

“He is. Traitors are a danger to us all,” Cersei said. “More wine!”

As the sound of the battle got louder and louder, Cersei got quieter and quieter, focusing on drinking one glass of wine after the other, leaving Sansa to do as she wished.

As nerves rose within her, Sansa thought back to her days in Winterfell, where she would find comfort in prayer with her Septa. She let out a small sigh and gathered the other ladies, inviting them to join her, which they promptly did.

After only a few minutes, Shae tapped her shoulder and signalled to Cersei who was looking at her intently.

“My Queen?” Sansa asked.

“What are you doing?”

“Praying.”

“You're perfect, aren't you?” Cersei smiled. “Praying! What are you praying for?”

As much as Cersei had hated her drunken husband, that was exactly who she was reminding Sansa of. “For the Gods to have mercy on us all.”

“Oh,” she snickered. “On all of us?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Even me?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Sansa said, hoping that the conversation would end shortly.

“Even Joffrey?”

“Joffrey is my -”

Cersei’s mocking expression finally slipped and she looked at Sansa with a mix of disgust and perhaps pity. “Such a happy little fool. Praying for the Gods to have mercy on us all,” she scoffed. “The Gods have no mercy; that's why they're Gods. My father told me that when he caught me praying; my mother had just died. You see, I didn't really understand the concept of death, the finality of it. I thought that if I prayed very very hard, the Gods would return my mother to me. I was four.”

“Your father doesn't believe in the Gods?”

“He believes in them, he just doesn't like them very much,” Cersei said and waved a glass in front of her Lady in waiting. “More wine for her.” Once again, the cruel smile returned. “Sit. Drink.”

Sansa accepted the glass of wine and sipped from it very very slowly, trying to stay alert.

“Not like that. Drink, girl.” She rolled her eyes. “I should have been born a man, I'd rather face a thousand swords than be shut up inside with this flock of frightened hens.”

“They're your guests, under your protection. You asked them here.”

“It was expected of me as it will be of you, if you ever become Joffrey's Queen.” She downed another glass of wine. “Now - when I told you about Ser Ilyn, I lied. Do you want to know why he's really here? For us.” She popped a grape into her mouth and chewed on it as she spoke. “Stannis may take the city; he may take the throne; but he will not take us alive.”

TYRION

Tyrion stood atop the City Walls with all the King’s Landing soldiers and every man that was able to fight. He shifted from foot to foot trying to be calm, but Joffrey’s yapping was getting on his nerves.

The fog broke and they were able to finally see Stannis’ ships. They were so many - too many for them to take on.

“Where is our fleet?” Demanded Joffrey.

“Wait,” Tyrion said.

“You need to tell me what the plan is! Where is the fleet?”

“I will tell you nothing.”

“I will have you cut in half.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes but kept looking out to the sea. “Then I’d be the quarter man. It just doesn’t have the same ring to it. And I wouldn’t be able to give the signal.”

“What. Signal!?”

Tyrion ignored him and kept his eyes on the target. Through the darkness, a single ship sailed in between the Baratheon fleet, the soldiers running to prepare for the attack until-

The Pyromancer lit a torch and handed it to Tyrion. He wasted no time and threw it down to the beach. Shortly after, from the shore, Bronn lit an arrow and released it. Tyrion held his breath as the arrow crossed the night sky over Stannis’ troops and made it to the single ship pouring wildfire through the coast.

It was instantaneous. The moment the arrow made contact with the water, every ship in its vicinity caught on fire and exploded in a green cloud shortly after; men and pieces of wood flying in every direction, the screams of those injured or dying filling the air.

It seemed like most of the fleet was gone - or so Tyrion had thought, but moments later more troops sailed in smaller boats through the fiery sea and made it to the beach. Tyrion’s stomach dropped, but he tried not to let his face show it. Knowing that Joffrey would not make a single good decision, he knew their tactics depended on him.

“Archers, nock!” Yelled one of the commanders. They lit the arrows and waited for his command.

“There are too many!” Joffrey screeched when he saw how many men were descending from his uncle’s ships with the intention to kill him and take the throne. “Our soldiers should be out there fighting!”

“No, they should not.”

“What would they do then?”

“Wait!”

“We can’t just wait here!”

“We will do something when it is time.”

“What will that be?”

“We will rain fire on them,” Tyrion said, trying to estimate the timing. “Draw!”

He turned to The Hound. “Clegane, take every man guarding the Mudgate and go out to meet them.”

He nodded but when he walked past the archers, he said something to them that Tyrion couldn’t quite catch.

The gates opened briefly and the first group ran to throw Stannis a welcome party he would never forget.

“LOOSE!”

Tyrion watched the fiery arrows finally pierce the sky as Stannis’ and his men made it through the beach, most of them hitting targets. Their own men made it out the gate and fought with everything they had but things didn’t seem to be going well.

He saw Stannis’ army overtaking theirs amidst chaos and burning men running around. When it was clear that they would not succeed, some of their soldiers retreated even without a command, even Clegane.

The gates were closed again.

Every man looked tired and defeated. Clegane walked in and demanded wine.

Tyrion walked up to him. “You should be out there.”

“I lost half of my men,” he said.

“You are part of the Kingsguard, it is your job to protect your King!” Tyrion said, frowning.

Clegane looked at the flames and shook his head. “Fuck the Kingsguard. Fuck The King.”

Lancel approached Joffrey. “Your Grace, your mother requests that you see her.”

Tyrion turned and saw Joffrey considering taking his leave.

“Did she say if she had urgent matters with me?”

“No, Your Grace. She just requested your presence inside.”

Tyrion gave him a warning look. “You must stay and fight! We can’t expect men to fight for an absent King.”

Joffrey turned to his guard. “Ser Meryn Trant, you will represent me on the battlefield.”

“Of course, Your Grace!”

Keeping his head low, Joffrey followed Lancel. Every soldier saw Joffrey leaving, rushing to The Red Keep when they were expected to fight. Murmurs could be heard all around.

Tyrion groaned but cleared his throat. “Men!” He tried, but they ignored him. “Men!” he tried again. “MEN! I will lead the attack.”

“Shut it, you Imp!”

“If I am a half man what does that make the lot of you?”

One of the Lannister soldiers replied. “The only way out is through the gate.”

“There is another, we’ll surprise them from the back and fuck their asses!” Tyrion said with a smile; maybe, if they were lucky enough, this could actually work. He could still hear the ram trying to break the gate. “Don’t fight for The King, don’t fight for glory, don’t fight for riches because you won’t get any. Stannis is at your door! It is your city that he plans to take! Your women and children that he wants to kill!”

The ram’s rhythmic sound continued.

“Those are brave men knocking at our door; let’s go kill them!” Tyrion yelled. The men cheered and banged their swords on their shields.

He made his way through the sewer system, the soldiers following along. It was exhilarating despite the fact that he was not a fighter and he’d been knocked out at the only battle he’d even been to. In only a few minutes, they reached the beach as he’d promised and attacked Stannis’ men from behind while the archers continued to rain fire on them.

It was quicker than he thought it would be; much quicker in fact. They were able to overpower Stannis’ forces in a matter of one hour, perhaps less. Tyrion even managed to take on a few men and that filled him with pride.

“Half Man! Half Man! Half Man!” The soldiers chanted and he allowed himself to look around and bask on finally being recognized for something.

But then, even more of Stannis’ men joined the battle. It was not over; far from it. His men were tired, wounded and surrounded by fire. He knew what was coming, but he didn’t want to surrender, at least this way his death would serve a purpose. He held onto his axe and ran to meet the soldiers.

He managed to take two more men before he heard his name and turned around. Ser Meryn Trant attacked him without a word, cutting deeply into his face before Podrick caught him by surprise with his spear. Tyrion fell to the ground, into his esquire’s arms, bleeding, not knowing if he would ever wake up, but he smiled when he saw Loras Tyrell riding into battle with his men alongside the Lannister troops.

Loras piercing Stannis’ heart with one sword and his head with another was the last thing Tyrion saw before his world turned black.

SANSA

“You must run, Sansa,” Shae whispered into her ear.

“I can’t, Stannis is attacking the city.”

Shae shook her head and said: “Stannis won’t hurt you; your family supported him. That one will,” she looked to Ilyn Payne, who had a hand on his sword and was looking at them with disgust.

“Come with me,” pleaded Sansa.

“I can’t. I have to say goodbye to someone.”

“They will kill you!”

Shae smiled and lifted her dress, showing her a dagger she had strapped to her thigh. “Nobody will hurt me. Go - Run!”

Sansa ran out of their hiding place. She tried to be as silent as possible to avoid being detected but didn’t waste time. She took one of the passageways leading to the Throne Room, but before she knew what was happening, someone stepped out of the shadows and caught her arm. She gasped.

“The Lady is getting scared,” said The Hound.

“What are you doing here?”

“Not here for long.”

“Where are you going?”

“Someplace that isn't burning. Could be the North. I could take you with me, back to Winterfell.” He let go of her hand and she took a cautious step back.

Sansa thought about it briefly. Would that even be possible? The way to Winterfell was quite long. There was a war raging on various fronts last she'd heard, Bran was the last Stark in Winterfell. Her ancestral home had been taken by Theon Greyjoy and the ironborn.

“What about the King?”

“He can die on his own just fine.”

Sansa shook her head. “I am safe here,” she said. “Stannis won't kill me.”

The Hound walked closer to her and leaned down. “Stannis is a killer, the Lannisters are killers, your father was a killer, your brother is a killer. One day your sons will be killers.” He looked deeply into her eyes, making her flinch and look away.

Still, he continued. “The world is ruled by Killers, so you better get used to looking at them.”

Sansa looked up, meeting his eyes and nodding. “You won't hurt me.”

He took a step back. “No, I won't, little bird. Good luck.” He took one last look at her and walked away.

She let out a slow breath and continued on her way. When she got to the hall before the Throne Room, Sansa tried not to gasp again and pressed herself to the wall, peeking around the corner. She could see Cersei sitting on the throne with Myrcella at her side and Tommen on her lap. She seemed to be trying to calm them down but she looked distraught herself.

“They are still fighting,” observed Tommen as he heard the screaming coming from outside The Red Keep.

“Everything will be alright, my loves. We are Lions, we are strong. I’ll tell you a story. The one about the Lion and her little cubs. They lived in the woods.”

“The Kingswood?” Asked Myrcella.

“Yes, my love. In the Kingswood lived a Lion and her little cubs, and she loved them very much. But there were other things that lived in the woods - evil things.”

“What things?” Asked Tommen.

“Stags.”

“Stags aren’t evil; they eat grass.”

“And Wolves. They could hear them howling in the night. The little cubs were frightened, but their mother said: You are Lions, my children, you mustn’t be afraid. One day all the beasts will bow down to you, little cubs. You will be King and Queen. All the Stags will bow, all the wolves will bow, and the bears in the north and the foxes of the south, they will come to you, little Lions and rest a crown upon your heads.”

“I like that story, Mummy,” said Myrcella.

Cersei passed a small glass vial to her daughter. “Take this, my love. It will protect you.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. That couldn’t be, could it? She wouldn’t -

Myrcella nodded and downed the bottle with a smile, leaning against Cersei.

“Now you, Tommen. Drink this so that you can rest.”

Tommen grabbed the vial from her hand and looked at it pensively.

A loud bang reverberated through The Red Keep as the doors slammed open, Ser Loras Tyrell walking in and nodding triumphantly to Cersei.

She grabbed the vial from her son’s hands and threw it on the ground before turning to look at Myrcella, who could only say “Mummy” before she fell to the ground.

“Myrcella! Myrcella!!” Cersei dropped to her knees, holding Myrcella close to her chest.

“Mummy, what is going on? Is she sick?”

Tywin Lannister rushed in and leaned over his daughter and grandchildren. “Ser Loras, take Prince Tommen to his room.”

The moment her son was out of the Throne Room, Cersei let out a piercing scream. Sansa was sure that it could be heard all over the city. She screamed and screamed unaware of her surroundings, kicking and screaming when Pycelle came to check on the Princess, not wanting anyone to touch her.

It was too late. The old man gave Tywin a sad look and shook his head.

For the first time, and possibly the last; Sansa felt Cersei’s pain and pitied her. She saw Tywin hugging her, trying to comfort her. They almost looked human.

A tear rolled down her cheek, not for them, but for Myrcella; for the woman she would never be and the children she would never carry, the trips she would never make. She was only a little girl. An innocent little girl - and the arrogance of the family she loved dearly, had cost her her life.

Sansa removed her shoes and ran as fast as she could, locking herself in her room and hiding under her bed, the doll her father had given her tightly in her arms.

PHIL

The morning after the Battle of Blackwater Bay, Phil dragged himself out of bed and joined the rest of his family in the charade that would be the exchange with the Lannisters. Luckily, Loras was already up and looking a bit better now that he’d managed to kill Stannis himself.

Every day Phil had to live with the fact that he was lying to his cousin, watching his grieve over Renly when he was still living, but he reminded himself that Loras would have never let him go. Had Phil not lied for Renly, they would be dead and Stannis would be sitting on The Iron Throne, burning everyone on sight at the stake.

“Phil?” Asked Loras.

“Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m just a bit tired and sore from the battle.”

Loras nodded, his curls bouncing around his face. “It will be gone in a few days,” he said and placed a hand on Phil’s shoulder. “Come. It is time.”

Phil nodded and followed him to the Throne Room. They stood before King Joffrey and his council, forming a line, their highest officials right behind them.

The first person to be called was Lord Baelish, who was awarded Harrenhal, all of its lands and earnings in compensation for negotiating the alliance.

“Ser Loras, I would like to thank you for your incredible contribution to the battle and for killing my uncle yourself! As a reward, you may ask for anything you want; anything at all. Just ask for it and it will be granted.”

With a head incline, Loras walked to Margaery and took her hand. “Your Grace. This is my beautiful sister Margaery; she is unwedded. I ask that you find it in your heart to marry her and join our houses.”

“Is this what you want, Lady Margaery?”

“With all my heart, Your Grace. I have come to love you from afar. Tales of your courage and wisdom have never been far from my ears, and those tales have taken root deep inside of me.”

“I too have heard tales of your beauty and grace, but I am afraid they didn’t do you justice, My Lady. It would be an honour to return your love, but - I am promised to another. A King must keep his word”

The Queen placed a hand on the throne. “Your Grace, on the advice of your small council, it would be ill advised to marry the daughter of a man beheaded for treason. A girl whose brother is in open rebellion against The Throne as we speak. For the good of The Realm, your council begs you to set Sansa Stark aside.”

King Joffrey shook his head. “I would like to heed your wishes and the wishes of my people, but - I took a holy vow.”

“Y-your Grace,” said the old Maester. “The Gods do hold betrothals solemnly but your father, blessed be his memory, made this deal with the Starks before they revealed their falseness. I have consulted with the High Septon and he reassured me that their crimes against The Realm, free you from any promise you have made to them, in the sight of The Gods.”

“The Gods are good! I am free to heed my heart,” The King said. “Ser Loras, I will be honoured to wed your sweet sister!” Then he looked at Margaery. “You will be my Queen. I will love you from this day until my last day.”

The crowd gathered in The Red Keep clapped and murmured happily about the upcoming wedding. Phil’s eyes travelled to Sansa Stark who looked appropriately sad for the occasion but walked away as she heard she’d been cast away.

He walked between Ladies and Lords until he saw her clearly. He wanted to approach her but Petyr Baelish was already catching up to her, so Phil waited until Baelish joined the council again and discretely followed Sansa up the stairs.

He cleared his throat. “My Lady,” he said, cursing himself when she gasped and turned around with wide eyes. She looked at him up and down and relaxed slightly when she saw the Tyrell sigil on his chest.

“Excuse me, My Lord. Have we met?”

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure, but I am close to someone you may know.”

“Who could that be?”

“Balerion has grown to be a strong animal.”

“Have you - Did you see him recently?”

“Just before Petyr Baelish came to the camp in the Stormlands and proposed the alliance between houses Tyrell and Lannister.” Phil leaned closer and whispered: “He, Balerion, was not alone. After negotiations failed due to Renly’s death, he followed the river back with a fish.”

She nodded and whispered in his ear. “Are you loyal to him?”

“With my every breath. The Tyrells are your friends, My Lady. You will see.”

“I look forward to meeting you and your family, Lord…?”

“My apologies. I am no Lord. I’m just Phil, Lady Stark. I hope we can chat soon.”

She bowed and entered her chambers.

TYRION

Tyrion opened his eyes and winced in pain, wincing yet again when he took account of his surroundings. He was not in his room in The Tower of The Hand; instead he’d been moved to what could only be classified as a dirty old room, reserved for the lowest kind or just someone who had not won any favours from The King. He was almost too afraid to touch his face, to try and assess the damage, but when he did all he felt was a bandage that covered most of it.

Podrick stood by the door, smiling at him. “Pod. Thank y-”

The door opened without a knock. Varys entered and gave him a meaningful look before sitting down. “How are you feeling?”

“Not well. Why am I here?”

“Well, since your father is here, he took his place as The Hand, and of course, the quarters that come with the position.”

“Has he asked about me? Come to see me at all knowing that I was wounded in battle?”

Varys looked at him without saying a word. It wasn’t necessary. Of course he hadn’t.

“Podrick, I’m afraid I must ask you to save my life once again. Please tell Bronn to station four men from The City Watch outside my door.”

Pod nodded but before he could leave, Varys said: “I’m afraid our friend has been relieved of his duty as Lord Commander of the City Watch.”

“My hillsmen?” Tyrion asked.

“They were paid handsomely and sent home,” Varys said, raising his eyebrows.

“The Gold Cloaks?” He asked, swallowing thick.

“Some are under Lord Tywin’s influence, other’s belong to The Queen. It varies from cloak to cloak.” Varys shook his head and stood from his seat. “I’m afraid we won’t be seeing each other for some time.”

“Afraid to keep swimming next to a drowning man?” Tyrion asked with a frown. “I thought we were friends.” He’d never had many of those and it seemed that it was going to remain that way.

“We are,” Varys turned around to look at Podrick and nodded.

The door opened and Shae rushed to his side, kissing his face repeatedly.

Varys walked to the door, but before leaving he said: “You won’t get any honours, but people know the city wouldn’t have survived without you and they won’t forget.”

Tyrion nodded and watched him exit along Pod.

“My love -” Shae said.

“It was good of you to come.”

“Good of me? Of course I came!” She reached for the bandage but Tyrion pushed her wrist away gently. “I wish to see you.”

“Believe me, you don’t.”

“Have you looked?”

Tyrion shook his head feeling at the verge of tears.

“I will be the first.”

She unwrapped the bandage around his head slowly, carefully, but he still winced when he felt it pull on his skin as it came completely off. He couldn’t stand the silence, the look in her face. “Well?” He asked.

“You are a mess,” she whispered with a small smile.

“I’m a monster - as well as a dwarf. You should charge me double!” He said, trying to make it sound like a joke when it wasn’t. It wasn’t a joke, it wasn’t funny. It was stupid yes, but his face what one of the few things he liked about himself along with his mind and now it was ruined.

“You think I’m here for money?”

“That was the arrangement we made. I pay you and you lie to me.”

“Oh. I’m a poor little rich man and nobody loves me so I make jokes all the time and pay them to laugh!” She mocked him. Her expression settled into a frown. “Fuck your money. Let’s leave.”

“Leave?”

“Leave King’s Landing. They tried to kill you, they will try again. Going into wars, fighting soldiers… you are terrible at this. Let’s take a boat to Pentos and never come back.”

“What would we do in Pentos?”

“Eat, drink, fuck - live!”

Tyrion pouted. “I want to go with you.”

“So do it! Your father, your sister - all these bad people, they can’t stop you. They don’t deserve you. Forget about them. Come with me.”

“I can’t. I do belong here. These bad people are what I’m good at: outtalking them, outthinking them. It’s what I am and I like it. I like it more than anything I’ve ever done.” He paused. “Are you going to leave?”

“You have a shit memory. I am yours and you are mine,” she whispered, before pressing a kiss to his lips and laying her head on his chest.

Tyrion felt tears streaming down his face, but they were not sad tears or tears of self pity. He was grateful that such a beautiful and smart woman had found it in her to love him even if he was a monster and a dwarf. He felt like the luckiest man in all Westeros.

JON

By the time they reached The Fist of the First Men, they were nearly out of supplies, horses, water and exhausted beyond what Jon had considered humanly possible, but his eyes widened when he saw a party approaching them from afar. They were bearing the Shadow Tower banner; the Night Watch’s castle further to the west. He let out a sigh of relief.

A horn sounded as they were seen.

“One for friends,” Edd said. “Two for foes,” he said after but the horn didn’t blare again.

“Three for white walkers,” added Sam, earning a look of annoyance from Edd.

Jon looked into his eyes, wondering…

“It’s been a thousand years, but the horn sounding three times still means white walkers.”

“If it’s been a thousand years, how would you know?” Grenn asked.

“Well -” Sam said.

“I read it in a book,” they all said before Sam could.

Qhorin Halfhand said the wildlings were advancing south and if they retreated, they would be overpowered with Mance’s expertise in their tactics, so they would need to use a different approach. Mormont and Qhorin decided that it was best to break into smaller groups to try and overcome Mance’s lookouts to avoid being detected as they got closer to the camp and attack when they least expected it.

Jon was assigned as leader of his group, which thankfully included his friends: Edd, Sam and Grenn.

Camping out in the open was beyond complicated, especially it being their first time and the raging blizzard was not helping.

Even with the point of reference of the fires the wildlings set day and night, soon everything turned into an indistinguishable sea of snow, none of the other groups in sight. Still, they found the biggest rocks they could and started digging beside them.

“This is useless, why do we have to dig?” Sam whined.

“How would I know?” Grenn shrugged. “I’m just doing what they told us to, so dig.”

Sam groaned but continued on with their task until his shovel made a reverberating sound.

Jon rushed to their side and helped them uncover a black slab of rock with the symbol of The First Men; the first inhabitants of Westeros that lived in peace for thousands of years before The Andals arrived from Essos and overtook the south.

It took all of their combined strength to flip the stone over and see what was under it.

“This - this is dragonglass!” Sam said, holding up what looked like the point of an ancient lance. “It’s also called obsidian and it can be as sharp as a knife.”

There were many more pieces of dragonglass fashioned into weapons and a curious looking horn wrapped in a piece of cloth.

Jon pulled at the fabric and frowned. “It’s a Night’s Watch cloak.”

“It has been here for a long time. Why would they put it under a rock?”

“I guess they wanted you to find them,” said Edd with a sarcastic smile.

---

For days on end there was nothing for them to do other than dig in the snow and eat whatever they could find; birds, mice, anything. That and argue with each other for the most insignificant things. Jon didn’t have the heart to tell his friends to stop. It was harmless bickering and it helped them keep their minds off their impending deaths which was a real possibility unless the other men returned soon. In a way it was a relief that Ghost had left them instead of sitting at his side and waiting to die. Jon hoped he had found food or shelter. At least one of them would make it.

He smiled when he finally heard a horn in the distance, but then it sounded again.

“Those are Mance's men, we are not meeting them in battle alone,” he said.

Then - the horn blared again. Jon looked at his friends for a split second before yelling “RUN!”

They ran and ran as fast as their legs could carry them, Sam trailing behind.

Jon looked to the others running ahead and back to Sam.

“Go!” Sam yelled. “Go!” He settled his back against a rock and stayed still.

With guilt weighing on his heart, Jon ran, leaving his friend behind as a dense snow storm fell over him.

#phanfiction #phanfic #ospbb 2022 #phan au #phan #succubusphan fics #game of thrones #got fic

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rainbowchristy · 2 years

Text

Let the Human In (Chapter Sixteen - Learning)

Summary: It’s just a regular workday for Phil. Doing rounds with his patients, helping out with the occasional emergency department case. The only difference? He has one new patient in the ED. One found unconscious on the street. One who starts throwing up from seemingly nothing. One, with a very dark backstory and no hope for the future.

Or, Dan is being sex trafficked and Phil’s a psych resident who just wants to help, even if everyone around him is telling him he’s too invested.

A/N: This fic is heavily inspired by the character Danny Jones from Chicago Med but you don’t need to know anything about the show to read this!

TW: Mention of panic attacks, heavily implied sexual content, mention of murder & talk of suicide.

Ao3 Link

Chapter 1 | Last Chapter

Phil doesn’t end up visiting Dan before his shift. A violent panic attack in the psychiatric ward results in sedation. After that, Phil’s tired. Holding down a thrashing patient hard enough to leave bruises – something necessary to keep them still for the injection – tends to do that.

When Kyle finds him sitting in Dr Forrest’s office, he’s typing on his laptop, perched on his knees because he’s sitting on the floor with his feet pulled up. His computer is at eye height; it’s not a good position to be in for an extended period of time, nor is it super productive, but, well, it’s what Phil felt like when he was deciding where to sit.

“Hey,” Kyle says. Phil looks up at him and sees him smirking sheepishly. He’s not sure how ‘sheepish’ and ‘smirk’ go together, but Kyle seems to make it work.

“Hey.”

“What are you up to?”

Phil looks back at his laptop, with the empty word document open, and back to Kyle. “Honestly, I think I’ve been staring into the void that is a blank white page.”

Kyle snorts. “Well, I’m here to save you from the void. Did you wanna go get dinner then go to Marcus’? I’ve had a day and a half too.”

Phil smiles. “That sounds great.” He puts his laptop away in its case and then into his book bag. He finds Dr Forrest and confirms with her that it’s okay if he leaves a half hour early – it is – and he says he’ll see her tomorrow.

As they’re walking for the elevator, Kyle takes and squeezes his hand before quickly dropping it again to press the elevator button.

They both order burgers because that’s what they’re in the mood for. Phil’s comes with a side of salad, even though he hates salad, while Kyle’s comes with fries.

“Why again did you order salad?” Kyle asks with an eye roll. Phil swallows the leafy greens in his mouth and shakes himself out to expel the unpleasantness.

“Because it’s healthy. With all the gore you see every day that is the indirect result of bad diets, you think you’d be a bit more cautious.”

“Yeah, but those people aren’t on their feet for twelve-hour shifts, running around for each new trauma that comes in.”

Phil shrugs. “Still.”

“You do you, Lester. I’m gonna enjoy my fries.”

Phil squints at Kyles before quickly reaching over and stealing a fry.

“Hey!” Kyle shouts, watching as Phil shoves the fry in his mouth. He looks defeated, making Phil grin at him in innocence.

“What?” Phil asks, tilting his head.

“You’re a fiend.”

“I think it’s pronounced ‘friend’.”

Kyle just shorts before picking up his burger.

~~~~

Marcus’ is busy tonight, but he always makes room for Phil and Kyle.

“What can I get you boys?” he asks as he wipes a glass dry and hangs it on the overhead rack.

“Usual?” Kyle asks, looking at Phil. He nods, so Kyle repeats the word, no longer a question, to Marcus. He gives a firm nod before reaching for the glass he just put away.

An hour later and they’ve had a little too much to drink. Phil’s not sure how they got so pissed so quickly. I mean, they were here on Sunday and didn’t get drunk. Though, to be fair, the atmosphere that night was nothing if not sobering.

Phil manages to order a cab for them while Kyle pays their tab. Phil loves that about their friendship. They don’t keep tabs on who’s spent more on the other; it’s just whoever happens to pay for it first.

As they’re walking out of the bar, Kyle swings his arm around Phil’s shoulders. At first, Phil thinks it’s to keep himself stable – Kyle is pretty drunk, after all – but he quickly realises that, no, Kyle – or, more specifically, drunk Kyle – has some other ideas.

“When we get home, I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he whispers into Phil’s ear, making him shiver. He’s always cringed at whispers. Hearing someone’s lips move, especially when the speaker is drunk and slurring, is absolutely horrific. But still, despite the unpleasant shiver, his body reacts to the words.

Right. They aren’t friends who don’t keep track of each time they spend money on each other. They’re boyfriends.

It’s still weird. And surely Kyle thinks it’s still weird, despite what he says. Phil can’t take it at face value – he’s pissed out of his mind, after all.

The cab arrives after a short time, and they clamber into the back seat, Phil somehow more graceful than Kyle. He’s not as drunk, but he is still naturally very clumsy. Kyle must be well drunk to be tripping over his feet more than Phil does on a daily basis.

They get home quickly, Phil unlocking the door to his apartment. Kyle’s lips are on his neck the second the door is closed. He’s pushed Phil up against the hallway wall, shoving his hands up under Phil’s shirt and rubbing at Phil’s barely-there abs. It only takes a few seconds for Phil’s body to react, and he can feel himself growing in his pants. They’re uncomfortably tight, so he reaches to undo his belt just to get a little release.

Kyle shoves his hands away, though. “None of that,” he says before taking over the job himself and quickly but clumsily undoing Phil’s belt, pulling it out from the loops in his jeans. “Bedroom,” Kyle says. Phil thinks it’s a question but the way Kyle says it makes it sound almost like a demand.

He’s not sure he should let this continue. No, scratch that. He knows he shouldn’t let this continue. Kyle’s unbelievably drunk, and Phil is, too. But, well, simply because of that, and because of the way Kyle is grinding against him, Phil can’t find it in himself to push him away.

~~~~

The sun is shining directly onto his face in the morning. As it always does when he forgets to close his blackout blinds. That’s why Phil got them in the first place – so he can sleep in after a late night at the hospital – but he barely ever remembers to close them when he gets back so late.

Maybe he should start closing them before he leaves when he knows it’ll be a long day. But then he feels that his room would get too musty. He chooses not to question how the sunlight, without any open windows, can prevent his room from getting musty. It makes sense in his brain, and that’s all that matters.

He rolls over and sees Kyle, still fast asleep, drooling onto the other pillow. Phil tips onto his back and drops his head back with a sigh. He’s sore from last night, and, honestly, he can’t even remember anything but the basic ‘they had sex’.

Deciding that a shower will help clear his head, he gets out of bed and focuses on the kitchen. Drugs first, then shower. He pops some extra tablets out of the blister pack for Kyle and fills a glass of water. After putting them on the bedside table, he wobbles back to the bathroom.

The water, despite being the usually-perfect temperature, is burning hot today. He has the hot water tap almost entirely off before it’s an acceptable temperature.

“Shit, this is freezing,” Kyle says, surprising Phil. He hadn’t heard him come into the bathroom, let alone the actual shower. Phil spares a second to think about how easy it’d have been to murder him had Kyle been someone wanting to hurt him. He’s facing the door, but it’s ineffective at stopping serial killers because his eyes are closed. Not to mention the cool water is rushing over his face and down his body, effectively deafening him to the outside world.

Phil jumps, utterly silent in his brief panic. He’d be easy to kill; he just stands there like a deer in the headlights. He’s not sure what he did to warrant being stabbed to death, but this is his fate. He hopes someone tells his patients. He hopes someone tells Dan.

“Sorry,” Kyle says, holding his hands up in surrender despite the not-at-all-guilty smile on his lips. “Morning.” Kyle leans in and pecks Phil on the lips.

“Morning,” Phil chokes out in reply. He’s not sure what’s going on. The day before yesterday, Kyle was hesitant and awkward in his actions with Phil. Now, Kyle’s smirking at him in the shower and dropping to his knees.

~~~~

“Good morning, Dr Lester,” Dr Forrest greets, waving him over.

“Morning. How are you?”

“I’m all well and good. How are you?”

Phil nods. “I’m good, thanks.”

“I was wondering how you were going with Will? I believe he’s the youngest you’ve looked after,” she says, but it’s partially a question.

Phil confirms, “Yeah. He was upset yesterday, but I think I’m getting a better idea of what’s going on for him. I’ll let you know more after today?”

Dr Forrest nods. “That sounds perfect.” Her pager goes off, and after a quick look, she points over her shoulder with her thumb. “Best be going.”

“Yep.” Phil watches as she rushes off before turning to unlock her office door.

He gets set up for the day, putting his coat on, pocketing his pager and sorting through his plans. It’s not long before he’s off to check on his first patient. He usually checks in with his in-patients first, as he talks to them twice daily, and their care is often more intensive. However, he missed checking in with Dan yesterday – not that Dan is his patient anymore.

Dan’s stoic when Phil comes in. It gives Phil déjà vu; it feels so much like when they first met. He’s unresponsive, despite being awake. Phil waves his hand in front of him, trying to get his attention, and there’s nothing; no indication that he’s in the present moment.

Phil sits and waits. He’s seen patients like this before – catatonic – and knows there isn’t much to do but wait it out. Sometimes, patients are lost in memories. Other times, they’re so deep in thought that they’re unaware of their surroundings. Some patients are aware of their surroundings, but no matter how hard they try, they can’t get their body to respond to the environment. They’re the patients that panic most afterwards. They can’t understand how they can be fully conscious but with a body that has shut down.

Phil cannot know what type of catatonia they’re experiencing until he talks to the individual. He can speculate – he thinks Dan may be trapped in memories – but that’s only a guess based on what he knows.

He stares out the window while he waits. There’s a children’s playground a ways away from the hospital; it’s part of the childcare facility on University College London’s campus.

There’s a sharp gasp that pulls him away from the window.

“Dan,” he says, observing that he is now awake. “How are you feeling?”

Dan’s eyes are zipping all over the room, another strong indicator that he was reliving the past; he needs to reorient himself in the present. Phil sees his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. His speeding eyes catch the cup of water on the table next to his bed, and he reaches for it, quickly drinking half of it.

He’s calmer after that. He’s still looking around, but it’s less panicked. It doesn’t take long for him to be looking at Phil.

“Hey,” Phil says. Dan blinks some more.

“Phil,” he ends up saying, breathy.

“How are you feeling?”

Dan looks around again before turning his head back to Phil. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital.”

Dan nods. “Yeah, yeah, I’m in the hospital. That makes sense.”

Phil’s concerned, an emotion that can be seen through his creased eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t– I don’t know. I– can’t remember.”

“Well, what can you remember?”

“You helped me. You– you were nice and didn’t treat me different.”

“Who treated you different, Dan?”

He looks to his lap. “No one.”

It’s a lie; Dan’s tone gives him away. “It’s okay. You can tell me. You’re safe here, remember?”

Dan blinks, looking at Phil again with watery eyes. “The lady you said would help me.”

“Cassie?” Phil asked, confused. She was a good doctor; surely, she wouldn’t have treated Dan differently. He’s seen her work, and she’s nothing if not compassionate.

He nods. “I’m sorry.” He folds in on himself when Phil slides his chair a little closer to the bed.

“No need to be sorry. If you don’t feel she’s the right fit, that’s perfectly fine. There are plenty of other doctors here who can help you.”

Dan shakes his head. “No.”

“‘No’?”

“I don’t– I can’t– it hurts.”

Phil’s brows furrow further as he stands up. “What hurts?” He’s got his hands hovering in front of him, ready to check wherever Dan says is hurting, but he just shakes his head more.

“She was asking me about it. She wouldn’t let it go.”

Phil stays silent. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say in this situation, so he just takes a seat again and waits for Dan to turn his thoughts into sentences.

“You never did that.”

“Asked you about it?” Phil asked for clarification after Dan didn’t continue. Phil has asked about it. Repeatedly. Sure, he’s never pushed too hard, only taking what Dan was willing to give, but he has asked about it and pushed a little.

“Like she did,” Dan corrects.

“And how did she ask you about it?”

“Asking. Again and again. Even when I said no.”

Phil nods. “And how do I ask you?”

“Stories,” Dan says as if the single word is a complete answer.

“I don’t understand,” Phil says because he really doesn’t.

“You tell stories, and I add bits.”

Phil initially believes Dan is talking about Phil suggesting events in Dan’s past, which he’s never done because it is entirely unscientific, immoral, and bordering on illegal. But it doesn’t take him long to realise what Dan is actually saying. Phil’s way of psychotherapy with reluctant patients is to make it into a conversation.

When Dan wouldn’t talk to Phil at first, he shared his own information based on context. Dan had an oversized jacket when he first came into the ED, and Phil used that to learn trivial, unrelated things about Dan. Like that he hates the cold. He learned that by telling Dan about how he’s from Manchester and even got a laugh out of Dan about liking snow but hating the cold. It was a chat, not a therapy session.

That must be how best to treat Dan. But he also knows from experience that his way of doing things isn’t particularly common nor preferred among his colleagues. It’s too indirect for them, too slow and inefficient. But to Phil, it’s effective, a quality that outweighs its slow pace. Slow and steady wins the race, or something like that.

“You like my stories?”

Dan smiles then. It’s small but noticeable. “Yeah,” he says. His voice is soft as he watches his hands smooth out the blanket on his lap.

“I’m glad. If you want to, I’d love to hear some of your stories.”

Dan looks at him then, eyebrows drawn in. “Maybe,” he says, without continuing.

Abruptly, Phil remembers that Dan is not his patient. He’s a friend now, and apparently, that distinction is going to be harder to remember than he thought it’d be.

Still, Phil nods at Dan’s words. “Whenever you’re ready.” Friends listen to each others’ stories; he can do that with Dan without crossing the boundary into patient and doctor. “Do you want to talk to Cassie?”

Dan shakes his head. “It’s okay. Just don’t like it.”

“Is that why you weren’t responsive when I first came in?”

Dan blinks. “Cassie was here. Next thing, she’s gone, and you’re here instead.”

“That’s okay,” Phil says, nodding to confirm what he’s saying.

They talk for a bit longer but eventually, Phil needs to go and see his own patients. After all, he is on the clock and isn’t paid to visit a friend.

He checks in on Will next because he’s the newest addition to the psych ward and because he’s young. He’s bound to be scared. So he heads for the children’s psychiatric ward, directly above the adult ward. All his current patients are there, sadly. Maybe he should talk to Dr Forrest about having some older patients so that he can get experience working with all age groups. He makes a mental note.

“Hey, Will,” Phil says, opening the door he’d just knocked on.

“Phil!”

Will’s not as nervous as Phil thought he’d be. In fact, he sounds rather excited. He’d have to ask the nurses if that’s been the whole time or if it was a unique emotion related to Phil’s presence. With how distressed he became earlier, Phil wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter.

“How are you going?”

Will shrugs. “Good, I guess.”

Phil nods. “You said you’re good, but you shrugged. Are you truly ‘good’, or was that answer automatic?”

He shrugs again. “At least there’s no arguing here.”

“And how’s that make you feel?”

“A little less shit than I usually do.”

Phil chuckles a little. “Well, that’s all we can really ask for right now, isn’t it.”

Will just shrugs again.

“I was hoping to get a bit better of an idea of what your experiences are.”

“Okay,” Will says, but he doesn’t continue. When Phil waits patiently, Will raises an eyebrow. “Well?” he asks. “What are you hoping for now?”

“Sorry?” Phil asks, confused.

“You said you were hoping, past tense. That means you have a different plan now.”

Phil blinks. “Oh. Um, I’m still hoping for the same thing. I’d like you to tell me more about your experiences,” Phil says, careful with his wording this time.

“Still not helpful,” Will says with a huff. “Ask me what you want to know specifically, or piss off and stop wasting both our times.”

Phil takes a second to reseat himself in the armchair. The sudden change in the atmosphere took him by surprise, and he needs a few seconds to reset his thoughts.

“Right, sorry,” he says, mainly out of habit. He’s constantly apologising – it’s a habit he thought he’d broken by now. “Well, I suppose as a starter, what would you be doing if I wasn’t wasting your time?” He makes sure his tone makes it obvious that he doesn’t agree that he’s wasting their time, that he’s just using Will’s own words.

“I don’t know.”

“You said you like engineering. Is there any particular project you’re working on at the moment?”

Will looks away. “No. I didn’t– After my last project– I didn’t want to leave a project unfinished.”

Phil understands the hidden message. He hadn’t felt there was a reason to start a new project, hadn’t thought he’d be alive to see it finished.

“That makes sense. Does that mean the attempt was planned in advance?” Phil asks, needing clarification. He assumed it was a spur-of-the-moment thing – most are, in the end.

Even after all his training, he’s still learning not to make those kinds of assumptions. Sure, expectations based on past knowledge help him do his job, but assumptions generally cause more harm than they’re worth.

Will stares at his lap. He’s picking at the skin around his nails, but Phil focuses on the conversation right now. Problematic behaviours can be targeted later, so long as they aren’t hindering his progress. “Yeah.”

Phil tilts and lowers his head, trying to catch Will’s eyes. “Can you tell me more about that plan?”

He shrugs. “I guess. I planned it probably a month ago, maybe two– no, definitely closer to one. Things went to plan, mostly. Other than the outcome, obviously. I kept the grocery bags mum got from shopping, and I had like five cause I wanted to be sure there would be no holes. But then I was reading about how slow suffocation is and how hanging is generally a better option cause you can’t chicken out.

“So I used my pocket-money to buy some rope and, well, yeah. Learned how to make a noose, set up and got started. But apparently, the world hates me because I accidentally kicked the chair into my bedside table, which made the whole thing fall over. I don’t remember much more than that.”

Phil nods slowly. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I know it mustn’t be easy to remember those events.”

Will just shrugs. “It’s whatever.”

“You are very brave, Will,” Phil insists. “Sure, you tried to end it all, but you’re still here. And being able to talk to me about it? That’s huge.”

Will just scoffs. “I’ve had enough questions. I’m tired now.”

Phil doesn’t mention how he only asked one question and then a follow-up one. He just nods. “I’ll come back in a bit and check-in. How does that sound?”

Will rolls over with a nod. It’s not a rude gesture – the rolling over – so Phil still thinks they’re on good terms, even with Will’s sarcastic comments.

Next, he’s got to check on Liz and Luke. He hopes they’re doing better than Will. And Dan. Not that he’s Phil’s patient anymore. Dan can do as good or as bad as he wants, and it really shouldn’t concern Phil. But, well, it does, and he can’t help that.

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic #phandom #daniel howell #danisnotonfire #philip lester #phil lester #amazingphil #christy's writing #Let the Human In Fic

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cavalierious-whim · 2 years

Text

Riza is sent to handle a suspicious-looking assignment, on her own. Written for Resilient, a Riza Hawkeye Zine.

Read here on AO3 for better quality. You can also follow me here on Twitter.

It starts with a call to the Colonel’s office.

Riza is as punctual as ever, perfectly kept and ready for her day. What’s surprising is that Roy is as well. Not that he isn’t ever— he’s reliable when it comes down to things, but—

Well, Riza knows him better than he knows himself and when it comes to early mornings in the office, his presence is usually lacking. Still, she trips to his office as though it’s completely normal. Holds her mug of coffee like it’s a damn lifeline because it might as well be.

“This…” Riza trails off as she reads the missive in her other hand, her eyes narrowed in confusion. It’s a strange detailing of an even stranger job, one that doesn’t make a lick of sense from the very first paragraph. “Sir, this can’t be right.”

“I assure you that it is.” The illustrious Roy Mustang is strangely nonchalant about the entire thing, relaxed in his chair, his fingers clasped neatly in his lap. He watches her with mild amusement, no doubt taking pleasure in assigning her… whatever this is.

“Go to The Watering Hole and ask for Phil—”

“The eyewitness for this case.”

Riza levels him with a narrowed gaze. “We know Phil,” she says. And they do. The run-down restaurant is a favorite of their unit, open twenty-four hours and privy to many of their late nights that bleed into early mornings. Phil knows Riza’s breakfast order by heart and always has a fresh carafe of coffee brewed and ready for them.

Roy shrugs. “He has information.”

Riza blinks, still not quite comprehending. “Information,” she repeats flatly.

His mouth twitches and he says, “Why, on your target, of course. You should listen to him well, by the way— he already doesn’t want to get involved. Probably won’t repeat whatever he tells you.”

“I don’t want to get involved. It already sounds like a backward deal that definitely isn’t State approved.”

“Of course it’s approved,” says Roy with a frown. “There’s a seal on that assignment.”

“I meant someone other than yourself.”

Roy sighs but doesn’t seem annoyed, only cocks his head to the side as he leans back casually in his chair. Riza’s gaze narrows once more. Odd, everything about this is odd; from the facts about the case, the ensuing docket, Roy’s demeanor, but—

She can’t put her finger on it. Not yet.

“It’s a snipe shot,” says Roy finally. “All it needs is your eyes.”

Riza rubs at her already tired face. When put like that, there isn’t much else she can do about it. She looks at the missive once more, reading through the list.

Find Phil at The Watering Hole.

Bribe him for the information— Roy scratched this part out, notating an additional note that states instead: Kindly request the information on the target.

Take the Karabiner— Why on earth would she need such firepower?

One more look at Roy reveals nothing, leaving Riza knee-deep in this ridiculous task before her morning even starts.

Phil doesn’t want to be bribed.

He takes one look at Riza, sighs as he sets about brewing another pot that’s more sludge than coffee, and says, “I already told that boy—”

“The Colonel,” cuts in Riza.

Phil levels her with a look and continues with, “That boy. I want nothing to do with him.”

Riza sits on the stool at the counter and rubs at her face. “Phil,” she says softly, “I’m asking you this as a friend— just give me the info and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Friend?” Phil scoffs. He’s always been a curmudgeon. “Don’t mistake our business relationship for more than it is.” There’s gruff affection there, though, in his tone. Riza hides a smile behind her hand.

Phil’s gaze is tired as he says, “Payment then.”

“I already offered a proper bribe.”

“You tried to bribe me with the wrong thing.” Phil grabs a fresh mug from the drain rack and wipes it dry. He pours her a cup of coffee and slides it along the counter. “Share a cup and tell me about your day. Been too long since it was just you and I that shared words.”

Riza is surprised by such a simple request. Phil is old and grizzled, and doesn’t really have anyone left. But Riza isn’t much different, none of them are. That’s why they’ve always found comfort in this dubious-at-best greasy spoon.

She used to stay for a cup in the morning before taking a few to go, but hasn’t had much time for it lately. Riza smiles gently and meets his eyes before settling into the stool. She gives him a mock salute before she takes a sip.

Perhaps Riza should have treated the entire affair with a sense of urgency, but Phil’s information not only proves to be rather useless, it’s entirely nonsensical.

The bakery at 13th and 14th, near the town square. When the sun is in the middle, look to the left and see the light.

Riza stares at the napkin she’d jotted the info on long and hard, entirely uncomprehending. Roy mentioned a real job with a real target. He told her to bring the Karabiner, of all things. But so far, it’s been nothing but useless words strung together that seemingly mean nothing.

Still, she finds herself at the corner 13th and 14th, the bakery right behind her. The sun sits high-noon in the sky and she looks to her left.

And sees no light.

Riza sighs, entirely unsurprised. “A joke,” she murmurs, “This has to be one massive joke.”

She stares into the space long enough to see a blinking light in the distance before it flickers out. It appears again, fizzing and fading over and over at even intervals. Riza sighs, rubbing at her face.

Perhaps she assumed too quickly.

It’s a wild goose hunt, the entire damn thing.

The blinking light is found in the warehouse district where Riza finds a hastily taped letter that directs her back south where the sun doesn’t shine. It’s a phrase that Jean uses when describing the slums, and that’s when Riza realizes that her gut instinct is— as always— correct.

Something’s up, she’d known it from the moment Roy handed her the assignment.

She’s a soldier through and through, though, and she persists on. From the slums, she finds herself back uptown and staring down a dark alleyway. She’s covered half of Central City on foot by now, and she’s a little beyond bone-weary.

An open staircase sits before her, darkness lurking around the steps that lead up. Riza sighs as she shifts the gun over her shoulder and begins the climb.

On the rooftop, there are no more clues, but Riza knows a snipe point when she sees it. It’s clean of debris for her to roll out all her supplies and get to work. The view is good— no buildings in the way, allowing for a clear shot in every direction.

Too perfect.

And yet.

Riza takes her time setting up. Checks her gun, checks all the bits, checks all her surrounding points. Even though it’s clear all around, there’s one particular line that would provide for a perfect, clean shot. So, Riza settles into position and sets her face behind the scope.

In the magnification she finds what is clearly her target— a tarp that’s hoisted neatly between two buildings, a ridiculous doodle plastered right across it. She recognizes the Colonel’s handy work like she would the back of her hand. She’s filed enough of his meeting notes to recognize the messy scrawl.

Riza snorts. Wild goose hunt, indeed. But she still fires.

Hits the target dead on.

Because Riza is a very stubborn woman when she wants to be, she takes her time before reporting back to the Colonel and instead, files a proper case report for her daily hunt. Anyone looking at it would find nonsense, but at least it’s a vindictive account of the workaround she dealt with that day. Really, what a waste of her talents.

Roy doesn’t look remotely surprised when she steps into his office and drops the file onto his desk. “Target found and taken care of, sir,” she says with a dry, dramatic flourish.

“Well, I would say that I’m not surprised you handled the paperwork already, but you’re always on top of your game, aren’t you?”

Riza is mostly amused, if confused, but she levels Roy with a rather stern gaze. “Do you know the number of resources you’ve wasted today?”

“Ah.” Roy steeples his fingers together underneath his chin. “So you figured it out, then?”

“Was I not supposed to?”

Roy’s mouth quirks into a soft grin. “No, I would think it was pretty obvious by the end of it.”

“Sir—”

“And, for the record, no resources were wasted because the entire mission was volunteer. We did this on our own time.”

Riza makes a face. “Our?”

“Yes, the entire unit.” Roy pauses. “And Phil too, I guess.”

Riza blinks slowly before her face melts into a look of confusion. “I— sir—” She’s entirely baffled by this point.

Roy moves, standing from his desk and rounding it. He leans against the flat surface, legs crossed at the ankle. “Riza,” he says, his voice quiet as he drops formality. It’s only the two of them in the room, there isn’t a need for it. “You’ve been on edge. Too stiff.”

Well, she just takes offense to that, and it must show on her face because Roy raises a hand before she can reply. “You’re always stern, but you do relax. You haven’t lately and everyone has been concerned. And so—” He waves vaguely.

Riza repeats the gesture. “And so? You stage a wild goose hunt?”

“No, we gave you a proper adventure that utilizes all your skills. Your cunning, your negotiating techniques, it even ended in a wild snipe-shot that you could safely make— Riza, we just wanted you to let loose and enjoy yourself for a day.” Roy pauses and crosses his arms over his chest. “Of course, you’d never go for it if we just asked, so we had to take liberties and—”

Riza reaches out and pulls him into a tight hug that definitely goes against code. She isn’t a touchy-feely person, she doesn’t usually do things like this, but the others have gone out of their way to try and make her feel better, even if it was through ridiculous means.

Still.

“Getting civilians involved,” she says, disapproving.

Roy sighs, pressing a hand against her back and just resting it there. “Well, Phil noticed it first and raised his concern. Then we watched you for a bit.” He pulls back. “Look, we’re under a hell of a lot of stress— all of us— but you’re allowed to lean on us too. That’s why we’re a unit.”

“I just…” Riza pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers. She knows that she’s terrible at relying on others. Doesn’t come naturally to her. “Thank you, truly. It was fun in the end.” She looks around his shoulder at the paperwork. “Not that though.”

Roy sighs. “You had to go about it properly, didn’t you?”

“You filed the assignment as a real one.” Riza smiles, a rare grin that’s wide and true as she steps away. “Now it’s your turn to deal with it.”

“Now you’re just gloating,” says Roy sourly.

Absolutely. Riza gives him a mock salute once she reaches the door.

Still, a day well worth it.

#fullmetal alchemist #riza hawkeye #fma riza #FMA #fma fanfiction

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youreyeslookliketheocean · 3 years

Text

youreyeslookliketheocean’s DSMP Fic Recs!!

Figured it was about time for one of these... :)

Mostly SBI-centric because they’re my favorite dynamic. I’ll probably add to this list as time goes on, and I also want to go back through my ao3 history and find some lesser-known fics I really enjoyed to rec them all. But for now...

* oneshot ** unfinished work

** the lights go out (my heart goes still) by curseworm

With his old home unwelcoming and his new one gone, Tommy is alone. After hours of staggering through the freezing snow, he finds a cabin.

Technoblade’s cabin.

He hides himself away in the deepest corner he can find, taking only what he needs to survive, wasting away in the cold and the dark. He’s petrified at the thought of being found out, terrified of what he thinks Techno would do to him.

When Techno finds his injured teenage brother huddled in a filthy little cave beneath his basement, the rage he feels is immeasurable. The voices demand blood, and blood he will give them. Dream won’t be getting away with this one.

(On the other side of the world, in a country that floats on a man-made lake, Philza gets himself in a bit of a pickle.)

** The hearth down under by Crystalquill

A tiny change gives Tommy the courage to flee to the Nether instead of the cold tundra, finding an unlikely ally in the midst of a fiery hellscape.

But tiny changes can alter the course of history. The SMP will never be the same.

(Lots of cool Nether worldbuilding in this one!!)

to be a wanderer, wandering by hydrangeasheart

Tommy's feet drag in the snow.

It's so, so cold. He's so cold. His toes are freezing. His exposed shins feel like they’ve been cut open-- even the one that’s bandaged. His wings have gone numb, which is almost, almost good, because now he can’t feel the shifting, broken bones inside of the left one, just under feathers and muscle.

He doesn’t know why he’s still walking.

Or, Tommy leaves the exploded ruins of Logstedshire behind, and walks until he finds somewhere safe.

And things keep going from there.

(A canon-divergent AU, splitting off somewhere around when Tommy started hiding out below Techno's house.)

that’s, like, a hundred miles by No_one_you_know (and then “as long as i’m here”, and “he’s my brother, i just raise him”)

Dream would kill him. Dream was going to kill him- he was going to- no, he wouldn’t. Dream was his friend- friends don’t hit each other- Dream was supposed to take care of him- Dream /was/ taking care of him.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. He couldn’t clear his thoughts as he stumbled to the family computer, pulling up a tab on google and frantically typing the name into the search bar.

The words Technoblade Watson stared back at him, the little black bar at the end of the letters blinking slowly, mocking him.

Why, of all people, did it have to be Technoblade?

in short: the one where dream sucks as a parental figure, tommy runs away, and visits his least favorite family member technoblade.

passerine by thcscus(blujamas)

Do I really need to put the summary here? Pretty much everyone knows this fic. Also, though, if you enjoy this one you should totally read thcscus’ connected fic, “shrike”!! It’s only at 2 chapters right now but it’s already really good and has this dark, foresty aesthetic I love...

not with a bang but with a whimper by dip_dyed_ghost

He knows Tubbo doesn’t care about him anymore. He knows that. He’s been shown that. But it doesn’t stop Tommy from caring about him. He brushes the pads of his fingers over the compass’s glass and wonders how he’s doing, if he’s tired of it all yet, if he needs help. He watches the way it points strongly in the direction over the ocean. He hopes he’s alright.

Even after everything, he hopes he’s alright.

During his exile, Tommy finds a drugged and hurt Tubbo on his doorstep. He can’t not help him.

(This one has a neat take on potions, in my opinion. Also it’s only 4 chapters so it’s a quick read!)

take this compass, follow it home by lightning_anon

Tommy's a fuck up, he can't pay attention, and never sits still. He taps his hands, pushes people away, and has never had a best friend. He's a screwed up, forgotten kid lost in the foster system. He's also just been placed with a new family. Tommy knows how this goes, he never ends up staying long. After all, no one wants a fuck up like him.

Why would this house be any different?

Or: the obligatory sleepy bois foster fic, but with a focus on the neurodivergent kids that inevitably get lost in the system.

(Genuinely want to see more books like this in original fiction. It’s part of what inspired my newest og wip, “To Build a Home.” So sweet and I feel like I had my eyes opened to some neurodivergent tendencies I never knew existed. I read this in a day and can’t rec it enough.)

bloodlines by youreyeslookliketheocean

Tommy’s an orphan on the run from his previous guardian. Philza’s a king who prides himself on keeping his kingdom in an era of peace. Wilbur’s the crown prince, and Techno’s right beside him as his adopted brother. When Phil’s kingdom of Pogtopia is threatened by the bloodvines—a strange, brainwashing plant infecting many of the surrounding kingdoms—the four must work together to keep the kingdom, and their family, safe. --- A royal au sbi fic... + the bloodvines, for spice.

(Yes I’m self-promoting. But, in my defense, I’m very proud of it. If you checked it out it would mean the world to me :’))

Heat Waves by tbhyourelame

Dream has always held a gentle admiration for George, but when their nuanced friendship trickles into his sleeping mind, he awakens to a new world of conflicting emotions and longing. Lost in the midst of a heat wave, he continuously listens to a song that works itself in to the very core of his heartache. Floridian nights, unsent messages, spiraling infatuation, and terrible, terrible weather.

Another fic I think pretty much everyone knows about. Listen, listen... I was once an idiot who said “Oh no, I’ll never read Heat Waves. It’s irl, not characters, and it’s probably cringe”... No. I was so wrong. This fic is wonderfully written, with a pretty quick moving plot and great characterizations. You do need an ao3 account to access it, though. Just to let you know. (Also read “Helium”, unfinished and hasn’t updated in awhile, but it’s the continuation).

Guitar Strings and Keyrings are What it Takes to Build a Home by Anonymous

Techno was adopted by Phil when he was 12 years old.

He'd been enjoying his morning before Phil came to him asking if he would mind them taking in another kid. Against his better judgement, Techno agrees and ends up with two new foster brothers who he was determined to not get attached to, no matter what.

Tommyinnit’s unbeatable method of avoiding sudden death by eneliii

“I uh,” Tommy starts, not knowing how to break this to the hero lightly. He hates to be the bearer of bad news. “I think your powers are broken? It’s not a bad thing of course, but like, I swear you tried to mind control me and it like, totally failed. Which is fine, honestly, don’t feel insecure. Everyone’s power stop working sometimes… I think.”

Sheesh, this is very awkward. Why is no one else talking? Why is Philza looking at him like he grew three heads? Why is the Blade staring at him so intensely? Why is Willow still frozen?

“Did I, did I hit a nerve? Yikes,” Tommy hisses, “Well um,” He steps back, bracing his legs and bending his knees, “This was like super fun, but I’m - I’mma head out.”

or,

in which Tommy manages to annoy the hell out of Phil, Techno and Wilbur by being both impossible to catch and irritatingly endearing.

or or,

a crack fic where Tommy is a vigilante and Phil, Techno and Wilbur are the heroes hunting him down.

(Feel like I am obligated to say how incredibly funny this fic is. Seriously. I have a distinct memory of sitting on my neighborhood park’s swing, giggling hysterically, while reading this. Well...until the end... but we won’t get into that...)

** bones in the ocean by bunflower

“Your reputation precedes you, y’know.”

“Does it, now?” Philza watches him coyly from where he’s now leaning against the wall, arms folded around his chains and gaze half-lidded, his lips curled in an arrogant, cat-like smirk.

“The Angel of Death, the ferryman of the Styx, the terror of the western seas. One of the most feared captains ever to sail, and yet, I have to wonder… how did a man like you end up all on his own? We searched the area where you were found—not another soul in sight. So,” He fixes him with a long look, allowing the silence to hover like a dark cloud, the words rolling off of his tongue with all the venom and smugness he can muster, “—tell me, Philza. Where is your crew?”

OR: Technoblade is a naval captain, and Phil his unwilling prisoner. Somehow, they manage to come out of it as friends in the end.

(Is this fic considered popular like passerine/Heat Waves now? Cause I feel like it’s reputation precedes itself, at this point... Pirate au.)

****

Okay! That’s it for now. Like I said, though, I want to add to this over time and also dig back for some older things I’ve read. Also, if you have any recs feel free to send them in! I’m about to go back to school and therefore might not have time for reading fun stuff, but whenever I get the chance I’d love to check them out!!!

Happy Reading!!

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averytiredfanfictionwriter · 3 years

Text

Sic Semper Tyrannis

A syndicate x Platonic! Reader/ Technoblade x Reader

Warnings: murder, kidnapping, blood, a somewhat graphic depiction of getting stitches

Word count: about 2800

Ao3 Link: wow.

I’m excited to share this. I did write a version with an angsty ending, which is up on my Ao3 account here if you want to read that one as well. Fair warning though, while writing it I found myself dying inside so I don’t know how you guys would feel. It was the original way I wanted to take the story but as I was writing I also created this one which is an alternate, fluffier ending. Reader is a raccoon hybrid in this one. Don’t forget to like and follow for more. Enjoy!

It almost seems to be a mistake, Techno thinks. The woman- no girl- standing in front of him never struck him as the anarchist type. She was always too soft, too nice for any of it. Yet here she stands next to Philza, shivering from the chill of the cave and rubbing her bare arms.

“This is the new recruit I was telling you about.” The winged man smiles at Techno.

“She seems… soft.” He mutters, taking in her shivering form before handing her a cloak.

She only nods, accepting the cloak gratefully and clipping it around her neck with ease before burrowing into the thick material.

“Trust me. You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew her how I do.” Phil mutters, rubbing at his shoulder.

“Fine. But do you swear to uphold the values of the syndicate? Do you promise that you’ll help in our mission to destroy the corrupted governments that threaten the freedoms of its citizens?” Techno stands over her, red eyes practically glowing.

She nods hastily under his seven foot tall frame and he seems satisfied as he backs away. “Okay then. Come take a seat. We have a lot to talk about today.”

Techno makes his way up the stairs to the table behind him, taking a seat facing the entranceway. Y/n looks up at Philza and he only shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about him. He seems scary but he won’t hurt you. In fact, that’s the nicest he’s been to someone that’s tried to join yet.” Philza says before walking towards the table.

“Wait- what do you mean ‘tried to join’? Phil, what happened to them?” Y/n says in a panic.

“We don’t talk about them.” Ranboo chimes in. “Now, come on. Don’t want to be late to your first meeting.”

Y/n scurries up to a chair at the table, taking the one across from Phil and next to Ranboo. She sits furthest from Niki and Techno who both seem to be scrutinizing her every move.

“Now, let’s get this meeting started. First things first, we have a new recruit. This is Y/n. You all know her, but she’s going to be joining us. You’ll need a codename.” Techno states, and Y/n thinks a moment as they stare at her.

“Dolos. I’ll go with Dolos.” Techno nods, eyes flashing with an unknown emotion before returning to their usual blankness.

“Okay. Now that that’s over with, is there anything in particular you guys wanted to discuss? Any new information or governments?”

Phil nods, standing as he stands from the chair and speaks to the group. Y/n zones out a little for the rest of the meeting, nodding along but not really listening. Soon, it’s time to go and they’re all standing, the sound of chairs scraping on the floor loudly and Ranboo’s laughter at something Niki said echoes through the small space.

“Y/n, can I speak to you alone.” It’s not a question, and the woman swallows thickly as she follows the piglin hybrid into a small room that connects to the main one.

“So why Dolos? I mean, of everything you could’ve chosen, why’d you choose Dolos?” He asks, standing against the door to the room, blocking her in.

“Ah, well- you see, I’ve been told I’m good at deceiving people and that I’m so good at it, no one ever knows until I tell them, and even then they don’t believe me. I think that it’s a good codename, that’s all.” She stutters out, and Techno’s eyes narrow.

“I’m not easily fooled. If you’re lying, or you’re here as a spy, I’ll figure it out. And then not even Phil will be able to save you. Do you understand me?” He grunts out, standing over her with his sword held in his hand.

She nods and all but teleports out of the room to get away as quick as possible. He looks after her, seeing the disappointed look on Phil’s face outside and the confused glances from Niki and Ranboo. He steps out of the room as well and leaves the meeting hall without another word.

It’s a week before anyone hears directly from Y/n again, and when they do it’s not for reason they would have ever expected.

“I need your help.” Techno takes in the sight of the blood soaked clothing that covers the young woman.

“What happened?” He’s bewildered, the first time he’s been surprised in a long time.

“It’s not my blood. Most of it’s from the people we were fighting, but some of it’s his.” She points behind her where Phil stands, holding up a severely injured Tommy.

“Come on.” Techno grunts, ears twitching. The voices chime in, but he pushes them aside.

“Set him on the couch.” Phil lays him down gently and gets to work brewing potions for the young boy.

Y/n sits next to him, clutching his hand tightly with one of hers as she continues putting pressure on the gaping wound in his stomach. Her striped tail swishes nervously on the floor behind her and the large black ears lay back against her head.

“Get his shirt off. I need to sew it up.” Techno has his sleeves rolled up to the elbow as he comes over with a small first aid kit.

Y/n uses her sharp nails to cut away the stomach section of Tommy’s shirt, revealing the ugly looking gash. She pales at the sight of it, getting up and running to the bathroom to most likely vomit. Techno only sighs as he gets to work, wiping off the dried blood around the wound and starting to stitch it up. Tommy shifts uncomfortably on the couch, crying out at the needle threading in and out of his skin.

Once done, Phil shoves the healing potion in Tommy’s face, which he drinks and then promptly passes out. Y/n comes back from the bathroom, hair tied back from her face.

“What happened?” Techno asks, standing in front of her.

“We were running through the woods, having fun- y’know, kid things- when we came across a small group of people. They started to attack us, and we started to fight back, thinking there weren’t anymore of them. Well, we were wrong. Very wrong. We wouldn’t have escaped if it wasn’t for Phil. Before we got away though, they said something like ‘down with the order’. I don’t know what they meant though. It was hard to understand them through their masks.” Y/n spews out and Techno only stares at her.

“‘Down with the order’? That sounds like they know something. What did they look like? Any distinct markings for kingdoms or anything?” Techno says softly.

She shakes her head. “Nothing that I could see, unless I missed it. I could probably lead you back to the place we fought at. I don’t know if more came to collect the bodies or not.”

“Take me there. But first, go get cleaned up. We don’t need you walking around drenched in blood.” Techno says, nodding to the bathroom.

One shower and change of clothes later, the pair are on their way to where Y/n and Tommy were attacked. Techno notices her fidgeting more than usual, constantly looking around them and watching as she jumps at the smallest of noises. He chalks it up to having been just attacked and they continue walking.

She stops in a clearing and he stands beside her. No sign of bloodied bodies is anywhere to be found. In fact, there’s no evidence a fight even occurred here. No blood spots on the ground, no scrapes in the ground, no disturbance of wildlife.

“Are you sure this is the place?” He turns to look at her, but she’s gone. Suddenly, something hits him from behind and the last thing he sees is Y/n, crying softly as someone holds onto her.

Techno slowly opens his eyes, registering the cold metal against his wrists and multitude of people surrounding him. The voices scream out in rage- rage at Y/n for getting them captured, rage at himself for allowing this to happen, anger for not trying to stop him and Y/n from being captured. They’re angry at a lot of things, and he grunts as he feels a headache coming on.

Y/n stirs in the chair across from him, whimpering softly and her tail waves behind her slowly. “Where-”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you need to tell us who the rest of the members of your little club is, or else you both die. Tell us, and you live. It’s that simple.” A voice speaks out, a young man with brown hair and light eyes.

He rests a sword on Y/n’s shoulder and looks Techno in the eyes. He says nothing, glaring at the man instead.

“Are you going to tell me? If not, then I guess I’ll need to encourage you to do so.” The young man sighs, and takes out a knife, grabs hold of Y/n’s tail and presses the knife against the base of it.

Y/n screams loudly, and Techno hates the sound of it more than any other sound he’s heard. The voices seem to hate it as well, yelling at him to just tell the man the names of the other members to end it.

“Fine.” Techno gives in.

The young man smiles, dropping Y/n’s tail and wiping the knife off on her shirt. “Oh good! That’s very good.”

“Don’t do it. It’s not worth it. My life’s not worth it.” Y/n mumbles, tears falling down her face as she clenches onto the armrests of the chair tightly.

“You might know one of them. His name is Zephyrus. Has black wings, wears lots of green. Another one is named Lethe. He’s half enderman. Good luck catching him though. The last one is Nemesis. You might never find her though. She spends most of her time underground.” Techno states and Y/n almost laughs at the use of the codenames.

“You’re lying.”

The young man holds the knife to Y/n’s throat and presses gently, causing a small trickle of blood to run down her neck. “You have one more chance to tell me their names before I kill her and then you. I’ll give you to the count of ten. Ten…” Techno growls at the man before him, the sight of his knife pressed against the woman's throat more than angering.

“I told you. Those are their names. It’s not my fault if you don’t believe me. Now let her go. I don’t even like her. Killing her wouldn’t get me to reveal anything.” Techno says calmly.

The man considers this, pausing his counting. “You’re still lying. I saw you help her and her friend, the blonde. I’m surprised the cut didn’t kill him, to be honest. I think I’ll have to go back to your cabin when I’m done here and finish the job.”

Steam is basically pouring out of Techno’s ears and his eyes glow a bright red. “Don’t fucking touch him.”

“Yes! I will, unless you tell me the real names of the other members of your little club.” He releases Y/n’s head from his grip, and pulls his knife away from her neck.

“Phil, Niki, and Ranboo. Those are their names. Now let her go.” Techno growls and Y/n shakes her head.

“He’s lying. Those aren’t their names. There’s not even more than one other member of the group. The third member of the group is named Dream. He’s currently in prison for killing several people and blowing up a country not once, but twice as well as manipulating kids. He’s the only other member of the group.” Y/n says, hoping that they don’t know she’s lying and buy her bluff.

The god currently sits in prison, waiting out his days monotonously. They would definitely all die the minute they try and kill him- if they even do get to him, considering Sam would kill them the minute they step foot in the prison.

“Finally, someone here is telling the truth. You’re going to give me the exact coordinates of where the prison is, and then you two are going to stay here while we go kill him.” Y/n gives him the coordinates and the man is almost bouncing in joy. “For your sake, we better not be walking into a trap. Let’s go boys.” They leave the room and Y/n sighs, her head hanging forward heavily, as if her neck can’t hold itself up anymore.

“What was that?” Techno asks and she shrugs.

“I told you. People don’t believe I’m capable of lying to them. They’re all going to die trying to get to Dream, or he’s going to kill them himself.” Y/n yawns.

“Yeah, and we need to get out of here in case some of them survive.” Techno says, struggling against the restraints holding him to the chair and eventually manages to break them.

“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Techno mumbles, picking the lock on Y/n’s restraints and lifting her up easily in his arms.

The maze of hallways is nearly impossible to escape, but they do it somehow and step outside to a snowy tundra. The wind blows frozen ice shards through the air and it bites at their skin. They were stripped of gear and their cloaks. The cold is no match for Techno, who produces enough body heat to stay warm enough, but Y/n shivers in his arms and presses her face against his chest in an effort to keep warm.

Techno’s communicator beeps as it regains signal, and he works it out of his pocket, seeing the messages from Phil and quickly shoots one back with their coordinates and a request for blankets.

Looking around, the only shelter Techno can find until Phil arrives is the building they came out of but that’s not an option in case the people come back. Techno settles for sitting on the ground and hugging the woman to his chest, doing his best to protect her from the wind and cold.

“Oh my god…” Phil says as he lands in front of the pair, quickly grabbing Y/n and wrapping the cloak around her.

“Take her back to my cabin. She needs to get warmed up and is going to probably need stitches in her tail.” Phil nods, passing his sword to Techno.

“Will you be fine walking back? I can zip right back here to get you. Tommy’s healed and can look after Y/n while I do so.”

Techno shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. After all, you need to check on Ranboo and Niki. Make sure they’re okay. We’re not extremely far from the cabin, I’ll make it back before the end of the night. Now go already.” Techno says and Phil nods, taking off quickly with Y/n.

He looks back at the building they were in, and heads back inside. If there’s anyone left here, they’ll pay for what happened.

It’s a few days before Techno comes back and Philza spends the time either worrying over it or about the worsening condition of Y/n, who seems to have developed a bad cold or flu or hypothermia or all of it, really, as well as making sure Tommy doesn’t rip his stitches trying to do stupid stuff. When Techno does come back, he’s covered in blood and doesn’t even stop to talk to the members of the syndicate sitting in the living room or even wash up, instead going straight for the room where Y/n is sleeping and peeking in.

“She’s not doing well at all. I stitched her tail up, but she’s developed a fever and is still freezing cold all the time and isn’t getting any better, even with a ton of healing potions. I don’t know if she’s going to make it.” Phil mutters beside Techno and he only nods.

He steps out of the doorway and leaves to take a shower, taking extra care to scrub the blood out of his hair and changes into comfortable clothes. Peeking into Y/n’s room again, he sees her shivering underneath the blankets. Well no wonder she’s sick, she’s still freezing cold, he thinks to himself before opening the door further and stepping into the room. He climbs under the covers and Y/n instantly curls up to him, soaking in his natural warmth.

“Thank you, for getting me out of there.” She mutters, before falling back asleep.

“Anything for you.” He whispers, holding her tighter against him in an almost protective manner.

Phil watches from the doorway, smiling as he watches Techno fall asleep curled up with her.

Tagged:

@thegeekisheere

#dream smp #dream #technoblade #ranboo #philza minecraft #technoblade x reader #philza x reader #anarchist #anarchy #lizzy writes

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childishfluff · 3 years

Text

The Feeling Of Family- A MCYT Agere/CGLRE fic (Regressors!SBI+Tubbo and Ranboo, Carer!Philza)

There was a very specific feeling that came to Ranboo when he met up with his internet friends. A weirdly comforting feeling, a reassurance that he had finally found his people.

It came to him with every hug from Tubbo, every teasing ruffle of his hair from Techno, every inappropriate joke he shared with Tommy. It clouded his mind every time he regressed with them, too, he didn't quite know how to describe it. But if he had to put a name to this odd emotion, he'd call it 'the feeling of family'.

A/N: get ready for a looooong ride. This was written over the course of two days, I really hope you guys like it! I haven't dropped a fic thats over 4000 words in a bit, I think. This is inspired loosely by Cypherr's (on ao3!!) fic 'four's a family', that's where I got the idea of Phil just being overwhelmed because there's so many babies to deal w/, so I'm crediting them! Though, this fic is much different then their's, but also please go read their fics they're great- anyways, I hope you enjoy! This fic is kinda (?) in Ranboo's pov (third person but like,,,you see his thoughts), but there's so much going on that it kinda feels like it's jumping around? Sorry for that, I'm used to writing w/a 2 littles max per caregiver ratio, so this was different. I've also never written Phil as a caregiver before besides his brief appearance over in my 'Mister Nook' series. okay I'm done rambling,,,enjoy the fic please!

There was a very specific feeling that came to him when he met up with his friends. A weirdly comforting feeling, a reassurance that he had finally found his people.

In an internet dad, a fellow faceless streamer who used a pig as his icon, a song writer, a bee-loving teenager, and another who was known for wearing red and white. He felt just a bit out of place in this dynamic, SBI were the ones that were close. SBI plus Tubbo wasn't an odd pairing either, and it almost seemed as if Ranboo was only there because Tubbo was.

But that doubt seemed to wash away with the welcoming energy that the car ride to Phil and Kristin's home was filled to the very brim with. Tommy and Wilbur arguing like brothers while Ranboo and Tubbo joked about. The half-joking stern look that Phil gave him through the rear view mirror when he made an inappropriate joke. The soft feeling that Techno teasingly ruffling his hair left in his chest.

This group felt like family.

Of course, he had a perfectly good set of parents back home, but this was different. In a good way, though. This home wasn't his, it was Phil's, but he was surprisingly comfortable here. He was comfortable with his close friends.

"Breakfast is ready!"

He jolted awake with a slight shock when he heard knocking and shouting outside of the door of the room he was staying in, the noise startling him from his sleep. He rubbed at his eyes and stretched his arms above his head as the sleepiness started fading from his mind, clocking the voice as Tommy's as he processed his surroundings. It was his second day at the Philza Minecraft's, the first being made up of mostly content creation.

They had all been shown to their respective guest rooms late last night after quite a few movies and a half-asleep conversation full of laughing and heartfelt emotions. Today was supposed to be a chill day, and the next they'd be exploring the area just around Phil and Kristen's home. It was Ranboo's second time in the UK, and just like last time, he wanted to explore and get a feel for the place he'd be temporarily living in.

He fished some clothes out of his suitcase, pulling them on and discarding his pajamas in a white laundry hamper he had been given for that exact purpose. Then, he sat on the bed, pulling out his phone and scrolling through it. He chuckled as he saw a picture of their entire group with a fan they had run into the day prior, just after he was picked up from the airport, remembering how many similar ones had been taken during his last meet up.

He thought back to the months he spent at Tubbo's house just a while ago, it was one of the funnest parts of his life if he was honest, and now he was right back in the UK for another long meet up. This one was supposed to be a month, at least. SBI and the Bee Duo all under one roof for an entire month! Twitter had freaked out completely when they heard of this arrangement.

During his last trip to the UK, he found out something interesting after revealing something about himself to Tubbo. He admitted to his habit of age regressing to his friend during a late night conversation, only to be met with a 'me too' and then being asked if he wanted to call some friends. This response had confused him, but he said agreed, figuring that there had to be some logic to this.

And after an hour long conversation with Techno, Tommy, Wilbur, and Phil, he learned about an ongoing secret dynamic between the group. Tommy, Tubbo, Phil, and Wilbur were all also regressors. This was a lot of information to process at around 6 am during an all-nighter, but he was glad to know he wasn't alone.

Almost immediately after finding out about his headspace, Phil insisted on taking care of him, messaging him more often and helping him regress over video calls. And over the process of a few weeks, Ranboo had been officially added to the group of littles Phil cared for regularly.

The man took the time to learn his headspace range, things that upset him, how to deal with him when he did misbehave (though the occasion was rare, especially compared to someone like Little Tommy), all in the name of making sure he was cared for. It was sweet, really, and sometimes the boy felt bad for all the man did for him.

He pushed these thoughts away as he heard his name called by his father figure from the kitchen. He groaned, exiting off of Twitter and making his way out of the room and down the hallway, through the living room and into the kitchen. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he mumbled, still tired. He took his seat between Tommy and Tubbo after entering the kitchen/dining area and was quite overwhelmed with the amount of greetings and 'good morning!'s' he got all at once.

"How'd you sleep, hun?" he smiled when he heard Kristin's voice, humming a bit, settling on responding to her instead of facing the rest of the ongoing chaos in the kitchen.

"Pretty good, I think. Still waking up, though," he admitted. He watched the woman bring a plate over to him, setting a stack of pancakes in front of him. "Thank you."

Before she got the chance to respond, Tommy was shouting all to loud for how early it was in the morning. He sounded whiny, too. "Why does he get his first? I was awake before him," he complained, earning a response from Wilbur as he entered the room, his obviously messy hair temporarily contained by a beanie.

"Maybe because he's not throwing a fit over everything like you are," He made his way over to the table as Phil shot the both of them a look. Ranboo minded his own business, digging into his food, he knew that he wasn't in trouble. The brown haired man sat next to Tommy, leaning back in his seat casually.

"Will, be nicer to your brother. And Tommy, be patient, or else both of you will be put in timeout the moment we finish eating." he threatened, half joking.

"What?" Tommy said, sounding shocked as his eyes went wide.

"I second that, none of us are little!" Tubbo finally spoke up after laughing at the situation the whole time.

"Tom-tom here is sure acting like a baby, though," Wilbur teased, sitting back up to ruffle the blond's hair, continuing even when the younger whined and attempted to shove his hand away. He only retracted it when Phil gave him another stern look.

"Stop teasing him and eat your food," he told him as Kristin brought over plates for Tommy and Wilbur. "Where's Techno?" Phil seemed like he wanted to continue talking to Wilbur, but was distracted when he noticed that someone was missing. Wilbur smirked, sticking his tongue out to Tommy, as if bragging about being let off the hook.

Even Ranboo could admit, even out of headspace, everyone seemed to fill their roles in the family dynamic well. Wilbur was the cocky middle brother who somehow simultaneously gets in the most trouble and gets away with everything, Techno is the oldest who's mostly calm but will join in on the antics when it seems fun, and Tommy's the youngest who will play the 'innocent' card at any chance he could get.

Ranboo and Tubbo's exact roles were a bit undecided, but they seemed to consist of a lot of watching the scene play out and somehow getting dragged into an argument they had nothing to do with. Phil acted as their dad, who kept peace between everyone and tried to keep things calm, while Kristen played the role of a sweet mother-type figure.

When they were little, it was a bit different, but the general feeling of family remained the same.

After a few chaotic minutes of gathering everyone up and calming everyone down, they were all sitting around the table and talking in a much more civil manner. Things got loud once again only a few minutes later when Tommy knocked over his cup of orange juice.

"Sorry!" he squeaked, "I didn't mean to!" he defended, looking up at Phil apologetically. He immediately seemed much younger, a light pout on his lips as he apologized for his clumsiness.

"It's alright, Toms." the man assured, flashing a soft smile to let the regressor know that he was alright, reaching for the paper towels across the table. In just a few moments it was like there was never a spill in the first place. "Can you get him a sippy cup, please?" he asked Kristin, who immediately set off to get the requested item.

"I told you he was a baby," Wilbur spoke up next, predictably earning protests from the clearly regressing boy next to him.

"I'm not a baby!" the younger cried, looking to his other "Techno, tell him I'm not a baby!"

"I mean, only babies need sippy cups," the other man leaned a bit closer the table, his words causing the teenager's eyes to widen.

"Can't Kristin just refill dis one?" he questioned, holding up the cup he had knocked over and looking to Phil hopefully.

"Sorry, buddy, I just don't want you to make another mess." Phil sighed, shooting a disappointed look towards Wilbur and Techno. Ranboo sunk further into his seat, trying to avoid getting pulled into the conflict. He wasn't sure how the others could handle Phil's 'disappointed look' so easily, the boy was very much scared of it.

"I'm not gonna!" Tommy whined, practically glaring at the cup that was set in front of him a moment later. He huffed and crossed his arms, refusing to drink or eat anything.

"This is what happens when you make fun of him, he gets all insecure and stubborn," Tubbo groaned, rolling his eyes as if they had been through this process a million times over.

"Tubbo's right, apologize to him," the oldest man ordered. Wilbur and Techno looked at him as if this suggestion was completely outrageous, so he added, "Now."

"Okay, okay!" Wilbur gave in, sounding defensive, "I'm sorry, Toms. You're not a baby."

"Really?" he lowered his arms, finally uncrossing them.

"No, you're just clumsy and we're sorry for making fun of you for it," Techno sounded very reluctant, but he followed Phil's orders. After these apologies, the rest of breakfast went fairly smoothly. By the end of it, Tommy was very obviously fully regressed and making a useless attempt to hide it.

It was a fairly often occurrence that Tommy slipped just for fun, acting and being treated like a kid was something he just liked. He got to be the annoying little brother and watch cartoons while he did it, it was a win-win across the board.

But Phil and Kristin knew, that whenever one of them slipped over their voice chats, anyone else in the discord call would too. And now, they were all actually together under one roof, so he was sure he'd have five littles to deal with by noon at latest.

As predicted, all of the boys ended up in littlespace, slipping one after another like a line of dominoes getting knocked over. After some reassurance from Phil, Tommy allowed himself to slip, and he dragged his best friend into a game of pretend. And the two toddler minded teenagers decided they wanted to play with Techno and Ranboo as well, and Wilbur soon followed when Phil babied him a bit to much.

At first, it was quite loud, and there was a lot of conflict and disagreements between the boys. Eventually, after everyone but Ranboo had managed to get in some sort of trouble, Phil sat the boys down to watch cartoons. Tommy, Tubbo, and Wilbur were out like a light one episode in. Wilbur was in babyspace, he always needed extra sleep, and Tommy tired himself out by crying when he assumed Phil was upset with him.

Tubbo, however, was just tired. No excuse, that's just how he was sometimes.

Ranboo and Techno were older then the rest of them, and far more behaved, so they didn't get quite as much attention earlier in the day. Phil was quite busy comforting Wilbur and trying to keep Tommy and Tubbo in check, and it didn't help that Kristin had to leave the house. To make up for this, Phil wanted to do something special with them while the other three took their mid-day naps.

After a while of Ranboo and Techno watching cartoons, trying to stay quiet so that their friends could sleep peacefully, Phil spoke up.

"Boys, quietly follow me," he whispered, managing to get out from under from where Wilbur was laying cuddling up to him without waking the boy up. Techno and Ranboo glanced at each other, seemingly confused but intrigued. They scrambled to get up, following their caregiver into the kitchen.

"What are we doin', dada?" Techno questioned once they entered the other room. They had left the cartoons on, so Phil was fairly sure they wouldn't be able to hear what was going on in the kitchen.

"You guys are gonna be my little helpers for snack time, okay? I got some special treats and such for everyone and we need to put everything together before everyone gets up!" the man explained in a quiet but excited tone, speaking even quieter as if his next words were a secret, "And if you guys do a good job, I'll even give you an extra cookie."

Ranboo's face immediately lit up, and he bounced on his feet as he awaited more instructions. Phil specifically chose him and Techno out of all of them, they must be special. It was like a super secret mission, just for them!

"So we're all gonna have fruit and vegetables before we get to the sweets," he continued on, going over the fridge and pulling out various fruits and vegetables, "Techno, could you wash the strawberries and blueberries for me?" he asked.

"Mhm!" he agreed, excited to be able to help. It seem weird that Phil's idea of "something special" was just putting them to work, it was more about the idea of making them feel special. They were more well behaved then everyone else, so they got extra time with Phil and a cookie.

"What do I get to do?" Ranboo questioned. He watched as Technoblade took the containers with the fruit he was told to wash over to the sink.

"Are you big enough to pour drinks for everyone?" he questioned, pulling various new sippycups and bottles from a hidden spot in one of the cabinets. The two littles gasped, completely distracted from their tasks, "Yes, some of these are for you two." he chuckled at their excitement, coming over to Ranboo and holding out a simple but cute black and white sippy cup.

"I thought maybe you could put stickers on it," Phil explained. The boy nodded quickly, practically attacking him in a hug. "Okay, go on, get to work now." he said, motioning over to the counter where the rest of them sat.

As requested, they got to work. Techno helped wash the fruit and put then on their plates, while Ranboo filled the sippy cups and bottles with whatever drink each one of them liked best. His demise came when he tried to sneak soda into his sippy cup without asking, and he managed to spill it all over the counter.

"Uh oh! Spill on aisle Ranboo!" Phil joked, grabbing the paper towels and running over to help. Immediately, the boy panicked. He was the well behaved one, and Phil was gonna find out that he was trying to be sneaky! His guilt was obviously clear to the caregiver, because the next thing he said was, "Don't worry, accidents happen."

The gentle and reassuring tone he used only made him feel worse. It only took the man a moment to actually realize what the boy had been pouring into the cup. "Ranboooo," the caregiver held out his words, sounding disappointed, "You know that you could've asked for soda if you really wanted it, right? You've been so good all day, I would've given it to you."

"Really?" he asked, pouting when the man took the cup and dumped the liquid in the sink. He then ripped paper towels from the roll and wiped up the remainder of the drink from the counter.

"Yeah, I would've," Phil affirmed, "But trying to sneak around me isn't okay. You told me you were putting juice in here. That's lying, and I know for a fact that you're big enough to know that's not allowed. " he tsked, causing Ranboo to look down at his feet.

"M' sorry," he mumbled, ready to cry over such a small thing. He knew what he was doing was dumb, Phil rarely let them have sweets like that when they were small due to the fact that they got hyper.

"Don't cry, sweetheart, you're not in trouble," the man assured with a sigh, softening his tone immediately, rinsing the cup out as he spoke. Ranboo still felt bad, despite the gentle reassurance. He glanced up to see the man filling his cup with his favorite drink besides the over sugary soda: strawberry lemonade. "Here you go." he tightened the lid onto it and held it out for him.

"Sorry, dada," he apologized again, his eyes still glassy as he took it in his hands. Phil sighed a bit, opening his arms and pulling him close.

"You're okay, buddy, I promise you." he spoke gently, "Little boys make mistakes sometimes, it's alright." The man knew that while Ranboo might've been regressed to an older age, he was still quite sensitive, and he always felt overly bad whenever he got in trouble. Even if he had managed to get away with sneaking the soda, he would've owned up to what he did guiltily after just a few sips of the drink.

That's just how he was.

"M' all done!" Techno's voice interrupted them as he finished placing the snack-filled plates in their spot at the table, besides their respective sippy cups. Phil pulled away from the other regressor and ruffled his hair, smiling at him before addressing the other little.

"Good job, honey. You're such a good helper," he complimented, before looking back to Ranboo. "And so are you." he reminded. Ranboo giggled a bit, feeling happiness well up in his chest at the praise despite any childish guilt. The giggles only increased when his caregiver tapped the button of his nose, causing him to scrunch it up.

Once he was sure that Ranboo was alright, or at least doing a bit better, he gave them their next instructions. One good thing about Ranboo was that it was easy to sway his emotions to the more positive end if it was done before any tears came. "Take your seats and eat, I'm gonna wake up your brothers and have them pick up their toys from earlier, then they'll join you." he told them, before leaving the room.

Technoblade's eyes followed Phil as he exited the room, and he waited until he was sure he was out of earshot to say anything. "Psst, 'anboo," Techno leaned close to the table, grabbing the other boy's attention.

"Wha'?" he questioned, popping a grape in his mouth and tilting his head in curiousity.

"We should scare daddy when he comes back in! It'll be so cool," he suggested, "We can wait by the door and jump out!"

"Hmm...," Ranboo looked over to where the other pointed, considering his options, "We 'posed to be eatin'." he pointed out, shaking his head.

"We won' get in trouble, it's just playin' round," he tried to sound convincing. It seemed to work, because Ranboo reconsidered, before hesitantly nodding. He grabbed one more grape and his sippy cup before standing up, Techno leading him over to the entrance of the room. They were concealed behind the wall on either side of the doorway.

They listened Phil woke the others up and helped them put the toys away, excitement ramping up as they waited. To their shock, Tommy entered first, fully ready to greet him in his usual loud tone. Techno quickly put his finger to his lip, shaking his head to signal him to be quiet. Tommy's eyes widened as he realized what was happening, deciding to duck behind the with his older brother.

It was then that Phil entered, carrying Wilbur. The boys jumped out from their spots, exclaiming different variations of "boo!" and "AHH!", breaking out into giggles immediately after. Wilbur squeaked, the sound startling him a bit, but he didn't seem upset. "Well hello, little ones," Phil chuckled, "If I remember correctly, you boys are supposed to be at the table."

"Jus' wanted to scare you! We go eat now," Techno assured, taking Tommy's wrist in his hand and pulling him over to the table. Ranboo however, peeked behind Phil to see if Tubbo was coming.

"Where Tubs at?" he pulled on Phil's shirt before he could walk away, whining a bit.

"He had a bit of an accident," the man admitted, "He's a bit smaller now, but he'll be out soon, okay?"

"Okay..." he trailed off, looking out into the living room, completely set on standing there until his best friend was able to join him.

"How about you head over to the table, kiddo?" his caregiver questioned, earning a pout from the little. "Okay, okay, you can wait here for him!" he decided, figuring there was nothing wrong with it. With a forehead kiss, Phil left him at the doorway.

"Tubbo! We gots apple slices for you!" he rambled excitedly when his friend finally did arrive, running towards him and grabbing his hand. He started to pull him further into the kitchen, but the mentally younger of the two stumbled a bit, seemingly clumsier then he was earlier in the day.

Ranboo realized that he had a pacifier in his mouth now, and he saw Phil replacing his sippy cup with a bottle out of the corner of his eye. He had worked hard to put apple juice in that sippy cup, he thought, pouting a bit.

"M' sorry, didn' mean to make you almost fall! We can go slow," he decided, earning a thankful smile from the other regressor. "Are you gonna say anything?" he asked, walking beside him. As they approached the table, Phil replied for the boy.

"He's a bit younger, bud, he might not be up for talking," he explained, "You know what it's like to be so little that you feel like a baby. Can we all be understanding? He's only a bit older then Wilbur at the moment." "

Tubbo seemed quite embarrassed as he sunk into his seat, pulling his pacifier from his mouth to eat his food. There were sounds of agreement around the table. Ranboo was curious as to what exactly made Tubbo slip so much younger then he usually did, but he didn't voice this curiosity, settling on eating his food in favor of not embarrassing his friend anymore then he already was. .

"These are yucky!" Tommy claimed, pushing his plate with carrots and ranch away from him.

"You like carrots and ranch, what are you talking about?" Phil sounded tired and just a bit annoyed.

"Don' want em," he shook his head, whining just as he had that morning when Wilbur teased him.

"If you eat them you'll get a cookie," the caregiver bribed.

"What type of cookie?" the toddler minded boy squinted his eyes, as if considering this, as if it was a negotiation of sorts.

"Sugar cookie, chocolate chip, I think we have Oreos too...whatever you could want," this definitely caught the boys interest.

"Chocolate chip?" his eyes went wide with excitement, which was only intensified when Phil nodded. Immediately, he uncrossed his arms and pulled his plate back towards him. Phil seemed satisfied with this, ruffling his hair.

The boys were still waking up, so Phil asked them to talk about their elaborate games from earlier in the day to keep them occupied. So, as they ate their snacks, they giggled about imaginary wars and adventures and argued over who won their dramatic plastic sword duels. Eventually, the caregiver gave them their promised sweets before sending them back off to play.

"Ranboo, you left your sippy cup in the kitchen," Phil tapped the boy's shoulder and distracted him from his game of peek-a-boo with Tubbo. He quickly discovered that his friend seemed much to little to participate in any games he'd usually play, so he did what he always saw Phil do with Wilbur: play a simpler one.

It was obviously much more entertaining for the littler of the two, but Ranboo was happy to hear his friend's giggles and squeaks. "Oh! Thanks, dada!" the boy reached up to take his sippy cup from the caregiver as he was sitting on the floor and Phil was standing. Ranboo gasped when he took a drink, feeling bubbles on his tongue.

Immediately, Phil put a finger to his lips and gave him a warning look. This made the boy giggle a bit as he nodded, understanding the signal. "Thank you!" he repeated, smiling when his hair was ruffled softly. The moment didn't last long, Tommy called Phil over for something, and it was back to peek-a-boo with his best friend.

Ranboo didn't mind it, though, peek-a-boo was fun. Being with everyone was fun, even if it meant he got a bit less attention due to there being so much going on. It all evened out, he got to be a snack time helper! And he got an extra cookie! If you asked him, that was pretty awesome.

In the next few days, they'd all get back into making more collaborative content, as that was the point of this meet up, but for now, it was just time to play. To spend time together, to cuddle, and giggle, and make far to much noise in the name of fun. To just be a family.

That was the specific feeling that came to Ranboo with this meet up. The comforting feeling that bubbled in his chest whenever he got a forehead kiss or his hair ruffled by Phil, or when he played babyish games with his friends when they regressed younger then him.

This was the thing that clouded his mind whenever he regressed with this group specifically, or when they were in the car, joking about anything and everything as they got closer and closer to their destination. A feeling that consistently made his life better, the feeling that brought a smile to his face everyday...

The Feeling of Family.

A/N: I really hope you liked that adorable mess of 4500 words! I appreciate reblogs and likes, but no matter what, thanks for reading to the end! Did you like the chaotic feeling that five littles/so many people brought into my fic? I kinda had to switch up my normal formulas to make room for so many characters, there's a reason I literally put three character to sleep halfway through the fic hjsikajsa. Did I write Phil well? I tried to portray how a caregiver w/so many littles would act somewhat realistically? Kind of overwhelmed but managing. Also, did you like me portraying ranboo as 'the angle little' of the group? idk I felt like it fit his personality in the scenario. If you reply with/send an ask/reblog with feedback, you can answer those questions, leave a request for something (whether it be in the universe father into the month-long meetup timeline I set up or just another fic), state your general opinions on the fic, or just leave a strand of emojis if words are hard. No matter what, it means a lot! I hope you all have a great day!!!!

#agere #agere writing #mcyt agere #dsmp agere #little!sbi #little!tommyinnit #little!ranboo #little!tubbo #little!wilbur #little!technoblad #little!wilbursoot #cg!philza #dadza #minecraft #age regression #CGLRE #mcyt #mcyt fanfiction

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cazimagines · 3 years

Text

Oblivious

Request from anon: Hi, I really enjoy your writing, particularly your Zemo fics! I had an idea for one that basically follows the while y/n joining Sam, Bucky, and Zemo through Madirpoor and Riga. Only despite Zemo’s flirting, y/n doesn’t really do anything about it or even notice until y/n along with Sam and Bucky witness Walker (New Captian America) murder a flag smasher in the street. They all go back to the safe house and y/n is like, in shock. “Captian America just killed someone” is all y/n can really say. And Zemo is able to calm them down. Maybe the romance can start then?

Word count: 3.4k

Author’s note: This one-shot can be multiple parts, if you would like to see a sequel please say! If I do decide to write a sequel though it will take me a while as I’ve had a lot of requests, please check out my master list to see what I have coming up next and if requests are currently open or not

Masterlist

(Please check out my master list to see what I will be writing next and if requests are open or closed)

Cross-posted to ao3 under the same username

Heels clicked along the pavement as you sashayed along the road, approaching the men before you, two of which you know fondly. The other one, however... not so much.

They all stood close together in a circle, obviously discussing something important but at hearing your voice call out their heads turn towards you, a smile appearing on Sam and Bucky’s faces as they see you. “Long time no see boys,” you say, stopping a few feet away from them to lean on a wall.

They both walk over to you, Bucky pulling you into and hug then followed by Sam hugging you tightly. “Thank you for agreeing to help us out y/n. I know things haven’t been easy for you,”

You fake a smile at Bucky, one you hoped he wouldn’t see past resting your arm around his shoulder. “Anything for my friends,”

He was right, though. These times haven’t been easy for you, especially after Steve Rodgers left. Captain America had always been your idol, ever since you were a little kid you aspired to be just like him. You collected all the Captain America merchandise along with your brother Phil, always arguing with him who owned which toy of his. Meeting Steve had been a dream come true for you. He was the person you were closest to. He helped you come to terms with your brother’s death and whenever you needed help; he was there. You two stuck together through the thick and thin. That’s was how you got to become good friends with Sam and Bucky. You and Steve have always had a complicated relationship, though. You two liked each other and tried to see if you could be something more, but it never seemed to work out. Then Thanos happened. You, along with half the universe, were dusted. For you it was as if you had simply blinked however for Steve it was five years without you. You barely got to see each other again before he went away for good. You couldn’t hate him for it, you understood why he did what he did. He was always telling you about the ’40s, about his childhood, about her. You just wished you weren’t so connected with him. Seeing him there, old, dying. It broke your heart. But times move on. You can’t live in the past as he did.

Your eyes focus on the man behind Sam and Bucky and you frown, pulling your arm away from Bucky. A man you never thought you would see again was staring right back at you.

He stood a few feet back, knowing he wasn’t welcomed in the warm reunion of friendship. He clasped his hands, unsure what exactly he should do right now, feeling awkward, but as he looked over at you his eyes twinkled with recognition. Now you had been interesting to him. You weren’t a super soldier like Steve and James. Yet you certainly could hold your own against them. He had seen when he had first activated James. No, your strength and fighting abilities were down to your own human powers and he admired that. You were one of the few avengers he might have had an inkling to like if the Sokovia attack never happened. Still, it wasn’t as if you were to blame for it. The people who were to blame had suffered for it. You were merely the pawn in the giant game of chess. Perhaps he could grow to like you, after all, he could admit you were certainly tempting to him, the way your body was shaped excited him, the way your neck was shaped made him want to brush his fingers along it and your piercing eyes felt like they could look into the darkest corners of his soul.

“Why is he out of prison?” you snap, bringing Zemo out of his trance

Sam turns to scowl at Bucky as you all turn to Zemo, who awkwardly smiles. “Bucky thinks we need him,” Sam mutters

“Why would we need him!” you exclaim, crossing your arms and shooting Bucky a glare.

“I am invaluable,” Zemo explains with his hands, his eyes unwavering from you as he answers for Bucky.

“He hates super-soldiers, therefore he will help us in getting to Karli,” Bucky says, stepping in front of your eyesight trying to explain himself.

“That also means he hates you, Buck,”

All of them freeze as you address the elephant in the room. Bucky grits his teeth and steps back, averting your gaze as you and Sam stare expectedly at him but he doesn’t respond so Zemo takes his opportunity to step closer to you, now only a few feet apart.

“I can assure you, getting rid of Karli and her super soldier friends is my priority. Not James,”

You clench your jaw in anger as you look at Zemo. He tilts his head, the side of his lip curling up slightly, hoping you’d take a chance on him. Sighing, you turn to shoot one more look at Bucky.

“Steve wouldn’t have liked this,”

Later you sat across from Zemo on his private jet. All of you sat in uncomfortable silence as you flew to Madripoor. Sam and Bucky did not seem as close as you were to both of them. They both just sat on their respective sides and looked out the window. Zemo had a book on him which he seemed very preoccupied reading, yet there were moments where you could feel his eyes settle upon you. Ignoring his inquisitive gaze, you choose to follow in Bucky and Sam’s lead of looking out the window and daydream the rest of the trip away.

Your mind trails back to Steve. You wondered just what Steve would have thought about you teaming up with Zemo. He would have understood, wouldn’t he? It was the best option you had. Ah, but he had always been such a stickler about the rules. Breaking a criminal out and helping him avoid the law wasn’t very patriotic of you. Yep, he would not have gone through with this plan, he would have found another way that worked. But none of the people here were him. He choose not to be here. You knew you had to let him go.

“Champagne?”

You pull your eyes away from the window, coming back to reality as you see a bottle of champagne in Zemo’s hand and an empty glass in his other hand. He already had another glass full beside him as he looked at you expectantly.

“No,”

“Sure?”

“What part of no do you not understand,” you snap harshly glaring at him then back out to the window

“My apologies,” he says, pursing his lips together as he looks down at the empty glass. He glances over to Sam and Bucky but they both shake their heads as well so he hands the glass and drinks back to his butler and sighs as he opens his book again.

The tension between all of you sticks around as you arrive at Madripoor. Zemo had provided you a tight-fitting dress to ‘appear the part’ of your allice, and it showed off a bit too much of your chest than you liked. It was too bright for you, golden and sparky, cutting off at your upper tight, and had a very low v cut. You try your best to pull it down to cover you some more but to no avail. Begrudgingly, you leave the plane to meet up with the rest of them.

“My my y/n, the dress suits you,” Zemo says, smirking as his eyes trail up and down your body as you walk past him taking a straight beeline towards Sam and Bucky.

“How long will this mission take?” you ask, already feeling the cold air nip at your skin.

“Few hours at the least. I’m sorry that you have to do this, y/n”

“Hey, I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to help you two,” you mutter as you hear a car pulling up behind you

“Not exactly this though,” Bucky grumbles, glowering over at Zemo who motions to the car that had arrived. Zemo opens the door and waits for you to get in however you walk to the other side of the car and get in. Bucky chuckles at Zemo’s annoyed expression as he instead gets into the side, which Zemo held open.

During the mission, Zemo kept getting uncomfortably close to you. Occasionally his hand brushed against your back as he moved past you, or his hand would bump into yours slightly, lingering against yours longer than normal.

You knew why he was doing this. Because of Steve. He knew how close you and Steve were, everyone did. During the fight between Steve and Tony which Zemo had helped cause you stuck by Steve every second. Now that Steve was gone, Zemo was trying to rub that in. Trying to irritate you on purpose. You would not let him get to you.

During the meeting with Selby you stood off to the side with Sam and you were feeling pretty good about yourself that the mission was going well until Sam’s phone rang. You tried to keep cool while also giving Sam the wtf look as to why he didn’t put his phone on silent. You hung out hoping things would go okay, but today wasn’t your day.

Shelby got gunned down in front of you, and the mission was ruined. Running in heels wasn’t ideal, but you had to make do. You followed Sam and Bucky as Zemo split up from you, running off somewhere else. Eventually, you kicked off your heels, believing running barefoot would be better than dealing with the agony of heels.

Finally, meeting back up with Zemo, you were ready to have to fight your way out of this mess, but then someone you didn’t think you would ever see again appeared. Sharon Carter. You two weren’t exactly buddy buddies. You got along for Steve’s sake, but it always felt like a sort of rivalry between you two for his attention.

“Y/n,” she says, finally addressing you

“Sharon,” you say back, feeling the awkwardness seep back in. Sharon didn’t seem bothered however, she even kindly let you have some new clothes and shoes which were much more comfortable than the ones Zemo lent you and more your style.

Walking back into the main room you see Zemo sitting down, once again drinking, Bucky sitting down as far away from Zemo as he could get and Sam standing at the side. You choose to stand by Sam.

“Hey, y/n, you doing okay?” Sam asks as you walk over.

“Better than other days. What are we waiting around for?”

“For Sharon to lead us to a party where she can get the information we need,” Zemo answers for Sam, peeking over at you. You ignore him.

Sharon comes back in and tells all of you not to get in trouble while you are out at the party.

“Trouble,” Zemo jokes, and he once again glances over to you, raising a glass and winking at you as he downs it.

Following Sharon, you head into the party. It was to show off the art pieces she had got a hold of so you thought you might as well look at them as you were unlikely to see any of these genuine pieces again. You could see however Zemo following you. He tried to be sly by checking out the other artworks near you, never exactly where you were, but you could tell because every time you moved to a new place soon enough Zemo would suddenly appear there as well. He leaned into one of the artworks, pretending to study it closely, but the corner of his eyes would flick over to you.

Groaning in frustration at your new stalker, you decide you had to lose him in the crowds. Swaying your body, you enter the dancing crowd and jump along to the music, letting yourself go. You could feel your excitement growing with the crowd as you danced, but with one quick turn around there, you saw him.

Zemo had now entered the crowd and was dancing along to the music as well, pumping his hands in time to it. As you stared at him in disbelief, he notices and takes that as an innovation to dance over to you.

“Dancing is fun, right?” he asks as he claps his hand to the music

“Why are you doing this!” you exclaim glaring at him.

His eyebrows furrow as he looks at you, “I don’t understand what you mean?”

You huff in annoyance and storm away, going to find Sam and Bucky leaving Zemo alone on the dance floor. He watches you go and sighs, moving away from the dance floor. It had been a long time since he last got to socialize with anyone and he was trying with you; he wanted to know you more, but he didn’t want to push you too far either if you were uncomfortable with it.

The next few hours felt like a blur to everyone. Sharon found out where the doctor was and you found out a bit of information before Zemo choose to shoot him. Then the whole place exploded, and you had to fight for your life while Zemo hijacked and car to pick you up. Now you were standing outside the safe house.

Zemo opened up the doors, and with his arm motioned for you to go in first. You roll your eyes at his extravagance and storm in, looking around the place. It was simple, but you could still tell that it was all designer, expensive to Zemo’s tastes. You sit down on the sofa while Zemo instantly gravitates towards the liquor cupboard.

“If you drink so much you won’t have long left to live” you mutter as you watch him pour some whiskey. His head shoots up as he turns sidewards to look at you, raising an eyebrow.

“Concerned about my health now?”

“I’d rather have you not pass out during a mission, at least till you are no longer of use to us then you can drink yourself to death for all I care,”

“Ah concern for the mission, yes you avengers folks are all the same. The mission takes precedence before anything else,” Zemo says, grabbing his glass and walking over to take a seat on the sofa opposite you.

You give him a cold hard stare crossing your arms. “What do you mean by that” you hiss

He tilts his head, smirking as he sees how riled up you were getting. “I’m simply observing that you have to put your mission before human lives. I know from how much I studied Steve-”

“Don’t bring Steve into this!” you exclaim, leaning forward, baring your teeth at him.

Zemo pauses for a moment shocked, he pulls his head back to observe, his mouth slightly ajar as his eyebrows cast down but realization dawns across his face.

“Ah, you and Steve, you two were an item,”

“It wasn’t like that” you murmur, jumping up from the sofa and pacing around the room to try to alleviate the agitation you felt, your nails digging into your arms as you wrapped them around your body in comfort.

“But there was something,” Zemo replies, watching you pace around the room then looking into the glass bitterly, his grip on it tightening.

You turn your back to Zemo to stare at your reflection in the mirror, seeing the tears swell up in your eyes.

“Why are you bringing this up? Why do you keep trying to annoy me Zemo, what purpose are you getting from this apart from some sick sadistic pleasure?”

It was Zemo’s turn to jump up from the sofa, hurt you could ever think so lowly of him, his eyebrows furrowed as he speeds over to you. He stands beside you, getting a lot closer to you than you would like. You turned your head away so he couldn’t see the tears threatening to fall.

“Do you think that bad of me? Y/n we may not have had the best first impression but know that it is never my intention to irritate or upset you,” Zemo says, trying to move even closer to you, but he moves a step too far and you back away.

“Just leave me alone, Zemo” you whisper, then run out of the room to find a bathroom to let everything out.

Zemo watches your form leave, angrily clenching his jaw, knowing he pushed it too far. The vein in his neck twitches as he grabs an ornament by the side of the mirror. Holding it in his hand, he observes the glass figure, a dove, then chucks it into the ground in rage, feeling an inkling of satisfaction at seeing it smash into a thousand pieces. He grabs more ornaments, at that moment not caring how much they each cost, just enjoy the release of anger he felt every time he smashed one.

You could hear the blood in your brain roar through your ears, the feeling of your heart hitting your chest in shock as you stared down at Lemar’s dead body.

Your eyes flicker to John’s who knelt beside him, trying desperately to wake him up, but you knew it was hopeless. Lemar was gone. Your eyes flickered around the rest of the room, Karli and her friend realising how bad they have messed up were already running away from the room. Bucky and Sam looked at each other as if knowing what was to happen. Your eyes finally land on Zemo’s. John had tried to arrest him, but you were able to stop him. Zemo was still useful though you hated to admit it, it wasn’t long however till the Dora Milaje would find him.

You feel a hand brush against your shoulder and snap back into reality, “We need to leave, now,” Zemo whispered in your ear, pulling your arm to make you move.

Gathering your senses, you let Zemo lead you out of the building as you hear a crash from above. Running out into the road, you and Zemo catch up beside Sam and Bucky and watch the disaster unfold.

There was John, in Cap’s uniform, holding Cap’s shield above that man.

Steve.

Steve’s shield.

You feel a scream tear from your lips as you watch John Walker bring the shield down, penetrating the man’s chest, staining it in blood. Tears leak from your eyes as you attempt to rush forward, to try and stop it, but arms grasp onto you, pulling you back.

“NO” you repeatedly cried, trying to worm your way out of the grasp, but they gripped you, refusing to let go. Your knees gave out and you sink to the floor, collapsing in the arms of the person who held you, your head buried in the fur part of their coat as they held you to their chest.

You kept sobbing, shaking as the image replayed over and over in your mind.

“Captain America just killed someone,” you whispered, unable to say anything else. The arms which held you picked you up, quietly shushing you, and carried you down a road, back into the safe house.

They tried to put you on the sofa but you clung to their body, not believing you could survive without their support, so they settle on lying down beside you on the sofa.

They turned you to face their body as their arms draped around you, gently rubbing circles into your back. Burying your head into their chest again, you let the sobs wail out as your chest ached from breathing.

“Captain America just killed someone,” you whisper again to him.

“That wasn’t Steve, y/n, Steve would never do something like that,” he murmured, his accent soothing your nerves.

“But it was his shield Zemo. The very thing I had idolized for so long,”

“A shield which by now no longer belongs to him. He was never Captain America y/n, what we just saw proved that. They will give the shield to someone better,”

You sniff, trying to prevent the snot from coming out of your nose as your bloodshot eyes look up into his, “Really?”

He gently smiles at you, taking his hand off your back to push a strand of hair that was hanging over your eye away.

“Yes, they won’t make the same mistake twice,”

Zemo’s words brought more comfort than you could have ever imagined. His embrace brought you warmth and you could feel yourself slowly stop shaking as he held you. Looking away from Zemo in embarrassment, you instead choose to snuggle your head back into his chest, hearing the rapid beating of his heart which lulled you to sleep.

Tags: @sinister-sleep @cable-kenobi @faustlyaccused @chipster-21 @icarusinstatic @yallgotkik @montypythonsholysnail @bunniwritesx @checkurwindow @huntheimpossible @jayxkelsi @avgravy @prestigious-tea @aloyssiac @hannahbal-the-fannibal @alainabooks143 @jokerprettyprincess @plumsandkiwis @latenightartist-author @e-barba @flutterskies @wonderwoman292 @there-goes-thefighter @multiyfandomgirl40 @freyjasamael @ineffablebean

#zemo x you #baron zemo #helmut zemo #zemo #i love zemo #zemo x y/n #zemo tag #zemo fluff #tfatws #daniel brühl #marvel #mcu

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