#I REFUSE TO CORRECT SPILLING MISTAKES LIKE THAT IN TAGS

[charbeloved]

i have a confession.

so, i'm a fnaf nerd.

...

im not a geological one.

...

i thought utah was in the uk-

[adelheidvonschicksal]

hii i have a request for megumi x reader where he is unaware of readers attraction to him and he is doesn’t realise the effect of when he does something like scratch his neck and his shirt lifts and it happens one too many times until she admits that he’s pretty which makes him all flustered😭 can be sfw or nsfw

Staring Problem

Five times Megumi caught you staring at him + the one time you caught him staring at you

Notes: I got carried away whoops. Flustered Megs is my fav followed by feral. (I actually had another scenario like this for Christmas except the Reader was doing it on purpose rofl; this one is just a bit ditzy). Thanks for the request. It was fun! Thank you @avidbroswer and another friend for beta reading!

Relationship: Megumi x Fem!Reader

Tags: Fluff, humor, mild sexual context but overall SFW (i.e. no sex), 5000 words

The first time Megumi notices you staring at him is after the baseball game with the Kyoto students.

The game was a big win for your group. Everyone was loudly cheering and celebrating your victory over your sister school – aside from him. It’s not that he wasn’t pleased with the victory. Who wouldn’t be? The cheering and high-fiving wasn’t his scene though. The most celebration he required was simply brushing his hand through divine dog’s fur for a job well done before dismissing the creature.

Megumi walks back to the dugout, steps into the drop-off, and peels his helmet from the top of his head. The sweat accumulated in his helmet causes his hair to cling to him, forcing it down against the back of his neck and his bangs into his line of sight more than usual. He never liked what he considered too much hair on his nape; and for some reason, Gojo hated it even more. Not that he ever understood why Gojo would care about how he styled his hair. He was just weird, he guesses.

Either way, it was annoying.

Gripping his shirt collar, he brings it to his forehead to clean the moisture away, and there’s the added bonus of the breeze cooling off his stomach as his shirt untucks from his uniform pants. He finishes off his grooming with a quick stroke of his fingers up through his bangs before reaching for his water bottle.

It isn’t until he’s finished drinking and wiping away the small bead of water that escapes his mouth to cascade down his pointed jaw with the back of his wrist that he catches the sudden sensation of someone looking at him.

He glances behind him, scanning the crowd of cheerful faces, and he catches your gaze pinning him down. There’s no mistake you’re watching him, but he isn’t sure why you have that clouded, half-lidded stare locked on him like a homing gun.

It makes him antsy even when your neutral lips turn into a gentle smile, and you move to congratulate Itadori on his victory-winning home run.  

The next time he catches you, you’re at the café with the other first years, pouring over schoolbooks together. He doesn’t often study with the others outside of class; but out of everyone in the school, he has the best head on his shoulders academically so he can’t really refuse when the three of you earnestly ask for his help for once.

As he draws one leg over the other, Megumi shifts his weight to sit more comfortably in his chair. He rests his chin against his palm, allowing his lengthy fingers to massage the increasingly growing migraine from his throbbing temple while his elbow braces against the table to support the position. His other hand tightens around the handle of his mug and brings it to his mouth. The drink – coffee, black, always – is the only thing stopping his mind from going numb at reviewing the same information he already knows as Nobara struggles to read the chart on this particular page.

“Toos-day.”

“Tuesday.”

“When-is-day.”

“Wednesday,” Megumi corrects.

Stomping onto her feet, her hands slam on the table causing it to shake. Megumi holds his drink closer to his chest to avoid it spilling over as she growls out. “This is so stupid! Why do we need to know English anyway? Why couldn’t it be something like French? Then, we could at least hit up Paris Fashion Week.” She pulls at her hair in frustration, stopping only when you mention that she’ll cause split ends. Sighing, she releases her tension and falls back in her chair. "I need a break."

On that, you're all in agreement.

Taking the opportunity to ease his head, Megumi blows away the steam swirling from his coffee. He closes his eyes if only for a moment to bask in the roast. The liquid is hot and smooth on his tongue, a welcome sensation after walking through the cool evening to get here. It’s enough to earn a small sigh of approval.  

When he opens his eyes, he sees that you’re nursing your own drink by pinching your straw between your lips. However, your eyes are on him 'or maybe the mug near his mouth?' he thinks. Regardless, you’re doing it attentively with an affectionate glint like you were smiling on the inside. It makes his eye twitch.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

You flinch like you’re snapping out a hypnotic trance. Slowly, a meek smile forms as you innocently tilt your head and place down your drink. “I was?”

“You were," Itadori corroborates. "You do it a lot actually," Itadori adds between bites of his sandwich. The fact is something Megumi has begun to notice recently as well. 

Noticing everyone looking at you, your eyes widen slightly before you force them back down to look at your textbook. You slide your hands from the table and rest them in your lap. “I must’ve zoned out,” you say apologetically.

Megumi scoffs.

“If you’re going to ask me to help you study, you could at least pay attention.” Megumi sighs at the growing remorse on your face. “Forget it,” he dismisses and decides to go back to his coffee, but the peace doesn’t last long as he catches that same gaze from you a minute later.

Your eyebrows push in together as you narrow your eyes briefly in thought, and he can’t help but wonder what’s going on in your mind as you cock your head to the side again.

“Ne, Fushiguro,” you begin hesitantly and quietly. He doesn’t think he would’ve noticed you speaking to him with how soft your voice was had he not already been looking at you. “Did anyone ever tell you that your voice is kinda husky in English?”

Suddenly, his face is hot along with his tongue as he inadvertently chokes on his drink while the other two at the table burst out laughing, drowning out your frantic mutterings as you collapse your face into your palms.

It seems to be a cycle now. Megumi would be going about his day when he would occasionally (usually twice a day) get this sensation of being watched. Sure enough, he could find you following him with your eyes. There isn’t any anger when you’re doing it so he’s fairly sure that you’re not cornering him with your sight out of aggression, but he couldn’t think of another reason his presence would be of interest to you.

Megumi tried to ask Gojo the reason why someone might stare at him. When he explained that you were the one doing it, the older man only laughed at his predicament. Megumi didn’t know why he expected him to be any help in the first place anyway.

Maki was even less help (she seemed reluctant even), but at least she didn't look at him like he was an idiot like Nobara. Finally, there was Itadori, who only caused him more difficulty.

(“Are you sure she doesn’t just LIKE you?” Itadori suggested.

Megumi could only roll his eyes then. It always came back to that with him. “Look, if you’re not going to take this seriously—“

”I am!”)

Megumi almost entertained it until he thought ‘what reason would she like me?’ After all, you didn’t know each other that well. There was no explanation available so it had to be something else.

Out of everyone, he decides to take Maki’s advice that it's best to get the answer from the source.

However, whenever he asks what’s the problem, you never seem to give him a direct answer, explaining away your strange…habit. Even stranger was that he was starting to become accustomed to it, slowly losing the annoyance he held for it early on in your relationship – or maybe he was getting better at ignoring it.

Nonetheless, it would still be nice to have an explanation.

When he sees you early at breakfast, and you undoubtedly see him early at breakfast, he finally decides to broach the topic. He sits himself and his plate at your table, and he doesn’t give you the time to make excuses when he knows for certain you were staring at him.

“Alright. Enough already. What's the deal?"

“Hmm?”

“The staring,” he reiterates.

Your mouth opens like you want to say something but throughout the many times he’s confronted you on your manners, not once have you ever given him a straightforward answer.

“Don’t try to give an excuse. You were definitely watching me.”

As the small silence extends in the air so does the embarrassment on your face until it finally fades away along with your resolve. “Okay, this time I was,” you admit very specifically.

“Why?”

“There’s not really a reason," you explain while looking anywhere but directly at him, and it's an easy tell to sense that you're lying.

Megumi narrows his eyes at you. 

“For some reason, I feel like that's not the case."

There has to be some reason your attention is on him so much. He’d at least like to know if it was something he did to you.

“It’s nothing bad really,” you confess, avoiding eye contact with him while your fingers fidget. “Do…you want me to stop?”

Megumi would very much like to say he wants you to stop but somehow he doesn’t think he would be able to force you not to look at him. “I’d prefer it.”

“No problem,” you say and purse your lips tightly. “But…I probably wouldn’t be able to help it every now and then,” you warn him, which piques his curiosity even more.

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, that’s because, uhm—to tell you the truth,“ you pause, and he wants to prod more from you but you’re quick to excuse yourself, leaving him with two weeks free from your staring. Or, at least you attempted for that long.

As he accepts that you're not going to stop, it comes to him that he doesn't really care anymore in the following months. It's just how you are, he figures sentimentally. It would feel weird if you stopped at this point. However, it leads to you catching him off guard too often, especially in moments like these.

The two of you were assigned to a mission to dispatch some low-level curses together. It was surprisingly easier than what the mission report suggested, not that he would complain about an easy mission.

Nue is behind him as he requests a ride back to the school over the phone. The bird shikigami is being needier than usual, nudging at the width of Megumi’s back with his head causing Megumi’s voice to be unsteady as the thick plate of Nue’s mask braces between his shoulder blades.

“Cut it out,” he scolds gently, reaching his free hand back to briefly ruffle at random mounds of feathers.

There’s a soft crooning in his ear, begging for attention. He isn’t used to Nue being this affectionate, not like his divine dogs. As he hangs up the call, Nue starts to stroke his head against his side again.

Amused, he huffs softly - as close to a laugh as anyone has ever heard from the taciturn teen – and raises his arm to let the bird cradle better against his side. The gentle cuddling from the shikigami is enough to lighten his mood as auburn feathers tickle against his fingers and coax the smallest smile from him.

“Alright. Alright. That’s enough,” he says affectionately before returning to the serious matters at hand. “We need to regroup with our partner. Can you go scout for her?” Megumi asks; but to his surprise, Nue flutters his wings and twists his head around to stare directly to the side of him…at you, a few feet away.

Megumi didn’t know how long you’d been standing there, watching him. He thinks any time was probably too long in this situation. (He also thinks he might demand you start wearing a bell when you go on missions together.)

With a goofy smile, you walk towards him, and his heart is pounding, anticipating what you could possibly be about to say as you shorten the distance between the two of you, so close that an outreached arm would be enough to close it. The childishly smug look on your face makes his cheeks burn as you gently begin to trace the outline on Nue’s faceplate and press your head against the top of Nue’s.

“Before you say anything, I wasn’t watching you. I was admiring Nue.”

Megumi scoffs. He can’t say he isn’t amused that out of all things to say, you start with that. As if it isn’t obvious by now that he knows that you’re failing hard to hide your bad habit – for whatever reason you have it. And even more amusing was the way your face would highlight in embarrassment as you tried to hide the fact.

“Convenient story.”

“It’s the truth. Isn’t that right, Nue? You’re so handsome that I can’t tear my eyes away,” you praise, cuddling the owl until he ruffles his feathers and chitters, happily letting you drown him in attention.

And for the first time, he finds himself watching you instead with your face buried against his shikigami, and Nue is equally happy for your touch. It’s a sweet scene as Megumi concludes where Nue might have started to learn these overly affectionate tendencies. That is until you turn your head, naturally searching for his presence. When you meet his gaze, you smile warmly at him causing heat to crawl up the back of his neck and his heart to jump in his throat. With your focus on him this way, he is overwhelmed by a new sensation that he isn’t sure why he’s feeling in the first place. It’s not like he was unused to you looking in his direction.

Astonished by the moment, you point out, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before.”

Confused, Megumi blinks at you. Had he been smiling?

Your expression softens. “It suits you.”

Surprised by your tender observation, he shifts his head away, hiding his rapidly reddening cheeks from you.

“Let’s head to the meeting point,” he manages, thanking whoever above that he was able to keep his voice steady at least.

One day, you decided to stop at the café together again. This time it’s only the two of you since the others are still out on their own duo mission. Even with that being the case, he would still have accepted your invitation regardless of the availability status of your other two friends. He isn’t really sure when he started to be okay being alone with you, and he also isn’t sure when you began to get comfortable with him as well. But he finds he doesn't mind either of those anymore.  

“You’re staring,” he points out flatly, not bothering to look up from his book to confirm his accusation. He knows it’s true. “What is it this time?”

There’s a laugh from you, drawing his attention up. “Nothing.”

Normally, he would let you get away with that answer nowadays; but today, Megumi is determined to finally get to the bottom of whatever is up with you and him. 

“Nothing?” he questions again skeptically. You nod, and he holds his gaze on you, pointedly, securely, determined to not even blink as he watches your face.

You frown. “Why are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” he asks, one long blink to reset himself before firmly keeping royal blue eyes locked on you once more.

“That,” you say, motioning to all of him.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Uh-huh."

There’s a small beat of quiet as you return your focus to your book, but you look up every so often (probably to check if he's stopped eye-ing you down, which he doesn't). Holding an arm across your chest to scratch at the other, you squirm. As awful as it is, he feels a bit smug at the way you curve in and start to grow self-conscious.

“This is weird.”

“It is,” he agrees bluntly causing you to pout. He notes how funny it is to finally see the tables turned between the two of you and to have you overly aware of his watch. Even if he doesn’t get his answer, teasing you like this and eliciting that cute reaction is strangely worth it.

“How long are you going to do that?”

Megumi crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, never letting you leave his vision. He shrugs. “Depends. Are you going to tell me?”

You scowl but manage to hold your resolve for the better half of five minutes.

“Okay, I get it. I’ll stop,” you say, but he isn’t satisfied with that answer. Choosing to keep his rebellious challenge against you, he leans in closer and keeps up the wall until you finally start to crack under the pressure. “Well…it’s nothing really.”

“Then, tell me.”

“It’s,” you begin then pause.

He hunches in closer as if to keep your secret.

“It’s just that…” he can see you start to fidget in your chair, and for some reason, he feels his own anticipation growing. “You have a really pretty way about you.”

That was not the answer he was expecting.

“Huh? I have…a pretty way about me?” he repeats in disbelief, his face scrunching. “You must be joking.”

“I’m serious,” you tell him. “It’s something in the way you move, it makes it hard to concentrate.”

Megumi could only guess what kind of answer you would have but it wasn’t one that instantly makes his temperature skyrocket and causes his heart to start swelling against his ribcage, spreading the feeling of liquid butterflies through his veins.

“That's the only reason,” you repeat, noticing the way he seemed to completely stop functioning. “I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I?”

He uncrosses his arms, trying to sputter out a coherent sentence but his mind wouldn’t supply him with one as he fights to keep his own blushing down. “No. I’m not—it’s not that I’m—I just didn’t know what it was about—I—pretty?” he stammers, completely bewildered to the point he thinks his voice might crack for the first time in years. 

You nod, growing more embarrassed. “I mean in a masculine way! Like your eyes, your hands, your voice, and the way your shirt drapes your shoulders. Ah! Basically…you’re really handsome,” you finish quickly when you realize you are rambling stupidly, and you squeeze onto the edge of your chair to calm yourself.

It’s so quiet between the two of you that you could possibly hear one of the cheap plastic straws from the front counter drop.

“Fushiguro-kun?” you ask bashfully.

He focuses his attention on the passerby's walking by the window as he shifts and squeezes at his uniform collar, attempting desperately to hide a fraction of his burning face behind the dark blue fabric. You…were simply attracted to him for some reason he would probably never understand (why in the world would you think any of that about him is attractive?) all this time.

“Let’s pretend this conversation never happened,” he tells you frantically.

Nodding, you confirm. “Yeah! That’s a good idea.”

For once, you’re not staring at him yet Megumi still feels like he can’t breathe despite the rapid rising and falling of his chest showing that he was very well breathing. As his face continues to burn and his stomach churns with this unfamiliarly pleasant and confusing emotion, he wishes his shadow would open and swallow him whole. Forever, perhaps.

It isn’t until later that night when his mind is heavy with thoughts of you, he admits to himself that he doesn’t exactly hate your reason.

Bonus

Before you enrolled in this school, your clan already outlined your priorities in life. Study, learn, become the best sorcerer you can for the benefit of the clan and your own survival. There isn’t time for things like friendship and even less for love, your family taught you, at least not until you’re older.

You agreed with that sentiment, going through your younger teen years not ever having a crush on someone or a strong preoccupation with romance. However, this school is proving that you still very much feel attraction.

Specifically for your withdrawn classmate.

Something about him was just so pretty. You’re not sure if it was the way his hair falls ever so neatly over his forehead before turning back into spiked peaks, or how deep blue his eyes are especially when shadowed by gorgeous rows of midnight eyelashes, or the way he carried himself like the stoic protagonists in the love comics your friends were obsessed with last year.

Maybe it was the entire package.

At the time you first started to notice him, you didn’t have the answer pieced together yet. Seeing that you also hadn’t learned anything proper about romance and attraction from your clan let alone flirting, the only thing you could do was stare at him as you failed to decipher this newfound infatuation that made your heart stutter and your lower body hot with tingles similar to the sensation of ginger spice on your tongue.

‘Is this that puberty thing they were talking about in health class all those years back,’ you wondered. They did say it could happen late, but this late? You weren’t sure, but you did like looking at him. That much was certain.

So, you continued to do so.

It's not like you were exactly going against what your clan told you.

After all, your clan would always say it’s important to be aware of your surroundings as a sorcerer, remember every little detail, and save it to memory, that could be the difference between death and victory in a battle.

Shouldn’t you take that advice to heart when it comes to your teammates as well? After all, these are the people you will be relying on while working. It’s important to learn their mannerisms.

Another thing your clan told you was that hands are an important thing to watch. Any sorcerers’ hands were a danger from Itadori’s hand-to-hand combat style, Gojo-sensei’s domain expansion, and Fushiguro’s entire technique.

His hands were always coming together to summon shadows, and he talked and explained things frequently with them to the point it became a distraction for you.

You also like the way his dominant hand always seems to climb up and curve around the back of his neck in the mornings as he stretches out the tightness from a cramped sleep. You would watch as he glosses each finger across his nape and shoulder, wondering what it would be like to have them coming across your own and to have fingers that could expertly craft signs tickling at your skin.  Would you shudder or would it tickle or would it feel like nothing?  Fortunately, you always resist the shaking urge to glide your own hand across your collar to find the answer.

It isn’t always the way his palm brushes his neck that entirely gets you but the way his sweatshirt rises, barely revealing a ring of beige skin that was normally hidden away under layers of comfortable cotton. It not only exposes him to the stagnant air of the school building but to your wandering eyes that had a bad problem of not being able to remain where they should be.

Objectively speaking, you were aware from day one that Itadori was strong and well-built under his clothes, but you didn’t realize the same could be said for Megumi until you saw the slip of his lower abdominal and the constellation of pale brown freckles hidden in the groove of his hip.

By the time your attention would return to his hands, you would be locked on the gentle way his knuckle catches the edge of his shirt's neckline. It was unknowing to him during those times that the action was teasing you by causing the fabric to lightly shift and expose the crux of his collarbone. 

Then, you didn’t even want to get started on his face or eyes. The same ones that are gorgeously blue even when stormy with annoyance or softened with confusion every time he would catch you.

From your point of view, you admit that both looks were handsome on his face. However, you’re starting to realize from your last interaction that maybe you were being a tad…invasive.  You refused to say creepy without a pillow to scream into.

So, you convince yourself to stop staring whenever you notice your eyes drifting to him. Only small peeks for his comfort unless you were talking to him or he to you. In hindsight, you think you are better at talking to him without embarrassing yourself all the time at least.

Your new resolve would be tested today as you prepare to head to the training field for another day of close combat drills with your upperclassmen. You dress in layers, wearing a light jacket and thigh socks with your shorts, fully intending to ditch both once it heats up a little more in the afternoon.

When you make it to the practice field, you notice two things: that Megumi is there (which you swear you only took note of for two seconds) and that you’re the last to arrive, meaning that you’re going to be the first put through the wringer with Maki-senpai.

The only positive is that you manage to last an extra round against her more than usual, and you’re left with only an aching butt as you hit the ground. You hiss and rub your wounded rear before dusting the ripped-up blades of grass from your lap. Noticing your socks bunched against your ankles, you click your tongue. Bending your legs, you start to shuffle one back up the length of your calf then your thigh. You unfurl it as high as you can until there’s only a small circumference of skin left between your shorts and the top of your sock. Satisfied, you start to repeat the process with your other leg before Maki taps your hip with her staff.

“Megumi is staring at you,” she grunts in a quiet warning, and you blink at her before trying to glance back over to the first row of bleachers. “Not too obvious.”

You force your gaze back to her, using the opportunity to catch Megumi in your periphery. Sure enough, you could barely make him out looking in your direction while Itadori talked to him. That was weird. You don't think you can recall a time where he was watching you unless you did it first. ‘He was probably watching me train,’ you begin to decide.

Before you can register what's going on completely, Maki calls out dryly, "Hey, Megumi, pictures last longer!” 

Barely from this distance, you can see his head snap back and a scowl glowering on his face as he glares at her direction. “What are you talking about?”

“So, you want to play that way,” she mumbles and singles him out with a point of her staff and a crooked smile. “In that case, I’ll explain while we train!”

Megumi looks more annoyed than you have seen him in the last few days as he declares from the bleachers that he’s training with Panda instead as soon as he’s done with Nobara.

“That guy,” Maki grumbles quietly, slapping her staff back against her shoulder and layering a hand on her hip. “He makes things so difficult for everyone, including himself. I guess I’ll have to have a chat with him later.”

"Huh?" you huff as she twists her waist to look at you.

“Well, I can’t exactly have my darling little relative turning out like the rest of those perverts from the clan, after all,” she explains vaguely but instead of anger, there’s a rare hint of sarcastic amusement in her words. Suddenly, it starts to dawn on you what Maki means as your fingers brush the side of your inner thigh, and your throat starts to tighten with something akin to anxiety, and you want desperately to bury your face in your hands as you realize that he was looking at your legs. That he must like your legs…

The thought makes your heart pound, and something pulses inside you with what feels like anticipation as you catch his attention on you again. You were used to lusting after him but it was a different feeling to experience it in reverse – mutually even.

Is this what it felt like? Have you ever made him feel like this by watching him?

You didn’t know what to do.

“What do I do?”

She gives an incredulous look. “Call him out naturally, especially if it bothers you,” she replies. "But that isn't what you want, right?"

You frown, not entirely sure yourself. It didn’t bother you necessarily. If anything, you like his attention on you. It makes your body otherworldly hot when he gives it to you. Pulling your knees to your chest, you think back to what someone in one of those television dramas would do in this situation. It takes some courage, but you find your answer.

You wink at him.

It elicits an immediate response that involves him shoving his hands in his pockets and scrambling to break eye contact; so much that you can see Itadori twisting towards him with concern.

“Hah, that was a good one." Maki lets out a short and harsh snort. "Wait until I tell Panda.”

Smiling proudly, you can’t resist staring at the flush that he has to stand and stalk off to the other side of the field closer to Inumaki and Panda to hide. Out of all the attractive things about him, you think that might top your list; and truthfully, you wanted to see it again.

[rainbow-nerdss]

Definition

Written for @augustwritingchallenge day 25 (Joker Prompt): Role Reversal Buddie, 2.8k Read on AO3

or: 5 times people get Buck's role in Chris's life wrong, and 1 time they set the record straight

1: 

It starts on a night in December, after Buck tagged along with Eddie when he was bringing Chris to see Santa Claus. 

“You two have an adorable son,” the elf says to Buck, after Chris is done, refusing to say what he wished for but laughing when Eddie picks him up and carries him off.

Buck doesn’t correct her. She’s doing her job, and she’s being nice, and there’s no point in making the situation awkward by pointing out the mistake. 

He can’t blame her for making the assumption, either — they’re two adults, together. taking a kid out to see Santa. They’d been sitting pretty close together by the fountain, and Buck knows he’s been looking at Chris like a proud parent even though he’s not one.

It’s like a whiplash, though, going from talking to Eddie about Shannon’s place as Chris’s parent, her place in both of their lives, to someone assuming Buck is the one in that place. It makes him uncomfortable, but at the same time… there’s a longing there, for that to be true someday. Not with Eddie and Chris, but with someone.

He rejoins Eddie and Chris, and he doesn’t tell them, either. But he keeps that little mistake, and the warmth it sparked in his chest, and he holds onto it. 

He doesn’t know why, not for a long time, but that one little sentence sticks with him.

2: 

It’s years later, and Maddie’s just announced her pregnancy to the whole team. Eddie already knows, Buck’s excitement at the news making it impossible for him not to spill. They’re at a barbecue in Bobby and Athena’s back yard, and everyone toasts the happy couple.

Bobby turns to Buck, once the initial round of cheers and congratulations for the parents-to-be. “So you’re gonna be an uncle, huh? How’s it feeling?”

Eddie sips his beer, smiling to himself. Buck’s spoken about anything else since he heard the news, so Eddie’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

“Well, he’s already an uncle, right?” Ravi interrupts. Eddie frowns at him, and Buck looks as confused as he feels. 

“What do you mean?” he asks.

Ravi looks between the two of them. “I mean, not by blood, sure, but like…” He gestures over to Christopher, playing with Denny on the ipad.

Eddie feels himself grimace. Something about it strikes him as wrong. Buck’s an important part of Chris’s life, but uncle? He thinks of his own tíos, how they’d come to visit every now and again, spend most of the time talking to his parents and talking to him just long enough to establish how he was doing in school, and whether or not he had a girlfriend. 

He knows Buck won’t be like that with Maddie’s kid, but it still feels…. different.

Eddie doesn’t know how to respond to it, honestly. "Buck isn’t—that's not..." But what can he say? That's not how it is. That’s not enough to describe Buck’s importance in Chris’s life.

Eddie looks back at Buck, and sees matching confusion on his face. “Chris doesn’t call me his uncle,” he says, as though the idea has never even occurred to him. Eddie smiles at him, and Buck smiles back, and there’s a mutual understanding there.

Buck’s not Chris’s uncle. He’s… Well, he’s something else — something Eddie’s not quite ready to name yet, but there’s a piece of paper in a lawyer’s office to attest to it.

3: 

Chris is not feeling good. His head is spinning, his stomach churning, and he feels both hot and cold at the same time. 

“Your dad will be here soon, okay, honey?” Nurse Rodriguez tells him, after hanging up the phone. “You just sit tight and let me know if anything changes.”

He’s in the nurse’s office, staring bleary-eyed at the linoleum floor. The pattern swims around as his vision blurs, and he hugs the little basin Nurse Rodriguez had given him close, feeling more like he was gonna need it with every passing second.

“I’m here for Christopher Diaz?” 

He hears a familiar voice outside the room, and it makes him relax, just knowing he’ll be home soon, able to curl up in bed or on the couch, watch TV and be taken care of.

“Mr. Diaz!” Nurse Rodriguez says, in her overly-friendly voice, and Chris laughs, lurching his stomach and making him feel so much worse.

“Uh, I’m not… I’m Buck—Evan Buckley, I mean, I should be…?”

Nurse Rodriguez backtracks, apologizing. “Oh! I am so sorry, Mr. Buckley, I see you on the emergency contact list. If you’d just sign here?”

Chris loses track of the conversation outside, focusing instead on his breathing until Nurse Rodriguez comes back in and escorts him out to Buck. Buck wraps an arm around him and helps him out to the car, then sets him up with blankets and a bucket on the couch, and serves up chicken noodle soup when Chris is able to stomach food.

He lets Chris curl into his side to take a nap, warm and comfortable, like he’s a little kid again, and he stays there even after Chris goes to bed, even after his dad gets home and comes in to check on him.

4:

Buck knocks on Hen's door, and is immediately met with an armful of sleepy infant as she passes the baby over to him. He takes it in stride, adjusting her in his arms so she's comfortable and following Hen inside. 

"Everything okay?" He asks, once they're in the kitchen, surrounded by dirty mixing bowls and flour dusting every surface.

"There's a bake sale at the school tomorrow, and someone forgot to mention it until about an hour ago." She raises her voice on the word someone, pointedly glaring out to where Denny is doing his homework in the next room.

"I said I was sorry!" Denny calls back, and Hen grumbles but Buck can see there's no real resentment there.

"That's rough," Buck commiserates. "I take it we're not going to see that movie tonight, then?"

Hen shakes her head. "Sorry, man. I gotta take care of this. I do not trust Karen with baking supplies." Hen makes a face. "Granted, I'm also not spectacular at it but…"

Buck laughs. "I can help out," he offers. "I've got a great recipe for cupcakes?"

Hen makes a face. "Are you sure? You wouldn't know it, Buck, but those PTA moms are so picky about what you bring and whether it's good enough for their precious little babies—"

Buck snorts, gently settling the baby in her rocker. She fusses a little, but calms down after a moment or two. He gets the recipe up on his phone. "Oh, trust me—I know."

Hen looks confused, so he elaborates with an amused smile. "What, you think Eddie Diaz does all that stuff? I'll never forget the look on Carter's mom's face when my cookies outsold hers at the last bake sale at Chris's school." Buck chuckles to himself, then starts gathering ingredients. 

"Huh, I'm sorry. I guess I just assumed—I mean, he's got his aunt, and Carla…" Hen trails off with a shrug and falls into place next to Buck, reading the recipe and pointing him to the right cupboards to find what he needs.

"They do some, when we've got work or something, but…" Buck falters. He wants to say something like "That's different," or "They're not his parents," but... neither is Buck, is he? He remembers the elf from all those years ago, how he hadn't corrected her. The feeling of wanting that. 

At the time, he’d thought the want was just for a family of his own, a partner, a kid. Now, though… those lines aren’t as clear anymore.

"I like to help out," is all he says, and then switches on the mixer, effectively shutting off conversation.

5: 

Eddie's had a few drinks. Buck's at work, and Chris has been coerced into going with Pepa to visit Eddie's parents for the weekend. Eddie had been supposed to go too, but he doesn't feel too guilty about playing up his injuries as an excuse not to join them. He did feel slightly bad that his parents hadn't let them off the hook entirely, insisting on taking Chris off his hands.

Chris had dragged his feet about it, but Eddie knows he's stubborn enough to stay behind if he really wants to — he likes getting to see his older cousins, and while he doesn’t want to live with them, he does like visiting his grandparents, too — if only because they spoil him rotten.

Buck hadn't wanted to leave Eddie alone tonight, not after he'd been injured on the bridge — no more than a dislocated shoulder and a few bruised ribs in the end, nothing compared to Chimney, to Bobby even Hen, but it was enough to get him signed off work for a fortnight. Things had been sketchy for a few minutes there, and for a moment, Eddie had feared… but then there was Buck, opening the doors, pulling him out by one arm.

It hurts like a bitch, but he's fine. Still, when Buck insisted on calling in Carla to keep him company tonight, Eddie didn't point out that was exactly what Buck had been so against Maddie doing for him after the lightning. He doesn't mind the company, especially since he hates being home alone at night.

Besides, Carla doesn't treat him like an invalid. She brings a bottle of some fruity gin, and Eddie orders from the nice Thai place, and they just hang out, catching up on all of the grown-up stuff they rarely get to talk about when they’re busy discussing Chris.

Still, they're halfway through the gin when Carla brings it up. "Buck said he was scared he lost you for a second there."

Eddie shrugs, then winces. He's not sure how much of the wince is because it tugged at his shoulder, and how much is the reminder. "Honestly, for a second, I was worried too. But Buck got me out." Like he always does, Eddie doesn't say. He'd come so close to telling Buck, then. Telling him everything, how he felt for him.

"You know, this house is weird without Chris in it," Carla slurs her words, just as tipsy as he is.. For a moment, Eddie thinks the subject has been changed, until she continues. "If anything does happen to you, there's no way in hell I'm letting your parents drag Chris to Texas for good. I'm gonna fight to keep that boy here, and I know Buck'll do the same."

Eddie laughs, realizing that he hadn't told her about his will. He hadn't told anyone, really, other than Pepa, Abuela and Buck. He'd known at the time it was a big deal, that people might get the wrong impression if he told them.

Turns out, it would have been the right impression after all.

"That won't be necessary," he tells her, after draining his glass.

"I know, I know — you're fine, you aren't going anywhere anytime soon."

"No, that's —well, yes, that too, but also—" Eddie gets up, gestures for her glass too, then pours them both a fresh drink. "My folks wouldn't get Chris, if anything happens. I have a will, so…" he shrugs, sitting back down and sliding Carla's glass over. "Buck's gonna look after him. If I can't anymore. Prob'ly still have to fight, but it's on paper, it's… official."

Carla hums, watching him carefully. "And Buck knows this?" she asks.

Eddie nods. "Told him after… after the shooting."

The last time Buck took Eddie’s hand, pulling him from danger, dragging him to safety.

Carla sighs, shaking her head. She looks at him like she's seeing something new, like this is the last piece in a puzzle she's been working on for years. "Why haven't either of you made a move yet?"

Eddie chokes on his drink, and she pushes a dishcloth across the table for him to mop himself up. Once he's composed himself, he meets her eye.

"Honestly?" He asks. "I can't speak for Buck, but… I'm sort of starting to wonder the same thing."

+1:

Chris is honestly tired of everyone making assumptions about Buck's place in his life. It's been clear to Chris himself for a long time—probably longer than Buck himself has known. The problem is, they've never said it out loud.

That's going to change today.

A month ago, Chris got home from Texas to find his dad and Buck making out in the kitchen.

He'd run to wash out his eyes, but then they say him down,  and the three of them had talked it out together, and he's happy for them. Happy they’ve finally started being honest with themselves, with him, and with each other.

And now, it's Christopher's turn to do the same.

He's not as good as Buck at making pancakes, but he can do French toast pretty well, so he makes enough for the three of them and sets it on the table. It's a little overcooked, but he doesn't think they'll mind. 

Then he knocks on their bedroom door—because Buck may still be paying rent on his apartment for now, but he basically lives with them already. Chris likes that, likes having Buck around even more than before.

He disappears back to the kitchen before they can get to the door, calling them down when he hears Buck ask after him in a sleepy voice.

"Oh my god," his dad says, taking in the sight of the food on the table when both of them shuffle in. "This is… you made this yourself?"

"It's Father's Day, dad. I wanted to treat you."

Chris accepts the tearful hug with only minimal complaints, part of the gift.

Once they're both seated, he goes back to his room, returning with the real present.

"Carla helped with these," he explains, suddenly nervous. "I designed them, and then she sent them off to be made with the money from my allowance, um…"

Chris hands over the one on top first, putting it in front of his dad. Buck chews on his French toast, eyeing the package curiously while Eddie opens it.

Inside is a plaque, printed to look like a dictionary entry. It's cheesy as hell, but if Chris knows his dad, he'll eat it up. 

It reads:

Dad (n): a firefighter with a terrible sense of humor, someone who drinks too much coffee and spends too much time on his hair. See also: Father

Just as Chris predicted, Eddie's eyes grow wet, and he reaches out for another hug, which Chris indulges again.

"What's the other one?" Buck asks.

Chris takes a deep breath. This is it, he tells himself, and he hands the second package to Buck.

Buck looks at it, then up at Chris in confusion, waiting for him to nod before opening it with slow, careful movements — it's so unlike Buck, who always tears into the wrapping paper on his birthday presents, that Chris almost wants to laugh. He doesn't, though. This is serious, after all.

Buck stares down at the plaque, the same style as the first, with a different message.

This one reads:

Buck (n): A firefighter with a terrible sense of humor, the maker of the best pancakes, someone who knows way too many random facts. See also: Father.

"Chris…" Buck's voice is soft, and he looks to be at a loss for words, so Chris speaks instead. He practiced what he’s going to say here, to make his meaning absolutely clear.

"I know I only ever call you Buck," he says, "but that's just because calling both of you dad would be confusing, and pops is Bobby." Chris laughs, thinking of the time he'd spent on his own in his room, thinking of different words for dad he could call Buck, none of them fitting until he realized why. "But… Buck means the same thing as those other names to me, and it has ever since the pier. Since you saved me. You're my Buck. And I'm your son."

Chris is bright red by the end of his speech, he doesn't think he's said that much uninterrupted to his parents in a long time, and they're both just… staring at him.

Chris initiates the hug this time, throwing himself into Buck's arms. Later, he'll claim it was just so he didn't have to see the sappy looks on their faces, but he buries his face in Buck's shoulder, feels Buck's arms around his back, and he knows without a doubt that he's safe there.

His dad joins the hug too after a moment, sandwiching Chris in the middle in a way that should be uncomfortable, but Chris smiles to himself anyway.

The two plaques hang side by side on the wall of the living room, for everyone who visits to see, clearing up any and all confusion in the matter.

Buck is Christopher's dad, nothing more, and nothing less.

[moonlight-prose]

ETERNALLY YOURS / snippet

a/n: so i've been working on several things while on a posting hiatus and one of them is yes a druig series!! i haven't actually been this in love with anything since i began tumblr so i'll be keeping this series to myself till it's finished entirely. official posting probably won't be until the film is out on disney + so i don't accidentally spoil anyone.

but seeing as how i haven't posted anything and won't till next month here's a small piece of chapter one!!

reminder i don't have tags anymore, but you can follow my library blog @moonlights-library!

word count: 1.3k+

pairing: druig x fem!reader

warnings: none in this snippet

Eternity is a long time to love someone.

You never did quite get eternity. Not yet at least, but you did get more than that. Days turned to months which turned to years and eventually you realized how long you had inhabited the place you once refused to call your home. Fate had a cruel way of doing just that. Placing you in a situation where you knew you didn’t quite belong, and yet something - or someone - kept you there.

For you it was him.

Unable to leave his side even though he chose a path you didn’t wish to follow. Yet there was that constant ache that continued to fester like an open wound, growing until it consumed you whole. Until there was nothing but the blood that he had spilled, poisoning your veins and forcing you to remain right where you were.

Waiting for him to come back to you.

One day.

Eternity was a long time to love someone and yet you had promised to do just that. Love him until each star in the universe faded away, till each planet no longer remained intact. If only he had made the same vow as you, then perhaps you wouldn’t have ended up in this situation.

Perhaps you wouldn’t have become lost.

985 BC; 3,000 Years Ago

“You mean to tell me that you’ve visited this planet?” you asked, gazing at the map that gathered together in the air. Bits and pieces floating past your face caught your attention as he turned to the next page, shifting the view until you were staring at the land of this place you’d never heard of until now.

Slopes and valleys became mountain ranges; expanses of crystal blue water with waves that crashed to the shores of sandy beaches showed. It was a planet with little intelligence, something that he had called human, but still you remained fascinated by it all. Each myth, mystery, and tale that you discovered you devoured as if you’d never heard of something so interesting. For someone who had been raised in a palace as a warrior, you’d seen your share of things, but this...a planet that housed a people who were still developing.

That procured an emotion within you that you had never felt before.

It wasn’t curiosity. Far from it. Yet you couldn’t get it out of your mind that you knew this place would be far different than what you’d seen before. Call it an inkling or even a vision, but you felt something pulling you there and perhaps it was a mistake. You very well might have finally lost it, yet that was something you had to figure out for yourself. A discovery that would force you into a new state of mind.

One you were willing to go to extreme lengths to find out.

“It’s not much,” he said, turning to yet another page. “I’ve heard things since the last time I set foot on that land, but I can’t say for certain if any of it is correct.”

“Odin,” you said with a smile, pulling the book in your direction to go back to the image of the oceans. “You say that about each planet. As if that will make me lose my interest.”

He paused, regarding you with a look you’d seen a thousand times before. “I can see what you are after..”

“And what is that?”

“Purpose.” His words jarred you in a way they hadn’t before, because he was more correct than you would ever admit. Although something told you that he knew why you visited multiple planets, why you searched the realms for things unknown to even him. “You may not find it there.”

“What if I do?” you asked, unable to tear your eyes away from the page before you.

“That is for you to determine on your own,” he replied, setting something down onto the table before him. A piece of jewelry you’d seen him wear before and yet you never asked him about it - figuring the answer would be far too mundane for the likes of your mind.

“I’m not sure if going is the best option for me,” you whispered, shutting the book and latching it shut. “I search for it and yet...nothing seems to hold my attention.”

“Is it supposed to?” Settling into the chair he focused on the way you held yourself. Shoulders straight like a warrior, like he had taught you, but there was something within your stance that told more than you liked. “You’re afraid.”

“That obvious?”

“Why?”

The question was something you didn’t hold an answer for and yet even as you stood there, a hand still pressed to the book’s leather bound cover, you knew that you had made up your mind long ago. Long before you learned of this planet called Earth. Why were you afraid? It seemed like such a simple answer. You didn’t want to lose any more hope that there was no purpose to your life. That you did everything you could to end up with empty hands and an even emptier heart.

“What if - what if after all of this...I don’t find what I’m searching for?”

He heaved a sigh of exasperation. One you’d grown fond of hearing and yet it didn’t make you feel any better, because it meant he had grown tired of hearing about your worries. Which was something you understood. The worries you housed within your body seemed to eat away at your soul - tearing you to pieces from the inside out until nothing remained but a lifeless form of you.

“Purpose is not something you find,” he said as if he were merely telling you the details of the weather. “You may search for it, but you will never find it that way.”

“So what?” You tugged at the sleeve of your dress. “I’m supposed to let it find me?”

“If you wish to figure out what that purpose is then yes. You allow it to find you.”

Things seemed so simple when he explained them to you, but of course they would be. Odin had been a father to you for far longer than even you could remember. You understood that you were not born of his blood, knew that Hela was not your sister, but something deep down within you told you he saw you as his child. Just as you saw him as your father. He raised you, taught you the ways of ruling - even if you were to never acquire the throne - and loved you as a father would love his daughter.

“I have to go,” you said softly, brushing your finger down the front of the book, feeling the vibrations of its powers flow beneath your palm.

In a way you understood what his next words would be, but you blame that on your powers peeking their head out. Even though you had promised to never use them against people you couldn’t quite stop them from showing themselves every now and then. He could tell - felt your presence in his mind just like a slight pressure in the back of his head - and he let out yet another sigh.

“You already know what my words will be. Do not pry into my head to search for them.”

“I want to make sure you-”

“You may not be my child, but I will treat you as such. Do what you must to figure out where you lie in this universe, but don’t search for a guide.”

“I just don’t know if this is the right path to take,” you said, pulling your powers back into their space within your head.

“Then find that out for yourself. I cannot tell you.”

The longer you put off the choice of leaving home one more time, the more you would regret never having left sooner. You knew that. Could feel the stirring in your veins at the thought of exploring new terrain and you had even locked away your powers for this decision. If you were to see what came next you would never leave and perhaps that was what spurred your choice to follow your heart so quickly. You wanted to experience this adventure without knowing.

Without the fear of the future looming over you.

[twstedtales]

༺ 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 !

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 ::

༄ please be nice and patient with me. i'm still at the adolescent stage at which i cannot grasp tumblr properly yet. that's why if i happened to see any hate mails or rude asks, i'll immediately delete it and move on.

༄ i don't have any experience in doing any creative writing before aside from school stuff and english is not my first language, so if you happened to spot a mistake, kindly correct me instead of being downright rude ^^

༄ do not even plan to interact with me if you're a racist, homophobic, pedophile, have a phobia on lgbt+, likes to bash and misgendered people, sexists and all those disgusting stuff. i will block you.

༄ i only write reader inserts! on that note, oc coded requests and canon × canon is not accepted.

༄ ah, i also don't write nsfw/smut fics. i would like to make this blog safe for minors to tread. though suggestive contents (eg. kissing and hugging) is more than okay!

༄ please refrain from spamming, too! and a simple thank you at the end of your request would be much appreciated ^^

༄ i reserved the right to delete requests that makes me uncomfortable. though of you comply with the rules, that would rarely happen!

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 ::

༄  i accept scenarios (500 words), headcanons (bullet format), and one shots (1k words)

༄ 2 characters per scenario, 4 characters per headcanons and 1 character per one shots so that i won't get overwhelmed. the only excemption for this is through groups (dorm/vice dorm heads, first years, etc)

༄ reader is gender neutral unless stated otherwise (female insert). i won't write for male requests yet in fear that i won't be able to write them properly! (this may subject to change).

༄ i can write fluff, angst, tragedy, character death, suggestive contents (but not nsfw), and pretty much all genres that don't make me uncomfortable ^^

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 ::

༄ no crossovers and songfics.

༄ no yandere, cheating/infedelity, body topics and poly relationships. i'm too weak hearted to write yandere 😂 and also, no romanticising bullying, mental health, suicide and the likes for obvious reasons.

༄ i refuse to romanticise cheka-kun and the dwarves-gata. you can only request them for platonic.

༄ for twst, i can't write the staff in a romantic light. this also includes niege-san and che'nya-san. and for tears of themis, i won't write for celestine, kiki, morgan and other side characters.

༄ anything that tackles culture, nationality, religion, etc, requests will be rejected because i don't wish to steriotype anyone or disrespect them.

༄ no to dubcon and noncon.

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ::

#mirror mirror on the wall - general tag for headcanons (both twst and tot)

#once upon a dream - general tag for scenarios (both twst and tot)

#curiouser ane curiouser - general tag for one shots (both twst and tot)

#a dream is a wish your heart makes - self indulgent pieces (both twst and tot)

#spilled ink - general tag for all my writtings.

#twst incorrect quotes

#tot incorrect quotes

#composition of the chronicler - my poor attempts in drawing lol.

#records of the chronicler - general rambles, complaints, misgivings, gacha luck (or the lack thereof!) and trashtalks by yours truly.

#letters from the chronicler - replies to asks and questions.

#signed by (name of blog/anonymous)

#other accounts - for general reblogs

#after dark chronicles - suggestive themes/rambles/writings *block if you're a minor!

#data about the chronicler - talks and asks about me/tag game.

#chronicler's clownery - spam tag

#female reader, gender neutral reader

#tw :: (trigger)

#twst oc

#(character name) - filters out characters

#dorm name - filters out dorms

#twst - general tag for twisted wonderland

#tot - general tag for tears of themis

[blackmissfrizzle]

No One Has to Know

Pairing: Angel Reyes x black!reader

Summary: Since there isn’t a lot of angel Reyes x black reader imagines going on here I was wondering if u can write a request for me that. You and angel are in a secret relationship because y’all are ten years apart and your mom( who’s mayor) finds out?? Requested by @briannab1234​

Warnings: None for this part

A/N: This was going one way and then it went another, but I hope you all enjoy!

It was a hot ass day in Santo Padre, so it was no surprise that Adrian’s raspa shop was full. Today you were accompanied with your fake group of friends (except for Bryce) aka the group of friends your mom approved of.

When your pickle raspa with chamoy and lucas was finished, you searched for an empty table, only for you to find the one table you didn’t want to sit at because of who sat next to it. The Mayans. Or more specifically Angel Reyes, your secret boyfriend. The argument from last night replayed in your head as you stared at the table.

“Why not?” You yelled, throwing down your bag.

“Because its not smart Y/N.” Angel stared at you through a cloud of cigarette smoke while you paced back and forth.

Sitting in his lap you took his cigarette and put it out. Cradling his face, you kissed him. “What’s stupid about wanting my boyfriend to be my date at my graduation party?”

Angel scrubbed his face in frustration. This argument between the two of you was becoming more frequent. You wanted to make your relationship public, but he didn’t. He didn’t want everyone else to confirm what he already thought. He didn’t want them to say he was a low life and no good for the mayor’s daughter or that he was too old for you (his 34 to your 24).

“Listen, querida we can go public another time. Just take that loser Rob and make sure he keeps his hands to himself.” Angel kissed the top of your head to end the argument.

You hit him in the chest and pushed off him. “Fuck you, Angel! If you just want me to be your little fucktoy and not your girlfriend just say so.” Before he could stop you, you were already out the door. Once again, his insecurities fucked him over.

“Hey, yo, Y/N over here!” Coco’s voice pulled you out of your head. He was pointing to the table next to him. No way you could pretend that you didn’t see the table now.

Starting your way over there Eileen grabbed your wrist to stop you. “How about we just eat them to go?” Her green eyes wide with fear.

You broke out of what she thought was an iron grip. “Its over 100 degrees outside. Trust me they won’t bite, unless,” you leaned in closer to her and dropped your voice lower. “you want them to.”

Leaving Eileen in all her white woman shock, Bryce followed you to the empty table. Both of you greeted the men at the table besides you. You barely gave any energy to Angel while Bryce gave Gilly all her attention due to her crush on him.

Eventually, your friends joined you, still wary of the Mayans. Rob sat next to you and wrapped his arm behind your seat. Angel wanted to break that arm in half.

This midday delight was less enjoyable than you wanted it to be. It was tense and not just because you weren’t talking to Angel. Your friends made it a point to ignore your Mayan friends and while the Mayans did their best to make your snotty friends uncomfortable by making the most vulgar jokes (which were hilarious by the way).

Most of the time, Bryce and you talked to the Mayans. They were by far better conversationalists. Plus, you and Coco had a lot to talk about since you were Letty’s mentor at school.

In the middle of listening to EZ tell an embarrassing story about Angel, Rob saw Angel staring at you a little too long. So, slightly he tilted your chin towards him and kissed you.

You scrambled to end the kiss. In no way shape or form you led Rob to believe you were in a relationship. Even though he was your escort to the party, you explicitly told him that y’all were going nowhere.

When the kiss ended, Angel was nowhere to be found. A great part of you wanted to dump the raspa on Rob, but you didn’t want to make a mess in Adrian’s place. Instead you punched him in the face and left the shop with a bunch of cackling Mayans and Bryce.

It didn’t take you long to find Angel. He was a couple of blocks away at his dad’s carniceria. “Angel, I-”

He held his hand up to stop you. Flicking his cigarette down, he stomped it out. “Done with your ivy league boyfriend?”

“Don’t do that. I wasn’t expecting him to kiss me.”

Stepping down from the stoop, Angel got somewhat eye level with you. “You definitely let him kiss you longer than necessary.”

A black escalade rolled up, revealing up, revealing your mom behind the window. “Y/N, dear we need to get ready for the party.”

“Hi, Ms. Mayor.” Angel waved at your mom and in return she gave him a curt nod.

Patting you on your arm, Angel gave you his congratulations and returned to his father’s shop.

Once inside the car, the tirade started. ‘What did I tell you about those Mayans? Have your fun with them in private not in public.’ ‘Stay away from that Reyes boy. I don’t like how he looks at you.’ ‘You could’ve at least been hanging out with the smart one.’ ‘You should be focused on your career and Rob.’

Every line you heard before and just like every other time you were ignoring each word. Her nor Angel was going to ruin this relationship.

--

“I don’t know, Pops. Maybe I should wait til she gets home, and we can celebrate together. Just the two of us.”

Felipe fixed his son’s tie. “Nonsense, Angel. You’re going to your girlfriend’s graduation party. She wants you there, son.”

“What if I embarrass her?”

“You won’t,” EZ quietly entered the room, dressed up as well. “We’ll make sure of it.”

“We?”

EZ pulled back the curtains to reveal the Mayans all in suits on their bikes. “We got your back, bro.”

Angel squeezed his brother into a tight hug. “Thanks, mano.”

“Let’s go get your girl.” EZ clapped Angel on his back.

--

This had to be the most extra party ever, but extra was your mom’s middle name. All you wanted was a simple bbq, good music, drinks, and your friends. But nope this turned into an extravaganza and networking opportunity for your mom.

“You can’t be here!” You heard your mother’s voice despite her trying to keep her voice down.

Your eyes followed her voice and the sight you saw left you breathless. Angel in a dark striped suit strutting towards you with the rest of the mc in suits as well, trailing behind him.

“What are they doing here?” Rob asked with a mix of fear and disgust. He was truly a horrible person; you didn’t know how you put up with him for so long.

“He came,” you happily whispered. You shoved your champagne flute in Rob’s hands not caring that it was spilling on him. Your only goal was to get to Angel.

The dress you were wearing didn’t allow you to jump Angel like you wanted to. He could see the conflict on your face, so instead he twirled you around to fully admire the way the dress clung to your body and how it brightened the aura around you.

After your 360 turn, Angel twirled you inside his arms, grabbed the sides of your face and leaned down to kiss you. “You look beautiful, querida.” He whispered against your lips, his hand running up and down your leg exposed by the hip high slit.

“Not as good as you,” You bit your lip at the sight of Angel in a suit. His jet-black hair perfectly gelled back, his suit clinging to his body.

“Impossible. Now introduce everyone to your boyfriend.” The slap to your ass didn’t bothered you, in fact you laughed it off and began introducing Angel as the love of your life. The shocked gasps of the stuck-up residents of Santo Padre as you made the introductions did not go unnoticed by you, but you also didn’t give one flying fuck.

On the other side of the room you could not hear the most objected protest of them all. “Get him off my daughter!” The mayor ordered the president of the Mayans.

“No can do, Izzie,” Bishop smirked. Whenever he could he’d like to stick it to the mayor.

“Its Isadora,” she corrected him. “I will not allow my daughter make the same mistakes I did.”

The holier than thou act was grinding Bishop’s gears. There was a time when the mayor wasn’t a stuck-up bitch. “Watch it, Ms. Mayor. If it wasn’t for my fucked up feelings for you, I’d shoot you where you stand.”

“Obispo, please.” Her tone softer, reminiscent of the times she writhed under him. “She has a future. She has a future outside of Santo Padre. Don’t let my daughter-”

“Our daughter.” It was his turn to correct her.

Isadora sputtered. There was only one other person she told the truth to and that because she was caught, and he promised to never to tell anybody. “How did- how did you know?”

“I always suspected, but you kept her in LA with her ‘dad’ most of the time, so I couldn’t confirm until she kept popping up at the club. Easy enough to get DNA for a test.”

In all her being, Isadora wanted to slap the man. “You had no right.”

“And you had no right to keep her from me!” Bishop was upset at all the missed opportunities. You were a lovely young woman and he missed out on the chance to watch you grow up, but now he refused to stay away from you anymore.

Your yelling tore the two away. The unexpected guest getting all the attention now.

“Daddy!” Your arms encircled around the older man. His appearance was a welcomed surprise.

When he got done spinning you around, you introduced him to Angel. The three of you engaging in an animated conversation.

Isadora and Bishop watched off in the corner. Isadora in shock and Bishop in jealously.

“Tell her or I will.” Bishop threatened his old flame before he left heartbroken from seeing his daughter call another man dad.

A/N 2: Were yall ready for that surprise?

Tags: @angrythingstarlight​ @starrynite7114​ @briannab1234​ @chaneajoyyy​ @titty-teetee​ @thickemadame​ @brownsugarcoffy​ @ifoundmyhappythought​ @marvelmaree​ @browngirldominion​

[thekrazykeke]

title: just keep breathing

fandom(s): fallen hero rebirth/retribution

pairing(s): wei chen x sidestep. ricardo ortega x sidestep. wei chen x ricardo ortega x sidestep. ricardo ortega x wei chen. 

playlist/song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AMkz9JF7teY

rating: t+

summary: maybe it’s not about fixing what’s broken. maybe it’s about starting over and creating something better.

warning(s): pre poly relationship, comfort food, pining, mild spoilers for the alpha build, angst and hurt/comfort.

Listen. 

I played Fallen Hero Rebirth and rated it a solid 9, and the story initially left me crying my eyeballs out but mildly confused, wanting to understand things. So I replayed and replayed and replayed. I picked up things and the clues started fitting together. I paid for the Retribution alpha build and I’m still crying my eyeballs out at night over it but I wanted resolution. I wanted to give (one of) my character(s) a light at the end of the tunnel. 

So this is what it is. Or an attempt at it because FHR is really quite dark and not for the faint hearted. Those warning tags are not for show. 

Sidestep’s name is Tyndall Bowman in this one.

~

It happens on a Sunday. The last weekend before a new month started, technically.

Ortega frequently visits Chen’s apartment and brings food, lightly ribbing the other man for his lackluster kitchen space. Chen’s routine response becoming less and less exasperated each time. 

You think that he not so secretly fears that you’ll both starve or subsist off canned food and cheap takeout. ...Which probably isn’t a far off assumption, considering the implication day one of your temporary living situation.

It could be considered sweet, if it wasn’t so very funny. (You had to get your kicks somewhere).

Your legs are still broken. 

Progress is frustratingly slow. 

You’d tried to move to a schedule of crutches-only by the second week out of sheer boredom and the flat look Chen had leveled in your direction caused you to nix that idea stat. 

There’s a tension between Chen and you now. 

Not to say that there rarely isn’t tension, but that’s usually due to an aftermath of an argument. Now? Now, you’re aware of him. Aware of him in a way that you’d only been aware of Ortega.

Fucking hell.

Someone’s knee brushes lightly against yours, breaking you out of your reverie. You glance to the left and catch sight of Ricardo watching you with soft, worried eyes. Chen also watching, but less obvious in his concern, features more stoic, controlled. The three of you are in the living room, they are siting on the couch, you’re in your wheelchair. 

They probably asked you something and you were zoned out.

The lie is on the tip of your tongue, “I’m fine,” you mumble and grip your bowl which has half melted blueberry swirl ice cream and salted caramel cheesecake. Sweets are your kryptonite but Ricardo has pulled out your top favorites...

“You’re fine?” Ricardo scoffs, his tone skeptic. 

A muscle jumped in your jaw. “Yep, just fine,” you reply, using your spoon to scoop up some ice cream, take a bite and enjoy the flavor. Refusing to give an inch and let him win. 

The two of you had played this game many times, too many actually, and it usually ends with you being the one to fall for the prodding, and then you get angry, lash out. 

Walk away.  Only this time you can’t. 

Another scoff. “Typical. You do this every time, you know.” There’s a surprising amount of bitterness in Ricardo’s voice now. 

“Ricardo,” Chen starts to interject, the strain clear in his voice. “Tyndall. Stop.”

It’s too late though. 

Placing down the bowl on the nearest surface, freeing up your hands, you clench then unclench your fingers, trying to avoid cracking your knuckles. “And what about you, then huh, Saint Ortega?” The sneer on your face is ugly. “You’re always on about me being honest with my feelings and talking, but the truth of it is, you’re just like me, or worse!”

Ortega looks dumbfounded. As if he can’t believe you’d dare to throw the truth in his face like this, so obviously. He recovers quicker than you’d like, much to your annoyance, though. “...Maybe so,” he acknowledges, his voice softer. Enough to lull a more gullible individual into complacency or just anyone not paying attention. You know better. “That’s a topic we can revisit in a moment. I’m more curious about how long the two of you expect me to play the idiot here.”

Unwillingly, your eyes dart to Chen’s, then away. 

Not focusing on any particular point in the room. Does Ortega know that you’re Mastermind? Since when, and did Chen tell him? Or is he bluffing right now and he doesn’t know? Is he talking about something totally different than what you’re thinking about?

Quick! Think up an appropriate answer and throw him off the trail!

“....I don’t....know what you mean.”

That’s not what you should say!!

Chen sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.  He looks pretty much done with the both of you right now, not that you can blame him. “Be clearer, the two of you have a propensity for telling half truths which leads to the majority of these absurd arguments.” 

Ricardo winced and you feel the sting from that particular burn as well. 

“In response to your statement, though, no one is expecting you to play the fool.” He looks a little nervous, guilty. “ I... We’ve kissed.” There’s a pinch to his brow, the tips of his ears turning pink. “That wasn’t an example of being a good friend to you, kissing Tyndall and murkying the waters further when I knew the two of you were...” There’s a pause as he tries to find a word for what you and Ortega shared before you and he tentatively stopped antagonizing each other and bonded over Spoon. 

You snorted, lips twisting into a wry smile, “The phrasing of that sentence makes it sound as if I found it a chore to kiss you or something.” Chen cuts you an admonishing look which you temporarily ignore as you turn to glance at Ortega who’d been watching the byplay between you and Chen with an unreadable expression. For the nth time, you wish you could read his mind, and at the same time, you’re grateful that you can’t. 

“...He’s right though. It was an epically shitty thing to do, kissing your oldest friend, who’s probably had a crush on you since he’s met you, while we were kissing. Totally and unnecessarily complicated.”

He just looked at the two of you for a moment. Then Ricardo sighed heavily, running a hand over his face, wearily. “Esto es un desastre.”

You say nothing, staying quiet because honestly, you agree. This is a mess, and it was poorly handled, on all sides. You’d already spilled the beans about Chen having a crush Ortega before it got to this point because you sincerely thought the conversation should have come up properly over seven years ago, your ‘death’ should have been a nonfactor. 

They likely would’ve been a couple already if they weren’t such obtuse idiots.

“Okay... okay...” Ricardo seems to have come to a conclusion. He nods resolutely, turning all his considerably intense focus onto Chen who seems taken aback by it. Leaning forward into the other man’s space, slow enough that it’d be easy to shove him back, but of course Chen doesn’t. Ricardo’s hand went to the nape of his neck, lightly urging Chen forward, the other man obeying that silent request, and in the span of a breath, they’re kissing.

Your don’t avert your gaze, as much as you want to. 

This is a private thing, you shouldn’t look, shouldn’t stare like a pervert. 

‘Isn’t this what you knew would happen?’ Of course, your brain isn’t nice. 

This is what you wanted right, for them to get their act together. 

Humans falling in love with each other is normal and acceptable. (Although your education depicted of men and women falling in love, primarily). It happens all the time. 

Such emotion is a luxury a Re-Gene cannot afford, nor can they sincerely feel it, that’s what you were taught on the Farm. So resistant to the idea of going back to being treated as an unfeeling thing, your re-education had been particularly brutal.

“Whatever horrible thing your mind is telling you, it isn’t true.”

Once again caught off guard, lost in thought, you’re unprepared for Ricardo to kiss you. He tastes faintly of blueberry swirl ice cream and sweet tea, and maybe it’s your imagination, but maybe even a little bit like Chen. It’s that stray thought that has you jerk your head, trying to turn away from him. “W...what the hell, asshole?”

He snorted. “You know you sound really cute when you curse.” 

Baring your teeth, you snap, “Tomber d'une falaise!” Although the idiot clearly didn’t know what you said in French, basically telling him to fall off a cliff, it didn’t stop him from dramatically clutching at his chest, as if he’d been stabbed in the heart; he could probably guess it was at least an insult.

“Stop teasing him, Ricardo.” Chen admonished. Ricardo mock pouted. “I mean it. Can’t you see that he’s overwhelmed?”

“I am not overwhelmed!”, you vehemently protest.

“Out of your depth then,” Chen countered and before you could complain that it was pretty much the same thing, only with differing meanings, he continued on, “What our resident idiot is clumsily trying to show instead of explain, is that he wants both of us.”

“If you want a threesome, fine. It’ll have to wait, as I’m a bit physically impaired at the moment.” You’re almost surprised by the bitterness in your voice. 

Chen stared at you for a brief moment and then he braced both hands on either side of your wheelchair. Heart slowly turning over in your chest, oddly feeling as if you’re caught in the gaze of a hunter, you stubbornly keep eye contact for a second or two, but can’t maintain it for long. That doesn’t stop him from murmuring in your right ear, “Stop being so stubborn. Stop lying. You want this. To be in a relationship with both of us.”  A brief pause. “Correct?”

Fucking hell... 

Swallowing thickly, wondering the logistics of how that would work out. Wondering if you were about to once again make a horrible mistake. Then again, since you’d come back to Los Diablos, since Ortega found you again, that’s all you’ve been doing so far, haven’t you. Making mistake after mistake after mistake. 

“Yes.” 

As Chen’s left hand buried itself in your curls, taking control, tilting your head back, idly you wondered if the next time you hit the ground, if it’d hurt less. This is after a freefall into madness, it feels like, and twice as foolish. Yet you surrender, and you stop thinking, enjoy the kiss. 

[albino-whumpee]

Unrequited Love

CW// Pet whump, dehumanization, human trafficking, amnesia, hot water burns, exhausted whumpee. Pretty mild one honestly. ^^

Ok i didn´t notice it before, but THIS is the corrected version. Idk what happened.  Also taglist? I didn´t tag y´all???

Taglist:  @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread​ @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump  @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70​ @twistedcaretaker

During the party, Zarai had gotten the contact she needed to talk to Dune’s Ceo. Or at least the first of three people she needed to stablish contact to get to Gil Jefferson.

So while she was hopping around searching for the phone number of her client, asking for extensions and generally being absent, the whole team needed her approval to finish their jobs. So Albus was the one in charge now.

“Albus, can you check this out and tell me if its ok, please? Was a question he heard at least ten times a day now.

“Serra, talk to management on the next floor and tell them we need the results now” he would nod and fly downstairs.

“Serra I need your sign for this budget…” Zarai had given her authority to do that after Robert’s visit.

“Serra I need your sign for this budget…” Zarai had given her authority to do that after Robert’s visit.

Any problem the marketing and development team had was managed by the albino with a few wretched nerves and increasing eye bags. Then he would inform an overly tired Zarai that everything was in order. But there was always a small mistake she would notice and make him fix in shouting everyone on the office was too surprised to never have seen Albus cry from.

Despite the shouting making it all the way to other side of the office, he simply remained calm, waited for her to finish and then apologized before going to fix it. He just continued to work efficiently. Until there were no mistakes to get yelled at.

Sometimes, one of the new trainees would ask him if he was alright, but he would look at them with a funny look and change the subject. If he was to be honest, he had fully expected to be properly punished when they were alone, at home. He was so grateful he could hang his role as Albus Serra for a moment and allow himself to be only Al, the pet who didn’t hide his collar.

He was bent over some newbie’s desk when he straigthened up with a smile “Now, you just need to click this button, and you will have the whole system on your drive in a few minutes”

The newbie looked at him with adoration “Thank you so much, mister Serra!” He had said with a gleam on his eyes that made him blush.

“Mister Serra, I’ve a few questions about the report I sent you” Albus trotted to the woman.

“Ah, yes. I checked and it’s looking fine. I already sent it so, dont worry about it and give a hand to Ryan, please” the woman blinked “I know it’s not part of your job but look at them…” he cocked his head to the glass covered office of five people laying over their desks, one fully crying and the other lost in infinity. “You’ve got a degree on computer engineering right? The development needs to find the exact problem today. Please lend them a hand”

“Yes, sir” she had answered before walking away. Albus froze for a moment. An strange feeling sitting on his stomach.

He didn’t have time to wonder what it was when he was called again.

—

Albus was staring at the ceiling, serving himself some coffee from the machine at Tony´s office when he blanked out for a second and heard the man yelp.

“Albus it´s spilling!” he shouted loud enough to make the boy react. His half open eyelids fixed on the cup and then on the floor before taking lots of paper and wiping the floor with it “I´m sorry! Imsorry,Imsorry,Imsorry” he muttered before the man grabbed his right wrist and pulled down his soaked sleeve to reveal a growing red spot “Dude you burnt yourself! Are you ok? Does it hurt?” he said lifting him up.

Albus head spinned wildly enough to make him stumble against a wall. The man passed an arm around his waist “Jesus, Albus, what´s wrong?” Albus groaned while rubbing his eyes with his other hand.

“I´m sorry, I´m just… I´m… I´m ok, it doesn´t hurt. I promise I´m sorry” he told the man as he put him down on his chair.

“Hey, hey, it´s ok, it´s just some bean water. Look at me” the boy pulled his red eyes to look at his friend “I´ll go get some ice to put on that, yeah? Sit here for a second” he waited until the boy nodded to walk out of the office. Albus stared at the disaster on the floor and felt horrible. He looked around and found some kleenex on the desk. He hoped he wouldn´t mind and started wiping the floor again.

“Mister Serra?” The trainee asked him outside the office. Albus looked up at him and then at the floor. “Mister Serra you´re green! Please lay down, I´ll call someone to clean that up” the boy trotted to help him sit on the chair again.

“i-it´s fine. I´m ok, Jeremy” he said feeling his head puffy. The boy left him there for a second and then leaned on the frame of the door.

“Lee, can you get me some chocolate from my backpack? Mister Serra isn´t feeling well!” he shouted as the boy shrank on his seat.

“Mister Serra? Does he need some water?” a feminine voice asked with a worried tone. Possibly the intern from last week he had to sign her papers for.

“Yeah! and get someone from cleaning!” Albus heard a reply and felt his cheeks burning as Jeremy knelt next to him.

“Thank you” he whispered to the blonde. He directed a genuine smile at the albino. “Mister Serra has helped me a lot since I got here. Please don´t thank me. It´s the least I can do for you, mister!” Albus felt himself sink into the chair further as Lee handed him Jeremy´s candy bar.

“You´re looking a little pale, mister” She said when he was about to take a bite. Jeremy was about to say something when he heard himself laugh. Lee smiled triumphantly.

“Still, mister, have you slept enough? I saw you doze off during the report meeting with the interns yesterday…” Jeremy continued, his cheeks burning red. Albus swallowed feeling guilty someone had seen him fighting to keep himself awake.

“Don´t fall off yet, soldier, we still got work to do” Sasha came inside the office with Tony behind her. He put the ice on his burnt hand and he didn´t even twitch. The four stared at him with worry. “Does it hurt?” Sasha asked him. Albus didn´t look up, only shrugged.

“Thanks Tony…Sorry for the mess” he apologized putting his hand away. He tried to stand up, but his legs refused to do so.

“Don´t mind it. But maybe you should stay here for a moment” He bit his lip.

“I still have work to do…” he tried to stand up, but Sasha pushed him back to the chair.

“Well, then it´s a good moment to just rely on us for help. You have that meeting with the trainees again don´t you?” he nodded slowly. “You two” she directed the trainees, who squared up instantly “Make a summary and send it to me before clocking out. I´ll make the paperwork and Tony will help with the mails” The boys both responded with “yes, ma´am” Albus jumped trying to stop her, but Sasha gave him a freezing look. “You rest here, workaholic. You trying to imitate Zarai with her unhealthy habits? Just eat your candy bar, boy”

“But we´ve got that meeting with…” she put Tony´s coat on his shoulders.

“You´re in no conditions to listen to old men talking about how far to the right a letter should be to increase sales a 10%” she rubbed his back before pulling away “Just sleep a bit yeah?” she silenced him.

He tugged the cozy coat over his shoulders close to him. Hiding his face with it. “Thank you…”

Sasha smiled and pulled everyone out of Tony´s office as the cleaning lady took care of the mess. Jeremy and Lee walked out the office wishing him to get better soon after leaving some more candy. He thanked them and saw them snickering to each other as they went out.

Albus pulled his knees close to his chest and the coat covered his back when he fell asleep against the desk.

Tony´s coat was warm.

—

He never mentioned it to Zarai, but when he was working at home that night, or well, the early morning of the next day, he received a photo from Tony.

It was him curled up into a ball in the chair with only his white hair sticking out of the brown coat.

“A wild tired cinnamon roll has appeared!” Tony wrote below it.

Sasha keysmashed and put lots of faces laughing.

Albus just shook his head and grinned before he continued working.

Didn´t stop until dawn when Zarai came in to tell him they were leaving in a few minutes.

He arrived to the office with the same exhausted face from yesterday but when he came out, Lee was there with a coffee on her hands.

“Jeremy sends you this sir” she said to the mute boy.

“I…uh…thank you, Lee” he said as he shifted the coffee cup and saw it had a number and a smiley face. He looked up at her with his cheeks fired up. “Uh…”

Lee simply walked away before he could say anything.

He showed it to Tony and Sasha at lunch and snickered to the other “Aren´t you popular, boy! I´ve also had girls ask me for your number!” Tony howlered

“What?” Sasha grinned as he blushed

“But you´re taken already aren´t you? With that freckled boy you always talking about”

“Sann?” Albus widened his eyes. “Oh, I…no, no. It´s not…” he remembered his smile at the party, the tuxedo and the rose on his chest, his dimples, his hair looking like fire in the sunset and immediately went silent. “I wish but It´s more complicated than that”

Both leaned on him. He let out a heavy sigh before staring at the city from their table on the roof top.

“I met him two years ago, but I don´t remember anything from that period. I know I learnt what I know back then…but it´s blank. I feel like something important happened…but everytime I try to remember it´s like…it just hurts and it´s uncomfortable” he said rounding one thumb with the other “I want to remember that meeting, but I can´t. I just recently remembered some… things” he continued to explain, the images of handlers touching him all over came to his head. The shocks. “And then there´s…” the problem that´s he´s someone else´s pet and I´m not supposed to get close to him. “Anyways, it´s messy” he smiled at his quiet friends “It´s dumb to say that I would be completely fine just by seeing him being happy even if I´m far?”

Both stared at him for an uncomfortably long time.

“Does Zarai know of your amnesia?” Sasha asked bluntly, playing with the bracelet in her left wrist. Albus had to shrug.

“Did you have an accident or…?”

Albus had to think hard about it. “…maybe I had someone hit my head repeatedly…” Sasha opened her mouth outraged “No, no it´s ok. I don´t know for sure. I just remember feeling numb after a hit” he hurried to explain. “Can we change the subject?” he asked closing his eyes, feeling ill suddenly.

“…ok” both laid back on their chairs as Albus sighed relieved “You should get that head checked up tho´. Two years is a long time, Albus” Tony told him.

Albus bit his tongue to not spit he didn´t remember most of his life anyways. Or his parent´s faces, or his own name.

He instead tried to put a smile. A mask that pleased everyone was easier to pull than try to uncover the truth.

“So, please help with Jeremy? I don´t wanna break the poor boy´s heart”

It took a while for them to talk normally to him again, but in the end, Jeremy was understanding when he explained he was not available. In fact, he had smiled and thanked him for being honest and Albus could pull an all nighter in peace because of that.

He cried on Lee´s shoulder later at the bus station, but that was something Albus didn´t need to know.

[gisachi]

hmmm i'd like to see how desperate they can be. Kiss prompts #14 for shinran, maybee? thankyou 🤟

Thank you for the request! Wanted to do a trope and this is how it turned out. Hope this is an enjoyable read. 💖

14. A kiss so desperate that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished. (2,374 words)

.

.

.

In her seventeen years of existence, Mouri Ran has never met a person as infuriating as Kudou Shinichi.

She isn’t a particularly spiteful person. In fact, she’s always so welcoming and positive. Her well-earned reputation in school as the top of her class and her father and mother being one of the best detectives and lawyers in town do not in any way inflate her ego and turn her into an arrogant prick. If any, others spite her, never the other way around. (Though no one - ever - has brought it upon themselves to hate on the ray of sunshine that is Mouri Ran.)

As nice as she may be however, Kudou Shinichi always seems to get on her nerves.

Perhaps the only thing he inherited from the world-famous but humble Kudou Yuusaku and Fujimine Yukiko are their physical attributes. Sharp jawline, charming eyes, straight nose, pearly teeth, prominent Adam’s apple, broad shoulders, lean body…in short, fine. Good-looking. Hot maybe, yes. But she cannot let just that overshadow his absolute cockiness.

For instance, Ran is grateful for people who correct her mistakes, however seldom they may happen, but everytime Shinichi does it - in front of the class, brandishing a proud smirk at the end of it all - she feels the veins on her temple pop. She never cared at first, but when done habitually (and consciously?) by the same person, an underlying urge to punch him straight on the face arises. She knows she is nice but her patience isn’t eternal.

The rational half of her tells her to ignore him, but the petty half of her screams at her to give him a taste of his own medicine. So she revels inwardly at the hooded stare he gives her back whenever she contradicts a portion of his answer in Japanese History class, and restrains her satisfied grin when she corrects his negative integers into positives on the board during Math.

The class takes the toll in this twisted brain battle, because one-on-one debates between the top two students lead to extended fourth period and lesser lunch time. On the bright side, the lazy and unprepared don’t get to recite, so they let the two be.

Their academic tension spills even to athletics. Admittedly, he’s great at soccer, no surprise for an Ace. Her attempts at scoring a goal every time he gate keeps always end in failures, but what irks her more are the deafening screams of his fangirls behind the rails and his annoying wave like he’s some celebrity, beaming proudly like she hasn’t given him a hard time. (She hasn’t.)

But if he has soccer then she has karate. His powerful leg muscles are no match for her deadly roundhouse kicks. Shinichi has begged for his life once - when she has him pinned down between her legs on the floor in front of their classmates for a test of strength. Then he hasn’t brought that up ever again. That’s her win, not that she’s counting. (But really, that’s her win.)

He breathes, she’s annoyed.

When their gaze meets in the hallway, she is tempted to hold it and see if he’ll turn away first.

When he utters her name (“Mouri-san”, husky and sonorous), she wants to utter his back with twice the spite and snark. One that can bite. Tingle. Keep him up at night.

“Sometimes I wonder if you want to kill each other or kiss each other,” her best friend Sonoko brings up during lunch, and that’s just about enough to turn Ran’s mood into sour.

“I do not want to kiss him!” she reacts in a guilty way, and coincidentally they hear a resounding “I do not want to kiss her, barou!” along the corridor, only for Makoto and a grimacing Shinichi to appear on the door frame the next second, and their eyes meet, only to look away immediately.

“Maybe it’s you and Kyougoku-san who want to kiss each other,” Ran says bitterly, attempting to get back at her friend upon seeing her and Makoto exchange knowing glances.

“Mm, yeah maybe we do.” Sonoko grabs a bite of tamago sushi from her bento. Ran rolls her eyes.

“What? At least I’m being honest,” she chides, but Ran is already too engrossed glaring (rather salaciously, in Sonoko’s opinion) back at Shinichi to hear her or even notice her being an audience to their subtle eye makeout.

What do the other girls see in him? He’s a conceited, competitive brat who likes to pit with her for the fun of it. Sonoko says he’s not as annoying as she makes him out to be, which is about the only time she doubts herself because Sonoko does get annoyed easily. But Ran sees Shinichi in the hallway and she recalls the shameless bites and banters and sparring bruises and classroom debates and yep, her blood boils for this lad.

On Valentine’s Day, Ran makes chocolate.

More like, she helps her mother make one for her dad. For everyone’s sake and their stove’s. Since there are excess ingredients, why not? She doesn’t know for whom and why though, she just makes it.

(“Oh, you have a boy in mind?” “None, kaa-san.” “Let me guess, Yukiko-san’s son?” “NO!”)

She’s greeted by girls pooling outside the classroom. Sneaking a peek at the tag of a daintily wrapped box one of the underclassmen holds, she isn’t surprised to read Kudou Shinichi’s name on it. The subject appears behind her, and the girls line up and squeal in glee, and he greets them all while she huffs, not sparing a second look at the commotion as she makes a beeline for her seat.

She doesn’t understand why he always ends up alone with her after class when they both know that’s not the best idea. Their homeroom teacher just cannot read the atmosphere, because this is the third time he’s designated the two as class reps for student affairs work. This time, it’s a campus tour for visiting students. She hates it because she and Shinichi can never agree on anything.

“I’ll sketch the route, you do the tour,” she says.

“No, you do the hosting, I do the planning,” he counters.

“Aren’t you better at talking?” Ran sneers, remembering the chaos of fangirls and all annoying flowery words he’s probably said back. “Or don’t tell me it’s just the confidence and charm overcompensating for the lack of substance?”

“I can plan and I can host well, but I do the planning now ‘cause I did the talking in our presentation last time while you rested at the back and let me do the bulk of the task but thanks,” he rises from his seat and leans his body on the desk next to her, “for thinking that I’m charming.”

“I didn’t— I wasn’t—!” Ran’s cheeks heat up in fury or embarrassment or both. “I’m just saying this task is the best time to utilize your charisma!”

“But aren’t you charismatic yourself, Mouri-san? As expected from the daughter of a lawyer mother and a detective father?”

“No- I mean, yes, whatever, but we need charm and-”

“And I have it? What do I say? Is this your roundabout way of making me admit that you’re charming too?”

“I wouldn’t do anything like that, baka!”

He holds her challenging gaze, long and hard.

“In any case, I refuse. I plan the routes.”

“No, I plan the routes, you do the talk. No ifs. No buts.”

“This is just a simple assignment, Mouri-san! Why can’t we agree for once?” he snaps, stepping forward.

“Exactly! This is just a simple task, Kudou-kun! Why do you have to be so overbearing?” She steps forward.

“I am not overbearing. You are!”

“No, you are! You’re the hardest to deal with! I can’t even stand being near you! You’re the absolute worst! You’re—”

And then he’s hovering over her, sealing her lips shut with his own.

It happens lightning fast. He's in a respectful distance one second and then he’s hogged all her space and claimed her lips the next. Her heart rate has already gone up at the start of the bicker but now it’s literally flown off the charts.

“Kudou-kun—!” Ran gasps when her back hits the wall of the classroom, disconnecting their lips for a second. “I’m... not done...speaking—”

“And we’re not done kissing,” Shinichi angles his head for another searing kiss and that is enough to turn Ran into a puddle of melted flesh in his arms. Doomed they will be if students outside the window look up their floor and catch her back pressed suspiciously against the glass with his body the only thing keeping her upright. She can only pray they won’t. Because she doesn’t push him away.

Maybe she doesn’t care so much about being seen? Or maybe she doesn’t have the mind to think of anything else when his scent and his taste and his touch take over her senses and it still isn’t enough. This she realizes as her hands cup his warm cheeks to deepen the pressure of their connected lips, both red and swollen from the fiery mutual exchange. She kisses him with no intention of stopping. She kisses him like she’s making up for the moments her subconscious wanted to but didn’t. The tightening arms around her waist and desperate push of tongue in her are all she needs to understand that Shinichi must be thinking the same thing.

(“Mouri-san,” he sighs in her mouth. “Mm, Kudou-kun,” comes her lush reply.)

Only when she feels herself blacking out from lack of oxygen - or the fact that she feels hands untucking the hem of her school uniform from her skirt - does she unconsciously push his chest away, giving them an inch of space.

Stunned and breathless, they separate with the thought that what they share may have been too much for a first kiss. Achievers always aim for too much; anything less and they die. Too much is always too good.

For a first kiss, theirs is pretty characteristic.

“Huh.” She utters low. Any sound will do to kill the awkward silence that has stretched on for too long.

“Well.” He speaks, a little strained, but coughs his throat clear and gets himself together. “If you may...continue with what you’re saying, Mouri-san.”

For someone who’d just kissed her heatedly in an empty classroom in the middle of an argument and was so close to successfully getting his hands under her shirt, Ran is pretty impressed at how he manages to remain courteous in addressing her.

“Y-You’re the absolute worst,” arms still wrapped around his neck, she begins, but doesn’t remember what she’s supposed to say next. All coherent thought has flown out the window when his lips meet hers five minutes ago. She has no choice but to rely on the power of impromptu speech. Like Shinichi said, she’s good at that, kind of. He can probably hear her pulse palpitating on her wrist as she speaks.

“You’re...You’re such an airhead and you think so highly of yourself just because you have so many fangirls. Kuroba-kun or Hattori-kun from the other class are better and much more handsome than you, would you believe? You’re not the only charming guy in this school, Kudou-kun! And you don’t have to correct my flimsy academic mistakes in front of the class for a moment of schadenfreude, damn it! You annoy me to no end! I was this close to giving you my chocolate but good thing I didn’t because you know what? You’re annoying. Truly. You’re so full of yourself and I don’t like you for that and, y-you’re annoying and...and gods I hate you so much I’ll kiss you to death—”

She’s ready to tiptoe but his hands on her waist hold her still.

“What?!” she snaps, not sure where she’s more pissed at, the guy she’s about to kiss or the guy she’s about to kiss stopping her from kissing him again.

(A third option is herself but she’s already established her seething self-loathe when she chose to kiss him back.)

“I-I should be asking that, Mouri-san, what?” he stammers over her lips. “I... Give me your chocolate.”

Ran blinks, partly confused, partly surprised. She tries to comprehend how that is a proper response to whatever she just said (which by now, she’s already forgotten - or at least, in the process of forgetting).

“Give me your chocolate and I’ll eat it even though the chocolates I make with mom surely taste better but I’ll take what you made for me anyway. Don’t even get me started about how much I think it’s funny that you’re thinking about me as you make your chocolate, I mean, wow, there’s always that possibility, but still, wow. I-” he catches his breath, continues, “I’ll give you a better one on White Day. So please give me your chocolate.”

She doesn’t know what to make of the string of words that spew right out his mouth, but she can feel her face tightening to a grimace. Surely now, she knows she’s better at impromptu speech than him.

“You really expect me to give you my chocolate after you insult me? Wow, you really are an ass!” she shouts, as if she hasn’t mocked him the same.

“An ass who’s rejected every single chocolate given him except for one,” he says. His gaze locks her eyes, then her lips, then her eyes again. “And he’s even begging for that one chocolate, how ridiculous is that.”

Ran holds her breath, feels her face burn from his blazing irises.

“You don’t say-”

“I do say.”

His lips twist mischievously, too handsome for her heart to take.

“And you did say something else a while ago. Something equally interesting.” He cranes his head lower. “You said you hate me to death?”

Ran feels her toes tipping to balance.

“...Yes,” she lets go of his nape, hands sliding down to the plane of his chest and crumpling his shirt in her fists. “I hate you so, so much.”

“Oh by all means,” he leans in to swoop her lower lip gently between his teeth, smirks as he pulls it for a soft tug, “hate me all you want.”

.

.

.

[mypoisonedvine]

I've had this idea for a fanfic and was wondering if you'd be up for writing something where the reader is a princess or royal and Jaskier saves her life. Maybe they have to hide out together for a bit and they fall in love while Jask helps her get back home. Of course since hes not a royal they're not supposed to be together but I was thinking either they sneak around or her claims her as "payment" for saving her life. Sorry its kinda detailed, feel free to change it up, and thank you!

Thank you so much for this prompt, I had a lot of fun with it!  And I’m sorry this took so freaking long!

Okay so.  I apologize in advance for the aggressive thirstiness of this one but like…………. I’m a red-blooded woman with NEEDS.  I wanted to subvert the idea of the shy, chaste princess a lil bit that’s all. Sorry anon I assume that you were picturing something fluffier, and I do think it's still very sweet, just has plenty of spice as well lol.  Reader in I Never Danced is a rule follower so I wanted to stretch my legs and do something more… chaotic?  This reader is a sex-loving promiscuous icon and we stan!  Anyhow, I hope you all enjoy :) 

 For the Love of a Princess (a Jaskier x royal!reader oneshot)

Rating: E (smut and violence- attempted kidnapping/murder but no gore)Word count: 3.6kTaglist: @100percentamess who has asked to be tagged in everything so here you go lol

The last few weeks had been rather peculiar for you.  First, your father declared war on a neighbouring country, which meant everything was more stressful.  Then, there were rumors of a witcher in town, and you found it exciting but everyone else was acting nervous and superstitious.  Finally, you had to attend some boring banquet and who would show up but the witcher himself, with his bard in tow?

See, you're the kind of woman who gets what she wants: it's a side effect of being a princess.  Spoiled?  Not necessarily.  Just determined.  And when you heard that this bard Jaskier had a reputation and you saw him flash a wink and a smile at you during his song, you suddenly found something new that you wanted.

Sadly, with so many people around, you couldn't really make your move.  If anyone caught you trying to drag someone- let alone a near stranger- back to your quarters, your father would surely have your head, or worse: send you off to become a nun.

It must have been the hustle of the crowds, then, that let the assassin sneak in.  

You noticed something was strange as soon as you entered your room.  Sadly, by that point it was already too late: someone grabbed you from behind, covering your mouth and lifting you off the ground.  You screamed but of course it was muffled by the gloved hand.  You bit down on it, hard, and you heard a grunt as the hand pulled back.  Seeing your opportunity, you swung your elbow back and hit him in the ribs.  He was forced to let go and you fell to the ground.  Before you could get up, though, he was already grabbing your ankles and dragging you backwards.  You clawed at the ground but since there was an ornate rug covering the stone, all you did was pull it with you and wrinkle it.  Kicking and flailing desperately while he tried to grab you, you finally managed to land a kick to the groin.  He keeled over and you made a run for the door but he reached out and tripped you.  You didn't fall completely, but as you tried to regain your balance he was already standing again.  He lunged forward and you dodged, but as you walked backwards to get away from him, you realized that he had you trapped: to your left, the bed, to your right, the wall.  There was a window, but you even if you could manage to dash past him, you would never survive the fall.  Just as you tried to shield yourself with your arms, you looked up at the man and heard a roar, but it wasn’t coming from him: something smashed him over the head, and as he stumbled to the side from the blow, you saw Jaskier behind him, wielding a ruined lute.

As the assassin fell, he tripped over a fold in your rug and tumbled out the window with a yell.  You dashed to it, looking down to make sure your attacker was dead.  You winced when you saw him; since you were on the fifth floor, it didn’t take a physician to realize he was, in fact, definitely dead. 

You turned back to look at Jaskier with wide eyes. “You saved my life,” you whispered, astounded.

“I suppose so,” he agreed.

You were both panting, trying to catch your breath from the physical stress and fear and shock, and you looked at him, and he looked at you, and you wondered if both of you were having the same exact idea at the same exact time; you must have, because just as you ran towards him, he ran to you, and you kissed him with such hunger, nearly anger, all teeth and tongue and grabbing at clothes and pulling hair.  

“Take me, now,” you demanded, pulling both of you back towards the bed until you fell on it, and him on top of you.

“Yes,” he hissed in agreement, moving down to kiss and bite at your neck.  Your fingers dug into his biceps, and your legs wrapped around his hips as he pushed up the many layers of your skirt.  His hands were strong and calloused, but his touch was delicate and gentle as he ran his fingers up your legs.  You prayed he wouldn’t tease you because you didn’t think you could stand it, and thankfully your prayers were answered as his hands pulled away to open his trousers.  He must’ve made quick work of them because just a moment later you felt him plunge into you, without so much as a warning, stretching and filling you- just as you’d wanted.  The noise you made was unlike anything else: a scream, a moan, a growl, and a whimper all at once.  As soon as he was inside you he was pulling back and thrusting in at a punishing pace, fast and deep and hard enough that he had to hold you down to keep your body from moving across the bed.  

You reached up to push off his doublet, leaving only a chemise which exposed more of his chest and arms.  He smiled and licked his lips, grabbing the neckline of your dress and pulling it down, nearly ripping the fabric as your breasts were freed.  You yelped in surprise but it quickly turned to a moan as he dropped down to kiss along your neck and shoulders and collarbones and breasts until you were writhing under him desperately.  

He leaned back and moved your legs onto his shoulders.  The sight of your feet up in the air and his face between your knees was really something, especially when he turned his head to the side to leave teasing bites on your leg.  Your back arched as he leaned forward, folding you in half under him.  You screamed, properly, as you felt his cock pushed so deep inside of you, deeper than you even knew was possible.  It pushed against something inside you that made your whole body quiver, made you cry out with every movement until you felt tears welling at the corners of your eyes: not from pain, just from the intensity of the sensation.  His thumb wiped the tear away as it fell, and you were afraid he would think he had hurt you or that you didn't want this, so you decided to make yourself abundantly clear.

"Jaskier, don't stop," you commanded, "please don't stop, fuck."

"I won't stop," he promised.  You were already so close; you wanted more than anything to see him lose control, and to know that it was because of you.

"Please, please, come for me," you begged as you looked up at him, "Gods, I need you to come inside me."

"Fuck," Jaskier whispered.

"You feel amazing, baby, you're so fucking good," you continued.

"Where'd you learn to talk like that?" he asked, but you could hear the exhaustion in his voice, and you knew he couldn't keep his cool much longer.

"Not all princesses are so sheltered," you smirked.

"Oh, I'm well aware," he quipped, "but they're all supposed to be."

"I like doing things I'm not supposed to," you smiled up at him.

"I noticed," he replied with a wink.  He was really good at winking.  Maybe a shallow or silly thing to decide to pursue a man over, since it's what attracted you to him in the first place, but clearly your tastes had served you well because he was about to make you come.  

"I'm close, gods, I’m going to-” you began.

“Come for me,” he interrupted, or maybe just finished what you were going to say.

At that point you stopped really paying attention to what you were saying, but there was definitely a lot of ‘yes’ and ‘fuck’ mixed in.  It was more important to you to focus on the sounds he was making- they were even more beautiful than his singing.  

~

A few months had passed, and all the while you and Jaskier courted in secret.  In fact, you were currently on a romantic date: he had you pressed against the wall of a secluded linen closet, your cheek pushed into the cold stone as he grabbed your hips for stability while he thrusted into you.

"So tight," he whispered into your ear. "I'm sure I wouldn't fit if you weren't so fucking wet all the time."

"I'm not wet all the time," you corrected, "just when you're around."

"Fuck," was his only reply.

"I'm close," you alerted him, but you regretted it as he decided to use this as a learning opportunity.

"Beg me for it," he demanded, "or I'll stop."

You scoffed, not thinking him capable of that restraint.  That was a mistake, as he instantly pulled out and your body ached without him.

"No," you whined, "please." 

You arched your back and tried to press yourself into him but he kept backing away so you couldn't reach.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, hoping to get back on his good side, but it wasn't enough.

"You know what you need to do," he smiled against the back of your neck as he started to kiss and bite you there: the feeling ran straight through you to your insides which clenched around nothing.

"I want you, please, I want your cock inside me," you began.  That earned you a squeeze from the hand around your hip but not much else.

"Gods, I need it, Jaskier, please," you whined, "I need you."  He kissed down to your shoulder but stopped there, still refusing to give you what you wanted.  You felt the words spilling out of you, your need for him apparently bypassing that part of your brain that filters what you say before you say it.

"I love you, Jaskier; I've fallen in love with you," you finally revealed, not even really meaning to say it.  It worked though, as he spun you around to face him and forced his way back into you.  You cried out, grabbing the back of his neck while he lifted your legs to wrap around him.

"Truly?" he asked quietly as he peppered kisses along your neck.

"Completely," you responded. "Do you love me?"

"Gods, of course," he laughed, his forehead resting on your shoulder as he continued to drive into you. "I've loved you since I met you.  And only found ways to love you more with each passing day."

"Please don't stop," you begged.

"The fucking or the talking?" he clarified.

"Both," you answered.

“You’re so beautiful,” he continued, his words interrupted with kisses along your neck and chest and shoulders, “and smart, and kind.  It’s impossible not to be in love with you.”

You smiled, though you were blushing as well.

“I’m sure everyone who knows you is in love with you just as much as I am- certainly anyone who, er, knows you as well as I do.  To be euphemistic,” he smirked. “What I’m not sure of is why you keep me around, when any man would be falling over himself just to kiss your hand.”

“You’re wondering why I keep you around?  I’m about to come in a linen closet, what’s not to love?” you quipped.  You felt him smile against your skin, but his voice sounded a little concerned.

“It’s not just that though, right?  You have more use for me than sex?”

“You certainly have entertainment value,” you smirked.

He frowned.

“And you’re the kindest man I’ve ever met who never fails to make me laugh.  Is that what you wanted to hear?”  You tried to stay it with some sense of begrudgement but it was difficult when he was still fucking you- which is what you’d asked for, so no complaints there- and when you were so overcome with your feelings for him.

“Yes,” he smiled, “though I want to hear you say that you love me again.”  Of course he couldn’t just ask you for that, he had to push deeper into you, making you nearly scream it out.

“I love you, Jaskier, fuck, I love you,” you moaned.

“How long?” he pressed, biting on your neck lightly as he started to drive into you even faster.

“So long, gods, I feel like I can’t remember a time that I didn’t.  I can’t remember what it’s like to not need to be near you all the damn time,” you answered through gritted teeth.

It began to feel like an interrogation, though a very pleasurable one.  “How did you know you loved me?” 

“Fuck, Jaskier!” you protested, barely able to form sentences when you were so close to orgasm. “You were playing a song, and everyone was looking at you, and you looked so good, and you sounded so good, and I suddenly realized it.  I don’t know how I knew.  I just- fuck- I just thought to myself ‘I didn’t know I could care about somebody this much.’”

He kissed you, deep and slow and burning with a passion that felt entirely different from what you expected.  You came and it hit you like a bolt of lightning, your body quivering under his touch.  Your moans were lost against his lips, and you felt that he was there with you, finding his own release just as he brought you to yours.  When you both started to slow your breathing as you calmed down from the powerful high, he relaxed his grip on your thighs, letting your legs find their way back to the floor.  

"We should marry," he suggested as you shifted your dress back into position.

"Proposings of marriage are less trustworthy when they're seconds after orgasm," you frowned.

"No, I've thought about it before now," he explained. "I've thought about it a lot."

"Then you must've remembered that I'm expected to marry a king or prince."

"Yes," he sighed. “Your father likes me, I think.”

“I don’t know if he likes you that much,” you murmured.

“But he cares for you, and if he understood how much I love you…” Jaskier trailed off, taking your hands in his, looking at you with eyes that beamed with hope.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t understand how much you love me.  Or how often,” you considered with wide eyes.

“Please,” he interjected desperately, his hands squeezing yours a bit, “think about it.  I want to spend my life with you.”

“Julian,” you replied, your voice much softer, one hand leaving his grasp to comb through his hair, “all I want is to say yes.  I just don’t know that I can.”

“You can,” he encouraged.  “You may be royalty but you’re not property.”

“It’s easier for you to say when the approval of your family isn’t on the line,” you deflected.

“Then we’ll marry in secret.  Or I’ll find some way to become a king, I don’t know,” he smiled.

“That’s preposterous,” you scoffed.

“Nothing could be more preposterous, more outrageous, more unbelievable, than you and I not being together,” he whispered, stepping closer.  

You kissed him, smiling into it, and you were sort of scared because you had no idea what to do with feelings like this, but you felt safe as long as Jaskier was with you.

~

You sat beside your father, sitting through one of the worst royal duties imaginable: meetings!  You just had to be upright in your throne, looking all royal and stuff, while the people rich enough to make audience with the King took turns popping in and usually complaining about something that they were too lazy to fix themselves.  

If anything could get your attention now, the only thing, it would be-

Your posture changed completely when you saw Jaskier enter the room.  You could tell he’d worn the nicest thing he owned; he was wringing his hands, looking around the room with a shifting gaze.

“Jaskier!” your father announced with a grin. “I didn’t expect to see you here.  Is this some sort of impromptu performance?  Where is your lute?”

“Your majesty,” he answered with a quick bow, “I am actually here for your audience, not as a musician.”

Your eyes went wide.  This was his genius plan?  You nearly felt sick you were so nervous.

“What is it, boy?” your father prompted.

“Well, I’ve come to ask you for something,” he explained. 

“Spit it out then!”

“I’ve come to ask for the princess’ hand in marriage!” Jaskier replied suddenly, louder than before.

There was a brief moment of silence, but it felt like hours.  It ended when your father began to laugh.

“This is ridiculous!” the king guffawed.  You felt your cheeks grow hot.

“It’s true,” Jaskier replied firmly, puffing up his chest as he glanced at you briefly, “I’ve fallen in love with her.”

“Yes, well,” he scoffed in reply, “my daughter is a fair and gentle maiden.  I’m sure she has plenty of potential suitors who only wished they could take her hand.  The difference is that they have the foresight not to barge in and ask me for my only child!”  He stood up, face red with anger, and addressed the guards.  “Get this fool out of here!”

You stood up too, grabbing your father’s shoulders just as the soldiers started to drag Jaskier away by the arms.

“Papa, no!” you begged.

“Silence, girl,” he scolded.

“Unhand him!” you yelled to the guards, who obeyed- perhaps a little too well, dropping Jaskier onto the floor.

You looked back at your father, who was looking at you in confusion.

“What is this?!” he asked incredulously.

“I love him as well, father,” you answered with confidence, even though inside you were absolutely terrified.

“WHAT?!” he bellowed.

“We’re in love,” you replied, turning to give Jaskier a smile.  He looked back at you with a look that made your heart melt.

“Blasphemy!” your father cried out. “What are you doing?” he asked as he turned to the guards again, “I said to get him out of here!”

They picked him up from the floor and continued dragging him towards the door, ignoring his stuttered attempts to explain himself.

“Stop!” you yelled as you stole the sword from the guard beside you, jumping down the steps and running to Jaskier’s aid, holding the weapon out to the neck of one of the soldiers.

“I order you to unhand this man,” you growled, “and I beg you not to test me.”

They hesitated, but after a moment, Jaskier was dropped onto the stone again.

“Ow!” he complained. “Worst proposal ever!”

You helped him up off the ground, wrapping an arm around him and using the other to hold the stolen sword in a defensive position.

“Father,” you said sternly, “I love this man.  I intend to take him as my husband.  I will do so here, as princess of this land, before the gods and my people; or, if you refuse, I will do so in the forest, alone, and spend the rest of my days running from my own armies and living the life of a peasant.”

You felt his gaze on you, but you were too focused on what you were saying to look back at him.  You couldn’t read the king’s face very well but there was definitely shock present there.

“I’d be happy either way,” you sighed. “So, it’s up to you, father.  Have your choice.”

The next silence that came was even longer than the last one.  Your father slowly stepped down, walking towards the both of you.  Though you weren’t sure exactly of his intentions, you dropped your sword.  Instantly the guards rushed towards Jaskier again, but the king raised his hand, silently ordering them to stop.  When he finally stood in front of you, he took your face in his hands.

“My daughter,” he smiled sweetly, tears welling in his eyes. “You’re so like your mother.  She’d be so proud of you.  If only she could see you now, all grown up...”

You felt a tear run down your own cheek as well. 

“If only she could be here, for your wedding day,” he added.  You ran into an embrace, and he held you close, and in that hug there was a silent understanding between you, things that neither of you were strong enough to say, but that you didn’t need to anymore.

“My son!” he said to Jaskier, pulling him into the hug as well as the bard let out a little squeak from the perhaps-semi-aggressive grab. 

“I- I’m flattered by your approval, your Grace, if a little surprised,” Jaskier stammered.

“If my daughter loves you, truly, then I love you as well.  But if you think this puts you in line for the throne or gives you any political power, you can keep dreaming!” he sing-songed in a fake-sweet voice.

~

It was a beautiful ceremony.  Silk banners on every alcove, stained glass windows, and flowers everywhere: mostly dandelions.  Your dress took months to be made, with embroidered florals and precious gems decorating the entire (ridiculously long) train.  You wore your mother’s wedding tiara, but Julian told you later that your eyes sparkled brighter, like the poetic dork he was.  He looked great in royal clothes as well, though the fur cape was a bit much in your opinion.  The reception was even better: the entire kingdom celebrated with festivals across the cities, and the merriment went on for days with feasts and dancing and lots of music.

All that said, you had a lot more fun at the honeymoon.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Theoretical Knowledge

“Remember kids,” you say sitting on the desk, feet folded as you cradle a cup of coffee, “A theory is JUST a framework for understanding. So. As we discuss Marxist, Feminist, and Queer Theories, no. I am not telling you that you HAVE to use only those theories and you HAVE to see the world that way. So please. Please keep the tweetstorms to a minimum in class. Just remember. If you don’t understand the theories, you can’t argue against them effectively.”

You smile and set your coffee cup down. “That said, Tuesday, we’ll be starting with Feminist Theory. Please read the chapter before class and come prepared to engage in our preliminary discussion.”

College kids, mostly freshmen start to trickle out, gathering their things and clustering up a few at a time. You alternately loved and hated teaching lower-level courses. The amount of handholding that they needed to be housebroken for their upper-level courses got a little more astounding every semester but... Still. There was something lovely about helping them build a solid foundation for the rest of their careers. 

You pause to answer a few questions. Careful to help them find the correct information. People for the next class were queuing up just beyond your periphery and you direct the stragglers to you office hours. You can feel the grumpy glare of Barnes, the mathematics professor and you cringe internally. You were willing to bet that you were going to have a shitty email waiting on you this evening. Some tripe about respecting other people’s time. Like it was your fault they’d shoehorned your 100 level classes into the Mathematics building. It was all the way across campus and there wasn’t decent coffee to be found anywhere on any floor. It was a miserable utilitarian clusterfuck of a building. Still. On some level it was super fun to get under his skin. The grump ass.

But, you were a good girl. You ignored his impatient harrumphs and tried not to glare at him when he slammed his stuff down and startled you. You erased the board carefully and quietly gathered your things as he sent an attendance sheet around the room, starting his droning on about Proofs or whatever the fuck. You even smiled, just a little when you caught his eye.

Numbers left you cold. 

They reminded you of sitting on the floor in the hallway. Flecks of mica winking mockingly at you as you try to finish the times table drill through the tremors in your hands and the tears that are threatening to spill. 

They reminded you of desperation. Frantically searching couch cushions for change. Just 80 cents so that you could at least get some fries at lunch. You’’re sick. Too sick to go to school but you can’t miss Algebra and there’s no food in the house. 

Numbers are an immutable fact. You can’t change them. No amount of new information will change that 2+2 is 4. Or change the fact that when you run the numbers, you come up wanting. So you try, very hard not to think about how irritating Barnes is. How you hate the aloofness in his face and how badly you’d like to see him smile to see if it made his eyes look less... Less frozen. 

As you strode across campus, anxious to get out of the cutting wind and stinging snow, back to your warm office and good coffee. Back on what felt like Terra Firma where you could discuss Russian Literature, and Freud’s Bullshit, and witchcraft, and stupid tv. Things you understood. Things you’d studied just for the sake of knowing. Things that had lead you here. You pushed the thoughts of Professor James Barnes out of your mind. He was as he was, and with any luck, it would only be for a semester that your existence would cause him any more irritation. Still. As you unlocked your door and settled behind your desk... There had to be something to be done about him. Something to chill him out just a little bit. You were just considering texting your usual gang of miscreants and rogue academics. You weren’t sure if it was for a war council or just for a drink. But you were saved having to figure it out when a familiar red head hurled herself dramatically across your desk.

“Please. I’m dying. Tinder sucks. Can we please. Please. Pretty fucking please go out. I miss out,” she says.

“Tasha,” you laugh, petting her hair absently, not looking up from your email, but pausing long enough to pat her hair, “You’re the one that said we couldn’t go out anymore.”

“And I was wrong. So. Very Wrong.”

“Well I’m not opposed but you know that if we don’t invite the boys they’ll be sad.”

“Tap room?”

“Sounds great,” you say absently, glaring at the missive that had just popped up.

Natasha arranged herself in a more dignified position in you guest chair and helped herself to a coffee and a snack, “Your face is making a face,” she frowns. 

“It’s just my best Buddy over in the Mathematics department,” you sigh rolling your eyes.

“Barnes right?” she says taking a sip of coffee.

You nod and turn the screen so she can read it.

You watch her eyes scan the monitor and watch the frown lines materialize, “What the fuck. Like dude. It’s just flavored coffee.”

“Right?”

“Control freak.”

“For fucking real. Like. Ew.”

You roll your eyes and she picks up her phone, “Maybe one of the Boys will know something.”

“Maybe,” you shrug, refusing to respond with apologies. 

________

“Bucky!” Steve said leaning on the door frame, “Come on. We’re going out.”

“No thank you,” Bucky said snorting, “I really don’t want to have to carry your drunk ass home. Or listen to you spout Poli-sci bullshit to try and get girls.”

“Well the girls we’re going with are gonna be completely unavailable and uninterested. We’re gonna hit the tap room and watch the game.” Steve frowned at his friend who kept glancing at his laptop like he was waiting on something. 

“What did you do, Bucky?” he asked folding his arms.

“Nothing,” he huffed.

“Well if you scowl at your computer any harder it’s gonna burst into flames.”

“I’m just waiting on an email,” he said feeling uncomfortable under Steve’s scrutiny. Squirming slightly in his chair. 

“Who are you picking a fight with now?” Steve scolded.

“I’m not.”

“James.”

“I don’t know what she teaches. Some social science thing. But she leaves the lecture hall a mess and reeking of flavored coffee.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” he snapped.

“Missing Yelena and taking it out on some random girl that’s just slightly messy.”

“I’m not.” he said petulantly, “It’s unprofessional to take up my time.”

Steve restrained an eyeroll with effort, “C’mon, ya grumpy fuck. You like Nat fine. And Sam is coming. You can’t just rot in your house and forget how to live forever.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah yeah,” Steve said dismissively, “Pick you up at 7.” And he was gone before Bucky had a chance to formulate a reply.

The truth was complicated. Bucky knew exactly what you taught. The Anthropology of Religion. Folklore. Witchcraft. He’d read everything you had ever written. He followed your Twitter. He just. He didn’t understand you. You had a mind suited for numbers. Logical. Straight forward. Applying science and advocating for greater understanding with reckless abandon. 

But all you studied was... Stories. None of it was real. it was smoke and shadows. Illusions. He could only assume you were the same way. An illusion. You were pretty enough. Funny. But there had to be something... broken inside you. Something that you were hiding. Something to be wary of. He just didn’t know how to explain that to Steve. 

Numbers he understood. They were what they were regardless. If there was a mistake, he made it. There was no one else to blame with numbers. They sang to him like nothing else did. They spoke to him and whispered secrets. 

They made him think of being warm in bed with a book of number puzzles and a cup of hot chocolate on a snow day. The joy of solving a problem he’d been teasing at for days. It was happiness in its purest form. Accomplishment. Order from chaos.

You were chaos to which he saw no order. He couldn’t find a pattern to you. A nimbus of coffee and lost trains of thought. Bucky did not understand you and as he stared at his laptop, waiting for a reply, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

He decidedly didn’t want to. And he couldn’t wait for the semester to be over.

Tags: @lancsnerd @blameitonthecauseway @thorfanficwriter @stevieang @etherealwaifgoddess

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: leaves eddied over the earth’s scars (fixed)

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Yànlí & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín

Additional Tags: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Trauma, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Regret, Implied/Referenced Character Death

Summary: Lan WangJi wakes to find Wei WuXian quietly grieving his shijie.

Notes: Spectre was supposed to be a one-shot, but guess not. The title is a line from the poem “Try to Praise the Mutilated World,” which is also the series title. Also, I dumbly initially set this in the fall, but Jiang YanLi's birthday is supposedly May 2. So I fixed it and added the symbolism of the magnolia blossom. For those who don't know, in China magnolia blossoms tend to symbolize womanly beauty and gentleness, which suits YanLi. This is the corrected version.

AO3 link

Spectre

---------

Lan WangJi wakes without knowing what has disrupted his sleep. The jingshi is silent, and Wei Ying’s side of the bed is empty and unrumpled. But he has grown used to Wei Ying’s late nights; that alone would not disturb his sleep.

The silver light of a barely-waning moon spills into their home, the door slid open and letting the soft, chill breeze of late April pour in. When Lan WangJi sits up, he can barely see the shadow of Wei Ying’s figure on the porch.

A sense of unease prickles at his skin as moments tick by and there is no movement, and finally Lan WangJi stands, drawing on his outer robe and bringing Wei Ying’s with, padding barefoot to the door.

Wei Ying is curled in on himself, seated at the edge of the porch with his forehead on one knee. In his lap is a rabbit that has of late taken a liking to him, a gentle white doe dappled in brown spots so light they were almost pink. Fallen white petals from the nearby magnolia tree surround him, a few adorning his robes.

The scene would be lovely to behold if not for tears that glimmer on Wei Ying’s face in the moonlight.

Lan WangJi moves to him immediately, stepping over what appears to be an unopened jar of Emperor’s Smile. He drapes the outer robes around his shoulders, then sits behind him and gathers him close, resting his chin on Wei Ying’s shoulder. There is a tension in him, as though he is so taut he might snap.

“Wei Ying, I’m here.”

“Lan Zhan,” he murmurs, shivering as he leans into his embrace. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Lan WangJi wishes he had, wonders if there are other nights that find Wei Ying crying alone. Or, perhaps worse, drinking himself numb. Even if tonight has been the first time, the placement of the moon suggests it is after midnight; he has potentially been out here for hours alone, in quiet pain.

“Tell me?”

He makes it a request, not a demand, something Wei Ying is free to deny if he wishes. Over a minute ticks by in silence, so long he thinks perhaps all he can do was hold him in the moonlight.

But then Wei Ying lets out a long sigh.

“Next week would have been shijie’s birthday.”

Though it’s barely a whisper, Lan WangJi can only describe his tone as lost. He understands; for Wei Ying, it will be the first birthday since her passing.

After Wei Ying’s death every anniversary had felt like a fresh lash against his soul—their meeting, the cold spring cave, the battle against the XuanWu of Slaughter… all through the day he’d plummeted to his death. The first year had been the worst.

Lan WangJi wonders how many anniversaries he has quietly grieved alone like this, hiding his pain. He had faced his grief alone, refusing to impose upon his brother, but he doesn’t want Wei Ying to face this alone.

“Tell me about her?”

He keeps it as a request, willing to simply sit here and hold him if that is what Wei Ying needs.

“Ah, you met her, Lan Zhan.”

Something in the way he says it is hesitant, though, and so Lan WangJi responds gently.

“I do not know her as Wei Ying does.”

He purposefully keeps the phrase in the present tense, for Jiang YanLi lives on in the memories of her brothers. He knows Wei Ying has noticed when his breath hitches and he shifts to the side in Lan WangJi’s arms to lean his head against his chest, gently repositioning the rabbit as he does.

Comparing Wei Ying’s speech to a burst dam, though a common metaphor, is inaccurate; rather, words come slowly, sometimes haltingly.

Lan WangJi learns of Jiang YanLi’s dedication to keeping him safe and happy, how she found him up a tree and coaxed him down and home and filled him with warm soup and love. Of her smiles at his antics, and how he sought to keep her smiling through childish behavior. Of how she tried to shield him from Madam Yu’s rages.

Far more than a sister; he is grieving the loss of a surrogate mother. He knows of Wei Ying’s childhood, of the time spent fighting dogs for food in the streets following the death of his parents before Jiang FengMian had finally found him. Lan WangJi is reminded of his own inconsolable grief at his mother’s death. The similarities are incomplete, but pain is not meant to be compared—only acknowledged and eased.

If only he knew how.

Between the lines he hears another fear: that without  Jiang YanLi the rift between Wei Ying and Jiang WanYin will never mend, that she was what brought them together, that without her any reconciliation is impossible.

Tears have seeped through the layers he is wearing by the time Wei Ying falls quiet, his breath still hitching irregularly.

“It was my fault she was there. If I hadn’t stopped at Koi Tower…”

Lan WangJi knows how these regrets work, having questioned his own actions for years, critiquing everything he could have done differently that might have saved him. After learning from Wen QiongLin of Wei Ying’s secret, the loss of his golden core, he knows just how many mistakes he made.

“She would have sought you regardless,” he says, and knows it to be true. Just as he had come, Jiang YanLi would have out of love.

A tremor runs through Wei Ying, and Lan WangJi brings one hand up to thread through his hair in a comforting motion.

“She wished to protect you.” And she did goes unsaid.

“She shouldn’t have,” is so soft he barely hears it, and he can’t stop himself from clutching Wei Ying tighter against him. The rabbit kicked at them, squirming out from between them to settle on the porch beside them; Lan WangJi barely registers it.

“She sacrificed herself and I just—“

“Wei Ying.” He can’t bear for him to complete that thought. “That was not you. The Book of Turmoil…”

The sob that rips itself from Wei Ying seems to echo in the still air.

“How can you be so sure?”

There is an air of desperation to his voice, and it pains Lan WangJi that Wei Ying has been so wronged, lost so much, been led to doubt even himself.

“Su MinShan played at Nightless City, just as he did at Qiongpi Path.”

A tremor passes through Wei Ying at the mention of that place.

“His target was me,” Lan WangJi whispers. “Your death was his weapon.”

The events at Guanyin Temple had left him with little doubt: Su MinShan had killed Jiang YanLi to break Wei Ying, to leave him susceptible to the music, knowing he would be too strong to succumb without excessive measures. Just as the other cultivators had given into their worst inclinations, their amplified lust for power leading them to fight each other over the remains of the Stygian Tiger Seal, Wei Ying had succumbed to self-loathing so deep it had led him to...

He can’t finish that thought, panic and grief threatening despite the warmth of Wei Ying in his arms.

Lan WangJi suspects Jiang WanYin had been similarly affected, that perhaps some of the rage that the man still holds onto was truly anger at his own actions.

Or perhaps he just hopes this is the case for Wei Ying’s sake.

“That was not you,” he says again.

Wei Ying’s fingers trace one of the discipline scars that peeks above his night robes, as though he recognizes it as a physical symbol of their trauma. Lan WangJi resists the temptation to trace the almost invisible scar at Wei Ying’s throat, trying not to remember his attempt to convince him his life was not worth sealing his spiritual energy. Even so, he can’t quite contain a shudder at the phantom memory.

“Lan Zhan…” His breath is hot against his collarbone. “Does it ever end, Lan Zhan?”

He knows he is speaking of grief, of trauma and regret and guilt. It had for him, but only because Wei Ying had returned, the notes of their song played by a masked man on a mountain thirteen years into his grief bringing tears to his eyes and hope to his soul.

“I did not wish it to,” Lan WangJi admits.

Letting go of it would have felt like letting go of him, and that he couldn’t bear.

Fingers come to rest on his cheek, wiping at moisture he didn’t realize was there.

“Oh, Lan Zhan.”

Wei Ying’s voice is grieved, but the apology is implied rather than spoken. They had promised, after all.

“Together,” Lan WangJi tells him. “We can try together.”

“Together,” Wei Ying echoes, but adds nothing more.

Lan WangJi is not good with words; this conversation has required more of them than he can usually manage. But he knows Wei Ying still needs them, needs reassurance, from the way he is pressed close, pliable, drooping against him, the tension eased somewhat but still present under the surface. It would be easy to let action take over and distract, but that will not heal.

“How do you wish to celebrate Jiang YanLi’s birth?” he finally manages, uncertain of what else to say; he only hopes these words will help, not harm.

Nearly a minute passes in silence, and he wonders if he failed, but then Wei Ying speaks so softly he almost doesn’t understand the words, as though he is speaking to himself.

“I wouldn’t be welcome.”

Lan WangJi has to quash old anger before he can reply.

“I will write to Jiang WanYin. We will go to Yunmeng, if that is your wish.”

Welcome or not, there will be words if Wei Ying is denied, he decides. Perhaps sixteen years’ worth.

Wei Ying doesn’t reply, doesn’t say no, only trembles in his arms, and though he knows it is not, Lan WangJi decides to interpret it as cold, lifts him to his feet and wraps the robe more snugly around him.

He stoops to pick up the rabbit, leaving the untouched jar of Emperor’s Smile to put away in the morning. Wei Ying’s eyes are red-rimmed, his face pale in the moonlight, as pale as he had been at Nightless City. He looks delicate, like he might break. Again.

He looks exhausted.

Lan WangJi hands him the rabbit, then scoops him into his arms, meeting no resistance as he brings him into the jingshi, tucks him into bed, pulling away only to place the rabbit in a small hutch near the bed usually reserved for ill or injured ones.

He isn’t certain whether either of them will truly sleep tonight, but he gathers Wei Ying to him, runs a hand soothingly against his back until his breathing is calm and regular anyway. Even if he isn’t asleep, he is at least no longer so tense it feels he could shatter.

Tomorrow he will make arrangements for Uncle to take over his duties during his absence, will write the letter to Jiang WanYin and send it, will visit XiChen in his seclusion so he won’t worry at his absence and to explain his intentions in Yunmeng, will begin preparations for the journey.

Most important, he will watch Wei Ying, give him what he needs so they can face their pain together.

[michael-loves-chickens]

I May Be Dumb, But I’m Not Stupid (Part 2)

[Roger Taylor x Fem!reader]

A/N: Thank you guys for such a positive response to part 1. It means a lot because I’ve never posted or really shared my writing before and I’m glad I’m able to give you something to enjoy!!! It’s still kinda short but shit goes down in the next chapter, I just felt like being evil 😈 and leaving it on a cliffhanger. Also thank you for being so patient. I’ve been very busy and haven’t had any time to write. 😘

(P.s. I couldn’t link the first part because I don’t have a computer on hand at the moment)

Read Part One First❗️❗️❗️❗️❗️❗️❗️

Reminder: I’m taking concept requests for Queen and 5sos (no full on smut)

Y/N’s POV

“Come on!”

“Go with us!”

“It’s a party for you, we’re all going.”

“Even Deaky’s going. If Deaky’s going you should go.”

Roger and I had been pestering Brian for a good thirty minutes. He refused to come with us to a party tonight which may I add, was celebrating HIS band’s upcoming tour. Brian said he had a “bad feeling” about tonight, whatever that meant.

“I just feel like something bad is going to happen and knowing you guys, I’d probably be the one having to fix it.”

I didn’t really want to go either but I was supporting my friends and knowing my 2 favorite things: boys and booze would be there, the decision was a little easier. Plus I would probably be shunned if I didn’t go (Freddie and Roger a.k.a the hysterical queens of the band).

I had recently tried distancing myself from Roger, however this task turned out to be much more difficult than I had originally thought. Roger was a drug no rehab could cure me of, I just kept relapsing every time I tried to quit. Partying always helped me cope; so I got a buzz whenever I could, even though the high only lasts till he catches my eye. And again and again, Roger kept reminding me that I couldn’t have him. I was his for the week, until he moved on to the next fling.

I had feelings for my best friend and I knew he would never feel the same way. Roger could barely pay attention to one girl for more than a week, I couldn’t expect a relationship out of him.

Later that night

Getting ready for the party was causing me more stress than I already had. I wanted to doll myself up just so Roger would notice me, but I couldn’t make it too obvious. I also had to make sure that I would be able to catch the eye of anyone but Roger, while still managing to grab his attention in a tasteful way. See, even picking out my clothes to impress Roger seemed like a life or death situation. It was completely ridiculous, obsessing over one guy like this. I just need to go to the party and completely ignore Roger. How presumptuous of me to actually think my will power would keep him away from me.

“Freddie’s already there Brian, lets go,” Roger complained. After convincing Brian to go, he’d decided to take the maximum amount of time possible to get ready (of course he did, have you seen his hair).

We finally leaving the house, we arrived at the party to find it was already on full swing.I immediately left the boys to go get shitfaced, that’s what I was there for after all.

3 rounds of shots and 2 beers later I felt my sobriety begin to disappear. I wasn’t really paying attention to my surroundings, that was until a guy a few meters away offered to buy me a drink. Boy, did I make a mistake saying yes...

Roger’s POV

I had barely walked through the door and I already had girls lining up to see me. I liked the attention, I always did, but I felt guilty. I felt like every time I had a girl even flirt with me, I was cheating. I hadn’t actually admitted it to anyone that I felt guilty because of her. Y/N was the only girl that I kept around, ever. Brian had tried to get me to spill about my emotions, even though I’m pretty sure he already knew everything.

Y/N meant a lot more to me than anyone knew. I couldn’t lose my reputation for a girl that so obviously had no romantic feelings toward me. She’d been very distant lately and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because she didn’t want to keep up our little agreement anymore.

My temper had been through the roof and I was set off by every little thing. I was pissed at myself. I let her down. It took a lot for me not snap the neck of any guy Y/N spent time with.

I didn’t want to lose her. She was...perfect, the only thing that kept me sane. Now I wasn’t the smartest guy, but it didn’t take an astrophysicist (get it 😂) to realize how amazing this girl was.

Here I was sat with a girl on either arm and all I could think of was where Y/N was. Not with me, which is where she should be. I scanned the room searching for her and as soon as I caught sight of her, I felt my blood boil.

Y/N’s POV

I guess Brian’s little prediction had been correct . It seemed Roger was in the mood for a fight tonight because I had looked away from the guy I was speaking to, only to see an enraged Roger stomping towards us. As soon as I spotted the red tinge in his face and how his fists were clenched, I realized that someone was getting majorly injured. Who it was going to be, I had no idea.

Tag list: @dontfollowmegoaway (im so sorry it wouldn’t let me tag you ☹️☹️) @sherlokiantheatrenerd @lets-get-saucie

[dr-gloom]

Overworked and Underpaid Ch 2

Whoo! Here’s chapter 2! Uhm sorry it ended up being twice as long as chapter one?

Chapter 1

Summary: The events of Chapter one, more in depth and from the other sides’ perspectives. 

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: none (I mean I guess you could read into it and see a pairing but that’s up to you)

Tags/Warnings: sick Virgil, anxious bois, soup

Read it on AO3

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@idon-kno @scorching-scotch @bunny222 @hungry-red-panda

It had been worrying Patton how busy Thomas was making himself. He was doing nothing but working! He didn’t even give himself the chance to hang out with friends, unless he needed to talk to them for a project, and even then, it wasn’t anything fun! Patton knew that it was important to give oneself breaks and have some relaxation time, and he also couldn’t forget what Virgil had said months ago. “Your really good friends, they… Help me out. They provide constancy.” Patton knew that Virgil had to be taking all of this hard.

Even if Thomas wasn’t anxious about meeting deadlines or being late with anything, Virgil was always anxious about those things himself. And without Thomas’ friends around to provide that constant reassurance and comfort, Patton couldn’t imagine how Virgil must be feeling after so long. When he would walk by Virgil’s room, he could always hear him pacing and muttering to himself. Even in the dead of night, if Patton got up to get some water or had just turned off Parks & Rec, he could hear Virgil wide awake either in his room or making his rounds. Patton wasn’t sure if he should talk to Virgil; the other was always so closed off, and they hadn’t been one big happy family for very long. As much as he loved and cared for his kiddo, he doubted the other would tell him if something was wrong.

He kept an eye on Virgil, though, watching as the anxious side became more and more fidgety, more and more jumpy, seemed more and more tired. He noticed how Virgil started squinting at the light and had to force himself to laugh a bit when Roman would joke about how Virgil spends too much time in that cave of a room; he only laughs because he doesn’t want to worry the others or make Virgil suspicious of him. Virgil starts looking paler, and the eyeshadow under his eyes starts looking less like eyeshadow and more like sleep-deprived bags. Patton makes a comment, tells Virgil, “Wow kiddo! You’re getting so good at putting eyeshadow on! It looks so realistic!” because he hopes Virgil will correct him, tell him he’s not wearing makeup, give him an in to talk about this, to tell Patton what’s wrong and let the father figment help him. He just grins, and Patton tries to convince himself it really is just makeup.

He feels his worry grow when Virgil starts zoning out a lot. In the middle of filming a new video, Virgil’s line comes up and the four men stand around looking at Virgil for a solid five minutes before Virgil realizes his mistake and apologizes. Patton can feel Thomas getting worried, he feels it too, but he tries to push it down because he needs to figure out what’s going on with Virgil. He needs to talk to Roman and Logan about this, but not right now. They call it a day and Virgil heads straight to his room.

He mentions to Roman and Logan that he thinks something’s wrong with Virgil. He tells them what he’s noticed and what he’s worried about and what he suspects. Roman brushes it off as Patton being an overly-protective dad-at-heart, but Logan seems to take Patton’s concerns under consideration. Virgil comes down a few hours later, heading to the kitchen, walking like a zombie, and the other sides share a look before Roman parades into the kitchen, his voice flowing out from the kitchen as he talks to Virgil with all of his usual bravado. When Virgil doesn’t respond, instead just standing there with his water, Roman’s eyebrows scrunch together, and he snaps his fingers in Virgil’s face. Virgil startles and apologizes, then walks around Roman hurriedly.

Logan stops Virgil with his voice, asking him how long it’s been since he’s slept, and Virgil just shrugs at him. That makes Patton’s worry intensify, and he can feel the other two worry as Roman makes his way out of the kitchen. Virgil looks like he’s about to cry, Patton can’t handle it anymore. He knows he needs to wait for Virgil to trust him, to open up to him, but he’s so worried for his poor exhausted kiddo that he asks, “What’s wrong, kiddo?” Virgil takes a moment to respond, and every second is agony to Patton before Virgil mutters a subdued, “Nothing’s wrong” and disappears before anyone can say anything.

It’s been weeks now, and Thomas is still as busy as ever, and Virgil only seems to be getting worse. Patton catches him in the kitchen one evening, standing in front of the open fridge swaying like he’s about to fall over, and he’s about to say something when Virgil mutters a, “just don’t stand still” and closes the fridge, shuffling out of the kitchen and starting on his nightly patrol of the mindscape. Patton wants so badly to stop him, to force him to bed, but after their last interaction he knows that wouldn’t be well-received.

Patton is getting the ingredients to make cookies, because he knows that when he’s had a tough time of it that cookies help him, and he knows Virgil’s favorite, so he’s making those. He gathers ingredients in his arm as he goes, going down the mental checklist in his mind. He realized he’s forgotten the oatmeal and tries to grab it, but his arms are completely full. Someone reaches over his shoulder and grabs the container of oatmeal for him, and he turns around with a bright smile to thank them. It fades just slightly when he sees that it’s Virgil holding the oatmeal. Virgil insists on helping him, and Patton tries to say he’s fine, but Virgil won’t budge, so Patton reluctantly acquiesces and the two make cookies together in relative silence, Patton watching Virgil closely and noting the slight tremor in his hands.

Logan is working on an experiment involving various stimuli and their resulting reactions, but it’s a bit difficult to conduct an experiment on oneself. After he finds himself getting frustrated with himself, he takes a step back and decides to ask for some help. He figures this would also be a good opportunity to acquire more observational data on Virgil’s current mental and physical states, so he finds the other in his room and asks for assistance. Virgil looks about ready to pass out, but he nods and follows Logan to his room.

Logan explains what he’s doing, watching Virgil closely to see if he’s actually paying attention, then he starts the experiments. He can tell as he goes that Virgil is fading in and out of focus, and he notes how shaky Virgil is when he insists later on to help Logan mix chemicals. He has to take the beaker, afraid Virgil will spill the liquid on himself, and he asks Virgil if he’s feeling anxious. Virgil reassures him that, “I’m not panicking, Lo, I promise, it’s okay” but even his voice sounds off. Logan quickly finishes what he was doing and sends Virgil back to his room. He’ll have to discuss his observations with Patton and Roman.

  The three sides sat around the living room, discussing what they’d discovered and trying to come up with a plan to help Virgil without letting him figure out that they were helping him. If he knew, then he would refuse to be around them, and it would defeat the purpose of the whole thing. After much deliberation, they decide that Roman would invite Virgil to the imagination and try to tire him out with some professional make-believe acting. Virgil comes downstairs and Roman jumps to his feet, challenging Virgil loudly. Virgil winces at the sheer volume of his voice, something that didn’t used to bother him, and agrees.

The two head into the imagination, and Roman is watching his every move. Virgil’s entire body is shivering like he’s cold, his steps are unsteady, and he stops-starts-walks every few feet. Roman sets up the scene around them with a wave of his hand; a dark, sinister lair full of various sinister devices, and a prince tied to a chair behind Virgil. Virgil shakes himself out and takes a deep breath, his eyes hazy and unfocused as Roman forced himself to play the part. He has to act like he isn’t worried for Virgil, that he doesn’t notice how the other is barely standing. He doesn’t look good. They aren’t even there for very long before Roman realizes that Virgil is essentially just standing there on autopilot, completely out of it. His face is slightly flushed and he’s still shaking, and before Roman can think he’s sinking them out of the imagination and into the living room.

Patton and Logan are sitting on the couch, Patton pretending to watch TV and Logan with a book open in his lap, though he’s not looking at it. Virgil stumbles as they rise up, and Roman remembers belatedly that Virgil doesn’t like how fast Roman rises up, that it makes him dizzy. Roman takes in Virgil’s appearance, seeing slight awareness in the other’s eyes, and dares to ask, “What’s wrong?” He doesn’t expect much of an answer, especially since Virgil doesn’t seem to have realized they’ve moved, and he was right; Virgil just steels his expression and clenches his fists slightly. Does he think they’re still in the imagination?

Patton gets up, hands out in front of him placatingly, asking Virgil to, “Please, please just go to bed. You look so exhausted kiddo, you need to relax. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Virgil’s eyes widen slightly, and he takes three steps towards Patton before his knees buckle. Roman rushes forward to catch him, gripping his shoulders as Virgil’s knees hit the carpet, and he sees the confusion in Virgil’s face just before he passes out.

Logan and Patton are there in an instant as Roman shifts Virgil to lean against him. Patton feels Virgil’s forehead and gasps softly. “He’s burning up! I didn’t know he was sick!” Roman frowns. He should’ve noticed sooner. They all should have. How had they not noticed. Logan seems to see what he’s thinking by the expression on his face. “Roman, we had no way of knowing that Virgil’s behaviors were outside of his normal overly-anxious mannerisms. Not without him communicating as much to us. Don’t blame yourself for something you had no way of knowing.” Roman nods and takes Virgil’s jacket off him as he starts to sweat.

“We should move him. I don’t want to take him back to his room though; heaven knows what that negative atmosphere would do to him like this.”

Patton worries the sleeve of his cat hoodie. “But where should we put him? The couch would be so uncomfortable…”

Roman looks up at him and shrugs. “My room?”

“If I’m not mistaken, your room tends to exacerbate the creative aspect of his anxieties.” Roman deflates, picking Virgil up in his arms. “Right…”

Patton perks up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “My room? It’s always happy!”

“Have you forgotten what happened the last time he was in your room, Padre? It’s not much better.”

And just like that Patton deflates, pouting.

“Then it would seem my room is the only logical location.” Logan said, pushing his glasses up his nose. Roman and Patton look at each other, shrugging, and Roman turns to take Virgil up the stairs. Virgil is curling into Roman’s warmth, shivering again, and Roman wishes he’d grabbed Virgil’s hoodie from the floor. Patton rushes ahead of them and opens Logan’s door for him, and Roman smiles at him as he sets Virgil in the logical side’s bed. “Thanks Padre. I’m assuming you want the first shift?”

Patton nods vigorously, chewing at his bottom lip. “I got him, kiddo, it’s fine.” He nods, trusting Virgil to Patton and heading back into the imagination to defeat a manticore-chimera.

Patton stayed by Virgil’s side near constantly through the growing days. He’d even go so far as to sleep next to the other to make sure he was there when Virgil woke up. Logan had taken to sleeping in Patton’s room because of this, despite not caring for the emotionally-charged space. God, how did Patton deal with all these… feelings?

Virgil wakes up on the third day, while Patton is making himself something to eat downstairs in the kitchen. Roman has temporarily taken his place, just a formality really, because he didn’t expect Virgil to choose that exact moment to wake up. It takes him a moment to realize that’s what’s happening, because Virgil’s eyes are still closed, but he begins to hear it in the other’s breathing, which is coming in shaky gasps that do something funny to Roman’s chest. Virgil’s face is the picture of fear as he tries to sit up, but it’s obvious he doesn’t have the energy and his muscles aren’t cooperating, and that seems to set him off more.

Roman sets a hand on his chest to keep him down, worry evident in his tone as he tries to calm Virgil down. “Shhhh, Virgil you need to calm down. Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay. You’re in Logan’s room. We figured this would be the safest place for you besides the commons… Take a deep breath, it’s okay.”

Virgil goes lax, but he’s still breathing funny, so Roman tries to run him through the breathing exercise he uses when he’s having an anxiety attack. He doesn’t know if Virgil hears him, but it’s worth a shot. Virgil calms down, but he’s still shivering like he’d just come out of the snow. “Are you cold? I’ll go get you a blanket. Don’t move, I’ll be right back.” He leaves to go get a spare blanket out of the hallway cupboard, and when he comes back Virgil’s already asleep again.

Over the next few days, the other three sides take turns taking care of Virgil, because Patton’s started to run himself into the ground trying to watch over Virgil by himself. They go on shifts, the person who’s next in line doing things like cooking for the other two and keeping Thomas updated. Whenever Virgil wakes up, the only way they can tell is by the way his breathing changes because he hasn’t opened his eyes yet, and that kind of worries them but they don’t talk about it because what if something’s wrong with him and he’s gone blind? They push the thought to the back of their minds and focus on taking care of their sick friend. They try to give him water when he wakes up, and wince when he coughs because with how jumpy he is there’s no way he’ll take medicine, so they can’t help his throat.

When Patton’s watching him, he’ll dab at Virgil’s face with a cold washcloth or wrap him in blankets and when he wakes up he’ll talk to him softly, holding his hand as he tells him about what they’ve all been doing since he last talked to him, or how long Virgil’s been sick and that he wishes he’d get better soon. Virgil never audibly responds, but Patton can see how he visibly relaxes once Patton starts speaking, so he talks about anything he can think of. He finds himself repeating things a lot, mainly “it’ll be okay”, “you’re safe”, and other phrases he uses when Virgil is panicking. Virgil falls back asleep to Patton stroking his hair and talking nonsense in a quiet voice.

When Roman watches Virgil, he’ll sit by his friend’s side, spinning grand adventures of princes, knights, fair maidens, and witches and dragons. The first story he’d told had Virgil cast as the villain, but one look at Virgil and Roman could tell that he didn’t like that. That made him feel horrible; he’d always insisted that Virgil play the villain when they were in the imagination. Did he hate that, too? Roman pushed the feelings aside and began to tell a tale of a young knight of the kingdom Doom and Gloom who set out on a quest to save the prince of the kingdom Thoughts and Dreams. As he wove his tale, thinking on the fly and leading the knight through many tales of victorious battles and grateful villagers, Virgil looked at peace, and Roman resolved to have Virgil play better rolls in his stories from now on. Maybe he could save Roman sometimes? Roman liked to play the hapless prince occasionally.

Logan didn’t know what to do around sick people. Objectively, he knew what you had to do medically to make them feel better until the illness passed, but… what were you supposed to do when this was your friend, who’s been sick for a week and doesn’t look like he’s getting better? Logan stuck to the facts. He’d adjust the blankets to suit however Virgil was feeling – whether he was shivering or sweating – and he would sit beside the bed and tell Virgil facts. It was both to distract himself and bring comfort to Virgil, since he knew the other became calmer with auditory stimulation. When he ran out of relevant facts about their situation, he’d try to share facts he thought Virgil would like. He told Virgil, “When Hitler invaded Paris, the French turned off all power to the Ifle Tower so that the Nazis would have to take the stairs instead of the lifts.” He thought, if Virgil were completely aware, he’d find that humorous.

When they’re sure Virgil will be asleep for a while, the other three sides meet up in the commons to talk. Virgil’s been sick for a week and a half, and Patton is far too worried. Granted, they weren’t humans, so they weren’t subject to dying from disease, and whatever was happening to Virgil wouldn’t be subject to the laws of nature and bacteria, so they had no idea how long this could go for.

Roman tried to remain positive. “Come on men, let’s look at the bright side!”

“And what, pray-tell would that be?”

“…..He can’t…die?”

Logan sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “It would help if we knew exactly how this happened in the first place.” Patton perks up at that, jumping on the balls of his feet and looking like a child who wants to speak but is waiting for the teacher’s permission. Logan sighs again.

“Yes, Patton?”

“Thomas has been super busy! And! And he hasn’t seen his friends!”

Roman and Logan look at each other, then Patton, and Patton can see the moment they realize what Patton had thought of weeks ago.

“Oh my god.”

“Is it really that simple?”

Patton starts bouncing more, excited to finally (maybe) make Virgil better. “We can try it! Someone needs to tell Thomas to take a break and go visit his friends!” Logan stands, adjusting his tie. “I shall do that, seeing as the two of you are better at… caring for our ailing friend.” Patton nods, and Logan sinks out. Roman hops up from the couch, dusting off his prince outfit. “Well, I suppose I shall make us some lunch to celebrate!” Patton smiles.

“Good idea Ro! I’m just gonna check on Virge really quick.”

Roman nods as he heads to the kitchen and Patton heads upstairs. Patton hums happily as he climbs the stairs, faltering slightly when he hears… Oh no… He can’t be…

Patton walks into Logan’s room, where Virgil is sitting up in bed, shaking violently and sobbing as big, fat tears roll down his cheeks. His eyes are barely open, Patton doubts he can really see past all the tears, but what Patton can see of his eyes looks unbearably sad. Virgil is babbling as he cries, and it takes Patton a moment to realize what he’s saying but it breaks his heart.

“G-gone… h-hate m-me… I-I-I’m sorry-y… p-p-please don’t l-leave me… I’m s-sorry… use-useless…. A-alone….”

Patton rushed to the bed, taking Virgil in his arms and petting his hair as he spoke softly, trying to keep his tone even. “Oh Virge, sweetheart, shhh, shhhh, it’s okay. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up, I’m so sorry. It’s okay, you’re okay. Lay down, baby.” He tries to gently guide Virgil into laying down, fixing the blankets around him. He grabs a washcloth out of the bowl of ice water on Logan’s desk, rings it out, then puts it on Virgil’s forehead. He sees Virgil visibly relax for a second before he starts crying harder. Patton feels his heart constrict and he shushes Vigil some more, and thankfully this time he doesn’t take long to calm down. Virgil looks seconds away from falling asleep, but Patton keeps petting his cheeks to get him to stay awake; he needs to eat.

“’m t’red… j’s w’na sl’p…” Patton frowns. “I know you’re tired baby, but do you think you can eat? It’ll make you feel better.” Virgil shakes his head.

“Can’t eat… c’n’t! Don’ w’na… p-pl’s don’… don’ m’ke m’.” He starts crying again, and Patton sighs softly. His poor boy was so exhausted…. He pets Virgil’s hair, and he calms down quickly; probably because he doesn’t have the energy to cry. “Come on baby, please? If you eat, just a little, I’ll let you sleep as long as you want. Please?” Roman walks into the room with a tray carrying a bowl of soup, and Patton smiles, taking it, and Roman turns to leave. Virgil finally nods, and Patton feels himself relax. He sets the tray aside and helps Virgil sit up, having him lean against the headboard and spoon feeding him the soup. Virgil looks like he’s relaxing more as he eats the soup, and when he’s eaten half of it, Patton helps him lay down again and fixes the cloth on his forehead. “Okay baby, thank you. You can sleep now.” Virgil nods and falls asleep almost instantly.

Patton refuses to leave his side after that, especially when Virgil doesn’t wake up the next day. Or the one after that. He tries his best to stay awake for Virgil, so that he’s awake when the anxious side wakes up, but he allows himself little naps. He’s taking a nap when Virgil finally wakes up on the third day, feeling something shake him, just barely, and he whines, shifting and refusing to wake up fully; he’s so tired. Then the shaking gets harder to ignore, and there’s a voice telling him, “Patton, I can’t breathe. Wake up.” Patton huffs and opens his eyes, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of them, allowing himself to wake up more.

Patton looks up, his eyes landing on Virgil, who’s awake, he’s awake and his eyes are open, and he said something! His voice is almost gone but he said something!!!

Patton throws himself at Virgil, hugging him tightly. “Oh, kiddo! I’m so glad you’re awake! You had us all worried so much! How are you feeling? How’s your throat? Does your head still hurt?” He needed to know if his kiddo was okay! But oh my gosh he was awake!!!

Virgil wheezes and taps Patton’s back. “C-can’t… Breathe.” Patton makes a small sound and backs off, feeling embarrassed; he should know better than to hug someone who was sick! “Oh, I’m sorry kiddo! I just got excited, you haven’t woken up in two days and-“

Virgil cuts him off, looking pale. “Wait, how long have I been sick?” Oh man… Patton really blew this one. Virgil was going to freak out… “…. Two weeks?”

Virgil’s eyes widen, and he makes an aborted sound in the back of his throat. Patton’s eyebrows knit together as Virgil’s breathing starts coming faster and he starts talking too fast, sitting up and gripping his hair. “How could I be so stupid, how could I let this happen? Oh god, is Thomas okay? Have I been replaced? What if they’ve figured out how to function without me? What if they don’t need me? What if they did and I wasn’t there and now Thomas is-“

Patton has to cut him off, because he’s barely breathing, and he looks about ready to pass out again and Patton just got him back. “Whoa, whoa, slow down kiddo, deep breaths. Thomas is okay, we’re all okay. You’re safe, everyone’s safe. Just breathe. That’s it, come on now, shhhh.” Patton gently pushes on his chest until Virgil lays back down, then starts petting his hair again. “Everything’s okay, you just rest up and get better, okay kiddo?” He smiles when Virgil nods. “You think you can eat something?” Virgil nods again, and Patton gets up, heading for the door. He stops as he reaches for the handle, biting hips lip and looking back at Virgil. Should he just like… yell down to Roman? No, he probably should go. He leaves, heading down to the kitchen.

When he gets downstairs, he finds Roman and Logan both on the couch, and they look almost like excited puppies when they see him. The thought makes him laugh a bit as he heads into the kitchen. He starts on some soup, Logan and Roman walking into the doorway.

“Has he finally regained consciousness?”

“Is he okay?”

“I assume by your pleasant demeanor that he is better?”

Patton just grinned and nodded. “Yep! He opened his eyes!” Both sides sag with relief, and Patton almost laughs, but he understands how they feel; they were all scared their idea wouldn’t work, but Thomas was out with Joan, Talyn, and Terrence right now so it must have.

“Can we see him then?” Roman looked like he was vibrating with nerves, the poor thing. Logan adjusts his glasses. “I believe it would be best not to overwhelm him; he may not be up to having several visitors at once.” Roman deflates.

“Right.”

Patton hums, stirring the soup. “Let me ask, okay kiddo? Maybe he’ll be okay with it, you never know!” Roman brightens at that, and Roman and Logan go back to the couch as Patton serves up the soup and carries it to Logan’s room. He enters the room, smiling at Virgil as he sets the tray with soup at Virgil’s feet as he helps him up. Once Virgil’s sitting up, he spoon-feeds him the soup, waiting until he’s done to ask, “You think you’re up to seeing Lo and Ro? They’ve been really worried, too.” Virgil nods, grimacing when he speaks – his throat must really hurt. “Yeah, fine, bring them in.”

Patton practically runs out of the room, stopping in front of the couch and babbling a quick, “He said come in!” before running back up the stairs. Roman isn’t far behind him, and though Logan would never admit it, he was running up the stairs too. They stop outside of Logan’s room to compose themselves before walking in, and the three sit on the bed around Virgil. It’s silent for a moment before Virgil says, “So…. That was crazy about the Nazis, huh?” Roman and Patton look confused, and mildly worried that Virgil’s still delirious, but then Logan starts laughing, so they figure it was an inside joke. The conversation develops quickly after that, the other three trying to carry most of it so Virgil doesn’t have to speak too much. They don’t want to admit that the sound of his voice makes their hair stand on end; it sounds so painful.

After a few hours, Virgil starts to sag against the headboard, his eyelids drooping. Patton looks over at him and nudges Roman, who’s in the middle of retelling his latest escapade, and Roman smiles. “Get some rest, Hot Topic.” Virgil hums noncommittally and Roman gets up, dragging Logan out with him. Patton smiles kindly, helping Virgil lay down and tucking him back in before kissing his forehead. He pets the anxious side’s hair, talking to him until he falls asleep.

The next day, the three sides are all in the living room, debating if they should go check on Virgil and wake him up. He was still sick yesterday after all; just because he woke up and talked to them didn’t mean he was magically cured. Just then, Virgil comes shuffling down the stairs and they pretend to be reading and watching TV. Virgil silently sits down on the opposite end of the couch, and they’re just so glad to have him back that they can’t find it in them to say anything.

Well, Patton would lecture him about proper communication and self-care tomorrow, but for now, he was going to watch Big Hero 6 with his dark strange son.

“Guys? …Shouldn’t we tell Thomas?”

Roman flaps his hand dismissively. “He already knows, Surley Temple, don’t worry.”

Yep, it was great to have him back.

[kiserusmoke]

Dulce bellum inexpertis

AO3 Link Summary: She is used to finding comfort in the stars, but now they look back at her as more of a threat than reassurance. The twinkling lights seem more an angry glint in the eye of a God. There is nothing kind about this sky, she thinks, as the gentle wind makes her robes swirl around her. After all, they almost took him from her. Somewhere in the distance, the ravens break against the night.

Tags: Witchcraft, Royalty AU, Mentions of Violence, Angst with a Happy Ending. 

Finally I tackle a witchcraft/royalty/historical au. It’s angst because that’s my brand™. For @catchthespade and @maidofstars

There is a crack in the sky, as if the heavens were to leak through like spilled ink.

She is used to finding comfort in the stars, but now they look back at her as more of a threat than reassurance. The twinkling lights seem more an angry glint in the eye of a God. There is nothing kind about this sky, she thinks, as the gentle wind makes her robes swirl around her. After all, they almost took him from her.

Somewhere in the distance, the ravens break against the night.

☾

She found him one unassuming night, stumbling amongst the trees in dress not suited for the cold weather. At a distance she watched, amusement tickling her features as he tripped over an exposed tree root, turning to curse the thing as if it had deeply offended his family lineage. She stifled a laugh, bringing her cloaked hand up to her mouth as she watched the handsome stranger. And handsome he was, his dark brown hair framing his angular features. Despite the near-permanent crease in between his brow, she could tell even several yards away that he was likely someone of high nobility and bloodline.

She edged closer to the clearing where the stranger was, and watched as he tugged his navy-hued cloak from a tanglement of branches. It took him a moment of struggling, but he soon freed the garment and gave himself a satisfied smirk. It was then that he looked around, as if he has just now realized his surroundings, and a forlorn expression casted over his features.

It was evident that this man was lost.

Always cautious, she approached him like she would a wounded animal. Slow steps, eyes focused on his figure. When she got close enough and his back was still turned, she cleared her throat delicately.

“You seem to be lost, am I correct?”

The stranger spun around at this, eyes wide for a moment. When they landed on her, however, they turned to something almost of boredom.

“I think I have the right to walk around a forest if I so chose” he replies dryly, but the way he jumps at the sound of a nearby branch snapping tells her he isn’t one for the outdoors. She laughs at this, giving him a slight bow.

“My mistake, Sire. I’ll let you enjoy your walk, please take care of yourself on the nearby cliffside, you know there are wolves there-- oh, but I’m sure you knew that already” she spoke calmly, but she met his gaze mid-bow with a challenging glint to her eye. She straightened her stance, turning on the heel of her boots and striding back down the trail towards her cabin. She only made it a mere five yards before she heard a stammering behind her.

“Wait” he replied, and she stopped-- refusing to face him, but a smirk playing on her lips just the same. “Take me to your home, at least for tonight.”

☾

He is a prince, or at least that’s what he tells her. The handsome stranger is as rigid as a board as he sits at her table, watching her like a hawk as she mixes ingredients in a bowl.

“It’s not going to bite, you know” she says, hoping her voice is level enough to hide her annoyance. His gaze snaps to the bag on the table, all velvet and misshapen from where she haphazardly placed it before beginning to cook. His brow furrows, and he uses a delicate finger to lift the opening of the bag-- his eyes widen.

“What are these?” he asks, his voice incredulous. She turns to him after sliding diced vegetables into the bubbling pot.

“Those” she says, placing the cutting board on the table, “are my tools.” She eyes the crystals of rose quartz and the worn-down tarot cards slipped into their leather pouch and smiles fondly. She doesn’t miss the way his eyes widen ever so slightly, a mix of both wonderment and fear. With a smile as crescent as the moon, she leans in to whisper in his ear.

“Perhaps I’ll teach you someday.”

☾

The first few weeks, she leaves on her own accord to gather supplies. Upon wrapping her cloak around her and securing her bag to her person, she watches with amusement as the prince sits proper at her table. He had requested parchment and ink, and most mornings she found him writing patiently across the eggshell-colored surface. His strokes were beautiful and strong, a sign that he had years of practice writing in such a precise manner. Her eyes caught his name amongst the letters once, Eisuke. It was a bizarre name, but one she supposes fit the unconventional man.

Often as she trailed through the mountain paths and forest clearings, she heard that name murmured in her mind like a mantra. It accompanied her while her slender fingers plucked heather and wild herbs beneath the shady comfort of trees. The warm bark of the pines reminded her of his locks, the inky stones lining riverbeds of his eyes. They were subtle changes in her mind, but not unwelcome ones.

These changes became more prominent when he insisted on joining her for her walks. He claimed it was for protection, as the sun began to set earlier and earlier with the change in the season. They would walk in silence for the most part, until his curious noise at a passing field of flowers made her tilt her head.

“Do you know what those are?” she would ask, and would teach him after he shook his head. The trips became learning experiences, where she would teach the prince about varying ingredients. the best place to hide out from storms, even what streams had the freshest water. It isn’t until one evening, when the sun is being chased off by twilight, that they hear the echo of the wolves.

“How many do you suppose there are?” he asks her, and she takes her bottom lip between her teeth in worry.

“Few dozen, maybe more” she replies quietly. In turn, he tightens his grip around her shoulders as they walk back to the cabin.

That night, she finds sleep escaping her as the howls remain omnipresent across the meadow.

☾

Over the melting of the seasons, they grow closer. The prince sheds his hardened exterior, offering her a genuine look into his soul. He kisses her on a night where she shows him the moon, sitting on the edge of a rockcliff not too far from the waterfall. It is like flowers blooming underneath her skin, and she pulls him closer like she wants to ingest a piece of his heart.

Things change then. She tells him her techniques for apothecary, she tells him how to avoid the wolves beyond the caves, but most of all she tells him her secrets. The parts of her that wish for company, that nag her and tell her this life of solitude is a life wasted. She expects him to laugh it off, or to not understand the nuance behind her words. Instead he listens, and for that she is ever grateful.

Time finds them seeking comfort in the arms of each other, of torn-away cloaks and private sighs. More often than not, her bed is filled with his sleeping frame by the time the dawn breaks through the curtains. It is a comfort, a natural step in what she assumes to be their relationship. There is a certain morning where the wind whips against the glass, frost forming at the corners of the windowsill, that she finds warmth in his bare arms. She kisses his neck and whispers against his skin, hoping the words manifest against flesh.

“Take me somewhere where I can watch the sun rise.” He cradles her face in his hands, all porcelain and bone, and kisses the words off her lips. They fall down into his chest for safe keeping, eager for the day that he can bring her to the edge of where the sky meets the earth.

☾

The day never comes. Instead, there is bloodshed.

It’s difficult to tell what belongs to him and what to the wolves, but the rational part of her brain tells her this makes no difference. Instead, she holds him as she sobs. His body moves under her touch awkwardly, like a doll who hasn’t been stitched together properly. Like a shattered bowl put together by melted gold, but there are pieces missing.

He had gifted her a cloak not too long ago, in celebration of the first harvest. It was gray, reminiscent of a pelt of a fox in the snow. It stains as she half-drags him back to the cabin, dirt mixing with blood. She knows he is running out of time.

The recovery is brutal, his once-gorgeous skin marred with claw marks and gashes. She spends three days pouring over him, washing each wound and applying any herbal mixture she has in her home. It isn’t until she sees his breath even out and his fever subside that she even entertains the idea of leaving the cabin for supplies. She waits until he slips into a deep sleep, creeping out the front door silently and returning before dawn with as many supplies as she can carry.

Her new mixes do wonders on him, and soon he is able to open his eyes and speak with her. The fact that she is his only caregiver is he only thing keeping her from breaking down, so she merely holds a bowl of broth to his lips and makes him drink. She cradles his head as he drinks, and she can feel his warmth beneath her touch. It is enough to tell her he is really alive and not some figment of her imagination.

Weeks go by, and she refuses to let him leave the cabin. In the rare moments she does sleep, her nightmares are plagued by the howling of wolves and the metallic scent of blood. It is crushing, and she takes to kneeling on the floor with her head on the mattress in order to give him ample space to rest. She often finds herself roused from these nightmares by the sensation of his fingers in her hair, a concerned furrow of his brow.

She sleeps with the fire going constantly, fearful his weakened state will make him fall ill. She sleeps with a dagger tucked under her belt and a bow and arrow at her feet. It isn’t enough. It never is.

☾

It all comes to a halt one fateful morning, and the fact that it is so ordinary only bruises her ego more. Eisuke is sitting up in bed, looking down at how the sun rays lay against his scarred chest. His fingers trace the marked flesh, noting that the once-open wounds have now closed and turned a dusty pink. He is healing, and for that he smiles.

He had been permitted to walk the cabin for a while now, so the sight of him awake and moving on his own is nothing surprising. Something about this scene, however, breaks her to her core. The mortar and pestle slips from her hand, the stone shattering against the wooden floor. She follows suit, crumpling to the floor as her vision blurs with tears. She can hear a commotion, and soon a pair of large hands are gripping her shoulders and heaving her up.

“It’s okay, it’s okay” he says, shaky voice trying to calm her. It is clear that he’s taken aback by her behavior, but he clutches her to his chest and smooths her hair down just the same. She clings to the prince, pitying herself for being so weak. She must have vocalized this in some regard, because he shushes her and kisses the top of her head as they rock from side to side.

“You’ve done great, you don’t have to worry about me anymore” he whispers, lips ghosting against her hair. She can feel her nails dig into his back.

“You were so close to dying, I watched you every night” she cries, finally releasing all the pent-up heartache she stored away in her chest. The prince reaches down and rubs her back.

“But I didn’t” he replies simply.

“But you didn’t” she says after a moment, shuddering out a sigh.

☾

She eases her hold on him after that morning, offering to accompany him on walks outside. They stick close to the cabin for weeks and she knows he is doing it to ease her worries. For that, she is grateful. They walk with their hands intertwined, and every so often she would look over at him and see the way his dark hair rustled in the breeze, how his shirt lay open just enough to expose the fading scars marking his skin.

Things become easier, the earth welcomes the first new life of Spring. The nightmares taper off until they’re so rare a part of her wonders if they ever occured in the first place. The prince brings her flowers now, even sneaking out at dawn to return with a fistful of morning glories and baby’s breath. The cabin fills with these little reminders of new life, of a chance to start over.

There is a morning where he wakes before her, kissing her temple and urging her to don her cloak and to follow him outside. She obliges, and his hand feels impossibly warm as he leads her through dew-soaked meadows in the dark. They come to a clearing, Eisuke urging her to sit with him on a fallen log and out into the sky. It isn’t long until the sky brightens, filling with the warm amber and golden hues of the morning light.

“I promised I’d take you somewhere where you can watch the sun rise” he whispers to her as he presses a kiss to her full lips. And for the first time in ages, she allows herself to feel a sense of calm.

Dulce bellum inexpertis - war is sweet to those who have never experienced it.

[ivarswickedqueen]

Fever

I don’t know how to call this. I just saw this gifset, and got this idea. It’s my first time writing Alex, first time writing Marco and first time writing threesome (it’s only suggested in this part) so bare with me guys.

Paring: Alex x reader x Marco

Word account: 970

Warnings: very light smut

As always English isn’t my first language so I apologize for making any mistakes.  

Tags: @akamaiden  @missrobyn81  @starfox-92 @kikuthestrange @heathen-whore @cc8302 @cbouvier23 @kerouacsroad @captstefanbrandt @ivars-snowflake @alicedopey @mblaqgi @steadypiepsychicflower  @opalscarab @perfectus-in-morte @imnotinsanehunny @gwilson937 @kenzieam

“I am so sorry Y/N, we don’t have popcorn,” Alex apologized and let you inside his and Marco’s apartment.

“But it’s Marco’s fault. He went grocery shopping this week” he added quickly.

“Hey, it’s not my fault that you ate two packs yesterday, you fatass” Marco defended himself.

“I watched Champions League, dude. It was so dramatic. With extra-time and penalties.”

“It’s OK, guys. I don’t mind. It’s better this way, I don’t want to ruin my outfit with greasy popcorn” you said and smiled softly.

“Yeah, sure. You have a date” Marco rolled his eyes.

“With that French guy” Alex added.

“He’s not French” you protested.

“His name is Leon, Y/N. He must be French.”

“I don’t know if he’s French. And I don’t care. He’s a cute guy, he asked me out and I said yes, end of the story. Let’s watch the last episode of Game Of Thrones, so I won’t be late” you said, trying to end this conversation as quickly as possible.

“Sure, sure. Don’t let Lion wait” Alex rolled his eyes again.

“Leon” you corrected him.

“Whatever. Just sit down and make yourself comfortable” he winked at you and left to the kitchen to get you something to drink. You sat in the middle of the couch and Marco sat right next to you and turned on the TV.

“What can I get you, Y/N?” Alex yelled from the kitchen.

“Pepsi is fine, Alex.”

“Here you go, sweetcheeks” Alex gave you a cold can of Pepsi and you blushed, when you heard that pet name. He sat on your other side and you suddenly realized that their couch isn’t really big, so you were squeezed between your two friends. Two very hot friends, you must add. They were your friends, but you wasn’t blind. You suddenly felt like your shirt is too tight and your skirt too short. You dressed like this to impress Leon. You didn’t know, that you will be sitting between two hot guys. And you wasn’t the only one, who was fully aware of your revealing outfit. You could feel Alex’s eyes on your cleavage. You shifted on the couch nervously and tried to focus on the TV. But you felt Alex’s thigh touching yours and Marco put his arm behind you and around your shoulder as his fingertips made lazy circles on your upper arm so it was nearly impossible for you to focus on the TV show. You watched Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand on the screen entering the brothel and you knew, that things will get heated. And you were right. Game of Thrones never had a problem with nudity or sex scenes. You watched a little orgy on screen and you felt that your cheeks are red as tomato.

“You are cute, when you are blushing, you know that?” Marco whispered into your ear and you shivered slightly.

“What’s up Y/N? Are you embarrassed to watch this scene with us?” Alex smirked.

“No. Of course not.” you said quickly, but refused to look at him.

“Are you sure? There are worse scenes in this episode than this one” he smirked again.

“Wait, what? Have you already seen this episode, Andersen?” you asked, confused.

“Guilty”.

“What about you Marco?” you asked and turned to face him.

“Maybe” he hesitated and sent a warning look to Alex.

“You both already seen it?” you asked annoyed.

“So why the hell did you invite me here, to watch it with you guys?” you were more and more confused and little bit angry.

“Well, Y/N. Let’s say, that we just wanted to talk you out of your date with that asshole Leon” Alex explained and Marco nodded in agreement.

“What? Why? You don’t know him. Hell, I don’t know him. I just accidentally spilled my coffee all over the front of his shirt in StarBucks. It’s just a date. What’s wrong with you two?” you honestly didn’t understand what was their problem.

“We just think, that you deserve better, Y/N” Alex drawled and placed his hand on your thigh.

“Yeah, Y/N, Leon is probably some jerk, who can’t appreciate a woman like you” Marco said and leaned closer to you.

“I don’t care if he appreciate me or not. It’s been a long time since I had a boyfriend, I feel lonely, I need someone to touch me. Just look at me, I blush like a seveth grader when I watch a sex scene on TV. I just need to get laid and Leon is perfect for that” you confessed, hoping that they will let it go. You looked down on your lap, embarrassed, so you missed the look they exchanged.

“Listen, Y/N. You don’t need Leon for that” Alex said smoothly and started making small circles on your thigh and you gulped loudly. He noticed that and smirked.  

“We can take care of you, kitten” Marco purred and lightly brushed his fingers along your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“What are you guys talking about? You are my friends” you tried to protest, but you barely whispered.

“Have you ever heard of friends with benefits, kitten?” Marco used that nickname again, since he noticed that it has an effect on you.

“I’m not sure” you moaned out, when Alex’s hand moved higher on your leg.

“We don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want to do, love. But think about it” Alex said and his fingers brushed against your clothed pussy. You opened your mouth slightly, your nipples grew hard. You weren’t wearing a bra, so they both could see, how your body reacted to their attention.

“Please, Y/N” Marco pleaded, brushing his thumb over your erect nipple, giving you a puppy dog eyes. You got lost in his big green eyes and finally nodded.

“Alright, take care of me boys”…

A/N: Yeah, I know I am fucking tease, ending it right now, but it’s 1 AM, and I have to wake up at 7AM and go to work,I’ll write the next part tomorrow ;))  

Part 2 

MASTERLIST