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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years

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Not So Serious

Prompt: ayoooo I’m like-obsessed with your writing style omg if your requests are open I’d love to see some good good logince hurt/comfort where Roman has a crush on Logan and gets this idea that he’s not serious enough for Logan to like him at all so Roman completely changes himself only for Logan to wonder where the man he’s in love with went.

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: logince, as on the tin

Warnings: roman’s a little bit of a self-doubting and self-depricating boi but other than that none! we are happy now!

Word Count: 5340

Roman knows he’s the least important of the Light Sides. Or at the very least, the one that Thomas listens to the least.

That’s okay.

It’s not, not really, but that doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that most of it can be chalked up to the fact that he’s the least serious Side. He’s the dreamer, the fanatic, the one whose head is permanently in the clouds. He sings, he dances, he acts, he plays. And that’s his job! He’s Creativity, for Shakespeare’s sake, and if he’s not, well, what good is he?

Well, he’s not much good when he is Creativity, but that’s beside the point.

But Thomas needs him to be serious. Patton, for all his lightheartedness, knows how to be serious when the time calls for it. And behind all those jokes and smiles and corny lines that make all of them want to cringe a little, he’s talking about, arguably, the most serious thing there is. What’s right and what’s wrong. No matter how you slice it, that’s serious. And he’s Thomas’s heart! How can you not take that seriously?

Then there’s Virgil, who Roman considers a Light Side. Virgil demands to be taken seriously. Not verbally, but come on, he’s Anxiety. Mental stuff is no joke, and they’ve had enough close calls to know that for sure. Virgil’s a snarky bastard, but he rarely says something he doesn’t actually mean. He keeps them safe when none of the others know what to do and honestly? That’s serious stuff. Virgil’s got enough on his plate.

Then there’s Logan.

Logan.

Roman could go on for days about Logan. He won’t, but he could.

Logan is Logic. Perhaps more than anything else, Thomas needs Logic. And Logan. Logan is always present, whether he’s there physically or not, and his voice is always going to be heard in the conversation sooner or later. He breaks down the biggest problems Roman’s ever seen until they’re manageable chunks, so much so that it’s ridiculous that they were ever big in the first place. He talks them through everything, slowly and surely. He makes everything look easy.

And that’s all the more impressive because Roman knows it’s not.

It’s not easy to do what Logan does. It’s not easy for Logan to always make himself heard. It’s not easy to carry the single brain cell in any given conversation.

But he does and it’s wonderful.

Logan is serious. His job is serious. That doesn’t mean he’s serious all the time, no, Roman’s seen him snap a quip faster than anything with a smirk on his face, and their bond over Crofter’s is legendary. And he knows the gleam that means Logan is immensely satisfied with whatever insult he’s come up with to shut Roman down. Even through the hurt of a new bruise forming on Thomas’s ego, he has to smile because it’s so satisfying to watch someone just be very good at something.

He’s also incredible at calming them all down. He’s so sweet and kind and gentle in all the right ways and you will never convince Roman that Logan knows nothing about emotions. Come on, he’s the most intelligent Side, that extends to emotional intelligence too. The amount of times he’s been able to rip them out of some horrible spiral with just a simple touch or a word is too high for Roman to count. And he never asks for anything, he just does it. Because he’s good like that.

Roman would be an utter, utter fool if he didn’t take Logan seriously. He doesn’t dare underestimate him, never again, not after that rap battle. He doesn’t try to speak over him, not once everyone’s actually paying attention and Logan’s clearly trying to say something. He listens, he tries, he takes him seriously.

But sometimes Logan needs to not be serious! He can see when the strain gets a little too much and he needs to cut someone down to size.

Well, here’s Roman!

And yes, it’s worth it. It’s always worth it. Logan smiles and it’s like the sun comes out. Yes, that’s a cliché but we all know clichés are cliché for a reason. Logan smiles, the sun comes out, and Roman wants to bathe in it. Wants to sit and listen to Logan talk about anything just so he’ll keep smiling, keep talking, keep being Logan. Logan is serious, but serious isn’t always Logan.

Isn’t always.

Most of the time, though…

Most of the time, it looks like Logan is thrilled to not have to stand next to Roman.

Most of the time, it seems like every time Roman opens his mouth, Logan’s trying not to roll his eyes or is just listening out of politeness. And every time he pitches an idea, it seems like Logan’s getting just as much enjoyment out of leaving the meetings as he does when he doesn’t find anything wrong with it.

Most of the time, that 0.5% hangs in the air between them like a moat.

Roman doesn’t want that. Roman doesn’t want Logan to view him as a diametrically opposed foe, he doesn’t want to be Logan’s other side of the coin, he doesn’t want Logan to think he’s only worth 0.5% of a day.

But 0.5% is all he gets if he stays Roman.

It’s not big changes, nothing that would compromise Thomas, but they’re noticeable. At least he hopes so.

He stops singing out loud in the common areas and instead has a headphone in when he wants to listen to something. He reads in the chair—sitting properly, not with his limbs haphazardly thrown about like he’s a newly made life form with no idea how muscles work—and keeps his comments to himself, written down in a notebook or in his head. He asks politely if Logan wants to come on a walk through the Imagination and conjures up something simple. A forest path, or a garden, or a small town road. None of the fantastical woods, magic castles, or treacherous mountains that he’s so fond of, because those are daydreams.

He’s quieter outside of videos. Sure, he’s still as obnoxious as ever when the cameras are on, but they tend to exaggerate themselves when they’re being filmed anyway. So it won’t be too much of a surprise when he’s not like that when the cameras are off. He doesn’t speak as much—well, he doesn’t monologue as much. He speaks when spoken to, he’s as courteous as he knows how to be, and he tries to be serious. Even if his job is anything but.

He could tell you it’s exhausting what he does for the videos and he’d rather not do it when he doesn’t have to.

He could tell you it’s because it would be better for Thomas if they all got along well.

He could tell you it’s because he wants a healthier and more productive working relationship with Logan.

He could tell you all of these things.

Whether or not you believe him is up to you.

…because Roman might be the actor, but he’s never been a particularly good liar. And deep down—not that deep down—we all know why he wants to be more serious, don’t we?

Logan doesn’t like fantasy. Logan doesn’t like excessive noise. Logan doesn’t like someone who can’t be serious.

Logan is kind and perfect and wonderful and smart and so many things.

And above all, Logan is serious.

Roman can work with that.

———————————————————————

“Hey, Specs! Do you have time to brainstorm?”

“It will have to be quick, Roman, I’ve not much time to spare.”

“Oh. That’s alright, then, we can do it later.”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course! I know how important your schedule is for you, please, don’t worry about it.”

“Ah. I see. Well, thank you, Roman.”

They never do end up having that brainstorm. Not alone.

“Logan?”

“Yes, Roman?”

“Would it be alright if I played music? I’ll keep it low.”

“…we can try, though I usually prefer working in silence.”

“Oh, in that case, I’ll just go—“

“Let’s try?”

“If you’re sure.”

Roman ends up getting his headphones after a few minutes.

“Roman?”

“Yes, my d—Logan?”

“…were you going to say something else?”

“No, no, I got lost in my head again, I thought you were…someone else.”

“It may be worth practicing getting out of your head, Roman.”

“I know.”

He never quite manages, but he’s trying.

“Ro—oh.”

“Logan? Is something wrong?”

“You’ve changed your room. Your…your paintings, your drawings, they’re…where did you put them?”

“Oh, I got rid of them.”

“Got rid of them?”

“Yes. Surely you know how difficult it can be to work in a crowded space?”

“…yes, I suppose I do.”

Logan doesn’t comment on the fact that Roman’s room isn’t quite so red anymore either.

“Roman?”

“Yes?”

“This idea, it seems…quite…realistic.”

“Is that not the point, Sp—Logan?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so.”

“Besides, from a practical standpoint, we’re operating with a limited budget here. The scope of the videos has to be adjusted accordingly.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re correct.”

Logan doesn’t mention that it doesn’t necessarily feel like Roman’s idea.

“Roman?”

“Yes?”

“Care to comment?”

“Oh, no, I’m perfectly content.”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course.”

Logan doesn’t ask again.

———————————————————————

Logan is really confused.

Something’s wrong with Roman, that much is obvious, but he can’t figure out what. Roman’s been quiet lately, outside of the videos, but even in the videos, he’s been different. He’s not talking as much anymore, not going on his incredibly passionate rants that one can feel if they just listen hard enough. He’s not risen to the bait for weeks now, preferring instead to…talk. Or listen. His room is suspiciously absent of his paintings and drawings that make Logan want to sit and stare and lose track of time.

And he’s stopped singing.

That’s a definite indicator that something’s wrong.

But he can’t figure out what.

None of them are fighting; Patton and Virgil have noticed that something is different, certainly, but they don’t know—they can’t figure out exactly what. They would have told him if they had a disagreement with Roman, but they haven’t.

Thomas isn’t being affected by it. In fact, he hasn’t noticed that anything’s wrong.

And on the surface, Roman seems fine, but Logan knows better.

He stops in front of his whiteboard, staring hard at the pieces of information he has written down.

Roman is no longer singing or playing music out loud outside of his room.

Roman is changing the ideas that he brings to the brainstorming sessions. He claims they are meant to be more ‘practical’ and easier to budget.

Roman does not insist that we spend time with him anymore.

Roman is quiet and no longer engages in ‘banter’ exchanges with me.

Roman no longer brings me to the elaborate places in the Imagination.

Roman no longer gives me nicknames.

Has…has Logan done something to Roman?

He doesn’t think he has. He hasn’t—he hasn’t shot down any ideas lately, and certainly none so much as to trigger such a drastic change. There have been no arguments. There have been no big changes for Thomas.

He finds himself twisting the cap of the marker back and forth as he focuses on the period at the end of the last sentence written. Perhaps…perhaps Roman is simply going through a rough patch? Occasionally the prince will lapse into a ‘grayer’ state, for lack of a better term, where he exhibits fewer of his energetic tendencies, but none have gone on for such a duration. Additionally, his behavior in videos has not altered as significantly as would indicate this as the cause.

Perhaps I should try to talk to him about it.

Logan nods sharply to himself and turns, walking out of his room toward Roman’s. The red door looms there, slightly ajar. Frowning, Logan raps on it gently with his knuckles.

“Roman? May I come in?”

No response.

“Roman?” Logan eases the door open. “Roman?”

No sign of Roman. The bathroom door isn’t locked, his laptop isn’t open, his phone is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Roman simply forgot to close his door all the way. Logan shuts it carefully and turns to head downstairs.

“Virgil? Patton?”

Virgil glances up from his phone. “What’s up, L?”

Ignoring the little flutter in his chest at the first nickname he’s been called in a while, Logan adjusts his glasses and glances around. “Have you seen Roman?”

Virgil shakes his head. “Pat? Have you?”

“I think he said he was going into the Imagination but he’d be back for dinner?”

Logan nods. “Thank you both.”

“Logan?”

“Yes?”

“Can you, uh—“ Patton wrings his hands for a moment— “can you ask him what’s wrong for us?”

“Princey’s been off for a while, we wanna know why but he won’t tell us.”

Logan blinks. “Considering I was on my way to ask him the same thing, I take it he’s been as…hesitant to share any information with you as he has with me?”

Their nods make something twist in his chest.

“If he’s gonna tell anyone,” Virgil mutters as he turns to go, “it’ll be you.”

Logan pauses. “Excuse me?”

Virgil shrugs. “You’re his favorite, L. He thinks the sun shines outta your face.”

Despite himself, Logan feels heat rush to his cheeks. “I’m quite sure you’re confusing me for Patton, Virgil.”

“Oh, no, Princey’s got it bad f—“

“Virgil!”

“Oh come on,” Virgil groans, his head lolling on the couch as he turns to look at Patton, “you’ve noticed it too.”

“But that’s not our secret to tell!”

“Shit. Yeah, you’re right. Oops.”

“Wait, wait,” Logan stammers, quickly trying to get a grasp of the situation, “you—Roman what?”

Virgil shakes his head. “Nope. Sorry, Logan. I already fucked up. You’re gonna have to ask him. And hey, you were on your way to do just that!”

Logan narrows his eyes but Virgil shrugs, undaunted. He turns and pointedly does not run up the stairs.

The door to the Imagination is ajar. He takes a deep breath and pushes it open, expecting to meet some fantastical landscape, a village, or a castle, perhaps.

He doesn’t expect to wander into what looks like the grand foyer of some Victorian mansion.

The door shuts behind him with a thud that echoes gently around the room. His shoes aren’t particularly loud but his steps make resounding clicks as he walks through the halls. The walls are elegantly crafted, with artful splashes of color here and there. He comes to a grand staircase and has to swallow heavily at the richness of the wood under his fingers as he climbs slowly, slowly up.

There’s something here, he decides, that’s not been here for a while. Not since he started accompanying Roman more often. He remembers the first time, where he’d wearily said he didn’t have the patience for an adventure and had been pleasantly surprised by Roman’s offer of a simple walk. Each walk after that had been lovely, truly, but it was always painfully obvious that it was in the Imagination.

Now, though? Now the walls seem to curve about Logan as he walks, like petals of a flower curve about its center. The house seems to hold him, cradle him almost as he walks slowly through it. He can almost feel a gentle hand at the base of his spine, between his shoulder blades, under his chin. It takes no effort to keep walking, to discover more and more of this truly beautiful house, to look and look and look without fear of his eyes hurting or his head growing weary.

It feels like Roman, he realizes with a giddy bubble in his chest, this is Roman’s work. Roman is here.

That realization gives him enough courage to call out.

“Roman? Roman, are you here?”

“Logan?”

“Roman!” He turns around, trying to trace the echoes to their source. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the library, keep walking toward the back of the hall.”

Logan’s steps beat out an eager pace as he begins to hurry towards Roman’s voice. He meets a wide set of mahogany doors and pushes them open, looking for—

“Oh,” he murmurs as the doors swing wide, “oh, this is…magnificent.”

If he were—well, if he were Roman, he’d compare this to the library the Beast gifts Belle. The shelves tower over his head, two full floors of books stretching out almost as far as he can see. As he looks closer, he realizes this is a theatre, with the seats replaced with shelves. At the back of the library stands the stage, converted into a seating area with as many plush couches and overstuffed armchairs as one could ever want. Curtains drape themselves across a vast window, golden sunlight streaming inside. And on the window seat, standing as the doors fly open, is Roman.

“Roman, my goodness—“

“Whoa, easy, Logan,” Roman chuckles, catching Logan carefully by the elbows as he rushes through the library, “you’ll knock yourself over at this rate.”

“This is magnificent,” Logan manages, still looking around in awe—goodness, there are some books here that he’s only seen in passing— “how—how did you do this?”

“I’ve always had it,” Roman says, guiding him to sit on the window seat and crouching in front of him, “it’s my library.”

“This—this is yours?”

Half of Roman’s mouth tugs up into that crooked smile. “Yeah, Logan. This is mine. You didn’t think I just let my books lie around, did you?”

“But you—you—you’ve never shown this to me. To anyone.”

The smile falters. “Well, no.”

Logan takes a moment to actually look at Roman. Roman quirks his eyebrow as he notices the questioning gaze. His costume is a little less pristine than normal. There’s something slightly different about his expression. And his sword is nowhere to be seen.

“May I—can I ask why not?”

Roman smiles ruefully, glancing over Logan’s shoulder before dropping his gaze to the ground.

“When I need to think,” he says after a moment, “or just…sit for a little, I come here.”

He rests his hand on the seat next to Logan.

“I sit right here, and I think. I look outside into the garden. I watch the clouds. Or I stare at the shelves, and think about the books.”

He gestures behind him.

“Sometimes I’ll see people bustling through them, or characters diving in between pages.” The smile becomes a touch more wistful. “Or I’ll hear water rushing, or wind howling.”

He looks back. Logan’s mouth drops open at the openness of Roman’s expression.

“But mostly,” he finishes in a near whisper, “I just sit. And think. Because I can.”

“…this is your space,” Logan mumbles as he puts it together, “that’s…that’s why you haven’t shown anyone.”

Roman nods.

Logan should apologize. He should apologize and leave. He should never have expected that this would be alright.

But the thought of leaving this library, this house, Roman feels…so, so heavy.

“It’s alright, Logan,” Roman says patiently, sitting on the floor, “what did you need? Am I late for dinner?”

He shakes himself, sternly reminding his brain that he’s being rude now. “No, no, nothing of the sort, I simply needed to find you.”

Roman spreads his arms wide. “Well, you found me. Congratulations.”

It’s so close to the banter Logan misses that he finds himself smiling. “Thank you. Shall I assume to claim my prize now, then?”

“Mm, and what prize would that be?”

Roman blinks up at him expectantly when he doesn’t answer right away. There are several questions on the tip of his tongue and they war with each other.

What’s wrong?

Are you alright?

Did something happen?

The others and I have noticed changes in your behavior, could you explain them?

Did I do something wrong?

Can I stay here?

What did Virgil almost tell me?

“I’ve lost something,” Logan blurts instead, swallowing the lump in his throat when Roman blinks again, startled, “and I need you to help me find it.”

“Oh. Well, that should be easy enough. Where did you last see it?”

“Wait!”

Logan catches a startled Roman by his sleeve as he’s in the middle of getting up. He sits back down slowly, still staring at Logan.

“I don’t know where I lost it,” he says, because it’s the truth. Even for all his immaculate time-keeping, he can’t pinpoint the moment he lost Roman.

“That does make it more difficult,” Roman muses, tapping his fingers on his chin, “well, can you tell me what it is? Maybe I’ve seen it.”

I’m sure you have.

Logan takes a deep breath.

“I didn’t realize it was gone, at first,” he begins, “only that it—something changed. It was quieter. Rooms felt less…I believe ‘alive’ is the only word I can use to adequately describe it.”

Roman catches on to the fact he’s speaking about something abstract quickly. Though, of course he did, he’s very intelligent. He sits up a little straighter and takes Logan’s hand in both of his. That in itself is enough to make Logan swallow again.

“It was more difficult to continue working,” he says after a moment, looking at the ground, “because I didn’t know what was missing. I didn’t know whether the fault lay with myself or with Thomas or how to go about fixing it. I couldn’t think of anything.”

Roman makes a noise of sympathy, squeezing Logan’s hand.

“Of course, once I realized it was missing, I did all I could to find it.” He adjusts his glasses. “I gathered all the information I could to see what had gone wrong.”

“And,” Roman prompts gently, “what did you find?”

“It’s not in my room. It’s not in the kitchen. It’s not in the Imagination, or at least it wasn’t when I was there.”

Logan closes his eyes.

“It doesn’t make me fight back a smile every time I see it, because I am only concerned. It doesn’t make me look forward to seeing it, because it doesn’t seem to be happy to see me. It doesn’t make me want to say how important it is to me, because it doesn’t—“

“…doesn’t what, Logan?”

“…it doesn’t even give me a nickname anymore.”

Roman freezes.

Logan opens his eyes and looks at Roman, seeing his face turn pale.

“I’ve lost the one I love,” he confesses, “and I don’t know where he’s gone.”

———————————————————————

Roman’s heart stops.

Logan—Logan—L—

Logan loves him?

“Please,” Logan says in that soft, soft voice that makes Roman want to combust, “can you help me find him?”

“Wait, wait, Logan, you—you what?”

Logan shifts forward, cupping Roman’s hand. “Where did you go, Roman? Something happened, you left.”

“N-no, Logan, I didn’t go anywhere.”

“You did,” he corrects, “you…you’ve been different. You’ve been quieter, you haven’t taken me on any adventures—“

“I’ve taken you into the Imagination!”

“—and you stopped singing,” Logan finishes. Roman’s chest throbs with the way Logan’s voice cracks on the last word. “You left, Roman, where did you go?”

“I—I was trying to—to—“ Roman swallows heavily. “Wait, you love me?”

Logan blinks, tilting his head. “Of course, yes, I love you, Roman.”

Roman’s face flares. “You can’t—you can’t just say that, Logan.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll believe you. I’ll—“ the urge to bury his face in his hands burns but he can’t, can’t pull away from Logan—“I’ll believe you.”

Logan hums. “And why shouldn’t you believe me?”

An incredulous laugh forces its way out of his throat. “Because you can’t love me.”

He slams his eyes shut as Logan starts to move away. He’s ruined it. He’s ruined so much of his hard work. He’s destroyed it. He’s hurt Logan. How could he?

“And why can’t I love you, Roman?”

He laughs again, though this one might be technically considered a sob. “Because I’m loud! I’m obnoxious, I want to spend all my time daydreaming, I’m so out of touch with the real world, I never want to be serious, I’m—I’m—“

“Passionate,” Logan interrupts quietly, something still cupping his hand, “optimistic. Hardworking.”

Roman huffs. “That’s not special.”

“Intelligent.”

Now he does laugh. “Not compared to you.”

Logan’s stifled noise is enough to make him open his eyes. He frowns up at Logan. He looks…heartbroken.

“Roman,” he murmurs, “do you honestly believe that?”

He squirms uncomfortably on the floor. “…it’s not like it isn’t obvious. El principe es estupido.”

“It’s far from obvious, Roman,” Logan insists, “why do you think I enjoy our verbal sparring so much?”

“You what?”

“I respect and admire your intelligence. You’re—well, not to insult the others when they’re not here to defend themselves, but you’re the only one who really keeps up with me.” Logan smiles at him. He smiles at him. “And you’re kind, Roman. Relentlessly so, sometimes.”

Roman can only gape at him.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed everything you do,” Logan chides gently, “I do notice. And I am so thankful for it. But this…” He gives Roman’s hand another squeeze. “This I don’t understand. Where did you go, Roman?”

“I—I…” Roman swallows. “I thought I was doing it for you.”

“For me?”

“Y-you like serious things! You don’t want to be seen as a joke and I’ve never seen you as a joke, Logan, you have to believe me, and I thought that—that I—“

“Roman—“

“I make fun of the things I love, Logan!” Roman’s throat almost aches from the strain of saying it out loud. “And you—you don’t like it when we’re not serious and I’m not serious so I—I thought if I—if—if—“

“You changed so I would…love you?”

Roman shakes his head shamefully. “So you would tolerate me.”

“Oh, little star—“

Roman lets out an oof as Logan tugs him forward, his knees hitting the ground roughly as he pulls Roman into a hug. He’s warm, he’s so warm and so Logan…the frames of his glasses are cool against the side of Roman’s face, the knot of his tie pressing into the hollow of his chest. And he’s being so sweet, so tender as he holds Roman on the floor of the library.

Roman clutches him back. It’s been agony, not being able to touch him, not even the barest brush of shoulders or knocking their elbows together. But now Logan is here and he can have this.

“I don’t want serious,” he hears Logan murmur, “not from you. Alright, sometimes, yes, I want you to listen but never to be that serious. You’re—you’re you, Roman. That’s what I want.”

Oh.

He laughs as the tears start to fall onto Logan’s collar. “You found me, Logan.”

Logan just gives him a squeeze. “I did, little star.”

Oh, Roman was not prepared for that. Instead, he can hear Logan chuckle as he tenses for a moment.

“No?”

“Yes,” Roman blurts out quickly, fumbling with his clumsy tongue, “yes. So much yes.”

“Yes, it is then, little star.”

He hums contentedly, burying his nose in the crook of Logan’s neck. “You found me,” he whispers, rocking them back and forth, “and I found you.”

“Yes, little star, you found me.” Logan pulls back to cup his face, a comforting noise escaping him at the evidence of drying tears. “And now…please, don’t leave me?”

“Never, Logan,” he swears, “never again.”

He gets to see that wonderful soft glow on Logan’s face for a moment longer before that gleam—oh, that wonderful gleam—comes back as he arches an eyebrow.

“No? Then why am I still ‘Logan?’”

Oh. So that’s how this is going to go, hmm? Roman lets a little more darkness slip into his smirk than he normally would. It only grows wider as Logan looks a little surprised.

“My dearest darling nerd,” he purrs, “if you wanted me to lavish you with pet names, you know you need only ask.”

“That is not what I meant,” Logan says firmly, undone a little by the blush now fanning his cheeks.

Roman chuckles. “Oh, what’s wrong, my sweet little pi, is this not what you wanted?”

“R-Roman!”

“Goodness, Logan, your face is so warm.” Roman’s arms come up to hug him as he buries his face in his neck. “What, you can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

“You’re one to talk,” comes the slightly muffled reply, “you were blushing from my pet name too.”

“Ah, yes, how could I forget? ‘Little star,’ well…” Roman cups the back of Logan’s neck and brings that darling face back out to smile at. “If I’m the star, then you must be the whole galaxy.”

Logan tries to frown. Bless him, he tries, but he’s so flustered that it turns into this adorable pout as he leans back to get up.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Roman chuckles, wrapping his arms and legs tightly around him, “you stay right here in my lap.”

“Roman!”

“What?” He tilts his head. “Can you think of anywhere better to be than right here, in my lap…with me?”

He can’t help the note of vulnerability that slips in at the end. Maybe Logan doesn’t want this, maybe he is too much, maybe he just ruined it…

“No,” Logan murmurs after a moment, “I guess I can’t.”

And really, it is marvelous, there on the floor, golden sunlight streaming over them, in the library, surrounded by the quiet shelves and safe hallways of the house.

———————————————————————

“I have to ask,” Roman says, giving Logan a little shake after a moment, “how did you…?”

“Find out?”

“Mm.”

“Well…” Logan toys with Roman’s collar. “I was coming to ask you about it anyway, but Virgil—“

“Virgil?” Roman raises an eyebrow. “He said something now, did he?”

Logan squints at him. “…why do I have a feeling there’s more to this than you’re telling me?”

Roman shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter, not really.”

“Now that I don’t believe for an instant.”

“It got me my Logan,” Roman says softly, leaning forward to rub their noses together, “didn’t it?”

“…well yes, I suppose it did.”

Roman hums contentedly, cuddling into Logan like a lazy cat, sprawled out in the sunlight to nuzzle its kitten. A…surprisingly sweet image. The Imagination—Roman’s Imagination must be affecting him.

There are worse fates.

“But I can’t imagine,” he says after a moment, “that a prince such as yourself can allow such a slight?”

The grin on Roman’s face is priceless.

“Virgil,” Roman sings as they fling open the door to the rest of the Mindscape, and goodness Logan can’t tell you how much he’s missed that voice— “I have a question for you!”

Logan hears muffled cursing coming from the living room.

“What’s up, Princey?”

“Well our dearest Specs here just told me something very interesting—“ he winks at Logan— “and I would love to hear your side of the story.”

“Oh, uh, really? Well, that’s cool. On an unrelated note, I’m gonna be in my room for the foreseeable future.”

“Hmmm…not if I get there before you!”

“Shit!”

“My darling,” Roman says softly, pressing a kiss to the back of Logan’s hand, “will you excuse me one moment, please?”

And what is Logan supposed to do but agree? Roman is back.

“I’ll be with you shortly.”

Roman tears off down the hallway after Virgil, their shouts filling the Mindscape once more.

General Taglist:@frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @theaceofcrows @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner

#sanders sides #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #virgil sanders #dragonbabbles #fic #logince

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bookofmirth · 2 years

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As an elriel shipper I find it really sad that the two sides can't just get along and make this "ship-war" more fun. Like why can't we make this fun and just laugh about how we all see these characters going in different directions and joke around I don't get it. Why can't we just be like "5 bucks on elriel!" "I'll raise you ten!". Why you gotta be so serious all the time it's literally a book about fake creatures fucking.

Honestly. Sorry but I'm using this as an opportunity to rant about this fandom because it's so embarrassing, I am so tired of it.

I used to have so many elriel mutuals. I didn't care that they posted about it for years because I had the tag blocked so I got to see their other content still and interact with them. Funny how a bunch of them unfollowed me after acosf though, when I started posting content they didn't like and they couldn't extend me the same courtesy of blocking the tags so we could still interact regardless. I think I still have some but they just might not be as active, idk.

People are way too invested in being right. And they are way too invested in the idea that canon = the only thing you can like.

That's the whole reason fandom exists! To play with canon! To change it in ways that we prefer! Yes fandom exists to get more content about our faves, but that content is inherently not canon. Literally, anything that any of us say about these books, unless it's a direct quote from something that sjm has published, is not canon. People need to get the fuck over it and start to have fun, maybe. Even fanfic that agrees with canon can be tagged on AO3 as "canon compliant". That should tell you something. It's not fucking canon, no matter how close to the books it is.

(Screw canon. Y'all all need to take a giant step back from canon because it's getting mangled in your desperate grasp at this point.)

This whole thing with the character/ship weeks is just another example of how this fandom cannot have nice things. We can't even appreciate the same characters without people making it into a dick measuring contest, what the fuck! And I get anons who get mad at me for pointing out when people say shady shit about Elain, like babes, mes amis, besties, we both like Elain and I am defending her by saying don't reduce her entire personality to bread and roses, why are you mad at me?!

I haven't participated in any events since acosf (except for one elucien hc post that I did last minute) because the events have been tainted. It wasn't just this last week, it was way before this. The events have felt like a contest rather than a genuine enthusiastic "yay, this thing!". And now not only that, but certain people are trying to make events into a contest for territory or "I'm better at liking this character than you are". Gross. And sorry but the timing of the event pages is fucking sus! The fact that people have saved a whole bunch of Elain week event blog titles that they will never use just so that Sue (and others) can't access them, is fucking ridiculous and childish. And the fact that people were being snide about Sue in the comments of the one announcement? And those comments were just treated like those people weren't making pointed, dickhead comments? So much for your neutral, drama-free event. LMAO

And people treat fan art/artists that way as well, like if someone draws elucien it's a checkmark in the elucien column? We can't just enjoy that art? Or if it's an artist who has drawn elriel/elucien/gwynriel, then people get pissed off that the artist they thought was on "their" side has betrayed them? It's so immature.

But I also wonder if the ship war ending will make it any better. Right now I'm seeing a lot of pro/anti Nesta content and I am sighing and pinching the bridge of my nose. If you don't like what someone says about Nesta, just block that person or the tags. It's not enough to have a ship war? We need to be pro/anti individual characters, too?

That frustrates me because how can we have conversations with one another? What's the point of being in the fandom if it's just "I think x" and then all we hear in return is a chorus of "so true bestie".

Fandom is supposed to be fun. People are sucking all the joy out of it.

#i don't care if those event runners see this #maybe do better #or just accept that you're okay with those types of comments on your post #and you aren't neutral #i would love to hear #some justification of that though #so curious how it can be defended #acotar fandom #ask #anon #fandom things #rant #i need a salt tag #fandom salt #okay I need to work now

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sidespart · 3 years

Text

The Fall of King Romulus Part 9

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him… Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Roman kept his back straight and his gaze cold and aloof as he watched his proclamation sink in.

It was a simple thing, to be Romulus again.

Virgil and Patton had been sent to fight and die by their Kings. Roman had listened to Logan rant, many times, about his distain of the noble classes and their control over the common men. Whatever affection they had for Roman – it wouldn’t extend to Romulus.

They would leave.

“Well yes,” Logan said, sounding annoyed “I was getting to that.”

“What?!” Roman shrieked.

“Not require our services?” Virgil stared at him incredulously, “Didn’t we hire you?”

“Logan, you knew?” Patton said admiringly, “You’re so smart!”

“Oh, he did not.” Roman grumbled.

“Well.” Logan shuffled his feet, not looking directly at him, “The Marquis de Ornella called you Romulus. And you attempted to call him by his first name, so I assumed you knew each other- a noble connection was not out of the question.”

“Ha!” Roman pointed at him, vindicated “But you didn’t guess I was a prince, did you?”

“Well, no-” Logan looked on the verge of pouting.

“What services are we even providing? In this scenario?”

“-but If I had had time to do more research then- “

“You know what! That’s a great idea.” Patton smiled brightly, “I think we could all use a little cool down time – Logan why don’t you go back to the library and read up on Nothalevaele”.

“Notaleveale.” Logan corrected.

Patton frowned. “It’s not -aleveale? I swear that’s what he said.”

“It’s not Nothalevaele it’s Notaleveale”.

“Then what is it?”

Roman stuffed most of his good hand into his mouth to muffle a scream.

“Seriously.” Virgil smirked at him even as he leant over to adjust Roman’s pillow. “You just can’t get service like this anywhere else.”

Roman glared at him.

“He-” Virgil jerked his head at Logan, utterly unbothered by Roman’s glare – “shouldn’t go to the library alone.”

Patton nodded seriously and gave Vigil a wide smile.

Virgil glared back.

Patton raised both eyebrows.

Virgil folded his arms.

“No one needs to go anywhere – I told you I’m leaving.” Roman complained.

They ignored him.

Eventually whatever silent argument the two men were having ended with Virgil rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Go find your bag.” He told Logan, who nodded jerkily and all but fled the room.

Roman flopped back against the pillows with a thump, too tired to maintain his princely posture any longer. “He can go by himself, can’t he,” he muttered sulkily, “we’re not actually kids.”

Virgil and Patton exchanged another glance before Virgil turned away to the bedside table, fussing with his pots and potions.

“We’re not sure how many guards got a look at our faces before we got out of the bathhouse.” Patton told him, “Better not to risk traveling alone.”

“Oh.” Roman replied, his voice small.

He remembered the bathhouse. The screams from above. Virgil’s panic-stricken face as he glanced between them and the stairs. Logan with a blade at his throat.

He swallowed hard and cast his eyes down, picked idly at a loose thread of the blanket.

“We should be back before the bandages needs changing, but if you smell anything or see any new pus there’s some ointment left in this one.” Virgil held up a blue-green jar for Patton to see, “Just wash it out first with boiled water.”

“Pus!” Roman squeaked, looking up.

“Your hand was pretty screwed up.” Virgil told him gruffly, “The infection’s what gave you the fever. You need to drink more willow tea, at least one cup every hour – we’ll have to pick up some more salve whilst we’re out.” This last part he directed at Patton, who dutifully rummaged in their stack of bags and handed over their coin purse.

It looked worryingly empty. Roman remembered the extra nights they had booked at the inn – nights which they clearly hadn’t even ended up using - and winced.

“We should look for some road food too, Virgil continued “and a map if we’re really going nor – Oh!” He looked at Roman, eyes wide “Er – about the tea, I mean, you need to drink it every hour but only If you -want to? I mean you definitely should but” he waved his hands as if trying to physically shape the instruction into something optional. “You get it.”

Roman bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and tried to ignore the fondness bubbling up inside him. He had hardly even noticed the order.

“How long was I asleep?” He asked.

“Nearly two days.” Patton said softly. “You really scared us for a minute there kiddo.”

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, “And- thank you. For taking care of me.”

“Aw Roman! You don’t have to be sorry for anything!” Patton said, “Or thank us – that’s what family’s for.”

“You’re not my family.” Roman said quietly, thinking of his father’s cool detachment and a castle full of empty rooms.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah whatever. Listen you gotta – you should eat. And sleep some more. And we are going to have to talk about all this when we’re back, okay Ro – er, Romulus?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Jeez do we have to call you that now?”

“I think it’s a nice name.” Patton interjected “It’s very umm. Regal.”

“Surely ‘Princey’ still works as a nickname?" Logan asked, returning to the room. He threw a pale green coat at Virgil, who made a face but obediently shrugged it on, pulling an orange knit cap down over the pointed tips of his ears.

Almost as an afterthought, he licked is thumb and rubbed at the dark kohl under each eye. He smirked down at Roman. “You ran away from being a prince and called yourself ‘Princey’?

“You called me that.” Roman said sulkily, deciding not to tell Virgil that he’d only succeeded in smearing the make-up.

“Umm.” Logan stood at the head of the bed. Roman braced himself for another round of interrogation, twisting the blanket between his hands. “I suspect I should apologise for– I was just trying to test my hypothesis before started making outlandish accusations. Obviously, I didn’t realise how long you have been dealing with- I mean, it’s actually quite impressive you maintained your sanity for this long given that-”

“Okay! Less talking!” Virgil declared, as Romans knuckles started to turn white. The elf slung one arm around Logan’s shoulders, propelling him towards the door.

“I was only trying to-”

“Later.”

The door closed behind them with a resounding thud.

“So” Patton said after a moment, casually reaching out with one thumb to wipe away the tears collecting in the bard’s eyes, “Would you like food first or a nap?”

***

The library of Steveange was the crowning jewel of the city. A towering hexagonal building that sat upon the cities highest peak, directly across from the gates to the royal palace.

Which meant the journey was almost all uphill.

Typical.

Virgil huffed, breathing heavily as he stomped his way through the streets, Logan practically trotting to keep up with his long strides.

Prince Romulus of Notaleveale.

Honestly, what the fuck.

At least it explained the whole armed guards thing.

Except actually it explained nothing because if you found a runaway member of the royal family, why in the hell would you then tie them up in a bathhouse basement?

Unless they were traitors working against the royal family – but then why go after a runaway prince at all? Ransom? They hadn’t exactly looked strapped for cash….

And why a bathhouse? Why not one the extremely defensible manor houses that were scattered throughout the upper echelons of the city??

Virgil let out a growl of frustration and came to a stop.

Roman’s injuries had been too systematic to have come from a fight. The northerners had tortured him.

And now he wanted to go back there?

It didn’t make any sense…unless of course the kidnappers had ordered him to go back…

Virgil took a deep breath and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to banish that thought. If he started thinking about the curse again he was going to lose it; end up in a spiral of what had they done and what had they missed and HOW were they supposed to protect him if-

“Virgil? Do you need me to count for seven?”

He forced his eyes open to meet Logan’s worried face and let out the breath he’d been holding in a rush.

“I’m good.” He told the younger man unconvincingly.

“We could go back-” Logan started, but Virgil shook his head.

As much as he bristled at being managed, he didn’t think Patton had been wrong to split the group.

Roman – or whatever they were calling him now– was barley recovered. He’d looked so small, propped up against the pillows without a lute or sword or smile between himself and the world.

Small and scared. And puffing himself up like a songbird trying to look big for a cat.

The four of them yelling for answers at once was only going to freak him out more. Patton had a much better chance getting information out of him one on one.

Still…

“You think we’re going got get anything useful out of this trip?” he asked Logan bluntly.

“The library of Stevenage is one of the greatest collections of written knowledge on the entire continent and in times of uncertainty, knowledge is our greatest weapon... and our greatest defence.” Logan told him, a serious look in his eye.

“Right.” Virgil nodded absently, “Do you think they’ve got a copy of ‘curse breaking for idiots?”

***

Roman woke up for the second time that day with a throbbing headache on top of his other aches and pains. He spent a few minutes cursing himself for not taking up Patton’s offer of willow tea before he’d gone back to sleep and then swung his legs out of the bed.

He needed to get up. He needed to relieve himself and wash and eat and and-

And figure out what to do next.

He needed to know if Remus was safe. If he was on the throne or locked up somewhere or worse.

Which meant going home.

Which meant getting away from his friends.

No one else was going to get hurt because of him and his petty little problems.

Nodding decisively to himself he sprung to his feet. And then swiftly sat back down as the world tilted alarmingly around him.

“Roman?” There was a polite knock at the door and Patton stuck his head in.

“Hey kiddo!” the big man smiled at him, “Are you hungry?”

Roman felt his heart rate speed up and tried to summon some of Romulus’ cool detachment. Patton knew about his curse. If anyone learned about his curse, they would try to exploit it. They would use it to hurt his family, to hurt-

Roman bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop the flow of anxiety. This was Patton.

Roman was more likely to be a burden to him then an opportunity.

Before he could manage to come up with a suitable greeting his stomach growled, loudly, making him blush and Patton laugh.

“Shall I bring something up? Or do you want to come sit at the table?”

“…Table.” Roman mumbled, keeping his eyes locked somewhere in the vicinity of Patton’s left ear. Even though he knew, in his head and in his heart, that Patton wasn’t going to hurt him - he still felt oddly vulnerable with his secret sitting between them. Attempting eye contact made something inside him twist uncomfortably.

His mother had always said Romulus was shy.

If Patton noticed his odd behaviour he didn’t mention it, nor did he insist on carrying Roman down the stairs or otherwise manhandling him. Instead he hovered at his elbow as he made his way from the room, keeping up a running commentary of the house as they descended the stairs.

The room that Roman had been staying in was the attic. Immediately outside the door was a set of stairs so steep they may as well have been a ladder. Patton must have been perched out here, Roman thought guilty, giving him space but close enough to hear him get up. At the base of these stairs was a short landing where most of the items normally stored in the attic were now haphazardly stacked.

“That’s Mama’s room.” Patton nodded at a closed door, as he gingerly ducked under a rolled-up carpet which was wedged against the wall. “And that’s the store cupboard”. At the base of the next steep flight was a hallway Roman recognised: kitchen at one end, main door at the other. There was another door opposite the stairs that he hadn’t noticed on his first visit, with a moon and stars motif painted at eye level.

“That’s her work room.” Patton told him, seeing Romans curious glance, “She’s asked us to stay out of there- it’s where she sees customers.”

Customers. Roman filed that thought away. He had almost forgotten they were in a witch’s house.

Patton took him straight through the kitchen, where a back door led into a narrow garden. The herb bed was surprisingly neat, given the haphazard nature of the house, with small labels pinned neatly next to each plant. At the far end were two wooden structures. “Storage shed.” Patton pointed, “Outhouse. Do you need help using it?”

Roman shook his head vehemently - clung to Patton’s arm briefly when the movement made him dizzy – and stomped to the outhouse to relieve himself.

After a few steps though he stopped.

Patton knew about the curse. And Patton wouldn’t hurt him so-

He could ask.

“Pat?“

“Yeah?” Patton – or at least his ear – looked concerned.

“I. um. My arm is…”

Virgil had instructed him to keep his arm still in his sling until the herbs had done their work and clearly, they hadn’t happened yet. The thing was still pinned across his chest.

Not that he couldn’t navigate the outhouse one handed if he had too. But his balance wasn’t exactly great at the moment and tripping in there was one humiliation he would have liked to avoid.

But then again, it’s not like his hand was any use. He would really just be freeing up the use of his elbow and why was even bothering Patton with something so stupid and embarrassing an-

“Roman. Hold your… hold your whole body however you like.”

He nodded jerkily as his shoulder relaxed for the first time since waking up, letting his arm drop a little lower.

He didn’t look at Patton as he made his escape to the outhouse.

***

When he returned Patton had pulled a tin bathtub from who-knows-where onto the slab of paving stone by the kitchen door and was testing the water’s temperature with his elbow.

“Virgil left us some potions.” He told Roman as he approached – “This is another one to help healing and this-” he held up a red tinted bottle “-should give us bubbles!”

Roman stared at the bath almost hungrily. Hot water was a luxury under normal circumstances and between the travel, the bath house and the fever he knew he must reek of sweat and dirt. Surely, he deserved a little pampering before the journey North?

“It’s still too hot.” Patton warned him before he could launch himself into the water. Instead, the other man gestured to a pretty wrought iron table and two chairs set against the left side fence. He produced bread and jam alongside a mug of tea, advising him to eat slowly as went to grab another bucket of water from the cauldron simmering away in Tay’s kitchen.

Although Patton had been careful not to make an order, Roman still made sure he followed his instructions carefully. He had no desire to make himself sick. Or to make more work for the other man.

He pulled his bread apart into small bites and ate them one at a time, watching Patton critically as he limped his way back to the table.

“Did you get hurt…in the bathhouse?”

“…A few bruises.” Patton told him honestly, spreading a thick layer of jam on his own bread, “Nothing too bad”

“I’m sorry.” Roman said again, pulling his remaining bread into smaller and smaller pieces.

“Ro-man!” Patton said cheerfully – “you don’t need to apologise! It was those Ornelly guys that hit me not you!”

“Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

Roman hunched and cursed himself. Sorry sorry sorry. Couldn’t he say anything useful?

“Roman hey – can you look at me please?”

It took more effort than he would have liked, but Roman did. Patton’s eyes were big and blue and very, very kind. Roman jerked his gaze away immediately.

“None of us blame you for what happened. Okay?”

“You got hurt because of me.” Roman blurted. “Logan nearly died- “

“I told you, that was on the Ornellans, not you-“

“Who were there specifically because of me! That excuse doesn’t work Pat I-“

He cut himself off, eyes glued to the floor once more. Hadn’t he just decided he didn’t want to cause any more trouble?

“Sorry.”

He heard Patton sigh and tried not to flinch, but when the other man spoke his voice was still gentle. “How many bubbles do you want?”

***

Whenever Virgil got upset, he always wanted space. It was something Patton found difficult, as his instinct was to smother the other man with affection until he smiled again, but experience had given him the patience to wait until his friend was ready.

When Logan got upset, he always claimed he needed space – but what he really wanted was an audience. He needed to talk through the problem, often at length, and know that someone was listening, even if he didn’t always want their advice.

Roman though – Roman liked attention. Roman liked fuss and pampering and his favourite food and to know, demonstrably, that someone was worried about him.

It didn’t mean he was great at asking for it. Patton remembered vividly his insistence on hopping half a mile on a twisted ankle before Patton had all but begged him to accept a piggyback.

He also remembered a time after a poorly received show when Roman had spent the evening sulking, sighing loudly and dramatically and slumping against each of them in turn until Patton had laughingly pulled him into a hug. Oh my god Vigil had snarked were you not hugged enough as a child?

It had been funny. At the time. Sort of.

Not so much now.

Since lying back against the tub’s rim would aggravate the wounds on his back, Roman was hunched forward in the tub, his bandaged arm hanging over the edge.

“Did I ever tell you how Virgil and I met?” Patton asked, settling on his knees next to the tub.

Roman twitched. There was a tactic agreement amongst the four of them not to discuss their pasts. This was more than fine with Patton, who was much more concerned with making new, happy memories then revisiting old ones, but he didn’t blame Roman and Logan for being curious.

Whenever the pair were on watch together, conversation often turned to whispered debate over the southern pair’s origin. Whilst he felt a bit bad for pretending to be asleep, Patton quite enjoyed their speculation.

His favourite was the circus performer theory. Virgil would probably has made a good acrobat.

“It was in the war.” he continued, scooping up some of the water and wetting Roman’s hair.

“I um. I volunteered you know? All the boys in my town did. I think we thought- well I know I thought it was the right thing to do. Finaley’ed was the enemy after all, we had to keep our families safe.”

He chuckled sadly, focusing on making sure every strand of Roman’s hair was damp before gently capturing a handful of bubbles and placing them on the other man’s head.

“Made you a crown.” he giggled.

Roman turned just enough to peak at him incredulously through one eye and Patton winced.

“Right. Sorry.”

Roman turned away again but Patton though he saw him suppressing a smile. Score!

“Um anyway” – he poured a measure of oil from one of Virgil’s bottles and rubbed it between his fingers before leaning over to begin massaging Roman’s scalp – “It was okay at first. I was in a regiment with all my friends, it was a bit of an adventure honestly.”

“And then there was this Major. He came to inspect us before we got done training and he – he said I was good. That I should get a chance to really make a difference in the war.”

He dragged his fingers through Roman’s hair, gently detangling the strands.

“He put me in a new regiment. All big guys. Like me. And they- they gave us this – I’m not even sure what it was. My buddy Micha used to say it was ground up swamp frogs but I don’t know.”

He started scooping up water again, rinsing some of the bubbles and oil from Roman’s hair.

“It made us…strong. Angry. Scary. Berserk well– that was the point. I don’t. um.” Some of the water sloshed over his cupped palms and Patton realised he was shivering.

“I killed a lot of people…. I mean I definitely made a difference to them.” He finished bitterly.

“…s’not your fault.” Patton glanced up to see Roman had twisted to look at him, was doing his best to maintain eye contact despite Patton’s confession. Patton smiled at him. Roman really was a sweet kid.

“It’s what I signed up for kiddo. Just faster.”

He sighed, nudging Roman gently to turn around so that he could finish rinsing his hair. “I’m not. I’m not saying it’s the same as what you’ve gone through. I know it isn’t. Just – I get it. A little. What it’s like not having any control.”

For a moment they sat in silence, the only sound the trickle of water as Patton continued lifting handfuls to Roman’s scalp.

Then the bard let out a shuddering breath and said: “My major’s name was Julius.”

“Oh?” Patton whispered.

“He was my dad’s friend. He was supposed to find a way to break the curse, but he didn’t. Then he just…started helping me figure out how to live with it. He was helping me. He was supposed to be…”

Roman took a deep breath “He’s the reason I-ack.” He broke off, coughing. Patton reached forward to hold him up, alarmed.

“Ro?”

“I’m okay.” But he didn’t look it, red faced and scowling. “I-” he gripped Patton’s arm looking right into his eyes. “I can’t tell you.”

Patton nodded slowly, understanding. “You can’t – not because you don’t want to.”

Roman nodded.

Patton frowned. “Can I – could I order you too? I could undo what Virgil said about your arm right?”

Roman sighed shaking his head. “The curse is. It’s fickle. But words are important -if you don’t know what you’re contradicting it’s almost impossible and Julius he – he was very good at giving orders.”

“Right.” Patton frowned. “What if I guess? Like Logan figured out the curse?”

“You can try.” Roman laughed bitterly.

“Hmm okay – was he the reason you left home?”

Roman span around so quickly water splashed over the side of the tub. “Patton! How’d you know?”

“Well gee kiddo! The frog pills didn’t rattle too many cells loose!” Patton laughed tapping the side of his head. Then frowned. “Well, I hope not…”

Roman winced. “Patton I – I’m sorry about what happened to you.”

“Well.” Patton smiled sadly, “Likewise Ro-Romulus.”

The other man sighed, sinking low in the tub again. “I liked being Roman.” he blurted out suddenly, a look of abject misery on his face.

“Then – why stop?” Patton whispered.

“I-” He frowned. “I would like to not be naked for this conversation.”

“That’s fair.” Patton nodded and helped him to his feet.

***

By the time Roman was up, towelled off and dressed in one of Patton’s old shirts that he had long ago claimed as a sleep shirt, he looked about ready to pass out again. Patton left him sitting at the table to finish drying in the sunshine whilst he dashed upstairs to change the sheets on the attic bed. When he returned with the laundry pile, he found that Mittens had emerged and settled himself on the bard’s– the prince’s – lap.

Roman looked up at him guilty - “Your allergies.”

“It’s easier outside.” Patton waved him off. Mittens had been the key to them finding Roman, as far as Patton on was concerned, the cat’s comfort was worth a few sneezes.

He took a seat at the table and nudged the remaining bread towards Roman, who took it hungrily, eating with much more enthusiasm than before the bath.

“So you were saying...” Patton prompted.

Roman pouted at him, cheeks stuffed with bread.

“’u first.” he swallowed, “You never got to how you met Virgil. Was he in the berserkers – in the special regiment too?”

“Oh, no.” Patton shook his head vehemently. “Virgil wasn’t like me. He was a conscript – for the other side.”

An exceptionally fat bumble bee had found Tay’s herb garden and was repeatedly bouncing off the side of some chives. Patton focused on the bewildered looking insect rather than Roman’s face and his finished the story.

“A small group of us had got separated from the rest. It was quite deep in the forest, away from the main battle. We were meant to find their camp and pick them off there, but we couldn’t find them. And then we couldn’t find the way back.”

The bee, finally free of the chives, crashed headfirst into a Rosemary bush.

“It was like… like my blood was on fire. We hadn’t been so long without it before. And then...”

“And then?”

“We stumbled on a group of them. Of Finaley’ii soldiers. And there was a fight.” Patton closed his eyes. Screams and sobs and blood on his sword and in his eyes and Micha gasping uselessly around the arrow in his throat “I don’t remember it much. But when it was over it was like I…woke up.”

He smiled.

“And there he was. Virgil. Pointing s crossbow right at my face.”

“He what!” Roman yelped and Patton laughed.

“Well, we were on opposite sides kiddo and I had just…well. The thing was, it was only us left then. No one was ordering to kill each other and so we just…didn’t. Neither of us was in any big rush to find our armies again so….”

“Virgil asked me to help him find his mom, so we headed east. We couldn’t find her, so he said he’d help me find my town and we went west. That was gone too.”

“The whole town?” Roman as looking at him with sorrowful eyes.

“That’s the problems with wars kiddo – they don’t stay in one place.”

“What about your family?”

Patton shrugged. Mittens hopped down from Roman’s lap and began to stalk the errant bee.

“Maybe they got away. I hope so.” He glanced at Roman again. “Virgil was the one who suggested we keep going west. Get away entirely, see if we could find any refugees, look for our families.” He smiled fondly. “He’s always been the brave one, not me.”

“And – and did you?” Roman asked. He was bent forward, eyes fixed on Patton’s own.

“No.” Patton sighed. “I like to think they’re safe and sound somewhere. Set up a new house, found new people to care for. Like I did. But… “

He trailed off. But most likely they were dead. Like Patton should be.

“What if…if you knew where they were.” Roman said quietly, “Would you go see them- check on them?”

Patton rubbed his hand over his face, feeling the multitude of scars that littered the right side. “I don’t know.” He told Roman honestly. “I would like to know if they were okay but…I don’t know if they’d want to see me.”

Roman nodded.

On the other side of the garden, there was a sudden yowling from the rosemary bush. Mittens came charging towards them with his tail fluffed up and circled Roman’s chair twice before leaping onto the fence.

Patton giggled – “Well that’s what you get for trying to fight a bee you silly cat!”

“I think my brothers in danger.” Roman said in a rush.

Patton blinked.

“Your brother?”

He was back to staring down. Both fists clenched tightly together. “I left him. Back home. I thought I-” he coughed again. “I thought he would be safe but now I’m not sure.”

“In danger from what kiddo?”

“From Julius.” Roman breathed. “I saw him. Or. Or I think I did.”

Slowly, haltingly, Roman told him about meeting the Marquis. About the bathhouse basement and the northern soldiers and the figure he called the grey man who had slipped in and out of Julius’ face.

Patton did his best to keep his own face clam as Roman casually described being forced to hurt himself, even as his own knuckles turned white from his grip on the chairs’ arm.

“He said he had sent Lucius to the inn after some – some escaped prisoner? And he found me. But Lucius knew about the curse and he never did before so- “

“Roman?” Patton interrupted. “Sorry - can I give you a hug?”

“Oh!” Roman blinked at him, blushing slightly, “If you – if you want to?”

“I really do.” Patton scrambled to his feet, wrapping the younger man in his arms and feeling Roman sag against him. He resisted the urge to squeeze, mindful of his injuries. “You’re safe now.” He whispered. “I gottcha.”

Roman giggled wetly against his chest. “Julius. He said he’d assumed I’d died.” He mumbled. “But now that he knows I’m around? He’ll try again Pat I know he will. I- “

He drew back, looking up at Patton with tear filled eyes. “I can’t risk you all getting hurt because of me.”

“That’s not your decision to make Roman.” Patton told him softly. “We think you’re worth the risk.”

“But I’m not Roman.” He whimpered. He hadn’t relinquished his grip on Patton, who began to run his hand soothingly up and down the prince’s back.

“Well, if we’re being technical, I’m not Patton.” Patton rested his head on top of Roman’s own. “Me and Vigil picked new names after we left the war and I – I like being Patton.”

There was a pause. Roman squeezed a little tighter.

“I like Patton too.”

Patton laughed; some tension he hadn’t realised he was holding draining away. When Roman drew back this time, he had a shaky smile on his face.

“So.” He stepped back, wiping his eyes with the back of his wrist. “I need to…go back north. Check on my brother. Avoid Julius and Lucius and anyone connected with Romulus. You sure that’s worth the risk?”

“Yep!” Patton said instantly. “And we need to break the curse!”

“I guess.” Roman shrugged. “I really do think it’s impossible Pat’.”

“Eh.” Patton waved a hand dismissively “That’s never stopped Logan before.”

When Roman laughed then, he almost sounded like himself.

If you enjoyed this chapter please hit ~ reblog ~

#roman sanders #patton sanders #royality #sanders sides fic #virgil sanders #logan sanders #creativitwins #sanders sides #ts: fall of Romulus #this chapter ended up ENORMOUS #i had to cut it in two #rip analogical library times we will get to you next week.#sidespart writes

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deliriumsdelight7 · 2 years

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A plea for audience engagement

Hoo boy. I did NOT want to do this. At all. But I feel like the Rumbelle fandom has reached a fork in the road. One path leads to years of wonderful stories and content for the fandom to enjoy. The other leads to a slow death for this wonderful community.

This rant is probably going to come across whiny, bitchy, and completely entitled, so if you’re not up for reading that, feel free to scroll past.

There has been a sharp downturn in audience engagement in the fandom as a whole lately. I’ve been seeing fics get just as many views as they did last year, or close to it, but fewer and fewer likes, reblogs, and AO3 comments over the past few months. At first, I thought it was just me: either my imagination, or maybe my writing was starting to stagnate (or worse, starting to suck). But no - I’ve had multiple authors mention how their work over the past few months will get few interactions, or worse - none at all. Combing through their Tumblr and AO3 pages confirmed my suspicions (yes, I am being THAT flavor of creep).

This issue extends to weekly author Tumblr posts, such as TMI Tuesday. For the past few months, I (as an example) have been extremely lucky to get a single Ask in my inbox. Most weeks, I get nothing at all. Other writers have reported the same thing. It’s gotten to the point where other writers have stopped making these weekly posts altogether, because... why bother? Why take the time to write that post inviting interactions? It’s clearly adding nothing to the fandom, so all it does is open you up for disappointment when nobody responds.

Now, I know that nobody is entitled to comments/kudos/likes/reblogs/whatever. And anybody who creates art for no other reason than to get compliments is going to have a bad time. But here’s the thing: without input, there can be no output. As our favorite scaly wizard says, everything comes at a price. Writing fic is a creative, joyful, freeing thing - but it’s also work. It’s stressful, it’s time-consuming, it’s exhausting... For those of us who are constantly putting out content, it’s basically an unpaid second job. So when you pour your time, energy, and soul into a work and get little to no response... it’s discouraging. Really discouraging. I know for a fact that I’m not alone in feeling this way. Multiple other authors are starting to feel both disheartened and unappreciated, to the point where they’re considering becoming much less active in the fandom and moving on to others. I’m talking about die-hard fans who put out multiple entries a month - sometimes multiple a week!

Look, I get it. Life really sucks right now for a lot of us. Many members of the fandom don’t have the time/energy/spoons to go on Tumblr or AO3 to read. This post isn’t aimed at them. But for those of you who still check the Rumbelle tag daily, weekly, monthly, whatever, please - please interact with your content creators. They pour so much of themselves into their work. Hours upon hours go into each and every one. So please - if you read someone’s work, just take thirty seconds out of your day to send them a comment. It doesn’t have to be an essay. It can be a sentence. Or a word. Or an emoji. Anything! And if they solicit Asks, send them a quick one! Ask their characters questions. Ask the author questions about themselves as a writer, or about who they are as a person! I promise, it absolutely makes their day.

I love this fandom, guys. In the Rumbelle fandom, I feel like I’ve found a sense of belonging I never knew before. I’ve been pouring my energy into keeping the fandom alive through discussions, taking over popular events, trying to create new events, and yes - writing fic. I would gladly bleed myself dry for this fandom. But all of that comes to nothing if several of our most prolific authors become too discouraged to contribute. So I beg you - please, please, please let your content creators know how much you love their work!

#sorry for the bitch sesh #but I feel like it had to be said #if it were just me I could ignore it #but I've been hearing this same refrain from too many Rumbelle authors for my comfort #I feel gross for writing a public fucking call-out post #gonna go take a 10-hour shower now #rumbelle #rumbelle fanfiction #rumbelle fic

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eyrieofsynapses · 2 years

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I wasn't planning to split my "hey, so you're gonna see some Star Wars stuff around soon, but I'm not properly rejoining the fandom" into two posts, but here we are. Mostly so that I don't subject all of you to a long explanation.

So: like I said over here, a couple good friends of mine convinced me to watch The Mandalorian, and it's all going downhill into the trash heaps of Star Wars from there. Once I've gotten to a couple other things--which might take some time--I may reblog some GIFs and possibly metas.

Here's the thing: Yes, I might put stuff up. No, I am not getting into the fandom proper again. And I do mean again--as in, I was in it around four or five years ago, quite a while before this blog existed. (You can look at my Ao3 for proof, but... uh... maybe don't. You know how it is with old fic.)

For the sake of clarity, and also because I kind of want to talk about it, I'm going to explain why.

For reference: I've seen all of the movies. I've also seen The Clone Wars up until the newest season. I watched all of Star Wars: Rebels, and that remains my favorite. (No, I've not seen The Bad Batch, so I don't know everything about what they did with Caleb.) I'm also fond of Rogue One despite my dislike of tragic endings. Aside from that, my knowledge extends to a scattered few books, comics, and a few other things. I have, only as of the last few days, finished The Mandalorian's second season; the rest of my knowledge is largely older.

As usual, my attention veered away and I hit my overload point. That's normal, by the way. But there's some other reasons.

First: Star Wars deals a lot with tragedy. I've increasingly found I don't much like too many sad endings, especially when they feel unnecessary. I like my characters whole and safe and happy at the end of the day, okay? Beat them up in between all you like, but... look, I like happy endings. That’s a me thing, by the way, not a flaw in Star Wars itself (mostly). If you like tragedy, go for it! I’m just not a fan.

Second: The Rise of Skywalker poisoned a lot for me. Between that and the way Disney's been beating the shit out of the MCU, I figured the newer Star Wars shows were rotten cash grabs and nothing more. It wasn't until my friends lured me into watching The Mandalorian that I realized otherwise. Somehow, despite Disney's hell-bent obsession with killing everything it touches, there's some good stuff coming out of Lucasfilm yet. (For now.) I am duly impressed.

Third, and most importantly: Whatever TRoS and co. didn't poison, the fandom often did. I've met a lot of awesome Star Wars people. I've also seen a lot of toxicity, especially online.

I cannot tell you how much "oh, this sucked because of A, B, C, and D, and this part is irredeemable, and I can't believe anyone could stand this bit--what do you mean you liked that? Fuck you!" stuff I've seen around. Mind you, I like constructive story critique. But much of the time it was just complaining, with zero positivity or genuine love. (It isn't just Star Wars, by the way; I see a massive amount of this in the DC fandom too. There’s others. It’s common in many large fandoms, I think.)

I get it, it's fair to rant about stuff you don't like. I do that too. I’m not going to say I won’t keep doing it here and there, because I’d be lying. Hell, I have a lot of bones to pick with Star Wars. I can and have torn TRoS apart. But it's one thing to do that, and another entirely to claim that you enjoy the thing while only ever hating on it. In particular, I'm sick of seeing people coming into spaces where people are enjoying the content, and then spoiling it rotten by only ever complaining. That was what really got to me: being in places where people were meant to be enjoying it, only to see endless complaints about everything bad.

That was the thing I really disliked about the fandom while I was in it--there was this constant cycle of people saying they enjoyed some piece of Star Wars media, then turning around and smacking it over and over without ever providing any positive feedback. I'm not here for that. I'm here to smack-talk TRoS, sure, but then talk about a) what went right, b) what could be done better, c) the context of the mistakes and the reason for them, and d) where Star Wars has avoided the same mistakes, because it turns out they've done a lot better elsewhere.

Look, I don't want to hear about every single flaw and nothing else. Media is flawed! That's part of it! Plot holes exist! Problems exist! I get pissed off about them too! I rant with my real-life friends about them all the time! But suspension of disbelief is a thing, and historical context is a thing, and recognizing the fact that writers are human and flawed too is a very important thing. If you've got a problem and you want to say it, say it, tag it, then move the hell on and don't press it on the people who want to enjoy that media for what it is. (Unless those people are being blatantly discriminatory and offensive, in which case, sure, call them out. But don't be an ass about it.)

For the record: I am absolutely down for calling Disney out on its racist/sexist/queerphobic/etc. bullshit. We need to do that, and we need to do it loudly. TRoS fucked up a lot with that, and it deserves to be called out.

But if we're going to do that, we also need to talk about where they went right. We need to talk about how supportive many of the actors were. We need to talk about how Rebels and Rogue One brought in characters of color and treated them right. We need to discuss the importance of Finn and Poe, both for being POC and where their implied romance worked despite its ultimate knock-down. We need to talk about why women like Leia, Rose, Ahsoka, Hera, Sabine, and Jyn--among many others--are good representation. We need to talk about how The Mandalorian and Andor are both led by men of color. We need to talk about the many wonderful platonic relationships in Star Wars. We need to celebrate the good, too.

...er, anyway. I'm gonna hop off the soapbox now.

Basically: I got lucky when I landed in the Leverage fandom and found out how positive a fan space can be, and I don't want to go back to only ever seeing people ragging on my favorite media. Past experience has taught me that the Star Wars fandom does a lot of that. I'm once-bit and twice-shy, so I'm not getting deep in on this. I'm not trawling tags, I'm not getting into arguments, I'm not interacting much at all. If somebody wants to have a positive and constructive conversation, I’m here for it. If I post and someone decides to start an argument for the sake of arguing, I'm blocking and moving on, and that is that.

Anyway. Upward and onward, and all of that. May the Force be with you.

#star wars negativity #star wars #fandom #synapse rants #synapse talks #...yeah okay we'll do that for a new tag too #I know I may be inviting some not-great responses to this #but like I said: no questions no second thoughts. just block #I'm here to chat and be cool and have productive conversations #not to strike up ridiculous and pointless arguments #that waste my time #so! yeah

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amaranthinecanicular · 4 years

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and the name for your order is

The guy snarls his order, and Kirishima is glad because clearly he's an unrepentant dick to everyone, not just Amajiki. It's easier to come to terms with than he thought it would be. “And your name?” he says, plucking a cup from the stack and uncapping the marker with his teeth.

“Who the fuck wants to know?” says the customer.

“Oh no,” says Kirishima, because oh no, he likes this guy. It's one of those sudden revelations that takes him by the throat and shakes him down. Who wants to know, he says, as though it wasn't obvious. Who wants to know. So absurdly aggressive it ends up amusing instead of intimidating. Endearing, even.

[My belated @fyeahbnha secret santa gift for @pointy-hat-witch! Please enjoy, and happy holidays!!!]

[Alternatively read on ao3.]

OCTOBER

Fat Gum’s Café has a new customer.

Well. Not new, exactly. He's been showing up for the last two weeks or so but only on days Kirishima wasn’t working. The news shared by his coworkers more closely resemble war stories than work gossip, ranging exclusively from horrible to terrible.

“He’s the scariest person I’ve ever met in my life,” says Amajiki.

“He’s like a sentient piece of crap rolled up in a garbage can and set on fire,” says Kaminari.

“He makes Give me a mocha double espresso sound like an order of execution,” says Amajiki.

“He’s rude and violent and he has no honor,” says Tetsutetsu.

“If he’s not actually a demon sent from the depths of hell to torture me specifically I would be very surprised,” says Amajiki. Most of the stories are from Amajiki.

Kirishima is dying to meet him, in part to defend his friends’ honor and in part to put a face to the legend. Luckily, the start of the new quarter means new classes at new times, and that means new work hours. What was originally a Tuesday-Thursday-Friday-Sunday schedule shifts to a Monday-Wednesday-Saturday schedule. Kirishima feels bad about that. He likes the coffee shop, likes his coworkers, likes his boss. If he could ace his tests and help out at Fat Gum’s every day he would, but he can't. His grades are dragging.

On the bright side, he meets their local celebrity, like, immediately.

It’s his first Saturday on the job. He knows it’s about to go down when he finds Amajiki attempting to assimilate himself into the storage closet.

“He's back,” says Amajiki, doing an excellent impression of coffee grounds quaking in fear. “If I have to deal with him again I'll die, I'll just die. Tell Mirio and Hadou I said goodbye. I'm sorry, Kirishima-kun, I can't do it.”

Poor guy. Amajiki is convinced this dude is terrorizing him deliberately, which Kirishima sincerely hopes isn't true. Anyone who would go out of their way to frighten serious, hardworking, anxious Amajiki must be a monster.

As if to punctuate this point, someone out at the front begins to brutalize the counter bell. To be fair, they really shouldn't leave it unmanned.

“Don't sweat it, senpai,” Kirishima says. He doesn't give Amajiki the manly clap to the shoulder that he wants to—Amajiki isn't so good with physical contact from anyone other than Togata or Hadou. “I'll handle the problem customer.”

Amajiki peeks at Kirishima through coffee filters and the dark wedge of his fringe. “You—you mean it?”

“Sure do. I like a challenge.”

He flashes his brightest smile. Amajiki squints a little at the force of it.

Kirishima is honestly surprised that the poor bell isn’t dented by the time he comes to its rescue.

“About fucking time,” says the problem customer. He's got riotous blond hair and a scowl on his face like it's been carved there. There's a grenade logo sprayed on his baggy black tee, which makes sense, because one look at this guy brings to mind the word explosive.

“How may I help you, sir?” says Kirishima, with deliberate pep. Impossibly, impressively, the scowl cuts deeper. Like an attack—like he's never not on the offensive. That's fine. Kirishima’s smile will be his armor.

“Who the fuck wants to know?” says the customer.

Kirishima spits the cap out of his mouth. “I want to know. For your order, man.”

The problem customer narrows his eyes as though to peer through Kirishima’s question to the ulterior motives behind it, which is insane, since there are no ulterior motives to be found in the absolutely routine procedure of a coffee shop. Cheerfully oblivious seems to be getting under his skin, so Kirishima leans into it. “What if I forget who asked for the mocha double espresso?”

The customer rolls his eyes. He rolls his eyes violently. “Right, because I'm real fucking forgettable.”

“You could be.” The look he gets for that is entirely worth breaking the Customer Is Always Right creed. “We get a lot of traffic, man, it’s nothing personal.”

The customer braces himself on the counter and leans into Kirishima’s space. Instinct hooks in his spine and tries to reel him back a step or two, but he hardens his resolve into stone and ties it to his feet, weighs himself down, refuses to budge.

“You'll remember me,” the customer says. A promise like a threat, and for the first time in the duration of this exchange Kirishima feels seen by him. Acknowledged. It's the same feeling as scoring well on a test, or making a sad friend laugh. Hard-won and worth it. Kirishima can't stop the grin from breaking onto his face so he doesn't try to.

“Sure I will. I like you.”

And the look he gets for that, well, that's priceless.

“So that name?”

“Fuck off.”

The guy recovers fast, that's for sure. Kirishima watches him skulk to the serving counter where he roots himself like a particularly irritable tree and barks at anyone who gets too close. The next customer gets an extra punch in her punch card for the wait, and when the guy's order is up, Kirishima is ready with a sharpie in hand. Amajiki has ventured back out to help with orders, steadfastly avoiding anything problem-customer-related, but he blanches when he sees what Kirishima is scribbling on the cup. “Are you insane? Do you have a death wish? Should I be getting you help?”

“Trust me,” Kirishima says. He caps the coffee and walks it to its rightful owner. “One mocha double espresso for Mr. Unforgettable.”

The guy snatches the cup. He stomps off without another word.

Thirty seconds later he stomps right back.

“Blasty McSplode?”

Amajiki ducks under the counter. Kirishima, in the process of taking another order, smiles wide enough to cramp his cheeks.

“Hey! Back already?”

“Blasty Mc-Fucking-Splode?”

“You wouldn't give me your name. I had to take a stab at it myself. Was I close?”

“I'll show you taking a stab—”

Blasty rants and raves for a full minute, splashing mocha just about everywhere, until finally Fat Gum himself ambles out of his office to gently shoo him from the shop. Kirishima waves at him around Fat Gum’s bulk. Blasty waves his middle finger in response. When Fat Gum comes back in he raises an eyebrow at Kirishima, which, yeah, he definitely deserves, but he also passes a heavy hand through his carefully gelled hair to show that he's not really mad. Kirishima fixes his hair as best he can while Amajiki climbs out from under the counter.

“I can't believe he didn't kill you for that,” he says, his voice buffed by awe.

Kirishima gives the next customer's punch card an extra punch too. Hell, he gives her two extra punches. Why not? He's in a great mood.

Two days later Blasty stalks in and Kirishima can't believe his good fortune. He calls out a greeting from across the cafe and gets a glare in response, but that glare holds, a few seconds of extended eye contact, long enough to stay in Kirishima’s belly after it's ended and flutter there.

Blasty growls his order. Kirishima asks for his name. Blasty tells him to go die and Kirishima scribbles Lord Explosion Murder on the cup. He's rewarded with a snort of amusement.

“Did you see that?” he gushes to Kaminari, after Blasty has left. “He totally laughed! He liked it!”

“I saw it I saw it ow stop hitting me!” Kaminari rubs the place on his shoulder that Kirishima had been slapping repeatedly. “I dunno, man. That sounded more like a scoff to me.”

Nah, he's pretty sure he was amused.

The next time he comes in, after the requisite exchange (“Your name for the order?” “Eat a dick,” “Cool cool I think I'd get fired if I wrote that but cool,”) Kirishima writes King Explosion Murder on the side of the cup.

“Better,” Blasty huffs.

Kirishima feels like cloud-walking for the rest of the day. Kaminari isn’t on shift, but when Kirishima texts him, he texts back: “I stand corrected. When are you asking him out?”

“All in due time,” Kirishima promises his phone.

NOVEMBER

Blasty’s schedule:

He shows up Monday mornings, rumpled by sleep and grouchier than usual, before he heads off to class. Wednesday evenings he drinks and studies until closing time. Saturday afternoons he sits at the window with a bento. Coincidentally these are the three days and times that Kirishima is on duty. And it must be coincidental, because if it's not then that means that Blasty memorized his schedule and molded his life accordingly, learned to fit him in, looks forward to seeing him three days out of the week. Kirishima may be an optimist, but he's not delusional. He knows how dangerous a daydream like that can be.

He’s probably just here because it’s a good place to study. And there must be an exam coming up, because lately he’s been showing up with even more books than usual, and suitcases under his eyes instead of bags. He’s crabbier, too, which Kirishima didn’t think was possible and is honestly impressed by. By this point he has unofficially become the only one willing to serve him, but this wild-eyed evolution of Problem Customer into Demon Customer From Hell just clinches it.

“Maybe you should take a break,” Kirishima says, when he brings over Blasty’s third espresso in as many hours. It’s Saturday, usually Blasty’s day to sit and gaze out the window with one of his more pensive death glares, but today he’s entombed himself in a mountain of notes and textbooks. Kirishima nudges aside a few notebooks to make room for the cup.

“Maybe you should go fuck yourself with a rake,” says Blasty, without looking up from the violent strokes of his pen. “Touch my stuff again and I’ll kill you myself, shitty hair.”

Watching from behind the counter, Amajiki wheezes with secondhand horror. Kirishima peers at the crowded table. “Hey, where’s your bento?”

Blasty slams his pen down. “Was I not clear enough, you moron? Fuck off! Leave me alone!”

Kirishima raises his hands in surrender. Blasty’s mouth opens as if to say something else, but nothing comes out. Maybe he’s realized he’s gone a step too far. They stare at each other for a beat, and then his jaw snaps shut. He jerks his head back to his books and Kirishima retreats to the counter.

“He can’t speak to you like that,” Amajiki says, suddenly stern. He’s always braver on someone else’s account. “I’ll tell Fat Gum, he’ll understand. We don’t have to serve him. You don’t have to take his abuse.”

“The guy’s under a lot of stress,” Kirishima says. It’s overindulgent even for him, but when he glances over his shoulder he sees Blasty wrench his gaze away. “And I think he feels bad.”

Amajiki obviously doesn’t think so, but he says nothing more, which Kirishima appreciates. By closing time Blasty is the only customer left in the shop, still hunched over his books and writing furiously. Kirishima has given him his space, and he hasn’t asked for another coffee. Amajiki is still angry enough to go tell him they’re closing—he’ll even be properly intimidating about it—but Kirishima stops him.

“I’ll lock up,” he offers. Amajiki’s look of disapproval is a blow to Kirishima’s pride, but he stands firm. So Fatgum leaves, and Amajiki leaves, with a sigh and a firm promise that he’ll be on standby if Kirishima needs anything, and then the place is empty and it’s just him, Blasty, and the scritching sound of his pen.

Kirishima takes his time. He cleans up and Blasty keeps studying. He locks the doors and Blasty keeps studying. He sits down at a table across the cafe and gets some of his own homework done, and Blasty keeps studying. Then he goes back to the machines, knowing he’ll have to clean them again, and whips up a special drink. When he’s done, he writes FIGHT ON! where the name should go.

“I don't want your fucking charity,” Blasty says as he sets it down.

“You’ve accepted it so far,” Kirishima points out blandly, gesturing to the very obviously closed cafe. Before Blasty can bite his head off, he continues, “Anyway, don't think of it as charity. Think of it as…an investment.”

“Investment in what?” His eyes are narrowed and very red, both in the iris and the bloodshot sclera.

Kirishima weighs the pros and cons of his next move and decides to go for it. He hazards a wink. “In my future best customer.”

Blasty is unimpressed. Like, fatally unimpressed. Like, it's impressive how unimpressed he looks. Aggressively deadpan. He has to practice that look in the mirror.

But he takes the cup, and when Kirishima peeks at him later, he's smirking at the sharpie message.

Monday morning sees Blasty quiet and terse, but civil. Civil for him, anyway. Kaminari is disturbed.

“What did you do?” he hisses once Blasty bulls out of the shop.

“Nothing.” Even if he barely met Kirishima’s eyes. Not promising.

“Did you fight?”

“No.”

“Did he turn you down?”

“No. Dude, nothing happened.”

Kaminari raises his hands. For a minute they work in silence.

“So if you didn’t get turned down, are you gonna ask him out soon?”

Kirishima hands off an order, and then lets his customer service smile drop. “Now isn’t a good time. I’ve got to give him some space.”

“Okay, but what about all your fortune favors the manly stuff? Isn’t that the reason you got this far in the first place?”

“How far is that? I still don’t know his name.” He can feel Kaminari’s eyes on him, and he tries to rally. Picks up his smile and pastes it back on. “Hey, enough about me. How’s it going with you and Shinsou?”

Kaminari lights up. For the next twenty minutes he regales Kirishima—and the whole cafe—with his loud and maudlin romantic woes, all he’s so hot the bags under his eyes should not be so hot and his dry sense of humor is so hard to read and I think he’s flirting with me but I thought that with Jirou and she and Momo still won’t let me live it down.

Kirishima listens and laughs and offers advice, and he does his job, and he doesn’t think about his grumpy favorite customer even once. Really he doesn’t.

When Blasty comes in on Wednesday, he looks well rested. Kirishima waves before getting back to orders. This is apparently not good enough for Blasty, because he scowls at the people in line and then stalks over to the serving counter and proceeds to glare daggers, like he expects Kirishima to just up and abandon his work to attend to him. Like, yeah, he wants to, but it wouldn’t be right. Even if Blasty scares other customers away from the counter. And even if Kirishima is getting steadily more distracted the longer he stares.

On the third order he messes up, Tetsutetsu intervenes.

“Go on,” he sighs, nudging Kirishima aside as the next customer steps up. “Make it fast, bro.”

Kirishima promises him a meat bun after work and hurries over. “Hey. You’re looking better. Did you ace the test?”

“Obviously.”

“That’s great. Congratulations.”

There’s a stalled moment. Kirishima taps his fingers on the counter. Blasty is visibly grinding his molars.

“Cool, so I’m gonna get back to work, I’ll make you your regular—”

“Last week,” Blasty starts. He bites out each word. “Last week, I was.” He stops, lips pressed tight and bloodless.

“An asshole,” Kirishima supplies.

Blasty hums low in his throat. Or he growls. Either way it’s as close to an admission as Kirishima is going to get, and it clearly took a hilarious amount of self restraint for even that much.

Blasty clears his throat and says, “That drink you made. What was in it?”

Kirishima is a little thrown by the shift. “Xoaxacl chocolate, a little chili powder. I thought you might like an extra kick.”

“It wasn’t half bad.” There’s color along the bridge of his nose. “I’ll take one of those.”

Maybe Kirishima had been more upset by Blasty’s behavior on Saturday than he thought, because now he feels loads lighter, any old hurts dissipating like clouds under the sun. He smiles, and Blasty blinks a lot, the color spreading to his cheeks and his ears and down his throat.

“One special order, comin’ right up!”

Kirishima turns around and reaches for a cup and marker. And then, behind him: “Bakugou Katsuki.”

He pauses. “Sorry?”

Blasty is rubbing roughly at his mouth. His whole face is glowing. “You heard me.”

“Bakugou,” says Kirishima, trying the taste on his tongue. Bakugou, full of plosives and hard consonants. “I love it. It suits you.”

Bakugou’s eyes snap wide, then narrow just as fast. “Why the fuck should I care what you think of my name? It doesn't need your approval, dipshit.”

When Kirishima is finished making his drink, Bakugou snatches it from his hand and whirls on his heel, a dramatic spray of foam following him out. Kirishima tingles where their fingers touched.

Then he watches Bakugou take a deep pull, and he has to go clean the latte machine before he’s murdered by the lethal and lovely line of Bakugou’s throat.

DECEMBER

“Y’know, I still don’t know what you study.”

“Probably because it’s none of your business.”

“Right. Except how it kind of is literally my business, since I let you study here, in my place of work, after we’ve closed.”

This has become their ritual. On Saturdays Bakugou stay past closing, sometimes doing schoolwork, sometimes helping clean up, sometimes just chatting. He never stays past nine thirty—Kirishima has learned that he likes to turn in before ten every night, which is bizarrely adorable—but it doesn’t matter. Any amount of time with him is always going to feel like a blessing, and it’s never going to feel like enough.

“You’re not doing me any favors, shitty hair, get that thought out of your empty skull this instant.”

“Sure, sure.”

Kirishima finishes cleaning up. Once the last table is wiped down he sits heavily across from Bakugou, happy to finally be off his feet. His eyes feel swollen, too big for his skull. His grades have yet to pick up despite the extra hours of studying he’s been putting in. He presses his knuckles into his eyes for a moment of relief.

“I’m a med student.”

He blinks the colorless starbursts from his eyes. Bakugou, across from him, comes into focus: his head is still down, his gaze still fixed on his book. Sometimes he wears glasses, thick dark frames that Kirishima loves, and today is one of those days. He grins.

“No shit! You’re going to be a doctor?”

“A surgeon.” Some color rises in his ears; he looks pleased. Maybe because of how awed Kirishima sounds. But why wouldn’t he? Anyone working to help people is worthy of admiration, and manly as hell.

“Dude, that’s awesome. I’m studying to be a nurse.”

The corner of Bakugou’s mouth twitches upward. “Nurses are badass.”

“I think so. You a doctor, me a nurse. I bet we’d make a good team.”

Bakugou scoffs, even as pink starts to pool in his collarbones. Kirishima still doesn’t get why certain things make him flush, but he’s happy to learn. He rests his cheek in his hand and tries not to smile too dopily. “Y’know, for a med student you sure drink a lot of coffee. You know too much of this stuff is terrible for you, right?”

“I’m going to tell your boss you said that and get you fired.”

“That’s really not how it works.”

Bakugou’s glare is magnified by the glasses. He takes a long, aggressive sip of his drink—the strength it takes Kirishima not to burst out laughing is Herculean, truly, with the slurping and the deliberate eye contact and all, because only Bakugou could turn coffee into an intimidation tactic. Then he says, “Whatever. I'm invincible.”

Kirishima bursts out laughing. Bakugou grumbles beneath his breath, but his threats delight Kirishima more than they intimidate; Kirishima’s laughter seems to confound Bakugou more than it enrages. They're good for each other, is his sudden thought, and it thrills him.

He’s a little teary and a little breathless by the time he gets himself under control. Through the blurry smudge of his eyelashes he sees Bakugou. Then he’s breathless all over again.

Bakugou’s face—Kirishima wouldn’t say it softens. But there is a softness there, in his unsmiling mouth, in his brow, stern but smooth. He’s just—watching him, steadily. Intent.

“Hey,” Kirishima says, and it’s easy, it’s so easy. “Make sure you come in on Christmas, alright? I get out early, and I want to ask you something.”

And maybe he expects Bakugou to fluster, or to scowl, or to demand to hear his question then and there. He doesn’t.

“Fine,” he says, and he just keeps watching. Like he wouldn’t mind watching Kirishima forever.

Maybe Kirishima’s projecting a little.

Bakugou would probably tear him a new one for spreading the news around, but Kirishima is too excited to keep it to himself.

“I’m happy for you,” says Amajiki, sounding worried but sincere.

“Congrats, man,” says Tetsutetsu, and then they have a celebratory arm wrestling match.

Kaminari is a little more suspicious. “So you haven’t asked him out yet?”

He’s standing on a stepladder, hanging Christmas decorations while Kirishima mans the counter. Bakugou has already stopped by for his morning coffee, and it’s been a slow morning since. The few people trickling in have been couples, sharing hot chocolate and slices of cake. Kirishima has spent an inordinate amount of time daydreaming about similar situations. In his head it’s usually a little less cozy and a little more explosive, but he likes it better that way.

“Technically no.” He tops the latte he’s working on with extra foam. “I asked him to come by on Christmas, and I’m going to ask him out then. I’ve got a plan.”

Kaminari doesn’t need to know how nebulous said plan is. At the moment it includes things like Step One: Bribe With Spicy Food (Addendum: Can Christmas Cake Be Spicy?), Step Two: Sweep Bakugou Off His Feet, Step C: Profess Manly Adoration, Step N: Kiss Just Like, Wow, A Whole Bunch. The truth is he’s always been more of an in the moment kind of guy. But he likes Bakugou—he really, really likes Bakugou. He doesn’t want to screw everything up with an impulsive word or action. And if that means taking precautions he wouldn’t usually bother with, he’ll take them.

“I dunno, man,” says Kaminari. “Midoriya and Momo are all about plans. You…not so much.”

Kirishima decides Kaminari knows him too well. “Any progress with Shinsou?”

That does the trick. Kaminari brightens like the bunch of LED Christmas lights in his arms. He practically swoons, the stepladder protesting beneath him. “Dude, you have no idea. I took a leaf out of your book, just asked him straight out, and lemme tell you I knew Hitoshi was hot but I’ve never seen anyone blush so cute in my whole damn life—”

He swoons a little too hard, arms wheeling, and Kirishima barely vaults the counter in time to catch him. There’s some polite applause from the handful of patrons in the shop. Kirishima and Kaminari bow, and then Fat Gum tells them to quit fooling and get back to work.

Kirishima does not spend the rest of his shift thinking about how Kaminari called Shinsou Hitoshi. And he definitely does not think about calling Bakugou by his first name on Christmas.

He does, however, scrawl Katsuki on no less than three to-go cups.

Kirishima does not see Bakugou on Christmas. He does not see much of anyone, or anything, on Christmas. He can barely see his own hand in front of his face, which could be the delirium brought on by the fever or the copious amount of sweat rolling into his eyes, which is also brought on by the fever.

As badly as he wants to push through the pain, not even he is hardheaded enough to try and drag his sorry carcass to work. It’s hard enough to drag his sorry carcass to the bathroom and back. He tries to text his coworkers (Tamaki? Kaminari? Tetsutetsu? He can’t recall who’s working today, so he texts all of them) and asks them to apologize to Bakugou, but the characters are swimming in his vision and he’s pretty sure the result is gibberish. Which means it’s over. He’s going to be laid up in bed for weeks, he’s going to fail his finals, and come next semester he’ll have a new class schedule, and he’ll never see Bakugou again. He’s blown it. Romance is dead.

Someone’s knocking on the door. He doesn’t answer it right away—it takes a minute for him to peel the rhythm of the pounding door from the pounding in his head. It takes a minute longer for him to stumble up and open it.

“You look like shit,” says Bakugou. He’s standing there looking like god’s gift to the earth, even scowling, even bundled in hat and scarf and mask, even laden down with groceries. Kirishima is pretty sure he’s hallucinating.

“Well? Are you letting me in or what?”

Kirishima lets him in. Bakugou toes out of his boots and then he plants himself in the middle of the room, jerking his head this way and that, taking it all in: the kitchenette-slash-living room, the card table turned dining table, the clashing red and hot pink interior design. “This place is a shitshow,” he declares. “No roommate?”

“She’s spending Christmas with friends.” More specifically, Mina had left last night with the implication that if Kirishima’s date went well he was free to come back to the apartment. There was a lot of obnoxious winking and innuendos. It was sweet of her, if a little mortifying and inappropriate, and in the end entirely wasted when he woke up with the mother of all migraines.

Bakugou drops the groceries on the table and starts shucking his outerwear. The hat, the scarf, the puffy coat. Kirishima sways in place and watches him. He’s wearing a red button down, and beneath that a black tee with the Punisher logo on it. It’s just a little bit dressier than his everyday attire. Is this what he would have worn on their date? If Kirishima had ever gotten to ask him properly? He sighs, forlorn.

Bakugou turns back to him, and they stare at each other. They keep staring at each other until Bakugou reaches past him to close the door, which was still hanging open over his shoulder. Whoops.

“God damn, you’re out of it. Get back to bed, loser.”

He cuffs him over the head, except it’s less of a cuff and more of a ruffle, exasperated and fond. So Kirishima totters back to bed. Hallucination or not, he’s happy to see Bakugou one last time.

When he wakes up, it’s to the rich, earthy kinds of aromas he associates with home cooking, if not necessarily his home. His first thought is that Mina came home early, but she’s just as useless in the kitchen as he is. So either a burglar broke in to cook for him or he wasn’t having an incredibly vivid fever dream, as he’d previously assumed. Which means Bakugou is really, actually, truly in his home.

The door to his bedroom bangs open while he’s wrestling with the sweat-soaked sheets. Bakugou is armed to the teeth with soup, water, tea, pills, and towel, all laid out and puffing steam on a serving tray that Kirishima doesn’t remember owning. He raises an eyebrow at Kirishima’s ogling and knees him in the side.

“Sit up. You have to eat and rehydrate.”

The tray lands on Kirishima’s lap, and then the water and the pills are pushed into his hands. While he’s downing both, Bakugou makes a sour face at the state of his room, and bustles out to change the bedside wastebasket for a clean bag. Kirishima would be more humiliated if he weren’t so happy to see him at all.

When Bakugou comes back he’s got a thermometer in one hand and the card table’s folding chair under an arm. He kicks the chair open, spins it around, and slings one leg over the side. He brandishes the thermometer like a weapon of war.

“Open.”

The thermometer jabs under Kirishima’s tongue. He winces only a little, and his voice comes out nasally and muffled and a little wondering. “I can’t believe you’re really real.”

“What else would I be?”

“I don’t know, a dream? A near death hallucination?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Shut up until I get your temperature.”

A few seconds later the thermometer chirps. Bakugou snaps it up and glares at it, and then something in his face relaxes.

“Barely a fever. You’ll live, moron.”

Kirishima asks, “How’d you know where I live?”

“Your dumbass coworker said you were sick. I threatened him bodily harm until he gave me your address.” Like it’s so obvious. Which, yeah, maybe it is. Probably Kaminari, who is both susceptible to Bakugou’s intimidation tactics and has been pushing for them to get together. When Bakugou snaps open the damp towel and starts mopping at Kirishima’s sweaty face, grumbling beneath his breath, he decides that he’s grateful.

For the first time he’s realizing how silly his fever induced fears were. He might be down for the count for a few days, but he won’t miss his finals, even if he might fail them. And even if his schedule falls out of sync with Bakugou’s, it’s not like he’ll be gone forever. They have a mutual friend in Midoriya, as Kirishima learned recently. Or else he could just loiter around the cafe until they learn each other’s new schedules. This doesn’t have to be the end at all. Bakugou proved that by coming here.

“Sorry, Bakugou,” he croaks. “I really wanted to be there with you today. Was looking forward to it all week.”

Bakugou dismisses him with a roll of his eyes. He folds his arms across the back of the chair and rests his chin on them. “So? What happened?”

“End of the semester. Bad grades. Finals.” He waves a vague hand to encompass the studying and the stress and the lack of sleep. It probably didn’t help that he ran himself into the ground trying to justify a night off with Bakugou, though he doubts that comes across with his flappy wrist.

“Guess it all caught up to me.” He spoons some soup into his mouth. “Oh my god, this is delicious. You made this?”

“I’m great at everything, obviously.” His mask twists with a frown. “You’re having trouble in school?”

“’M not a genius like you.”

“It’s not about being a genius, it’s about studying habits. You need someone to quiz you, keep you on task.” A pause, nearly short enough to be casual. “I’ll do it.”

Kirishima lowers the bowl he had been tipping over for the last of the broth. “You?”

“What, you think I can’t? I’ll be the best damn tutor you’ve ever seen, shitty hair.” Another pause. This one is more thoughtful.

“What?” says Kirishima.

Bakugou shakes his head. His voice has dropped to a low rumble in his chest. “Never seen you with your hair down. You should chuck all your gel, it’s not so shitty like this.”

“Didn’t think I’d have company to put it up for. I’d have to flip upside down to do it right, I probably would have passed out and died.”

Bakugou snorts. “You’d think a nurse would take better care of himself.”

Kirishima snorts back, with a little more phlegm. “You’d think a doctor would have better bedside manner.”

All of a sudden Bakugou’s scowl is a little less—scowly, than it usually is. More searching. More intense. Their eyes meet for a second too long and it’s like someone is pouring nitroglycerin down the column of Kirishima’s spine.

“Sounds like you want to know more about my bedside manner.”

He’s smirking, and there are so many things—so many things—that Kirishima could say to that. Things that would be smart or things that would be manly or things that would be safe. So many things.

His fever speaks for him. “Well, if you’re offering.”

The smirk falls away and that intensity comes roaring back. Kirishima’s insides ignite. Bakugou rises slowly and doesn’t once blink, and his chair scrapes on the floor, and Kirishima has the thought I hope that doesn’t scratch the wood—

Then Bakugou is kissing him. The rough weave of his mask and the heat of his mouth behind it, like a brand. His open eyes. His hand cradling the curve of Kirishima’s skull. It’s overwhelming and it’s nothing at all, less of a kiss than a touch, less of a touch than a promise. Kirishima clutches at him because he’ll fall away otherwise, he’s hungry and dizzy and unmoored, and he’s got one hand clenched in Bakugou’s shirt and one in his hair and it’s soft, how is it so soft? His heart lurches in his chest.

No no no, not his heart. “Bakugou, back up, I—oh shit—”

He pulls away and flops over the side of the bed, unable to see if his hail mary aim for the wastebasket came through. Only once he’s done tossing his guts does he register the steadying arm around his shoulders. The hand pushing back his hair. It’s warm and square and dry, with callouses on every finger.

“You’re disgusting,” Bakugou says from somewhere above him. He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

“You’re the one who just kissed a sick man. What does that make you?”

“Magnanimous as fuck.”

Kirishima laughs. It hurts every part of him, but it’s good. It’s really good.

“I really like you, Bakugou. Like a lot.”

It comes out so easy, just like that day in the cafe. He’s still half upside down and his mouth is still sour. Bakugou’s hand is still in his hair. Through the damp red locks that escape his grip Kirishima can see him, and for the first time since they met, he looks starry-eyed. It is the most amazing feeling in the world, even when Bakugou blinks the stars away and glowers.

“Is that why you wanted me to come by the cafe today? I already knew that, dipshit.”

His voice is dismissive and mocking, but his hand is still in Kirishima’s hair, and his collarbones have flooded pink. It’s just like Bakugou to flirt and kiss him within an inch of his life only to get shy about a little sincerity.

“Yeah. That’s all I wanted to say. I was hoping we could go out and, I don’t know, look at Christmas lights. Bake a cake together. Pelt each other with snowballs or something. I like you a lot.”

Bakugou helps him sit up. At his urging Kirishima rinses his mouth with water and then sips some of the tea. It’s lemony and sweet.

Bakugou demands, “What took you so long? I don’t like idiots who beat around the bush, Kirishima. Didn’t think you were like that.”

Kirishima. He doesn’t think he ever wants anyone else to say his name. “Yeah, Kaminari said the same thing. But I didn’t want to mess things up with you.”

“So you decided to be a dumbass? How’d that work out for you?”

He mulls it over. “The guy I like is seeing me half dead, so that’s embarrassing. On the other hand, the guy I like is taking care of me while I’m sick, which is pretty sweet. Net gain, I think.” He’s heartened by the amused squint of Bakugou’s eyes. “So? Want to go out with me?”

For a long moment, Bakugou doesn’t say anything. He just watches, steady, intent, and his hand weaves slow, thoughtless paths through Kirishima’s hair. Kirishima has never been in love before, but he thinks this must be it. He can’t imagine anything else hurting quite so sweetly.

“I’m not dating anyone while I’m still in school,” Bakugou says. “That would be fucking stupid.”

“Okay. After med school is residency, right? You think you’ll be dating then?”

Bakugou’s expression isn’t starry-eyed anymore, but it’s pretty damn close.

He says, “Stick around and find out.”

JANUARY

A new semester means a new schedule, and Kirishima’s does not match up with Bakugou’s even once. It’s a little bit of a bummer, sure, but he’ll survive.

The last customer of the day leaves the cafe two minutes to closing. Kirishima sighs, cracks his neck, and starts prepping the last drink of the day. He sets it on the counter and then he starts wiping down tables, and when the clock strikes the hour, Kaminari goes to lock the doors.

They burst open before he gets there and Kaminari jumps two feet in the air and falls flat on his back. In strides Bakugou, and Kirishima’s heart flutters even as he stands back and cackles at Kaminari for a solid thirty seconds.

“Kirishima,” Kaminari whines from the floor, “your boyfriend’s being mean to me!”

Bakugou kicks at him. “We’re not dating.”

“Ha! Sure, and I’m not dating an insomniac with a fine ass—okay okay you’re not dating, quit kicking me!”

He does, but only after Kirishima scolds him and entices him away with a drink. He grabs it off the counter and passes it to Bakugou. Then he snatches it back.

“Forgot the name, just a sec!”

“You already know my name,” Bakugou groans, but he follows Kirishima behind the counter with barely a frown. “Hurry up, shitty hair, I don’t have all night to tutor your ass.”

“Tutor your ass,” Kaminari laughs from the floor. Bakugou growls.

Kirishima finds the marker and uncaps it. Before he can start to write, Bakugou threads their fingers together and squeezes hard.

“I can’t write your name with my left hand, Bakugou.”

Bakugou hooks his chin over Kirishima’s shoulder. “Sounds like a you problem.”

Well, Kirishima likes a challenge. The final result is messy, but legible. He garnishes it with a heart. “Here.”

“Stupid,” Bakugou huffs, but he accepts the cup and takes a swig. Then he yanks Kirishima toward the exit, where Kaminari is finally peeling himself off the floor.

“We’re still on for Saturday, right?” he asks, dusting himself off. “Double--”

“If you say double date, I’ll set you on fire,” says Bakugou. “And only if shitty hair here passes his test with flying colors.”

Kaminari endeavors to look contrite--his face wasn’t really built for it--but when Bakugou’s back is turned, he shoots Kirishima a subtle thumbs up and mouths double date. Kirishima returns the favor.

Out on the street it’s cold and biting. Bakugou hisses, and takes another gulp of his drink. Kirishima watches him glance at the name on the side of the cup again. If he pointed out the color in his cheeks he knows Bakugou would say it was the cold, or the heat of the drink, and then he’d punch him for good measure. But Kirishima can see his smile, hard-won and worth it. He can see how he passes a thumb over the shaky black characters, over and over: Katsuki.

#fyeahbnhasecretsanta #my hero academia #kiribaku #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #boku no hero academia #shinkami #in the background mostly #kaminari denki #amajiki tamaki #tetsutetsu tetsutetsu #fat gum #bnha fic #ran's writing #pointy-hat-witch #fyeahbnha #coffeeshop au #university au

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mattzerella-sticks · 3 years

Text

“is scamming gay rights?” - Dean & Jack, DeanCas, Bi!Dean (ao3)

Jack tries teaching Dean about his latest obsession, TikTok, except a breakdown in communication teaches Dean that, sometimes, acronyms can mean more than one thing.

Dean didn’t understand exactly what Jack rambled on about, but he passed the point of no return a few minutes back and couldn’t interrupt without revealing he had no clue what the younger boy prattled on and on about. As it was Jack currently kept pushing his phone in Dean’s face, gesturing at it and shaking it every ten seconds or so. Dean glanced between Jack and it; each time he did there was a new video on screen and by the time he shifted his focus back to his son the lecture had moved elsewhere along a road he had trouble following. By then, he let himself sink into the comfortable numbing cadence of Jack’s speech, sipping at his beer, surfacing only when he recognized a word before diving back under.

His ears perked in familiarity as Jack used an acronym Dean recently learned, and so he tuned back in. Jack drew the phone closer to his side of the kitchen table, tapping on it. “There was this big problem with mlms actually, and even though I filtered my home page to avoid profiles like that, they kept popping up,” he said, “Luckily TikTok went ahead and basically blacklisted and deleted all mlm content. Now, I rarely see any of those kinds of content.”

Dean’s features shuddered, mouth dropping slightly in fright. His ears echoed with the awful drumming of his heart, and a painful wheeze tickled his throat, demanding freedom. He released it on a sigh, slightly curling in on himself. “W-what?” he asked, “You… you didn’t like it?”

Jack shrugged, “I mean, it was kind of annoying, but I learned to ignore them. When I learned how harmful the content was, however, I was very glad to hear that TikTok went ahead and took some sort of action – Hey!”

On autopilot, Dean snatched the phone out of Jack’s hands. He slammed it, hard, on the table between them. Dean pointed a harsh finger towards Jack, snarling his next few words. “I don’t want to ever hear you talk like that again.”

“What?”

“Or!” he added, fist hammering Jack’s phone further into the wood, “use this, this damned app – if this is what it turns you into!” He huffed, hands retreating to steeple at his chin. “You think you’re raising a kid right… raising a kid to be accepting despite being so close to the Bible Belt… and one dumb app undoes all that hard work.”

Jack, frozen in his seat, stared at Dean with concern shining in his comically wide eyes. “What are you talking about, Dean?”

“Look,” Dean said instead, his finger extending once more to point at the younger boy. It was a less accusatory gesture, softened by the gentle tone Dean adopted. “I know I haven’t been the best role model with… with that kind of stuff. Hell of a lot better than my dad was, though… still not the best. But I’ve been getting better, especially after I…” His words bottlenecked on his tongue, and through great effort did Dean spit them out. “After I admitted my own attraction to… to men, especially one man in particular…” Dean’s head felt like it might erupt, magma-like blood swelling his brain to dangerous sizes. “Cas.”

“Yes, Dean,” Jack nodded, “I know that. I’m… I’m confused what any of that has to do with this?”

“What it has to do with…? Jack…” Dean pinched his brow, tense shoulders collapsing as the strain became too much, muscles snapping like bridge cables. “I might not be the most… the most out, or the most proud, okay? But I’m trying. Remember that bi flag pin I wore during that hunt one time? That was me… trying. And I’ll keep trying, because this isn’t something I’m ashamed of.” He reached for Jack, ensnaring his wrist to make sure his message was well received. “So you see, being gay isn’t – it’s not annoying. It shouldn’t be hidden, or… banned and it certainly isn’t harmful despite what some repressed shitheads might think.” Emboldened, Dean levelled a disappointing glare at Jack. His lower lip jutted out in fatherly disapproval. “And I’d rather be staked on some piece of rusty rebar than let a stupid app make you homophobic. No more… Ticking-tock. Period.”

While Jack might not appreciate Dean’s ultimatum now, he will later on in his life. Dean imagined a future where he and Jack, much older than they were in this moment, sat on a porch swing talking about how good a job Dean did raising him to be a decent human being, as Jack’s partner, whose features he couldn’t distinguish from such a distance in their front yard, played with their son, named for the man who set Jack on the right path, obviously. He was knocked out of this fantasy, unfortunately, by the lumbering footsteps of his oafish brother.

Sam entered the kitchen, Cas at his side with a tome held open in his hands. Their conversation withered as they took in the scene they walked in on. “Hey,” Sam said, shuffling his way to them, “what’s going on?”

Dean opened his mouth, about to explain that he was dishing some serious parental law and wisdom. Except Jack hurriedly interrupted, rushing to speak first. “I have no idea,” he told them, “I was explaining TikTok to Dean, and suddenly he starts ranting about how it’s a homophobic platform?”

“Because it is!” Dean argued. He grabbed Jack’s phone, waving it at the others. “Jack told me that they’ve gone full Russia – banning mlms and… and it was brainwashing him, making him hate gay people!”

“Dean! I don’t hate gay people –“

“Because I acted before any of the damage actually managed to take root,” he said, “If you used this any longer you would’ve had more harsh things to say about mlms than they’re annoying.”

Jack groaned, scrubbing his face with twitching fingers. “They are annoying!”

Dean gestured at Jack, asking with exaggerated brows and frown lines, what they should do about Jack’s denigration. Sam, for his part, seemed unbothered by Jack’s callous attitude. “I mean,” he shrugged, “Jack’s not wrong. Mlms are… pretty annoying.”

Betrayed, Dean staggered to his feet. He faltered visibly, enough that Cas rushed over, dropping the yellowed book he held, and offered a hand. Dean accepted it, leaning on his boyfriend’s shoulder. The touch on the small of his back renewed his strength. “Sam,” he muttered, voice cracking, “how could you say that?”

Sam mirrored the confusion noticeably present in Jack’s features. “Dean, why are you taking this so personally?”

“Because, apparently,” Dean shouted at him, “you find me annoying!”

“No more than I usually do,” Sam told Dean, “But that’s never bothered you before?”

“Well, it’s pretty hard staying fucking unbothered when you think my sexuality is annoying.”

“What?” Suddenly, something flashed behind Sam’s eyes, and the fog of bewilderment dissipated as pure rays of understanding shone from his smug expression and annoyingly struck Dean in the face. “Dean,” Sam sighed, “you… we’re not talking about gay people.”

Dean snorted, “Of course you are. I’m not stupid.” Sam’s bitchy expression disagreed. “I’m hip, Sam. I know the lingo – better than you would, anyway… ‘ally’. Mlm… men loving men… What else could it be?”

“Mlm is an acronym for multi-level marketing, Dean,” Sam explained, “that’s the kind of mlm we’ve been talking about this entire time.”

“What?” Dean’s gaze bounced around the room, from Sam to Jack, then Cas, finally returning to Sam. “No, but I… the Internet, mlm is… it stands for…”

“Things can have more than one meaning,” Cas supplied, appearing pained as he spoke, “especially acronyms.” He pressed a consolatory kiss upon Dean’s cheek, touch sparking a flame on his already burning skin. “It was nice to see how outspoken you’ve become, though.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “Like a modern-day Harvey Milk.”

Dean refused to comment on Sam’s teasing, sinking into his seat again while his mind processed this new information. Cas joined him, continually rubbing soothing circles into his back. Sam sat next to Jack, across from them. Jack, sullenly tracing the cracks Dean made in his phone screen, asked, “Does this mean I’m not banned from TikTok?”

“I just don’t get it,” Dean said, ignoring Jack’s question, “why would something that sounds boring like multi-level marketing even deserve its own acronym, let alone be banned from a whole app.”

“Because it’s bad, Dean,” Sam explained, “multi-level marketing is, like, an evolved pyramid scheme, made more prevalent because of how easily social media disseminates misinformation and reaches impressionable people. Companies like TikTok are doing what they can to try and curb all these kinds of scams because, well… they’re annoying.”

Adamant, Dean scowled and shook his head. “Mlm meaning that is what’s annoying.”

“Too bad, Dean,” Sam said, “that’s probably the universally accepted meaning for it.”

“No!” Dean said, “No, mlm is about gay people. It doesn’t have anything to do with scams.”

Cas scoffed at Dean’s side, mumbling, “But what if scamming people is gay rights?”

It was ridiculous, made in jest, and held no actual weight in a discussion, but Dean latched onto the throwaway line like it were the last life preserver on the Titanic. “You know what, Cas, you’re right!” he crowed, “Scamming is gay rights.”

“It is?”

“It should be,” Dean said, “I mean, do you know the number of times in my life I’ve scammed bigoted jerks for all they had? Scamming definitely feels like something that’s for gays only.”

Sam rubbed his temples, battling an incoming migraine. “I don’t know why, but that take feels homophobic.”

“Hush, Sam,” Cas told the other man, “I want to see where Dean goes with this.”

Jack nodded, camera eclipsing his features. “Just let me hit record first, Dean. This could go viral.”

Dean waited for the signal from Jack, a small thumbs up, and then he cleared his throat. “Okay, so here’s why scamming is a right for the gays and the gays alone…”

#supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #sam winchester #jack kline #mlm in both meanings of the acronym #spn crack

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that-tall-queer-bassist · 3 years

Text

My personal Pros and Cons of my ADHD

Pros

-noticing all the little details and appreciating them in the fullest

-Emotional Dysregulation, because when I get a new plant, or find that one oddly shaped metal marble I lost a while ago, I am so excited it’s pathetic, but I love that feeling of pure joy.

-hyperfixation of the week/day/hour (i know some people describe it differently, let me be pls) . I usually switch between art mediums, and/or a few video games/social media sites. for example, I’ve been on tumblr for 3 hours as i write this, after not touching it for, i think a month?

-nuerodivergent friends. They’re just better.

-the ability to completely drown myself in information to ignore reality. Is it healthy? no. But i simply cannot handle another existiential crissi rn, so i will instead play minecraft while listening to alt rock playlists on youtube because getting spotify sounds like a lot of work.

-my ability to retain absolutely useless information, from either my, or my other nuerodivergent friends hyperfixations/special interests. I can explain to you in terrible formatting if it’s out loud, the evolution, history, training, anatomy and roles of the horse in our world, and how ao3 works, and what makes or breaks a fanfiction.

-Object Impermanence. When i literally hide myself a treat or surprise and forget about it, then get so excited when i do find/discover it again. I hide google questions, and/or song lyrics in my tabs :) its so fun. Also, hiding away stressors. Again, healthy? no, but i don’t feel like having anxiety all day, so whatever.

-Emotional Dysregulation, again. I can switch from sad or angry to happy and excited/content in a few seconds. It’s also great for getting my siblings out of their funk. ex., my sister is mad at me. I make a silly voice repeating what she said or cross my eyes at her. she laughs, then we can talk and have constructive conversation about why she shouldn’t get that upset about me “cutting off her reading time” when we share a room and I want to sleep, and know that she will be very tired tomorrow if she doesn’t also go to sleep. (We have this conversation almost every single night, i’m not even joking)

Cons

-Emotional Dysregulation. When i get upset, I’m Upset. Like, big time, ruining friendships and familial ties if i let it get out of hand, Upset. Yeah.

-Time Blindness. Constantly late, or early, or under or over estimating the amount of time it takes to do a thing, not eating til 4 because you forgot but you also should just wait til dinner, but now its 9 and I still haven’t eaten-

-Executive Dysfunction. I can’t do the things needed to function. Don’t have the mental energy to explain this one, so google it i guess? There’s a whole checklist of things you need to be able to do to function, and i can do like, three on a good day.

-Sleeping Trouble. People with adhd have trouble falling asleep, staying asleep, and waking up. So, sleeping trouble. So I’m constantly tired.

-Internal Clock is SLIGHTLY OFF. Nuerotypicals have that normal sleep schedule. Adhd ers have it shifted forward by, i think, 2, 3 hours. So we go to sleep later, and wake up later, and that’s the only way to get a healthy amount of sleep. My entire family also eats dinner super late, which might be because we’re weird, but I suspect the inner clock thing cuz we all got adhd.

-Object Impermanance. I hid my math homework one time. I failed that class.

-Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. Never trying, or starting cuz I’m so terrified to get a bad reaction. Constantly masking around certain people to appeal to the few of my Nuerotypical friends. Or, y’know, majority of my extended family. They’re ableist. and homophobic. And transphobic. And racist. and sexist. The list goes on, but, yeah. Never coming out to them! :D

-Masking. It’s exhausting and I can only handle so much of it.

-Not Masking around nuerotypicals. The shoot down after finally revealing my true thoughts, urges, feelings, stims, etc. just sucks. Super disheartening.

-Squirrel or shiny jokes when they’re made by people without adhd. Yes, I do get distracted by squirrels, and shiny things, and dice. Stop pointing it out, and/or putting me into yet another box of your labeling.

-saying that I’m lazy, worthless, or a disaster when really it’s not helping. I already have that internal monologue, you adding to it and giving it some truth/extra ammunition is not. helping.

-Emotional Dysregulation. Again, because mood swings. like, I’m trying to be rightfully angry with you. Stop making me laugh with you’re silly faces or pointing out of a weird face someone made in a picture you took.

-the stigma about the hyperactive subtype. I’m inattentive. I have No Energy. Ever. Sometimes i have restlessness, but there is still no energy. Stop portraying me as bouncing off the walls, especially with caffeine. Caffeine just catches my body speed up to my brain speed, settling me down a bit, at least mentally.

-people not getting when i say I’m overstimulated, or need some time alone to process or re-energize, and following me, or continuing to do the overstimulating thing. I will literally. lose. my. mind.

-when people shut me down after I share something that is really important to me, or make fun of me for liking something an “abnormal” amount. Flashbacks to overnight camp, when whenever I said anything about horses, they said I had to do five squats, and when i got really excited about discussing the differences in riding styles/types with another person who really liked horses, but rode english, they said that it was obnoxious, when i was just.. excited to finally find someone to talk to and who felt the same way after, basically, years and years of no one getting it or wanting to listen or talking with me about the thing. To this day I don’t discuss horses with anyone, cuz it hurts so much remembering that, and the fear of it happening again is still there.

-seeing other people be ashamed about their adhd and hesitant to mention until i talk, like, super openly about having it, in like, the first 5 minutes of knowing each other. It just.. hurts.

-I’m super empathetic, not in a way that’s helpful though. Like, wincing, or limping myself because I saw you drop something on your foot, and am imagining it so vividly that it feels like it happened to me. Reading a fic about abuse or depression, and it hitting too hard and hurting me almost physically, and on a personal level because I simply cannot handle it. Feeling someone else’s pain so vividly that i can’t comfort or help them in any way, because I am so preoccupied with feeling their pain.

-never being able to finish things without starting something else. All the WIPs in my google docs, istg, i will be driven insane by it.

(y’know, this was kinda fun. As a rant, but also as a way for me to identify things about myself and my adhd that i like. Like, I know its so much shorter, but I have a hard time with positive self affirmation, so it was kinda nice. I might do it again, but just the pros part cuz the cons are kinda depressing ngl.)

(OH, Y’all should reblog with your own personal pros added on! You can add cons if you’d like to :) I’m just interested in seeing how your experiences/feeling differ from mine :) )

#adhd #adhd life #executive dysfunction #positive affimation #but it's only the begining ig #i might delete positive affirmations #idk #pros and cons #pros and cons of my adhd #nuerodivergent #nuerodivergent friends are the best #i will elaborate at some point #I've been on tumblr too long

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cacowhistle · 4 years

Text

just in case.

Fandom: Dream SMP (Tales From the SMP) Characters: Karl Jacobs & Wilbur Soot Word Count: 974

little bonus thing set after the last tales from the smp episode going off the idea that the inbetween is where the dead people are vibing. a little conversation between karl and wilbur. mostly just a practice in characterization and a dynamic that we don’t really see. didn’t feel like this one was worth putting on ao3.

he is not supposed to die, when he goes through time like that.

karl takes deep, uneven breaths, attempting to get ahold of himself. it was just a few stab wounds. surely he’s had worse? he can’t remember, and even if he could, he doesn’t think he’d want to. his chest constricts with pain, his breathing labored and pained as he feels the flesh knitting itself back together. he’s fine. he’s gonna be just fine. he doesn’t know if this was a respawn or not, he can’t… he can’t tell, not really.

he isn’t at his library. or anywhere familiar, really. the stark white landscape around him tells him that much.

slowly, he begins moving--he can’t just stay still, he needs to go somewhere familiar, or at the very least find people. he doesn’t want to be alone. this place feels lonely, he--he can’t really stand it.

stumbling up a staircase, he finds himself up in a tower, the top of it open to the sky. he leans on a railing and gazes down at the palace he’s found himself in, cringing as the marble presses into his still-aching wounds. red stains the front of his hoodie and the banister, but already the color is beginning to fade, slowly going grey, then white. karl watches with almost morbid fascination, watching his own blood slowly vanish, until it looks like he’d never been injured at all.

“fancy seein’ you here.” a voice snaps him out of his thoughts. “what kinda tragedy was it this time?”

karl turns, eyes wide, to see a familiar figure. he can’t quite place it--he’s tall, rather handsome, wearing a tattered coat and a cape to match. he sits, perched on the railing, a cigarette in one hand. karl can smell the soul sand from here--all gunpowder and something sweet, almost sickeningly so.

“i--i’m sorry, do i know you?” karl stutters, and the man raises an eyebrow.

“what, don’t remember me, karl? you wound me, man.”

“i’m--i have a, uh, a memory problem.” karl winces. “sorry.”

the man waves a hand dismissively. “my name’s wilbur, if that helps any.”

he squints. the gears turn, slowly. wilbur. the name is familiar. something to do with tommy. l’manburg? yeah, that sounds--

karl’s eyes widen. “oh. you’re the traitor.”

wilbur wrinkles his nose. “god, i hate that word. yeah, sure, i was the bloody traitor, what side were you even on, anyways?”

“neither,” karl says. then, frowning: “... maybe both.”

wilbur laughs, though karl isn’t sure what’s funny about the situation. “you can never quite make up your mind, man, can you? every time i ask you about something you’re always givin’ me conflicting answers.”

the way wilbur looks at him, it’s almost unsettling. he looks a tad unhinged, truth be told, but karl thinks anyone would if they spent all their time here. wilbur looks dangerous, in a way he’s only encountered a few times--technoblade, philza, tommy, dream, wilbur, maybe a few others--they all carry a certain sort of danger to them. karl has always been wary of the lot of them. their kindness only extends so far, if he can remember correctly, and some of them are more prone to destruction than others.

he remembers tnt, and panicked ranting and raving about the end of an era, and the button he destroyed during the first festival.

right. wilbur is the canon life kind of dangerous. most of them are. the only one karl thinks isn’t that kind of dangerous is tommy. he presses backwards, leaning against the rail. if he jumps, it’ll probably hurt, but this place heals him fast, maybe he could make a run for it.

wilbur seems to smell his panic like a shark tasting blood in the water, and he grins. something about it is awful to look at. karl thinks there might be blood staining his teeth, but when he blinks, it’s gone.

“i’m not gonna hurt you, mate, come on. don’t be fuckin’ stupid. what would the point be?” wilbur hums. “i’m just curious about how everyone’s doing. can you tell me?”

“what do you mean by everyone?” karl gives him one last wary once-over, before deciding no, he isn’t about to attack.

“tommy, phil, techno, fundy and tubbo, y’know--everyone. l’manburg, i guess works better.” he raises an eyebrow. “even though it’s gone now.”

karl frowns, waits for the gears to turn in his head. how is everyone doing? what point are they at in the timeline right now? tommy and tubbo got the discs back, dream’s in prison, he knows that. phil and techno are… off doing their own thing. how are they doing, though? all of them have had it pretty rough, as of late.

“they’re, uh, normal?” karl shrugs. “they’re alive.”

wilbur just looks amused. “well. i know that, man. they’d be here if they weren’t.”

karl huffs, frustration beginning to rise. “i’m--i’m sorry, i just don’t remember things about the present super clearly--”

the ghost looks like he might snap back, for a minute, but his expression turns from frustration to resignation, and he sighs. “fine. it’s fine. could you just do me one favor?”

karl looks up at him again. “huh?”

wilbur holds out a book, surprisingly solid as it enters karl’s hands. penned on the nametag is just in case, then wilbur soot underneath it in neat, cursive script.

“for tommy,” wilbur says, softly. “i know he’s trying really hard to bring me back. but--but just in case something goes wrong. it’s like a, uh, failsafe. little gift for him to remember me by.”

karl nods. “for tommy,” he says, cementing it in his brain. he has to go quickly, before it gets all jumbled. “okay.”

this wilbur is far less frightening than the one karl recalls. he smiles, and karl manages to smile back.

“thanks,” wilbur says, and is gone.

#dream smp #dsmp #mcyt #wilbur soot #karl jacobs #dream smp fanfic #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fanfiction #mcyt fanfic #mcyt fanfiction #tales from the smp #tftsmp #tfts #my writing

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keelywolfe · 4 years

Text

FIC: Drifters ch.9 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Enter the Other Brother. Blue, welcome home! You might be in for a surprise!

Tags: Spicyhoney, Violence, Rescued Child, Medical Experimentation, Babybones

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge was not a Monster who cared very much for surprises. In his experience, they never led to anything good, not to birthday parties or unexpected gifts, but rather ambushes and dust. He preferred careful planning to the seat-of-the-pants schemes that his brother often came up with, every step made with strategy in mind.

He couldn’t say for certain if Blue was the same way, although he suspected he may be. His understanding of how the alternate worlds worked was more for the layman rather than the professional, but he wasn’t blind to the personality traits that he and Blue shared, the sort of twist in nature vs nurture that any sociologist would love to explore.

He had a fair idea of how he might react to finding this clown car of a domestic scene in his own living room and if he’d known that Stretch hadn’t even mentioned he and Red were here, much less the baby, he would have at least sent Blue a blasted text.

That might have at least braced him and given him a chance to come up with a better question than simply, “Is that a baby?”

His brother, ever the peacemaker, chose that precise to speak up, scoffingly, “sure can tell you two are brothers, ya share the same brain cell, your bro said the same damn thing. yeah, it’s a baby, good on you for noticin’.”

“blue!” Stretch scrambled upright and his bright grin was too wide, too wrong, tinged with poorly hidden guilt. “sorry, bro, i was gonna call and it slipped my mind. yeah, hey, everyone showed up on our doorstep yesterday. check out the snow princess, cute, huh?”

That much at least was the truth, but Blue didn’t seem to have heard a word of it. This wasn’t quite the reaction Edge had been braced for; he’d expected Blue to make a beeline for the baby, had been resigned to handing her over for plenty of excited cuddling and cooing.

This was something else entirely. The normal stars of his eye lights were overly bright, flashing between blue and yellow with seizure inducing intensity, set into a face that was like stone. He barely glanced at the rest of them past a brief, bizarrely sympathetic glance at Edge. The anger in his gaze was for his brother alone.

Stretch seemed equally confused, his oversized smile faltering, “bro?”

“How could you?” Blue said, his voice carrying despite its deadly softness.

“wha…me?” Stretch looked around the room as if perhaps another person had appeared, that it was to this stranger his brother spoke that way. He shrank back as Blue abruptly moved, slamming the door shut as he stalked over to the sofa, his small body radiating fury.

“How could you!?” Again, louder this time, not quite a shout but verging on one.

“coulda woulda shoulda? bro, what the hell—”

Blue ignored that, stamping his foot and sending out a spatter of rapidly melting snow from his boot to dampen the carpet. “Irresponsible!”

Stretch’s face was falling, going oddly blank, his false humor fading. Next to him, Red looked equally perturbed. “now hang on a sec, short stuff, ain’t no reason to go off on the honey bun.”

“Stay out of this!” Blue snapped and for a wonder, Red jerked back, his mouth snapping shut. His eye lights briefly guttered, leaving his sockets dark and black, returning only when Stretch spoke up next to him.

“yeah. stay out of this,” Stretch agreed, softer but no less sharp and from the look he shot Edge, he was included in that statement.

Edge said nothing and even the child was silent, a dab of runny banana sliding down her chin as she stared at the Swap brothers with wide sockets. Even if he’d wanted to intrude, this argument was between brothers and it was an unspoken rule through all the ‘verses that one did not interfere with brothers.

Despite the surface similarities, none of their relationships were exactly the same. Edge knew all too well that if he railed at Red over his laziness, his brother never took it to heart or soul. He let Edge rant, blowing off the steam that built within him throughout the day and his frustrated insults rolled off Red like water off the proverbial duck. The only fallout tended to be yet another sticky note added to the continuing line trailing away from a single, absurd sock.

Stretch was, well, lacking waterproofing. More like Edge in that way, truth be told, and if Edge could snipe at his brother all day long for his ridiculous puns and lazy ways, one genuine return jab from Red often left him deeply wounded, all the more painful for its unerring accuracy and rarity.

He wondered how he’d handle being under the weight of that much visible disappointment. Edge almost always agreed with Blue’s assessments of his brother’s behavior, but his delivery needed work and the unexpected impulse to protect Stretch from that disappointment took him off guard. He wanted to scoop Stretch up like he did the baby, hold him close, cradle him in his arms and protect him, and that was ridiculous, utterly; he was an adult, older than Edge, and yet the urge remained.

In the end, Edge could only look away, stirring the gloopy remains of the banana while the two brothers whispered furiously behind him.

“Of all the careless, irresponsible—” Blue took a deep breath, let it out, muttering out, “This is all right, this is fine. We can deal with this.” He scrubbed his gloved hands over his face and then squared his shoulders as he said, “You still should have called me.”

“probably,” Stretch agreed, and perhaps the unexpected storm had passed. He relaxed back into the sofa, the tension in the room easing. “didn’t want to interrupt your important training.” He flashed Edge a sharp glance and he tried to look as if that was the exact reasoning.

“Yes, well, that’s true,” Blue admitted. “And I appreciate you thinking of that, but next time…well, there probably won’t be a next time of this, I should hope.” Any lingering worry that Blue might object to them staying for a time vanished as Blue finally swung back to the baby, this time with a familiar, bright smile on his face as he gushed out, “Which is a shame because she is simply adorable!”

He rounded the coffee table with the haste Edge originally expected, grabby hands extended, and the moment Blue bent down to reach for her, the baby burst into sobbing howls, squirming away.

Automatically, Edge swung her up, settling her against his shoulder and patting her back gently as he soothed her with a bewildered, “There, there, it’s all right. What’s wrong?”

Blue looked as if he might burst into tears himself, stumbling back a step and his eye lights faded from stars to unhappy circles. “I didn’t mean to—"

They both turned to look at Red as he let out a harsh laugh. “what’s wrong? he scared the shit out of her coming in like that, that’s what’s wrong,” Red snorted contemptuously, “don’t you know nothin’ bout babies? you’re almost as bad as my bro.”

“Not really,” Blue admitted. Shame filled his expression as he shuffled his feet. He noticed he was still wearing his boots and sat on the floor to pull them off, carrying them over to the door and automatically straightening the other shoes before adding his. “Most of my experience with children has been seeing them from a distance.”

That gave Edge a start and he realized he’d been expecting Blue to have some sort of knowledge about childcare, though he wasn’t sure why. This world was softer and tended towards kindness, but that hardly meant it gave them any innate parenting skills.

“Well!” Blue straightened, propping his hands on his hips. “I’m sure that the Magnificent Sans can learn!”

“sure you can, bro,” Stretch said, cautiously, and that Edge could understand, being very familiar with Blue’s brand of determination.

“yeah, well, here’s your first lesson,” Red slouched back on the sofa, picking at his gold tooth with a sharpened fingertip. “babies don’t like it when ya shout.”

“yep, that’s a good place to start. you know what, i’m gonna get everyone some coffee,” Stretch announced and fled to the kitchen, the coward.

Blue paid that no mind, already came back over determinedly when he spied the bowl Edge had hastily shoved on the table. The child was watching him warily as Blue picked it up, taking hold of the little spoon. “Here, let me help!”

Before Edge could stop him, Blue tried to poke the filled spoon into her mouth. The child refused to part her teeth, leaving a smear of mushy banana across them, and Blue’s brief confidence sagged, “Oh. Um. Maybe she’s not hungry?”

“Maybe.” Edge took the bowl back and immediately she began bouncing eagerly in his lap, mouth opening wide as she made urgent little sounds.

“fuck, you two are morons,” Red snorted, because of course he would stay to bear witness. “she don’t know you. kid is small, she ain’t blind. she ain’t gonna take her banana goop from just any plain asshole, she likes an asshole she knows.”

“Yes, thank you for clarifying that for us all, brother,” Edge said sourly. Somewhat gentler, he said to Blue, “Sit with me. Let her see you, it may make her more comfortable.”

“yeah, hold out a hand and let her sniff ya, that’ll do it,” Red chuckled meanly as Stretch came back out with a tray of mugs. He set it down before smacking Red on the back of the skull.

“will you cool it on the running commentary? let them work it out.”

Red rubbed his head and scowled, but he accepted the coffee cup when Stretch handed him one. “just callin’ it how i see it.”

“yeah, well, if they give up on trying, that leaves you as mary poppins, smartass.”

“good point. my teeth are sealed.”

The child grudgingly allowed Edge to settle her back on the pillows with the unspoken promise of more food. She watched Blue warily the entire time she was eating, but he made no move towards her. He sat obediently still the entire time, his gloved hands clasped tightly together in his lap as if to stave off any impulse to scoop the baby up. If nothing else, her attention on Blue kept her from messily sharing any more of her banana.

When the bowl was scraped clean, Edge wiped the child’s chubby face clean with a damp cloth then settled her back into his lap. “You see, little one?” he told her softly, “Blue is a friend.”

“I am! I really am! Want to come here?” Blue slowly held out his hands without getting too close, waiting with impressive patience. The baby looked from him to Edge, and he tried to look encouraging.

Slowly, she held up her arms to Blue. He lifted her a little awkwardly, but managed to get her settled into the curve of his arm without intervention.

“There we go!” To Edge’s relief, Blue kept his enthusiasm at a minimum, though he practically vibrated with excitement. Almost immediately, the baby began to loudly babble and if he didn’t know better, Edge would say she was scolding Blue for his part in the earlier brotherly dispute.

Soon enough, her chattering dwindled to murmurs, her sockets growing heavy, then closing entirely as she slept. Edge let Blue keep holding her as he gratefully took up his own cup of coffee and never had caffeination been so delicious.

Blue only looked at her in awe, lightly touching each of her tiny, perfect fingers. “She’s beautiful,” he whispered, turning the full force of his starry eye lights onto his brother, “but honestly, Papy, you should have told me you two were expecting a child!”

Stretch choked, spilling coffee down the front of his shirt. “wait, what? that’s why you were so pissed off?”

“I would have thought you would be more cautious about that sort of thing, but I suppose it hardly matters now,” Blue said philosophically. “You still should have called me though when she arrived!”

“but we didn’t…!”

“Here we have a new baby, and I wasn’t even able to give her a baby shower!”

“She’s already had a bath,” Edge said, confused. This was going entirely too fast and he was not in top form, how could they possibly have been expecting her, there was nothing about the past two days that Edge had expected in the slightest.

Rescue came from an unexpected and wholly unwanted source.

“fuck’s sake, blueberry, she ain’t their kid!” Red snapped.

“Don’t swear,” Edge and Blue said, nearly in unison. Then Edge nearly choked on his own coffee as realization clicked with the force of an open-handed slap. Blue thought that the baby was his, not simply his responsibility but his own and Stretch’s. Suddenly his earlier sympathetic look made more sense, by Asgore’s horns, of all things he could believe…!

“She’s not?” Blue asked, confused. “But, then where did she come from?”

“where the fuck do you think, numbnuts?” Whatever the patience Red usually had for Blue seemed to have found its limit. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, all but slamming his mug down on the coffee table, “she wasn’t flown in by the stork, kid was homegrown just like the rest of us and she’s got the fucking serial number to prove it!”

“Oh.” There was a wealth of meaning in that single, soft word, too many to properly interpret. Blue looked down at the baby sleeping in his arms, his fingertips hovering over her rib cage without touching, right over where her pajamas hid the healing scar. The same scar his brother and Red still had, faded and blurred, but still there. Then he wordlessly handed her to Edge, climbing to his feet and walked determinedly over to his brother.

Stretch only watched warily, allowing Blue to take away his half-empty coffee cup to shove it on table, ignoring the splash of coffee that slopped out and spread across the wood. He slid his small, strong arms around him, holding onto his brother tightly.

“I’m so sorry,” Blue said simply. The words were muffled, buried into Stretch’s coffee-stained hoodie. “I shouldn’t have been so upset with you and I certainly should have let you explain.”

“aw, bro, it’s okay—” Stretch hugged him back, resting his cheekbone on top of Blue’s skull.

“It’s not,” Blue said, the words tainted with the hint of a sob. “I assumed you were being irresponsible, and I shouldn’t have.”

“not like i don’t give you a reason for that.”

“There’s a difference between a messy room and, well, this.” They stayed there a moment longer, holding on tight, and when Blue drew away, he swiped a hasty sleeve over his damp sockets. “Now!” Blue clapped his hands together softly. “I think we should discuss living arrangements.”

“We can,” Edge said, quietly firm, “but I hardly think that will be necessary. We won’t be here for long.”

The sudden trio of protests was loud enough to wake the baby and Edge turned away, bouncing her in his arms as he tried to soothe her back to sleep. He’d known there would be objections, but he couldn’t allow them to sway him. This child was his responsibility, his choice, and his alone.

He had a duty to her and Edge was determined to see it done.

TBC

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #drifters

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louiserandom · 4 years

Text

Of Punishments and Rewards

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara | Rating: M

Summary: The citizens of Konoha have long grown used to (and frankly bored of) the often destructive spectacle that is Madara and Tobirama screaming their lungs out at each other in the market district. During one such clash, however, Madara suffers an accidental concussion and proceeds to not-so-accidentally flirt with, grope, and expose his secret affair with none other than the white-haired Senju he's supposed to hate.

Now this has the whole village intrigued.

Read Chapter 1 on AO3 or continue under the cut :3 Ko-fi info is in the header!

The citizens of Konoha have long grown used to (and frankly bored of) the often destructive spectacle that is Madara and Tobirama screaming their lungs out at each other in the market district. So when today the Uchiha Clan Head, foul mood and all, stomps towards an unsuspecting Tobirama (who really isn’t bothering anybody and seems to be busy enough picking out oranges) and starts shrieking at the top of his lungs about some manner of ‘experimental bullshit' crawling out of Tobirama's 'death trap of a lab,' most of the passersby find themselves stifling a yawn.

Another day, another bout of fires and flooding from the two village founders whose hate for each other hasn’t diminished in the slightest in the two years of Konoha’s existence.

Grown stronger, if anything.

“BECAUSE I AM NOT,” Madara bellows at the end of his first public rant of the day (though surely not the last), “GOING TO STAND FOR YOUR BRAZEN INCOMPETENCE ANYMORE, SENJU!”

Of course, Madara accusing Tobirama of incompetence is also nothing new, although it is common knowledge that it’s the latter who often has to get the Hokage and his best friend out of ridiculously foolish debacles.

(Konoha still remembers how the two godlike shinobi somehow stumbled into quite the deep hole intended for garbage disposal and in their drunken stupor ended up forgetting that they could have simply jumped outーwhat with their immense chakra reserves no less. Tobirama, naturally, had been exceptionally cross that day.)

“Incompetence?” Tobirama only scoffs in answer. “Whatever problem you have with how I handle my duties, Uchiha, pales in comparison to the damage your complete lack of logic deals to society.”

“You shut the fuck up,” Madara snaps, fists clenching and chakra becoming visible alreadyーa faintly shimmering fire-cloak upon his form. That really never bodes well for the market’s survival. “And study the logic behind proper fucking sleep so your complete lack of sense and self-restraint doesn’t lead to more dangerous fucking jutsu that spiral out of fucking control!”

This does perk up a few ears; after all, what novelty of Tobirama Senju’s could appear more dangerous than his summoning of an undead army that past Obon Festival?

“I am conducting a perfectly safe study,” Tobirama says, though Madara doesn’t seem like he believes him at all. “And not of a jutsu but a living being. Though it’s unsurprising your handful of brain matter failed to distinguish the two.”

“A living being with nine godsdamned tails made out of enough chakra to wipe out the whole of Fire Country?!”

This perks up a few more ears but seeds no panic; it’s thanks to Tobirama, after all, that most of Konoha has seen much, much worse.

“It's a perfectly docile and friendly chakra fox,” Tobirama insists, crossing his arms. “Now for the love of all things holy and unholy, stop your shrieking.” He glances at the mostly disinterested crowd. “You’re embarrassing me. And yourself, though I doubt there’s any room to sink lower than you have.”

“I will fucking destroy you, you worthless piece of shit!” The crackles of a budding Katon flicker around Madara’s fists. “Now go and take care of your fucking experiment-living-chakraーwhatever bullshit, or I will fight you and there will be no remains left for your brother to cry over.”

Tobirama glares, straightening to his full height which has him towering above Madara’s bristling frame. “How so much fight can fit in so little a man,” he sneers, “I will never understand.”

Three things happen in quick succession.

Naturally, Madara attacks. A massive raging wall of fire sizzles straight at Tobirama, who matches Madara’s wild toothy grin with a smirk as he jumps out of the way with the usual easeーonly for Madara to charge at him, fist coated with white-hot flames, and unsurprisingly, Tobirama dodges yet again.

What does come as a surprise is Madara’s slight... miscalculation, it seems, as his eyes linger a bit too long in the general direction of Tobirama’s thighs for some reason, and he’s just slow enough to miss the giant crate of oranges that falls from a panicking store owner’s shelf.

“Madara-sama!” the salesman cries as the legendary Uchiha collides with the box headfirst and drops limply to the ground. “F-forgive me,” the poor man stutters, appearing quite a bit more worried about Tobirama than Madara’s squirming form.

After all, neither of the two are happy when their fights are interrupted before they can destroy at least one building, and as expected, the Senju in question frowns and visibly deflates.

“Madara?” Tobirama asks, tentative, banishing the spikes of ice he’s conjured with his jutsu.

“Mmm,” Madara articulates from the ground, face scrunched in pain as he squints at the sky as if it’s personally offended him. “Mm-wha?..”

In a yet unseen show of kindness, Tobirama walks up to him and kneels to check on Madara’s condition. Quite a few stares shift in their direction. Shouldn’t Tobirama be inclined to leave the Uchiha to suffer?

Apparently not.

“Madara? Can you hear me?” Receiving no answer, Tobirama coaxes him to sit up as he checks over his head. Though unwounded, it does appear he’s seriously concussed as he starts slurring nonsense and pointing at a part of the crowd mumbling something about ‘fute birdsies.’ “Listen, IーAnija will be really upset if you’re seriously hurt, so can you tell meー”

Madara slaps a gloved hand roughly over Tobirama’s mouth. Another uncharacteristic move that provokes many a frown. The pair usually avoid skin to skin contact religiously, even when fighting.

“Your lips,” Madara slurs, eyes unfocused as he stares dazedly at his supposed enemy, “could putーbe put to... much better use than talking.”

“W-what?” Tobirama stammers, shoving the hand away and scrambling to his feet.

“I said your lips,” Madara tries to clarify, before Tobirama cuts him off, “Shut the fuck up, you moron!” he grits through his teeth, extending a hand to the Uchiha as he flops back down to lie on the ground.

“And get up," Tobirama orders, "now. I’m taking you to Anija. Concussions are tricky to heal and I might not be able to avoid leaving lasting effects.”

Madara smirks, and for some reason that prompts a look of horror to settle on Tobirama’s face. For good reason, as the onlookers discover.

“It’s always up for you, Tobirama,” Madara’s slurring is mixed with a bit of a stupid-sounding drawl as he positively ogles Tobirama, eyes once again lingering a tad lower than appropriate. “The question is if you wanna play.”

“Madara!” Tobirama hisses, casting death glares at the crowds now circled around them as one unified and now definitely intrigued mob. “Stop this foolishness right this instantー”

“Stop isn’t our safe-word, Tobiー”

“ーand take my fucking hand!”

“I’d rather have it wrapped around myー”

“MADARA!” Tobirama is trembling with fury at this point, chakra radiating killing intent enough for shinobi and civilian alike to feel it wash over them. The people gathered only scuffle closer, disappointed that the rest of Madara’s sentence gets drowned out by Tobirama’s shout and their own collective gasp. Tobirama pinches the bridge of his nose. “Not. Here.”

“I kno-ow,” Madara whines, finally grasping for Tobirama’s hand only to use it to yank him down once he gets ahold of it. “This hand indefーit definitely needs to be reaching a lot lower.”

“Madara, gods fucking dammit,” Tobirama growls as he wrests himself from Madara hold, “people are staring.”

To be fair, the self-proclaimed honorable and pure-hearted citizens of Konoha make an effort to pretend they aren’t gapingーwhich really isn’t an easy task though, because the display is turning out to be more exciting than any of the village-wide festivities to date.

“Oh?” Madara seems to be trying to raise one eyebrow but ends up skewing his face into an awkward frown at best. “If yesterday’s anything to go by, you don’t mind a little voytriloquism yourself, koibito.”

Another round of gasps follows as Tobirama blanches, mouth slightly agape and lips trembling. Someone helpfully shouts, “Do you mean voyeurism, Uchiha-sama?”

“Yes-yes!” Madara pipes up, still squirming helplessly on the ground. “Voyagerism. That.”

“Uchiha,” Tobirama glowers, a sheen of blue energy wrapping around his limbs as his ire escalates, “I am literally begging you toー”

“Didn’t get enough earlier, eh?” Madara leers, finally managing to wriggle into a half-sitting position, sending a few oranges rolling on the ground. Intrigued and unperturbed by Tobirama’s spluttering (and what a strange sight it is, to see the usually composed Senju at such a loss for words), Madara picks up two of the fruits and proceeds to shock the bystanders to the core once more, “You know, they say fresh squeezed oranges are good for you in the morning, but I think your fresh squeezed diー”

“MADARA, NO!” Tobirama roars, this time quite evidently to drown out Madara’s words.

“Madara, yes,” the Uchiha moans, “that’s all I remember you saying to me this morning.” A few desperate “Kai” resound in the area as Madara Uchiha incarnate starts licking the oranges in his hands. He keeps eye contact with Tobirama all the while as he sucks on them, shameless and wanton, swirling his tongue over the fruits with such wanton enthusiasm one might think him a common harlot. “Remind you of anything, To-bi-ra-ma?”

Needless to say, the world plunges into chaos. Choruses of cheers and wolf whistles, sounds of both affront and confusion erupt from the bystanders as quite a few women rush to cover their husbands’ eyes lest they require the same astonishing level of skill from them.

Tobirama, meanwhile, seems to have finally regained his ability to act, if not speak, and proceeds to grab Madara by his collar and drag him into a wobbly stance, slapping a hand bathed in faint green glow against the Uchiha’s forehead.

"Get permanent brain damage for all I care.” Tobirama gives Madara a pretty hard shake. “Now will you stop fucking talking?”

"You don’t tell me what to do, Senju,” Madara grumbles, looking a bit steadier on his feet now even as his voice still sounds a bit shaky. “And how did I get here?”

Tobirama ignores him, directing one last glower at the excited crowd as he commands, “Don’t you dare speak a word of this to the Hokage,” before disappearing into thin air with Madaraーhis secret lover, something Konoha still can’t wrap its collective head aroundーin tow.

Granted, the younger Senju must have sensed his brother’s approach because the next second none other than Hashirama steps into the market with the usual wide grin on his face, flowers sprouting on each patch of ground he steps on. The crowd stills and grows silent but for a few moments as Tobirama’s order rings clear in their minds, and yet,

“What happened here?” Hashirama asks in childlike confusion.

In just a handful of moments, it proves too much of a temptation for Konoha prolific rumor mill to resist.

“Madara was doing what in front of my Otouto?!”

#madatobi #tobimada #madara uchiha #tobirama senju #humor #fanfic #lou writes #idiots in love #naruto

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nosferatvpussy · 4 years

Text

distorted lullabies [chapter VII]

Word count: 6,292

Warnings: vulgar language

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I hope you do too while reading it. Side note 1: I reference a few movies here and there. I would advise you skipping one or two paragraphs to avoid spoilers if you still mean to watch it. But, I'm assuming everyone reading this has seen it already. Site note 2: Anne Rice will find a way to sue me if this somehow finds its way to her (it won't, who do I think I am) Side note 3: if you haven't yet, watch every movie and read every book mentioned here. They're all great.

____________________________________________________________

I had a huge grin on my face as I left the courtroom. My client grabbed my arm and shook it, chuckling.

“You won!” she squealed.

“ We won,” I corrected. I stopped walking and faced Mirriam. Her make-up was smudged beneath her watery eyes and her lips were quivering. “I’m happy for you.”

She pulled me into a hug, knocking the breath out of me. Both my hands were occupied, carrying my briefcase and purse so, I had no choice but to stand there, unable to hug her back. Mirriam sobbed, her arms tightening about my neck ever so slightly as she thanked me. Over her shoulder, I saw Judge Llewellyn leave the courtroom, still dressed in his robes. He looked at us, the perpetual crease between his eyebrow softening. Mirriam exclaimed and released me abruptly. The squeals of happy children echoed down the hall and I turned to see Mirriam make a run for the two kids sprinting towards her.

“Congratulations, Miss L/N,” said Llewellyn. I turned my head to see him standing at my side. “You did well.”

“Can you repeat that, please? I didn’t quite catch it,” I said, grinning from ear to ear.

His lips tugged up as he glanced away. When he looked at me again his face was serious.

“Don’t try your luck,” he extended a hand toward me. “I’m looking forward to seeing you at practice in my court again.”

Any moment now my cheeks would tear from smiling so much. I let go of my purse, not caring that it almost tipped over, and shook his hand. Although his fingers were long and bony, his handshake was firm.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He nodded and made his way to the opposite direction, presumably towards the judges’ chambers. I watched him go, his robes swaying after him and then turned the other way, taking in Mirriam on her knees, laughing at whatever her children had said. Yeah, I did well. As I picked up my purse, I felt it vibrating. I stuck a hand inside it, searching for my phone as I made my way out of the Royal Courts of Justice.

“Hi, Zoe.”

“Any news?” She asked on the other end.

“None.”

“It’s been over a week since he took you out. Shouldn’t he have called you?”

“Maybe he’s lost interest,” I countered, frowning at the twinge on my chest.

Out in the open, I lowered my head to protect myself against the drizzle as I walked.

“That’s absurd. He wouldn’t go to all the trouble of bribing someone--”

“I still regret telling you that.”

“Nevermind who he is, that was impressive.”

An outsider could hear our conversation and think we were complaining about some guy giving me the cold shoulder, not plotting against a five centuries old vampire.

“Zoe, I don’t care why he hasn’t called as long as he leaves me alone. Maybe he met someone else,” as I talked, I managed to make eye contact with a cabbie inside a passing taxi and nodded. “I saw you two days ago. I’ll call if anything changes. When do you want to meet again?”

“Let’s make it Sunday. It’ll be the fourth set of samples and I want to keep the every 2 days pattern we’ve got going on until your bite fully heals.”

The taxi stopped next to me and I juggled all my stuff in order to open the door. I glared at the cabbie, hoping that he would be moved by my anger and help me open the door. I could be Queen Elizabeth and he wouldn’t care.

“Fine,” I said as I managed to open the car door and get inside. “61 Marney Road,” I told the cabbie and he accelerated. “St Thomas Hospital again?” I asked Zoe.

“Yes. 11am. Call me if Dracula--”

“I know, I know. Bye.” I ended the call before she could keep talking.

Once I settled my belongings next to me and made myself comfortable, I leaned my head on the window, watching as London’s lights started coming to life in the nearing dusk. Getting complimented by Judge Llewellyn deserved to be celebrated. A good film accompanied by popcorn and lots of chocolate appealed to my body overridden by PMS. Add an hour in a hot bath and then I would have the perfect Friday night. How would Count Dracula spend his Friday night?

I lowered my shirt’s high collar and touched the scar on my neck. It was nothing more than small scabs now that the bruises were gone but I still wore turtlenecks to conceal the strangulation marks. I hadn’t felt the tingling sensation on it ever since my date with the Count and I wondered if it would react at all to him now that it was almost healed.

“Miss, you alright?”

I removed my hand from my neck like I had been burned.

“What?”

“Are you feeling alright? It sounded like you were out of breath,” he spoke the same way someone would if they were addressing an elderly person.

My entire face went hot and I thanked him silently for not being one those cabbies that always had the rear view mirror turned to the back seats in order to watch the passengers.

“I have, uh, asthma,” I shut my eyes as I spoke, overcome by embarrassment. “But I’m fine now.”

Had I gone mental? Rubbing my scar to test if it was still reactive to touch in the back of a taxi was just plain stupid, especially considering that I’d gotten so utterly lost in pleasure that I had been panting loud enough for the cabbie to hear me.

“Tragic, innit?”

That my bond to Count Dracula paired with PMS had made me become a dog in heat? Yes.

“Sorry, what?”

The cabbie leaned forward and a second later the whispering voices coming from the car speakers raised to an understandable volume.

“ Surrey police has no leads so far ,” was all I heard from the narrator before a song started playing.

“What happened?”

“Two students were found dead this morning in Surrey University. Bright youngins, can you imagine what they could--”

I straightened on my seat.

“Murders?”

“Makes no sense, how brutal. Police says it appears they were having a movie night--”

“How were they killed?”

The cabbie took hold of the rear view mirror and angled it at me. I smiled dryly at his frown.

“Professional curiosity,” I told him. “I’m a defense lawyer.”

That answer did nothing to soothe the crease on his large forehead.

“Police isn’t sure yet. But I heard from a pal from Surrey,” he lowered his voice, like he was confiding in me, “that the person that found ‘em threw up and so did a coppa. Looked like a scene straight from The Shining, I bet. Nasty stuff.”

I nodded, relaxing against the window again. Taking he referenced The Shining, that probably meant that there was a lot blood. Dracula wouldn’t waste a drop, I supposed. Odd horrific murders came about once in a while, sadly, and all of them committed by humans. Besides, would he really go all the way to Surrey just to murder a bunch of uni students? London was stacked with several student halls for him to pick from without the trouble of traveling across counties.

“First what happened at that company and then this… This is a bad, bad week. My gran used to say that everything comes in threes. I assure ya, miss, there’s more-”

“Which company? What are you talking about?”

“Ya haven’t heard?” he questioned, glancing at me through the mirror. “Why, miss. Two nights ago the, whaddyacallit, the big corporate cunts in charge of a company- oh, excuse my mouth, miss-”

“The board of directors?”

“Yeah, those blokes. Murdered, the whole lot of ‘em, inside a meeting room!” he started whispering again.

“Was this here in London?”

“Central London,” he nodded. “Can’t remember the name of the company, now-”

“Like the murders in Surrey? Bloody?”

“Nah, don’t think there’s been news about that. Cameras were dead, caught nothing of it. They were found by security at almost midnight after a wife of one of ‘em called looking for her husband.”

“Cause of death?” I asked and he looked at me. “Just answer the question.”

“Stab wounds to the neck, all of ‘em. Apparently some of them put up a fight because there were broken arms and fingers. Scotland Yard said that it’s prolly more than one murderer, other than that they’ve been quiet about it… They’re investigating it,” he made air quotes, “that’s code for we don’t know shite.”

He continued ranting for the rest of the trip but I wasn’t listening anymore. I doubted that Netflix would be able to salvage my mood after that conversation.

Once I paid the cabbie, I bid him a nice weekend and jumped out of the taxi. Compared to how he had barely cared about my struggle to get in the taxi, he was nice enough to wait until I got my door opened. Now that the night had come, the automatic light above my front door had turned on and I could only make out the shape of his hand waving at me from inside the car. I waved back as a thanks before going inside.

I went straight upstairs after I locked the door. With how wired I was, I forgot all about my intentions of taking a bath and took a shower instead. Considering I was humming a tune to myself after thirty minutes under a steady stream of hot water, I was making a quick recovery. I was still singing when I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel about my body. I opened the door, tendrils of steam spilling from my bathroom into my bedroom.

“Ohmygod!”

Count Dracula grinned at me, lying on the middle of my bed with both arms folded beneath his head. I pressed the towel to myself, desperately seeking more cover.

“I was starting to wonder if you would ever come out of there.”

“I wish I hadn’t!” I exclaimed. “I locked my door! How the hell did you get in?!”

“Window." He pointed one long finger at it.

Deadbolts. I’d have to get deadbolts on every single window in my house.

“Couldn’t you have texted in advance?!”

“I did. You didn’t reply.”

I stared at him, waiting for something else to come out of his mouth. Instead, his gaze slid down my body, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he inhaled sharply. I knew exactly why he was whiffing the air. Thank God my body was flushed from the hot shower, otherwise I would have gone bright red in anger.

“Ugh, leave!” I said, projecting my voice like I was in court.

I stretched an arm out, pointing at the window. The sudden movement almost caused the towel to open and I immediately took hold of it again with a little squeak. Count Dracula was up at once, circling the bed towards me. I gulped. His gaze pulled me in and for a moment my anger sizzled down.

“I’ve missed you,” he said and a shiver went down my spine.

I stepped back into the bathroom to put some distance between us.

“Too bad, go away.”

A smirk tugged the corner of his lips.

“You’ve missed me, too.”

“Absolutely did not.”

“Your heartbeat says otherwise.”

“It’s called anger.”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“‘I’ll go wait downstairs,” he said before turning away from me and slipping out of my bedroom.

My knees almost gave out when he left and I rushed to sit on the edge of the bed. I held my head as I tried to concentrate and take deep breaths. Had he stayed any longer I wouldn’t put it past me to lock myself in the bathroom and remain there until morning. Not only I had to deal with him, I also could feel cramps coming. I wanted nothing more to curl up in bed with a heat compress and chocolate. Summoning my courage, I got up and went to get dressed.

As I went down the stairs, Dracula peeked his head out from the living room.

“You’re going out in your nightgown?”

I stopped for a second, frowning and then continued down.

“I’m not going out. I’m tired and uncomfortable and I’m staying home,” I forced a smile, batting my eyelashes just to annoy him. I rounded the staircase, giving my back to him and heading for the kitchen. “I do hope you haven’t wasted your money bribing someone else to grant us entrance to another museum.”

I swiped at the switch and soft lights came on over the kitchen island and at the corners of the room.

“I haven’t. There’s no problem in postponing tonight’s date.”

I turned around to see him standing on the other side of the island, staring at me.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

“No.” He smiled. “Like I said, I’ve missed you.”

I leaned down and opened the cabinet under the sink. I pushed a set of pans to the side, looking for my heat pad.

“Been busy for this past week?” I asked, my voice echoing inside the cabinet.

“Unfortunately.”

I found the heat pad and stood up, closing the cabinet door after me as I put it inside the microwave and set 5 minutes. I turned to face him, propping my hips on the kitchen counter. I pulled on my courtroom face. If Count Dracula squinting at me meant that he saw me do it, then I needed to work more on my tells.

“Reading Jules Verne or killing a board of directors?”

One of his eyes twitched before he smiled.

“Both. Although I haven’t finished the book yet.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Not finish the book?”

“Dracula-”

“I was bored." He waved his hands on the air, dismissing my hard stare. “Please, I did the world a service! Yes, I went after them on a whim but as soon as I drank from one of them… I killed them on principle.”

“Principle? You’ve got that?”

“Is it that hard to believe?” He put his hands on top of the island and leaned forward, the light above his head creating shadows on his face. “The first one I bit was a child abuser. It was in his blood so, forgive me if killing him offends you. I broke his neck because I didn’t have a stomach for him. The rest of them… were palate cleansers. Although it didn’t do much good. Incredible how many of them had raped women and beat their wives.”

We stared at each other, frozen in place.

All my anger from before vanished and I had to struggle to keep my courtroom face on. In another world, one where there was no law binding me, I would have done the same. Was this the good in him I had been searching, however twisted it was?

The microwave chimed, prompting me to blink and break eye contact.

“I hope you hid at least some of the evidence,” I said, pushing back from the kitchen counter. “I’m not sure how representing a vampire in court for murder would look on my resumé.”

“No need to worry.” He grinned.

I grabbed the heat pad from the microwave, juggling it between my hands to avoid getting burnt until I dropped it to the counter.

“What about the students in Surrey?”

“Surrey? No, I haven’t been there.”

I nodded, somewhat relieved. I turned my back on Dracula to conceal my face as I broke the façade. He wasn’t responsible for the murders on Surrey as I suspected but after killing those ‘corporate cunts’, as the cabbie had put so appropriately, he probably went somewhere else to find another palate cleanser. Somebody else was dead because of him but for the life of me I couldn’t find something inside me to care enough. He had indeed done the world a service.

I rounded the island, past the Count so I could reach the pantry. From there I took popcorn and a bar of chocolate I had hidden, from myself, behind a set of spices. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time I moved and I fought the urge to steal a glance of his face to try figure out what was on his mind.

“I’m surprised you made an appearance,” I said in the unnerving silence.

“Are you, really?”

“Yes.” Hugging the popcorn and chocolate to my chest, I moved past him, congratulating myself for not looking at him. “No, actually. I was fairly positive you would come looking for me again, much to my dismay.” I chuckled. “One would think what happened at the museum would encourage you.”

My back burnt with the weight of his gaze. I started tearing the popcorn package frantically, making as much noise as possible to distract me. It was almost working but after I put the popcorn inside the microwave and closed it, I saw his reflection on the microwave mirrored door, moving towards me.

“It’s not very nice to sneak up on people,” I said, holding my ground.

He met my eyes through the reflection.

“I’m not nice.”

He had a reflection. I blinked, turning at once to face him. He was directly behind me, less than an arm’s length.

“You can be.”

“Do you want me to be nice?”

“No. It makes it harder to hate you.”

He smiled.

“I believed that for a second, really did. Especially when I found out that you had been asking our dear friend Renfield about me.”

I gulped.

“He wasn’t very forthcoming, if that makes you feel better,” I said and he chuckled but when his face grew serious again, I wondered if he forced that laugh. “Is that why you disappeared? Because Renfield gossiped about me to you?”

“Amongst other things,” he acquiesced, stepping back and supporting his body on the island much like I had done on the counter.

By his evasive answer, there was more to it but if he didn’t want to tell me it was fine. He had his secrets and I had mine.

“What do you know, boys really do gossip as much ladies do.”

He gave me a lopsided smile, one I judged was genuine, unlike his chuckle before. The microwave beeped again and I inhaled the delicious scent of done popcorn. I retrieved the popcorn with the tips of my fingers. I placed it briefly on the counter and then offered the heating pad to Count Dracula.

“Take this for me, will you?” I said and he did. I grabbed a glass of juice for me and then the popcorn and chocolate. “Come on. We’re watching a film.”

Count Dracula followed me into the living room. As I settled myself on the sofa, he gave me the heat pad and then occupied himself with analysing my library. Library was a kind word. It would take up the entire wall behind the telly if the fireplace had not been there. I wouldn’t say it was an impressive collection to a connoisseur but it was my collection and I had love for every single book in it, even the ones I didn’t like very much. Count Dracula had his hands laced behind his back and his head tilted as he admired it. I stopped myself from turning the telly on when I heard him whispering the titles to himself.

“Oh, would you look at that ?” He stepped forward and reached for the second to last row of books closest to the ceiling. I usually had to climb on the armchair to reach that far up but all he did was extend his arm up and pluck a book from up there. He turned around, showing me the gold cover with white and red lettering between his hands. “A vampire book?”

Of course he would find that. At least I should be thankful he didn’t find Story of O or Venus in Furs. If he had and then decided to flip through the pages, I would be doomed.

“Be very careful with that,” I warned. “It’s first edition and it was a gift. It’s sort of a classic.”

“Really?” he grinned, tipping his head up to the row from where he retrieved it from. “Are all of those classics?”

“Anne Rice might say so but the rest of the world wouldn’t,” I scoffed. He looked at me. “She thinks very highly of herself.”

“We would probably get along wonderfully,” he smirked. “Perhaps I should pay her a visit to give her real inspiration.”

“She’s an old woman now and would die of excitement if you actually visited her,” I laughed. “There’s a film for this one,” I pointed at the book in his hands. There was gleam in his dark eyes. “Do you want to watch it?”

“You’ve seen it already,” he said as he placed the book on the shelf.

“Yes but I can’t deny myself the irony of watching a vampire film with a real vampire,” I said, grabbing the remote control and turning on the TV. “We’ll watch this one and then you can choose the next one.”

I gazed up at him, waiting for an answer. He traced his tongue inside his lower lip, giving my body all sorts of ideas my brain was not agreeable with. My hand tightened around the remote. Count Dracula took off his blazer and threw it on the armchair beneath the window. I almost asked him if all his shirts were missing buttons because the top ones were undone like the last time I’d seen him but then he started undoing his belt. Popcorn spilled on my lap.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I exclaimed.

“Getting comfortable,” he replied with a frown, like I was ridiculous for asking. He rolled the belt around his fingers and then placed it neatly on top of the fireplace. “Like you are,” he gestured at me.

I was sunken back on the sofa between pillows and cushions, with my feet on the coffee table and popcorn all over my nightie. Technically speaking, I was indeed comfortable, especially because of the heating pad on my lower abdomen relieving menstrual cramps. I was less comfortable with Dracula undressing in front of me while my body was working against me in every way possible.

“Fine,” I said between gritted teeth. My eyes widened as he started moving towards me. “W-wait, no, no, no, you’re sitting over there.”

His smirk widened into a full grin as he sat by my side, letting out an exaggerated breath, he kicked off his shoes and stretched himself in the same position as me.

“What happened to personal space?”

“I thought we’d gone past that already,” he raised his thick eyebrows.

I clenched my jaw. His gaze fell on my neck. All he would need to do was lean to sink his teeth in me, if he wanted. His lips parted and I was reminded of their softness when he had kissed me.

“Stop it,” I all but whispered.

“I’m not doing anything,” he said, eyes fixated on my neck.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” I started picking off popcorn from my lap, hoping that would show him that he wasn’t affecting me. “Let’s just watch the film.”

I endured his stare as I clicked on the remote to bring up Netflix and started searching the catalogue for Interview with the Vampire. He decided to focus on the telly once Louis started talking to Daniel. As the film went on, he laughed with Lestat and cursed at Louis constantly for his sentiment. More than once, Count Dracula was literally at the edge of his seat. He nodded approvingly at Claudia at times and at Lestat’s flare for the dramatics, making his critiques here and there about how Anne Rice had gotten it right or wrong.

“That’s Haydn,” Dracula said, eyes glued to the screen as a corpse-like Lestat played the piano and Louis and Claudia watched in horror.

“Good ear,” I commented. “Not that I’m an expert but it took me a few google searches to find out where this piece was from.”

“Good appetite,” he countered without looking at me, raising his forefinger.

I paused the film and he turned to me with an indignant look on his face.

“You ate Haydn?”

He grimaced.

“Ate is a poor term.”

“You did!” I accused, mouth falling open. “Who else?”

“I didn’t kill Haydn, that would be outrageous. I would have deprived the world of Mozart and Beethoven. I just stole a few sips to understand his genius. Chopin, however, I did kill. He was a prick, and so was Mozart. Bach, too, was unbearable but I didn’t get the chance to off him,” he shrugged. “Paganini was a riot, though. I tried turning him but he was committed already to a long time friend, you could say.”

I stared at him for a long moment. I didn’t know where to start but him saying that about Paganini, very subtly, confirmed people’s suspicion at the time that the man had made a pact with the Devil to have been that good. Finding myself unable to form another coherent thought faced with that, I simply pressed play again.

The film was doing a fantastic job of keeping the Count’s attention and I started relaxing because I didn’t have to be on guard, even if he was laying by my side. That is, until we reached the scene on a theatre where Armand drinks from a woman on stage in front of unsuspecting humans. My heart had begun hammering inside my chest as soon as Louis and Claudia stepped inside the theatre because I knew what was coming.

Though I kept my eyes on the screen, I was suddenly hyper aware of how close I was to Count Dracula. An entire side of my body touched his, down to where my leg ended. Had I grown that comfortable and not noticed it? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Count Dracula swiveling his head to stare at me.

“You’re missing the film,” I told him, jamming popcorn in my mouth to keep myself busy.

“Your pulse is more interesting right now,” his words tickled my shoulder.

I snuck a glance at him. His eyes were still bottomless pools of black. The heat in his eyes was just as worrying if his eyes had been red.

“Don’t,” I warned.

The human girl was on stage now, screaming and begging for mercy. Soft, cold lips touched my shoulder and I swallowed dryly. Another kiss marked his path up. I forgot how to move, caught in the rapture of his touch. I could have at least this. Nevermind that I was being touched by the man who meant to steal my life. My chest heaved as his kisses became sloppier, less sweet. My entire body shuddered in anticipation as a kiss landed on the curve of my neck.

“I--”

A hand delved into my hair with a demanding tug and I shut up. The popcorn bag crumpled between my hands. Armand was on stage with the woman, hugging her and providing comfort before her death.

“Say it,” his lips brushed my ear.

“I won’t.”

His lips brushed my scar and I released a shaky breath. His mouth descended on my neck and a cry tore out of me upon feeling him sucking on my skin. Another hand laid on my chest, creeping slowly towards the shoulder strap of my nightie. I closed my eyes, letting myself be consumed by pleasure and forgetting every reason why we shouldn’t do this.

“Be mine,” his words were muffled as he continued his assault on my neck.

Sharp teeth grazed my skin.

This couldn’t happen, not if I wanted to live. The minute he bit me he would know about my plan. I had to summon every ounce of control on my body to resist the sensuous ripple of pleasure coursing my body. I dodged his hands and shot up to my feet. Dracula caught himself on his elbow before he fell between the cushions. His eyes were still every bit as dark as before but his mass of hair was tousled, as mine probably was.

“I think--” I took a breath. “I think you should leave.”

He sat up and I noticed that another button on his shirt had come undone, revealing more of his chest than I had seen before. I didn’t dare look any lower. I almost cried in frustration. My body demanded him despite the fact that giving myself to him meant danger.

“I want to finish watching the film,” he said, gazing up at me as he buttoned his shirt again.

“I’m sure you’ve got Netflix at your place.”

“I do but I don’t have the pleasure of your company there.”

“Dracula--”

“I’ll behave if you do,” he put his legs on the coffee table again but I didn’t fall for it. No way I was looking below his waistline. “ Promise .”

Would I make it if I ran upstairs to my room? But what use would it be if he could simply climb through my window? I wasn’t ten years old anymore to run away from my fears, hoping they would disappear if I didn’t acknowledge them. Then again, Dracula wasn’t the monster under my bed. He was more likely to be the one on top of it. Jesus, focus! Mind over matter, come on. Up until that point he was being good company. If he was toying with my self control or not, I wasn’t sure. Besides, I couldn’t push the man away any time he made me nervous. I needed to lead him on until Zoe and I found a breach.

“I’ll hold you to that promise. You stay there,” I pointed a finger at him. “I’ll sit over there.”

Grabbing the remote and the bar of chocolate, I tiptoed my way between the remains of my popcorn and curled myself up on the armchair. I started unpacking the chocolate, doing my best to keep my eyes on the telly. Louis and Claudia were now below the theatre, in Armand’s chambers.

Feeling the Count’s gaze on me, I said, “Are you watching the bloody film or not? Because I think I would rather watch something else now.”

After I started chomping at the chocolate bar like there was no tomorrow, Dracula paid attention to the telly. I managed to breathe normally again once he seemed to be engrossed by the film and made conversation about what was going on, like we had been doing before. He celebrated Louis’ revenge by clapping at him and I laughed at the joy on his face as Lestat popped up from the backseat of Daniel’s car and bit him. I mouthed the words to Sympathy for the Devil as the credits rolled and Dracula stayed with his eyes glued to the screen.

“I must talk to this Anne Rice woman,” he muttered.

I chuckled.

“Leave her alone. She hasn’t completed the series yet and I need to know how much dumber Lestat can get in the next book.”

“He’s not dumb,” Dracula said, frowning at me.

I chuckled again. God, he’d grown attached to him.

“You haven’t read the books yet. You might loathe him as much as you did Louis if you read them.”

He groaned.

“Let’s watch another one.”

“Another vampire film?”

“Yes.”

“Narcissist,” I accused and he smiled.

After searching through the Netflix catalogue, I found a vampire film that didn’t seem so ridiculous called Byzantium. It seemed like a better alternative than Lost Boys or Fright Night. I could just imagine his outrage at Twilight so I spared him of that, too. Twenty minutes later, however, Dracula was rolling his eyes at the TV and asking for the remote. He chose Silence of the Lambs and I thanked the heavens for it. I wouldn’t be able to sit through another sexy movie with him.

“He’s a great actor,” I commented as Dr Lecter and Clarice talked through the glass prison.

“How many times have you watched it? You quoted that to me before, word for word of what he just said.”

I shrugged.

“An unhealthy amount of times,” I admitted. He looked at me. “It won four Oscars, c’mon. It’s fantastic.”

I refused to tell him the reason I loved it so much was because of Hannibal Lecter. The Oscars excuse was better. We didn’t say much after that, that’s how fascinated Dracula was. Afterwards, he chose Crimson Peak, at last, one I hadn’t seen. Resting my head on the armchair and using Dracula’s blazer as a blanket, I closed my eyes for a brief moment when Edith met Thomas.

Sleep’s warm embrace had me floating and I sighed happily. Something hard and cold pressed at my cheek, making my eyes flutter open. Dracula’s face hovered above mine. I wasn’t floating, if his arms around me and his hard chest on my cheek meant anything. My heart hurt like someone had squeezed it.

“I’m just putting you to bed,” he said in a low voice, sparing me a glance.

I was too tired to argue with him and simply rested my head on his chest again.

“You’re cold,” I complained, holding onto his blazer.

“I’m sorry.”

The harsh lights of the telly made me squint at it with drowsy eyes. Rachel Weisz was on the screen now and I frowned, trying to remember if she appeared in Crimson Peak. Had he started another movie?

“Did the sleep- huh.” I furrowed my brows and tried again, “did I the movie- no,” I sighed.

Hearing his laugh inside his chest made me smile sleepily.

“You slept little more than 2 hours,” he replied, maneuvering me out of the living room.

“You understood,” a yawn, “what I said,” I giggled and patted his chest. “Well done.”

He flashed me an amused smile before looking ahead again. I wrapped my arms around him when he started going up the stairs, afraid that I would fall. I tried listening to his heartbeat - something I enjoyed doing to people whenever I had chance - but there was no sound coming from his chest. Oddly, that was just as comforting as not hearing soft thump-thumps. But maybe that was just my sleep-addled brain.

“Tell me what happens in Croms- ah, whatever, in the film.” I frowned, mad at how stupid I sounded when I was sleepy.

He laughed again.

“A lot.”

I rolled my eyes before surrendering to my heavy eyelids and closing them.

“Be nice, tell me,” I mumbled.

“I thought you didn’t want me to be nice.”

“Right now, I do.”

He started telling me but the rumble of his voice coming from inside his chest, so close to my ear, made me drift back to sleep again. I woke up when he was laying me down on my bed. The bedside lamp made me squint. He set me in the very middle of the bed and perched next to me. I rolled on my side to face him and fluffed the pillow below my head, hiding my face from the light.

“So Edith and Thomas got married, huh?” I asked.

“You got nothing of what I just told you.”

“Not a word." I shook my head lightly.

He pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen on my face and his fingers hovered over me for a moment before caressing my temple.

“You were married,” I blurted. He dropped his hand and frowned. “When you were human. Weren’t you?”

“What does it matter?” He went to get up but I grabbed his wrist.

He glared at my hand.

“It was just a question,” I told him. “Don’t be mad. We bicker all the time, already.” I raised my eyebrows at him. His gaze fell on mine, indecipherable. “We don’t have to talk about her. Forget I said it.”

For a second I thought he would storm off. Dracula looked out the window, staring into the night. I waited for him to say something, waited until sleep started creeping again. My fingers slid down his wrist, resting on the back of his hand.

“She was nothing like you.”

My eyes fluttered open. He was still staring into the dark. I had to choose my words carefully if I wanted him to keep talking.

“How was she like?”

“Fragile and fearful of… everything. Deeply religious and foolish, at times. She smiled whenever she looked at me, even when I had done horrible things. In her mind, all that I did was in the name of God. There was this one time when I came from battle and I had blood on my face and armour-" he stopped, shoulders sloping and then stiffening "-she kissed me.”

“She wasn’t that fragile, then.”

He scoffed.

“I suppose not,” he conceded.

“Did you love her?”

“More than I thought I was capable.”

I had a feeling I knew the answer to my next question but asked it anyway.

“What happened to her?”

Finally, he turned his head to look at me. For the first time I saw a semblance of real emotion in his eyes and it broke my heart.

“I happened to her.”

I furrowed my eyebrows and took a breath to ask more but he stood up, his hand grazing mine briefly. I watched as he closed the curtains and then picked up the duvet at the bottom of my bed, unfurling it on top of me. I retrieved his blazer from beneath the covers and handed it to him. When he met my eyes again, his expression was devoid of all emotion. His hand reached behind me and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging us into darkness. I couldn’t make out his face anymore.

“Thank you for keeping your promise,” I whispered but I wasn’t sure if he was still in the room to hear me..

Taglist: @festering-queen @feralstare @rheabalaur @girlonfireice @dreamer2381 @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @thorin-smokin-shield @deborahlazaroff @apocalypsenowish @a-dorky-book-keeper if I forgot to tag anyone, please let me know

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ddaenggtan · 5 years

Text

chasing butterflies | jjk

you never meant to be a jock in school. the volleyball team had just needed people and you were there and then you had a knack for it. you just happened to be good at it and went with it. similar to how you saw jeon jungkook in your friend’s orientation group and thought he was absolutely radiant and just went with it. for two years. you’ve spent the entire time pining from afar, mostly because you always seem to make a fool of yourself when he’s around, but also because jungkook is part of that exclusive crowd, the ones that you never can seem to penetrate: the weebs. that is, until your friends get sick of your hopeless pining and decide to do something about it.

pairing | jeon jungkook x reader

genre/warnings | fluff, college au, coffee shop au, pining, somewhat idiots to lovers, jock!reader, nerd/weeb/otaku!kook, swimmer!kook, jock!jimin, kook smiles a lot, reader is a dumbass, jungkook is a dumbass, everyone’s a dumbass tbh, love confessions, profanity, like a lot of profanity, smut: oral (f receiving), face riding, grinding, hickies, unprotected sex (wrap ur willy before things get silly kids!), creampie, soft!kook except when horny, this is somewhat crack-y, there’s also a very fair amount of secondhand embarrassment in this just fair warning i cringed a lot while writing it

word count | 12.8k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | i busted literally all of this in one day because i couldn’t sleep and had the idea for a coffeeshop au with pining nerd/jock, but i didn’t want to do the trope of pining nerd and i also kept seeing @strawbxxymilk‘s tags saying she was going to fight jungkook, so you can partially blame her for his (love u reni xx) i’m honestly REALLY in love with this fic, it was so much fun to write and even edit, like i honestly have never been happier with how a fic turned out.

If asked, you don’t think you’d be able to point to one exact moment that led to this. You aren’t sure why anything about your college life has been the way it is. You went through almost all middle school and part of high school intending on coasting through under the radar. You didn’t have many friends and you didn’t mind that, citing quality over quantity, and you definitely expected that to continue into your extended school career.

Somehow, though, you ended up on the volleyball team - the captain had seen you playing in a gym class and recruited you. She was adamant that with practice and training, you’d be great, and also they needed at least one more person if they were going to have any chance at competing that year. So you agreed, started practicing, got good, and…kept doing it. You were a talented player, and you made several close friends through the game, ones that had lasted you until even now.

You only got better and better, too, earning you more than one offer from various universities. It was exciting when you finally chose one, and even more exciting that your friend group almost tripled overnight. University teams were large, you discovered, and while that meant more competition, it also meant more friends. More friends that had more connections to people on other teams, in other sports, who were also fun and extroverted and threw really good parties.

You like to think you’re still that little nobody from middle school. You enjoy your readings and your coursework, and a lot of nights you choose to stay behind in your shared apartment instead of going out. As much as you like to think that, though, you can’t help but face the truth every time you look in the mirror after practice or a game or a workout.

You’re a jock.

You don’t even know why. The labels were supposed to end when high school did, and yet here you were. You pretty much only hang out with other sporty people, since no one has much time to make friends with anyone they didn’t see five times a week and every other weekend. You have a strict workout regimen that you run through with other girls from the team. Your class schedule is built around your volleyball schedule. You call yourself an athlete. You get looks sometimes, from the smart kids who think they’re better because you’re ‘only’ an athlete and they’re not. It reminds you of the people who look down on other sports because theirs is the only ‘true’ sport. Those people used to piss you off, but you’ve grown used to them now; there would always be people who thought they were better because of some imagined divide.

Realistically, there is no divide. People are free to associate with whoever they want, fuck the social norms that become ingrained in high school to contrast class differences. Okay, your Societal Influences class may have skewed your thinking a bit, but your point stands. You had no good reason to conform to the antiquated ideas of high schoolers.

So why, why, are you still standing by a waffle maker and staring helplessly at him?

Jisoo nudges you and you move to let her at the waffle, not looking away from him. She follows your line of sight and laughs when she sees him. “Seriously?” She asks, shaking her head.

“Shut up,” You groan, popping part of a roll into your mouth.

“It’s been almost three years,” She teases. “How have you not worked up the nerve to talk to him?”

“Two years, three months,” You correct as you follow her to where the chocolate syrup and fruit await for her waffle monstrosity. You can’t even look at it anymore, sickened by the mere sight of all the sugar stacked atop it.

“That is not helping your case the way you think it is.”

“I can’t just…talk to him, he’s gonna think I’m weird. Who just walks up to someone and says ‘hi, I saw you in my friend’s orientation group two years ago and thought you were the most beautiful man in existence, and still think that in fact, would you mind going out with me?’” Jisoo levels you with a look that could make cacti wilt.

“Uh, plenty of people do that every day. That’s how relationships happen. I know you’ve got this big hard-on for this whole…pining, lovesick idiot look,” She barrels on, ignoring the squawk of defiance you let loose, “But it’s getting kind of hopeless. That one guy asked you out, like, last month, and you literally laughed at him.”

“In my defense, he was like way older than us! I don’t want to go out with a grandpa!”

“I cannot believe you just called Kim Seokjin a grandpa, the entire team is going to revolt against you for this.”

You huff and lead her to the table you picked out, which she very kindly does not mention gives you a perfect view of him while you pick at your food. She continues to rant at you about your hopeless crush, but you don’t even hear her anymore, because he’s laughing at something across the dining hall and it makes your chest tighten.

God damn, you don’t know how in the hell someone so fucking nerdy can make you so fucking weak in the knees.

Across the room, Jungkook adjusts the round lenses that have been sliding down his nose, and it makes your heart flutter. He laughs again at something someone beside him said. His nose scrunches as he does it, and the cute bunny teeth are obvious, and it makes you want to die a little inside but also throw him off a bridge a little bit. He starts talking, animated and excited, and you wonder what it is he’s talking about. You can almost pretend that he’s talking about you for a second, until he pulls something out of his bag and sets it on the table, covering it with his hands before pulling them back in a dramatic effort to reveal–

God, it’s a fucking Hatsune Miku figurine.

You feel like sobbing at the sight. “God, he’s such a fucking weeb,” You say, hatred for yourself rolling off the words in absolute waves. Jisoo huffs, probably annoyed that you haven’t been listening to her rant, and waves a hand.

“You knew this,” She tells you bluntly. The issue is that she’s 100% correct; the first time you ever remember seeing Jungkook, he was in a God damn Naruto cosplay, dumbass wig in his hands while he adjusted his ninja headband, and he was still the most beautiful human being you’d ever laid your eyes on.

His eyes dart over like he could hear your thoughts and he makes eye contact; you get whiplash, you look away so fast. Your face is burning, you can feel it, and you’re actually in danger of staring a hole into the table with how hard you’re looking at it.

“You’re safe, he isn’t looking anymore,” Jisoo eventually says. You chance a glance to see that Jungkook is focused on whatever conversation he’s having, Hatsune Miku nowhere to be seen and replaced with a very pretty red flush across his cheeks. You audibly coo over the sight and Jisoo pretends to gag.

“Don’t you have class?” She says. It’s obviously an attempt to distract you, she’s always so transparent about those things. Jungkook looks over again and suddenly your phone becomes the most fascinating thing in the entire world. You balk at the time, because fuck, you really do have class in two minutes.

“Bye Jisoo, love you, don’t gorge yourself on waffles, or Rose will kill you at practice!” You shout over your shoulder as you bolt from the dining hall.

You don’t see nor feel the eyes on your back as you go, too focused on making the five-minute walk into a sixty-second sprint.

Work is boring. It always is. You work the overnight shift, 9 pm to 4 am, so that you can balance your volleyball schedule and your classes and your bills. If there were less 24-hour coffee shops around, it may be busier, but alas, the trend of having spaces for haggard and exhausted college students to roll into at all hours of the day had caught on, and thus, you work at one of four all-night coffee shops. And that’s only on this side of campus. There were even more on the other side, where the dorms were, and they see much more traffic than yours. Kids never want to go very far to get caffeine, so the ones across the way were always bustling and packed full of people writing last-minute papers and emailing for sources and who knows what else.

Which meant that only the stray customer wandered in after dark, usually people getting off work and wanting to unwind for a second before heading home. You got a lot of homeless people, camping out in corners away from other people and sipping on one coffee for hours at a time. Some of the other workers complained about them, but you didn’t really care one way or another. If it kept them off the street and out of the cold, then you’d let them sit there as long as you could. It wasn’t like there were many people around to complain, anyway.

Of course, the few customers meant that there were fewer interruptions to the daily tasks you had to do, so it only takes an hour or two, max, every night to get everything clean, stocked, polished, and counted. Which left another five for you to fill.

You sigh, staring at a blank page of your notebook. You’re lucky your boss doesn’t care if the workers do schoolwork on the job, so long as the work gets done and the customers are happy, but just this once you curse him for being so kind. You’ve been procrastinating this essay for a week and it was due next class, but you had absolutely no idea where to even start. You sigh again and straighten as the bell over the door rings, the customary 'Welcome to Brew’d Awakening, what can I get for you today?’ already halfway out before you actually look up.

You choke on air as Jungkook smiles at you, small and shy and sweet, and you can actually feel part of your soul shrivel up and die along with every single one of your brain cells. You stare at him for a solid six seconds as he peruses the menu hanging above your head, and you’re so focused on memorizing the way he looks this close up that you nearly miss his order.

“A large iced black, please?” He phrases it like a question and it’s adorable, despite the countless times you’ve bitched to Jisoo about people doing the exact same thing in the past. You tack on your customer service smile as best you can and ring him up.

It’s a relief to turn away from him to actually make his drink. He’s gorgeous, even with the dumbass hoodie with some naked anatomy model on it that has to be from some anime, that it makes it hard for you to breathe. He’s not even wearing the nerd glasses and it just makes his eyes so much more obviously beautiful, and you know Jisoo is going to whine about hearing you wax poetic over them for weeks after this. Your hands shake as you pour the coffee into the cup and click the lid into place, but you force yourself to steady them as you hand it to him.

He’s blushing again, and you want to kiss it so badly, and he waves. “Thanks,” He says as he starts to leave. Your brain is torn between responses, one half reverting to your generic response and the other wanting to assure it him it was absolutely not anything he needed to thank you for, and you can feel the stupidity coming, but you cannot stop the words as they claw up your throat and you nearly shout–

“Your problem!”

He falters in his steps, turning to give you a confused look, and you’re honestly disappointed the earth doesn’t quake and part to drag you directly to the pits of hell, because even that would be less painful than having to maintain your professional demeanor like you didn’t just say the absolute stupidest thing you’ve ever said in your entire fucking life.

Jungkook just nods and strides out of the coffee shop, bell dinging in his wake.

The screech you unleash in the break room a few seconds later is inhuman and chilling, and yet Rose doesn’t seem at all fazed.

“I would say you should just talk to him, but clearly you can’t even do that like a normal person.” She pats your arm as you bang your head into the table, and you consider the option of getting new friends.

You’re no stranger to wild Jungkook sightings. You both go to the same university, you both have similar classes, you both take full advantage of the dining hall at every opportunity, you both use the library. It’s hard to go ten feet on campus without seeing someone you know, and it’s even harder when you’re actively looking for that person everywhere you go.

So you’ve already seen him a couple of times after the Your Problem Incident - and you may have turned around and completely avoided even thinking about it, but who’s going to judge you for that, really - when you walk into an extra-credit lecture for one of your science classes to immediately zero in on the familiar grin.

You’d foolishly believed this would be a popular lecture and as such would be held in one of the big lecture halls, the ones that seat 100+ people, but no. Of course not. This was in a regular ass classroom, with regular tables and regular students and regular everything, including the dumbass that regularly stars in every single one of your daydreams. The impulse to turn and run jolts through you, but before you can do exactly that, Nayun is calling your name and waving you over to the seat she saved just for you.

Right in front of him.

Several people turn at her call, but you focus your gaze on the chair and refuse to look to see if he’s looking at you. You refuse, you will not be that girl, you have standards, dammit, and grades to keep up, and immense public humiliation to pretend never happened.

You have to pass him to sit at your chair since Satan himself designed the classroom and put the door at the back of the room, as only a literal demon would do. You focus on not falling flat on your face, as you’ve been prone to do when Jungkook is in your range of vision, and as such you’re wholly unprepared for the way his scent floods through your brain.

You’re able to sit before you collapse entirely, legs shaking because he smells so fucking good. You’ve become accustomed to the boys’ volleyball team, who’re known for always wanting to hang out right after practices but not ever wanting to shower after practices. You’ve been friends with guys before. You are very close with several of the guys on the volleyball team. You’ve been around college dudes for three entire years. You know how guys smell, you know they all tend to get wrapped up in whatever boys think about and neglect their own hygiene unless gently reminded that no, Taehyung, girls do not like it when a guy is sweaty.

Apparently, one dude didn’t get the memo, because Jungkook smells like fucking heaven. Clean linens and summer flowers and rainstorms, with a lingering and faint whisper of chlorine that shoves you into the nostalgia of high school summers at the pool with your friends. It’s glorious and wonderful and you’ve never been close enough to smell him before, which you also never thought would ever go through your brain.

You wish you could say you’ve never thought of how he might smell, you really do. But the truth is you are a girl in love, with an overactive imagination and a lot of time spent not writing essays. You’ve imagined a lot of things. And yet. Even in your wildest daydreams, there is no possible way you ever could have expected it to floor you the way it did.

Nayun is saying something and you’re nodding along, but she could be telling you the secret to life itself and you would never know. You’re too focused on him. You can’t look at him - a blessing and a curse, because now you may be able to pay attention to the lecture, but you’ll also be too distracted to think about anything but if he’s looking at you - but you can hear him. You’ve heard him speak before, you’ve built up somewhat of a resistance to his voice and the way it slides along the air, which is such a sappy romantic thing to think but here you fucking are.

You have not, however, heard him speak for such a long period of time about the continuity errors in Boku No Hero Academia. You don’t even know what the fuck that is, never heard the phrase in your entire life, but he’s so passionate about it that you can’t help but listen. He’s making all sorts of points and giving all kinds of examples and you want to nod along just to encourage him. For all you know he could be wrong about every single instance he mentions but fuck, he just sounds so sure of himself and so absolute that it has you wanting to agree.

The sheer confidence in what he’s saying has you getting weak in the knees. He’s such an absolute fucking weeb, and yet it’s always been so sexy to you when someone knows their shit and can prove it. You could have gone your entire life without knowing that that particular kink extended to fucking anime.

The professor walks in shortly after and you are blessedly saved from more of Jungkook’s rants about anime inconsistencies. You’re impossibly wet and you curse yourself for the millionth time for somehow falling for the biggest dork the planet has possibly ever seen. You focus all of your attention on the lecture, doing your best to take notes even as you find yourself doodling the best (read: atrocious) representations of Jungkook in the margins of your notebook.

You groan on the way out. You’d spent the full hour and a half taking sporadic notes between doodles of Jungkook as a prince. You still couldn’t decide if you were imagining the feeling of someone watching you, either. Nayun just laughs and leads you to the dining hall for dinner before you both had to head to practice.

You are blessedly free of Jungkook for exactly four days. It is, in fact, a new record, since the first time you saw him.

It’s turned your life into a hellscape and you hate it.

You look for him around every corner and past every door, and more than once you’ve caught yourself expecting him to walk through the door at the coffee shop for absolutely no reason. You’ve only ever seen him there the one time. There was literally no reason to expect him to show up ever again, and yet each time someone walked in, you responded as if it was the 1500s and the king himself had entered the building.

If you’re being honest, though, your biggest issue with not seeing Jungkook’s dumb ass for four entire days is that it is just long enough for you to start to expect not to see him. It’s just enough time for you to get so accustomed to not seeing him around that you stop turning corners and looking for him immediately. You don’t immediately think 'this is it’ when the bell above the shop door rings. It takes a second to kick in, a delayed response that is still habit but one on its way out.

You miss him, that is definite. You find yourself wishing that he would show up out of the blue one day, spouting some nonsense, just for the sake of hearing it again. His rants about which Bleach character would actually win a fight because 'well, according to the manga,’ his tirades about how the revamp of Voltron is nowhere near as genuine as the original and is clearly pandering, you just…miss it. You never understand a goddamn thing he’s saying but it’s so fucking attractive. He’s so passionate about all of it and he’s so knowledgeable that even the discussion you overheard in the library about the top ten most powerful moves in the entirety of YuYuHakusho had you dripping and running for your apartment, and you miss that.

At this point, though, you should know the universe fucking hates you.

It’s late, close to 2 am, you haven’t slept in too long because you had an away game that afternoon that you lost on a fucking bullshit call and then had to stay to watch the boys’ team play. They, of course, crushed their opponents, which you were proud of, but it only made your defeat that much more bitter. You were still pissed about it when you rolled into work that night, Rose lagging behind to talk to the coach and Jimin glowing beside you with how well his team had done.

You’re tired, you’re pissed, you’re starving, you have a test in six hours that you haven’t studied for, the cafe is mercilessly dead, there’s a guy in the corner building an actual literal scale model of a castle, and all you can think about is the bullshit ref insisting that the ball touched Jisoo’s elbow after she made contact and completely fucking over the last serve of the game in favor of your opponents.

Jimin, the light of your life and angel among men, had gotten your food before your break. It isn’t fancy, two quick drive-thru burgers with fries and a drink, but it may as well be the nectar of the gods with the way you’re inhaling it. The angel and future father of your immaculate conception babies sits on one of the stools against the counter, chin in his hand as he watches you eat. He looks torn between horror and fascination and you can’t blame him for it. It must be a sight to behold: you, behind the shop counter, elbows planted for maximum efficiency, mouth stuffed full of French fries, ripping viciously into a burger as you continue to go off about the bullshit that was your match that day.

Really, you wouldn’t be this mad any other day. But the combination of so many shitty things - hunger, exhaustion, stress, frustration, not having seen the love of your life Jeon Jungkook in y e a r s - has you absolutely livid. You’re well past the end of your break by now, but Rose knows all too well how you are and is graciously letting you vent until you’re less ready to rip the head off the next person that comes in the door.

You express the sentiment to Jimin, who laughs, the fucker, and fail to realize that someone has, actually, just walked into the coffee shop. You’re halfway through your sentence - “I swear to God, Park, if I see that fucking ref again, I’m gonna rip his balls off and shove them so far up his ass that he starts to digest them, what kind of bullshit even was that, her elbow was nowhere near the ball, that foul never would’ve stood if we had been on our court,” - when it registers that Rose is taking an order. You glance over, out of habit more than anything, and proceed to attempt to inhale the food crammed into your mouth as you gasp.

Of course, of fucking course, Jungkook would show up while you’re like this. Your hair is a mess, still damp from the post-game shower, you’ve got some kind of stain on your shirt from the food that’s absolutely smashed into your mouth, and you’ve just been basically shouting expletives all over your workplace, which he definitely heard. It’s made worse because he’s staring at you, eyes wide behind his stupid round glasses, and his striped shirt with fucking ridiculous overalls. You’re torn between planting one on him since he looks so fucking cute and bewildered, decking him straight in the face because where the fuck has he been, and just bolting straight out of the shop because the guy you’ve liked for two fucking years witnessed all of that and you want to die.

You stare at him and he stares at you, looking as shocked as you feel. Jimin is just looking between the two of you, a shit-eating grin overtaking his face as he starts to connect dots you never ever wanted him to connect, because-

“Jungkook-ah, I didn’t know you came here!” Jimin says, grinning at the younger boy and one of his very best friends. He’s got a glint in his eye that you recognize and you contemplate not for the first time if you could actually impale him with a coffee stirrer.

“Oh, yeah, well…” Jungkook stutters and you hate that it’s so cute. “The others close to my dorm are all really busy at this time of night, y'know, so I like to get coffee on this side of campus so it’s still coffee and not watered down when I get back to my dorm.”

“Why don’t you just drink it here?” Jimin asks as he stirs his own coffee that had long since gone cold, as if he had every right in the world to offer up your coffee shop to a literal God among men. “It’s quiet, you could probably get more work done here than in your dorm. I remember you said your neighbors have been keeping you up.”

Jungkook turns red and looks away. Rose takes the opportunity to slide his iced coffee across to him and he takes it with a smile that makes your heart melt. You watch the exchange with more focus than you probably should, and the food is forgotten in lieu of your future husband right there in front of you for the first time in days.

“I guess I could,” Jungkook eventually says, eyes darting all over. They rest on you every few minutes before quickly flying away, and it makes you even more self-conscious of the stain on your shirt and the way grease has no doubt pooled around your mouth. You grab a napkin to try to clean yourself up as Jungkook continues. “I just don’t know if I could focus here, y'know, there’re a lot of…distractions.”

The silence that follows the statement is deafening, only broken by the quiet huffs of the guy building a castle in the corner.

Jungkook turns even redder and ruffles the back of his hair. It’s impossibly cute and you’re halfway to offering to ruffle it for him, either between his sheets or in the alley out back, when Jimin cuts you off.

“Well, you should consider it, at least. I always have the best times here, even with all the distractions.” Jimin sips at his coffee as he speaks and you get the very distinct sense that he’s teasing Jungkook about something you don’t know. The younger boy just smiles and gives a quick bye to Jimin and Rose. You like to think his smile softens as he looks at you, and the way he says your name as he waves will forever be embedded into your mind.

He’s gone before you can respond and you’re glad, sure you must be at least as red as the strawberry syrup. Jimin whirls on you the second Jungkook is out of sight, Rose doing her best to pretend she isn’t mortified for you.

“I cannot believe that you didn’t tell me - me - that the guy you’ve been pining after all these years is Jungkook.” Jimin sounds scandalized and betrayed and his face just makes you think of- “Top Ten Anime Betrayals, really.”

“Fuck, this is exactly why I didn’t want you to know! I used his codename for a reason.” You whine, dropping your head to the countertop with a resounding thud.

“Oh, yes, because Dumb DumbDook is oh-so-subtle,” Rose mutters. You ignore her.

“I could have been doing wingman work this whole time, though! Imagine how much further along you’d be if I’d been able to hype you up every time I hang out with him. You’d be able to talk to him, five words at least.” You smack Rose when she laughs.

“No, absolutely not. There’s no way it’s gonna happen, Jimin, I can’t set myself up for that failure.” You shake your head and go back to your food, though you’re much less angry after seeing your weeb. “Besides, we’ve got like…nothing in common, what would we even talk about?”

“Are you serious?” The deadpan is what catches your attention, and when you glance up, the look Jimin is giving is scathing. “I’ve heard you gush about his nerd rants, alright, you said yourself you could listen to him talk for weeks without getting bored of hearing his voice.”

“Conversations are a two-way street, Jimin. What the fuck could I contribute to that?”

“Uh…you’re kidding me, right? You didn’t see that face he made while you were doing your whole 'I’m gonna shit talk the ref because he made a call I didn’t like’ thing.”

“It was bullshit and you know it, he never would’ve done that shit for the other side.”

“Point stands, dude. Kook could listen to you go off about your sports shit for just as long as you could with his anime shit. I’d put money on it.”

“You’re delusional, Park, but I’m gonna let you live in this fantasy world because it’s nice to have company here.” He scoffs but doesn’t press the topic, which you’re thankful for. Instead, you fish your study guide out of your bag and hand it to him so he can quiz you about the test you have in four hours.

It seems that Jungkook takes Jimin’s word as law because he starts to show up more and more often. At first, it was just the coffee shop, where he would order his iced black and then leave with a shy smile that had you melting. Then he was at the library at the same time you were, one table over and typing furiously away at his laptop. You assumed it was for a class until he disappeared and returned with a printed copy and you caught the “Neon Genesis Evangelion: A New Order, Chapter Five” at the top.

You won’t lie, you did judge him just a bit for that because you don’t even know anything about the show but no way in hell would you be caught dead printing your fanfic on wireless school computers when cloud hacks are a thing.

He appears at your favorite takeout place, too; not that he saw you since you dove behind a fish tank to avoid getting caught. You’d watched carefully through the water as he waited, looking around in the meantime as if in search of something. He almost looked dejected when he left, though you didn’t know why until you got your food and found out they were out of crab rangoon like you hadn’t just been playing peekaboo with one in the fish tank for twenty minutes.

The thing that really gets you, though, the one that grinds your gears, is how he makes the coffee shop his thing. He just keeps showing up, night after night, and while at first he just left with his coffee, he apparently decided that wasn’t enough, because now he stays. He parks himself at the corner table near the outlet and taps away at his laptop while you try to do any semblance of work. He’s so distracting. He makes the most adorable faces - the brow furrow and slight frown when he’s focused and trying to figure something out, the clenched jaw with tongue in cheek when he’s irritated or frustrated, the cute ass bunny smile that makes you want to jump off a bridge and/or push him off a bridge.

Honestly, if you’re being truthful, you could’ve gotten used to that. He’s quiet and doesn’t talk much and even though you can feel him nearby like a sunflower to the sun, you could’ve managed eventually.

The issue is that his nerd friends start joining him, and they are not quiet. They are loud and argumentative and enjoy debating their dweeb things and they especially enjoy dragging Jungkook into said dweebates, if you will. Which in and of itself is not terrible. You’ve had a literal debate team in here practicing, you’re accustomed to that kind of thing.

No, the issue is that Jungkook is like the king weeb. He seems to know everything about everything complete with sources to back it up and even if he doesn’t know something he can either find out in ten seconds or he can bullshit his way to being right. And it’s so goddamn sexy. He just fucking…owns the other nerds, no matter what the subject is, and he’s so confident and sure and he gets sassy with them when he knows he’s right and they’re wrong. The body language, the expression on his face, the way he just stomps them into the dirt…it gets you hot and bothered every fucking time, and it’s a problem, because you’re at work. It is not socially acceptable to kidnap someone into the break room to fuck their brains out because they just won an argument about whether Yu Gi Oh or Pokemon was a more successful trading card game.

It’s made even even worse because Jungkook has started to pay attention to your rants. Every time you have a game or watch one with the team, you and Rose spend at least part of your shift talking about the ups and downs, what can be improved, what you specifically need to work on and how you can do it. One night the two of you spent upwards of an hour debating whether Lang Ping or Mireya was a better overall player and why, and when you finally stopped to restock the coffee beans, Jungkook was staring at you with a look in his eyes that you couldn’t place.

Of course, that was when you turned and hid in the storage room for the rest of your shift, but the point fucking stands.

Jeon Jungkook is a menace and he is taking over your life and you really should be more mad about it. It almost comes to a head when Jimin drags you to a swim meet, which you have attended exactly zero times in your entire life because who the fuck cares about swim meets.

“Trust me,” He had pleaded. “I want to go to support some friends, but I’m gonna be bored if I have to sit alone on the bleachers.” You’d eventually caved when he promised to buy you food, and now your ass was planted on the most uncomfortable stand seats you’ve ever been on and you were about to pop a blood vessel because Jimin was being so fucking infuriating about everything. He’d pulled you straight from practice, not letting you change or shower or anything, and he’d been trying to goad you into a debate the entire time you’d been waiting for the meet to start. It was legitimately starting to get you riled up, even as you stretched your legs out, thighs spread wide as your fingers massaged the muscles in your familiar post-game routine.

“For the last fucking time, Jimin, no, the Canada/Mexico save was not better than the fucking Italy/France save!” He rolls his eyes, but he opened this can of worms so now he has to suffer with you. “It was flashier, sure, with the sliding and the moving of the barriers, but the Italy/France save was more technically sound and less likely to result in any kind of ref interference. They were both good, sure, but there is no way you can truly believe that the flashier and less technically sound and less safe of the two is actually better.”

“Oh, your boyfriend’s waving,” Jimin says as he smiles and waves, eyes turning into crescents as he does.

“What? I don’t have a-” You stop when you look. You really should have expected this because life is a cruel mistress and the universe itself is even crueler, but here you were. Rendered speechless by the sight of Jungkook. In swim pants. Shirtless.

“You’re drooling,” Jimin comments dryly.

“Fuck off, it’s not my fault he’s sculpted by the gods.” You don’t even bother to look at Jimin, too focused on the way Jungkook’s back flexes as he pulls himself out of the water. Time legitimately slows, water falling off of him and trailing down abs you did not know were there, and your heart honest to God stops beating. “What the fuck is he even doing here?”

“He’s on the swim team,” Jimin smirks and calls Jungkook over before you can shove your hand over his mouth. “Kook-ah, good luck! You’re gonna do great!”

“Thanks, hyung,” Jungkook says with an excited grin as he jogs over. You don’t think you take a single breath in the five minutes they chat. Your chest may actually explode, and you’re tempted to dive into the pool not two feet away to cool off. Jungkook steps back like he’s going to leave, giving you a small smile as he does.

“Wait, Jungkook, remind me, how did you get into swimming? Someone was curious,” Jimin nods ever so subtly to you but you can’t even find the strength to be upset because Jungkook’s chest is right there and you want to run your tongue along his muscles.

“Oh, there’s actually this anime called Free! I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, it’s really good, but it’s about these swimmers. They complete and a lot of it is them learning how to get better at their techniques so I thought, 'well, that can’t be that hard can it?’“ You let out a quiet sob. He’s just…you clench your fist in your lap and sigh. He’s just such a fucking nerd. Jungkook shoots you a somewhat worried look but continues. “It’s how I learned archery and boxing, too. I saw them in manga and got really interested and figured if the characters can do it, why can’t I?”

“God, that’s so fucking nerdy,” You mutter. It doesn’t register that you spoke out loud until you see Jungkook’s reddening face and hear Jimin’s soft choke. “In a good way! I mean, I think it’s…it’s really awesome that you just saw it and did it, that’s really…” Don’t say sexy. “…cool.”

Jungkook stares at you, cheeks reddened, and you struggle not to start digging your own grave here and now in the middle of this indoor pool area. You’re about to stand and do exactly that when Jungkook’s face brightens and his nose crinkles and the most blinding grin you’ve ever seen in your life takes over his face as his shoulders bunch up. Your eyes are probably actual fucking hearts now, it’s easily the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen on a human male as tall and buff as he is, and it kind of makes you want to shove him in the pool.

You really don’t have to, though, because he just shakes his head and turns to go back to the swimmer’s benches or whatever they’re called in swimming. He’s ruffling the back of his hair again and watching the ground, but he keeps turning back to beam at you and Jimin. You see it before Jimin does, and both of you start to call for him when his heel slips and he falls completely back into the water.

Every face in the area turns to look at where Jungkook is surfacing, wiping his face and slicking his hair back out of his face. The sight of it nearly sends you into heart palpitations because you honestly didn’t think he could get more fucking attractive but you were wrong. You force yourself to calm down because Jimin is too busy rolling on the ground beside you to be of any use in resuscitating you if your heart actually gave out.

“Ah, nani,” You hear Jungkook mutter as he climbs out of the pool and you wish you had a brick to hit yourself with because of course, of fucking course, he looks so fucking good and is so fucking bone-meltingly hot and still says weeb shit like ‘ah, nani’ when he falls into a goddamn pool.

You’re honestly legitimately fucked and the fact that you don’t even care anymore says a lot more about you than you want it to.

It all actually comes to a head nearly a week after the swim meet. The sight of a wet and dripping and half-naked Jungkook doesn’t leave your mind, forever burned into your retinas, but even more wonderful is the shy, bashful Jungkook that greets you the next day at the coffee shop. It’s almost like he thinks you’re going to tease him, as if he didn’t see you shoving your whole mouth full of junk while cursing out a ref, as if he didn’t fully hear you tell him ‘your problem!’ with a happy grin and death in your eyes the first time he came into the shop.

It’s just…it’s so fucking cute that you physically cannot contain it anymore, and you find yourself bemoaning your state of perpetual adoration with Jisoo and Rose while you all shower after the latest match.

“I’m just going to suffer for the rest of my life aren’t I?” You say, speaking louder than you typically would in order to be heard over the several showerheads currently running. “It’s too much for my heart to take, absolutely too much, he’s too fucking…ugh, clenches fist, he’s too fucking cute.”

“Did you just verbalize the ‘clenches fist’ meme?” Rose shoots from her own stall. You shoot a face at the wall separating you, not that she can see it. “Listen, you know how I feel about this. You need to make a move because that boy never will. He’s a mess.”

“Wow, who else do we know that’s also a mess at all times for the guy they’ve liked for years?” Jisoo comments from her own shower across the way. You groan and kick your stall door, which only results in a muffled curse and you cradling your toe as you balance precariously on one foot.

“Do not injure yourself, we have a tournament next weekend,” Rose says offhandedly. You huff.

“Why would I even make a move? He’s got…Hatsune Miku and anime girls and shit.”

“Oh, of course,” Rose says. “I forgot, every guy would willingly give up a gorgeous, real-life girl willing to fuck him senseless for a pretty cartoon. Silly me.”

“What I don’t get,” Nayun calls from the locker room proper. “Is why you think he isn’t interested. He gets a chub every time he so much as looks at you, and don’t think Jimin didn’t tell me about the swim meet. The boy fell into a pool.”

“Yeah, because he’s a goddamn idiot.” You shake your head and wash the conditioner from your hair.

“What if we dare you to do it?” Rose’s voice echoes from too close. You turn and see her silhouette against the plastic shower curtain. She takes your confused silence as permission to continue. “Seriously, if we dare you to ask him out, will you?”

“What the fuck,” You say, sticking your head out of the curtain to level a glare at her. “I’m not ten years old, why the fuck would I do something just because you dare me to?”

“Bet, then,” Jisoo says as she wraps her hair in a towel. Your eyes must be wide as saucers because she laughs. “Bet on it. If the boys lose this game, you have to ask him out.”

“No no,” Rose says, and a familiar and all-too-dangerous grin spreads on her face. “If the boys lose this game, you have to confess. Do the gift and the letter and the whole fucking anime thing for him. If they win, we’ll drop it, and listen to your moaning and groaning for the rest of forever without complaint or comment.” Jisoo and Nayun look much too excited at the prospect, but you’ve been watching the boys play all season.

“What kind of bet is that? The boys haven’t lost a game all season.”

“Then you don’t have anything to worry about, do you?” Rose says, grinning as she saunters over to put her street clothes on. “Five minutes before game start.” You curse and rush to finish your shower, determined not to run laps for being late again.

As fate would have it, you do have reason to worry, because apparently, the rival university recruited some fucking professional athlete super mutants or some shit. It’s a close game, the boys only losing by one, but with the level of skill they’ve been playing with all season, it should’ve been an easy win.

And yet.

You’re standing outside the boys’ locker room, waiting patiently for Jimin. It’s a routine you got into when you first met, just after you’d both joined the respective teams. He would wait for you and you would wait for him, as long as it took, especially after a loss. You’re still in shock, still reeling from the game itself. You would almost think Jimin had found out about the bet and thrown the game, just to get you to shut the fuck up about Jungkook, if you didn’t know him.

If you didn’t see the dedication he put into the game, the perfection he expected of himself and his team. It rivals even Rose’s, and you can hear him yelling from where you stand, slamming what is probably his fist into a locker several times before he falls silent. As much as you had riding on this game, as pissed as you are that you lost the bet, you know it’s minuscule in comparison to the way Jimin feels, and you can’t even summon up enough energy to fool yourself otherwise. You’ve known him too long.

When he finally does emerge, you help wrap his knuckles with a clean bandage and ruffle his hair. “It’ll be alright, Park,” You tell him, quiet. He doesn’t say anything, just nods, and you sling your arm around his shoulder to lead him to your car. He’s quiet the rest of the night, even as you eat shitty fast food burgers in your car, even as he sits at the counter at the coffee shop, textbook open in front of him but not reading it.

“So I bet the girls that I would do an anime confession for Jungkook if you lost, you wanna help me plan it?” You ask him towards the end of your shift, long after said dork is gone from the shop. It’s the only time you see Jimin smile all night, but it’s worth it for the way his eyes crinkle and he starts outlining ideas.

“Did you even sleep last night?”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Jimin responds as he chugs the rest of his coffee. Calling it coffee is generous, if you’re honest because it smells like he put twenty espresso shots in a cup and added some sugar. You force back a gag and shudder at the thought. “Everything’s in place?”

“This isn’t a bank heist, Jimin, I’m giving him a fucking box and a letter.” Even behind sunglasses you can tell the look he’s giving you is withering. “Whatever, yes, everything’s in place.”

“Good. Target sighted. Commence mission.”

You huff, grumbling as you move forward to the door. Of the cafe. Where you work. Where Jungkook is sitting, surrounded by his dork friends and heatedly arguing about something you no doubt have no clue about. Looking absolutely delectable, despite just being in a regular ass fucking jacket and a beanie that almost matches his skin and his hair looks so soft that you want to rub your face in it and also maybe bury your fingers in it while he’s between your legs.

You open the door and are immediately hit with the sound of Rose choking on her drink, the sudden conversation about which dps character is better - what the fuck that means, you don’t know - screeching to a halt, and every single person in the shop staring at you. Which is only like three people that aren’t Rose, Jungkook, Jimin, or the six people around Jungkook, but still. You force yourself not to throw up and move, cursing the itchy and uncomfortable dress the entire way.

Really, it was Jimin’s fault. You’d been brainstorming ways to confess and how to make it so perfectly Jungkook that he at least had to respond. He’d been the one to suggest dressing up as Hatsune Miku, which you, of course, nixed immediately. You weren’t about to spend who knows how much on a fucking wig and costume of one of the most popular cartoon characters of the modern age, not when you were only going to use it one fucking time.

So here you fucking are, dressed up like god damn Haruhi Fujioka, in an itchy yellow dress that doesn’t move where it should and feels like fucking sandpaper against your skin, that Jimin just happened to have on hand, like that wasn’t super fucking weird, and now everyone at your place of employment is staring at you and the small white box in your hands with a little pink envelope on top of it and you can hear Rose’s muffled laughter as you step further into the shop.

You stare at the ground as you walk, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible. It doesn’t take more than a few steps before you’re staring down at Jungkook’s Timbs. You take a deep breath, and then another, and then another before you look up. He’s openly gawking, jaw nearly on the floor as he looks you up and down. Not a single soul is making a noise in the shop, so your voice rings out loud clear as you say–

“My chest hurts when I think about this person. When this person is happy, I am happy. When he smiles, I feel like crying. I distinguish his voice better than other people’s. I think this person is respectable. I want to become this person’s strength. I have scored more than 80 points, and it’s official. I-” You stop, cursing the fact that you’re doing this at three in the fucking morning on your day off in your workplace all because of a fucking bet and the fact that you couldn’t shut up about Jungkook’s stupid fucking face for more than two minutes without being in danger of combustion. “I like him, and I hope that he feels the same.”

You shove the white box into his hands and turn on your heel. Without looking back, you march out the door, grabbing Jimin on the way even as Jungkook calls after you. You keep going, walking quicker than you ever have to get to your apartment as fast as possible. Jimin just laughs as he follows you.

“I can’t believe you actually did it, holy shit. I hope he likes the chocolates, you worked really hard on them.”

“This is going to end up on the internet, I just know it, and I’m stating right now that this was not how I ever wanted to fucking tell him.” Jimin laughs again and hands you the coffee Rose had made you. When you finally make it back to your apartment, he helps you take the dress off and gets the pint of ice cream out of the freezer so you can wallow in peace.

“You don’t even know what he’s going to say,” Jimin protests, though he heaps his own spoon with ice cream in the process.

“I walked up to him in a jank cosplay of a shojo manga character and confessed my fucking love for him, Jimin.” He balks at the look you give him. “I don’t care how much of an otaku he is, he’s gonna think I’m fucking weird.”

“Well, don’t count yourself out just yet, alright?” Jimin ruffles your hair and you swat at him. “You never know. Maybe he’s really into Ouran and you just don’t know it.” You groan and bury your face in a pillow in an attempt to smother yourself. It doesn’t work.

It still hasn’t worked the next day when you wake up around noon to find Jimin gone and your dishes done for you. You grumble about it since you had every intention of doing your own dishes, but you send him a quick ‘thanks for washing my grime bitch’ because no matter how capable you are, you never want to do them.

It’s later that night when you’re fresh out of the shower and getting ready to head to your practice except for the fact that you can’t find your fucking keys that there’s a knock on your door. You open it without looking and dive back into the couch, bent nearly in half while you dig through the cushions. “Hey, Nayun, I’m almost ready, I just have to find my keys. I think Jimin threw them somewhere last night, after that fucking debacle at the shop-” A choked noise that definitely does not sound like Nayun reaches your eyes and you bolt upright, eyes wide.

Jungkook stands in the doorway to your apartment, wide eyes darting up from where he most definitely was staring at your ass and his face bright red. “Jimin gave me your address. Um…can we talk?”

You really want to say no. You want to tell him that no, you can’t, because you have volleyball practice, as he can tell from your uniform, and you absolutely cannot be late because Rose will literally use your entrails to make a new net.

Instead what comes out is, “Sure!”

You wave him in and close the door behind him, shooting off a quick text to Rose to let her know you might be late or may not show up at all, you’re not really sure because motherfucking Jeon Jungkook just showed up at your door. All you get back is a string of the cry-laughing emojis, and you curse whatever deity decided she should walk this earth with mortals.

“So,” Jungkook says. It’s long and drawn out, like he doesn’t really know where to go from here, but you’re distracted because he looks so good. Matching grey hoodie and sweats that are just the right side of baggy, standard Timbs, hair pushed to the side slightly to show off a bit of forehead. God, what is the world coming to that you’re this worked up over some fucking forehead?

“So,” You echo.

“Did you mean those things you said yesterday?” You hesitate and he takes it as an answer in itself. “Listen, I…I get it, y’know? You’re this super cool volleyball star, and I’m a big nerd who swims, haha, let’s tease the kid about his crush, but…it didn’t really seem like you were teasing. And now I’m confused because I can’t tell if you actually meant any of that or if you were just…dared to do it.”

“I was. Kind of. It was a bet, actually.” Jungkook’s face falls and you wince. “No, not like that, it wasn’t. Fuck, okay, it wasn’t a mean bet. I made a bet with the girls on the team that if the boys lost their game, then I would confess my feelings to you in some big dramatic anime way, like all that shit you like, right, and then the boys actually lost their game, so I had to do it, and then, wait.” Your brain catches up. “Did you say you have a crush on me?”

Jungkook’s face is still slightly pink, but he’s got the most tentative bunny smile on and he looks so unbearably fond that your heart is breaking. “I did,” He says softly. “So you really have feelings for me?”

“I’ve been in love with you for more than two years,” You blurt. You immediately want to take it back, want to suck the words back in before they can escape and embarrass you further, but it’s too late. “I mean…I was an orientation leader with Jimin right before my second year and you were in his group, and I saw you talking to some people and you were just really super cute and you have a really nice smile and I was kind of hooked and then later that year we were both at the dining hall and I was sitting near you and this guy said something about some anime and you were all, ‘really, because if you’d bothered to watch the show then you’d know blah blah blah’ and it was the single hottest anime takedown I’ve ever seen.”

Jungkook is silent through your babble, though his smile just grows and he fluffs the back of his hair. He looks around your apartment briefly, like he’s looking for words, and he’s got the prettiest flush on his face and you want to kiss it but he hasn’t said anything.

“I went to your first volleyball match that year, and you spiked a ball into a girl’s face,” He admits. You remember that match, mostly because- “And then you argued with the ref for almost ten minutes about whether or not you deserved a penalty for it because technically she was the one that tried to hit the ball with her face, you hadn’t tried to hit her in the face. I’ve never been so turned on by sports in my entire life.”

“I once spat water out my nose because you said hi to me in the dining hall.”

“I fell into that pool because you looked really fucking hot in your uniform and I couldn’t process the fact that you thought my anime shit was cool.”

“I want to lick your abs.”

He stops at that, and for a second, for a single second you think maybe you went too far, but then he’s glancing around at the apartment as if he’s actually looking for something now. “Is there anyone else here?” He eventually asks. You can’t even finish shaking your head before he’s on you, pressing his mouth to yours in a feverish kiss.

You want to say that it was soft and sweet and gentle at first, but it wasn’t, at all. The two of you had too much pent up sexual frustration for that. Instead, his lips move against yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect, and his hand on the back of your neck is unforgiving as he tilts your jaw to get deeper into your mouth.

“Fuck, Kook,” You moan, hands already roaming along his sweatshirt. “Please take it off, I’m begging you.” He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling against your lips and it sends a wave of arousal crashing through you even as he strips his hoodie off to reveal nothing underneath. You feast your eyes on the muscles he keeps hidden away, hands hesitating as they start to run along the skin. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind, seems to actually bask in it, and he chuckles again as he lets his hands fall to your hips.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?” He whispers in your ear, and you find yourself shaking at the way it feels. Erotic and sensual and hot as fuck, you want to return the favor, but you find yourself at a loss.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?” You ask, pushing against his chest and walking back with him until his knees hit the couch. “Do you know how often I’ve thought of this?” You push again and he falls back onto it, hands coming to grip your thighs as you straddle him, and you make sure to grind your hips against his as you move to whisper into his ear. “How often I’ve touched myself thinking of you?”

Jungkook moans, and you want to etch the sound into your fucking skin, it’s absolutely glorious. He says your name like it’s a curse and you’ve never wanted someone more. You grind yourself against the stiffness you can feel through his sweats, your own volleyball shorts leaving little to the imagination. You’re absolutely soaked, and you know it’s going to be a bitch to wash but you could not give less of a fuck right now.

He rolls his hips up to meet yours and it’s your turn to moan, hands coming up to brace on his shoulders as your tongue slides along his neck and down to his throat. His breath hitches when you graze the skin there with your teeth, so you repeat the action. His hands tighten at your hips and slide to palm your ass; you never thought a guy’s hand on your ass would feel as good as it does, but you also never thought you’d be making out with Jeon Jungkook on your couch instead of going to practice.

“Fuck, Kook,” You moan into his mouth as he slides his right hand up your shirt to cup your breast. It’s more difficult than it usually would be, as you wear your sports bras to practice, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. “Need you.”

“Don’t wanna fuck you on your couch yet,” He replies between the slide of his tongue against yours. “Your room, wanna make you come in your bed first.” Your legs tremble at the thought and you push yourself up. It’s hard to stand, your legs are wobbly, but Jungkook doesn’t even seem to notice it as you turn. His chest is pressed against your back immediately, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady while the other gropes your ass. His mouth is harsh on your neck and you can feel the bruises forming but at this point, you don’t even care.

You press yourself into him, and you can feel him. He curves, you can already tell; the heat radiating from the hardness pressed into the swell of your ass is delicious, and another wave of wetness seeps into your shorts as you think about what it’s gonna be like with him inside.

“You have no idea what these shorts do to me,” He whispers, nipping at the skin of your neck one last time before he slaps your ass - hard. You yelp, more in surprise than anything, but before you can say anything he’s pushing at your hips to force you through the apartment.

You’ve only made it to your bed faster once before this, when you thought you were being chased by an ax murderer that turned out to be a coat rack.

Jungkook isn’t gentle when you get to your room. He doesn’t even pause, just flips you around and shoves you onto the bed. It shouldn’t be nearly as hot as it is, and you’re quivering a little because of it. He slides between your legs, hands running slowly up your thighs, and it seems that now he’s decided to take his time.

His touch is feather-light against your skin. You can barely feel his hands as they slide up your thighs and over your hips, around your waist, and between your breasts, but you can’t ever deny where they are. You’re hyperaware of him, and the smirk on his face tells you that he knows it. The competitive side of you, the one that makes you so fucking vicious during games, swells; he needs to know you’re not one to take it lying down, and he needs to know now.

Your legs move up around his waist and you push, using all your weight to flip the two of you so he straddles you once more. He’s rock solid against your ass and you grind back into it. His hands slide along your waist again and he pouts a little.

“Wanted to taste you,” He whines, fingers dipping just below the waistband of your shorts. You hook your thumbs in alongside his and pull, letting the material slide down just enough to tease.

“So do it,” You tell him. He looks confused for a second before recognition washes over him. His dick twitches behind you, but you pay it no mind. You rise up enough to slide your shorts off, a true feat of excellence considering how tight they are, and when you settle back down on your knees, his tongue runs across your slit. You gasp at the feeling and he takes this as permission to continue.

Whatever you expected him to be like in bed, every sexual fantasy you’ve ever had about him, none could ever live up to the reality of Jungkook’s tongue sliding between your folds to flick your clit. You moan, nails digging into your thighs.

“You like that, princess?” He asks, muffled by your thighs and pussy. You nod before realizing that he may not be able to see you.

“Yes, I do,” You tell him, and your nails dig in harder when he flicks it again. He continues, tongue darting out to tease you but not giving you enough to get you where you want to go. You growl, and he laughs.

“Maybe you should be kitten instead if you’re going to growl at me.” You shudder at the name, and when you look down with red cheeks, he has one brow raised. “Really? Kitten?”

“Shut up, I know you have a Hatsune Miku body pillow,” You tell him. He looks ready to protest but you lower yourself so his lips brush your folds. He takes the hint, thankfully, and lets his hands curl up to grip your hips. “Put that fucking mouth to work, Jungkook, or so help me-” You’re cut off by an unexpected moan. He slides his tongue along you once more, from clit to hole, and you whimper.

You can literally feel the smirk against your pussy and you rock down onto him. He laps up your juices, swirling his tongue around your clit and back down to your hole. You grind your hips down into his mouth, desperate for more friction, and you feel soft breaths against you as he chuckles. You whine and he takes pity, angling himself better before sliding his tongue tantalizingly slow into you. You clench around him and are left unsatisfied. As wonderful and skilled as it is, it’s not nearly big enough to do what you need it to. Still, it feels damn good as he thrusts it in and out of you, good enough that when he starts to pull away, your hands dart down and tangle in his hair to keep him right where he is. You can feel your orgasm coming, it’s so close you can taste it, and when he slides a finger over your clit, you break.

Your hips stutter in their rhythm and you slide yourself to the side so he can breathe properly once more. He’s got a grin on his face and looks entirely too pleased with himself. He moves to lay between your legs, pressing soft kisses to your torso and thighs with every breath, and the fondness in your chest swells.

You can see him straining his sweats, it has to hurt, and yet here he is, showering you with kisses and sweet nothings instead of immediately trying to get off himself. What a refreshing change of pace.

“Thank you,” He mutters with a laugh, and you realize you’d been talking out loud. “I do really, really want to fuck you, though.” He trails kisses up your neck to your ear and you shiver. “Would you like that, kitten?” You whine and arousal courses through you once more. He trails kisses back down and unsnaps your bra; you would have to remember to thank Jisoo for suggesting you get a clasped sports bra, because it’s never been helpful before but thank God you don’t have to try to peel yourself out of a regular one now.

Jungkook presses his lips against your nipple lightly, fingers ghosting over the other to stiffen it. “You didn’t answer me, kitten. Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want me to slide into that pretty pussy?” You whimper, doing your damndest to pull him far enough that you can grind against something that isn’t air, but he holds his body just far enough away that you can’t. He gives your nipple little kitten licks, his saliva making the air that much colder and your nipples that much harder.

“You’re so wet for me, kitten,” He mutters as he lets his free hand rest on your thigh, thumb swiping lazily over your hipbone. “Can you feel it? Because I can, even from here. You’re absolutely soaked, I could probably just slide right in. Do you want that, kitten? You want me to pound that little pussy of yours until you can’t walk straight?”

“Fuck, Kook, please,” You moan. Your hands slide along his body, looking for any kind of purchase and finding none. He’s enjoying himself too much, and you’re too desperate right now to do anything about it. “Please, Kook, please fuck me already. I swear to god, I’m gonna send your fucking Evangelion fanfic to your professors if you don’t get in me soon.”

“How do you even know about that?” He asks, momentarily stunned out of character. You give him a satisfied grin.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You lift your hips off the bed completely, letting them brush lightly against him. He stifles a moan and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, your entire body shivers with delight; he’s still that dumbass weeb but fuck, he looks like he’s going to absolutely wreck you.

“I’m gonna fuck this slut pussy of yours until you’re gushing, you hear me, kitten?” He says, kicking his sweats off. You don’t even get a chance to appreciate the sight of his dick before he’s lining up with your hole, the tip brushing against your clit in the process and making you moan. “I’m gonna fucking pound your pussy until it’s so fucking full you can’t remember your own name, let alone random shit about me. You’re gonna be begging for my cock, all day every day.”

“Fuck, Kook, yes, please, I want that,” You grind your hips up again and he moves, sliding inside of you in one easy movement. The stretch burns at first; he’s fucking huge, and he does curve, and it presses against every inch of you in such a phenomenal way that you never want him to stop. Your eyes must have rolled back in your head because when you open them, Jungkook has one hand stroking your cheek as the other supports his weight.

“Are you good?” He asks, soft and gentle. You nod, rolling your hips in a quick circle to let him know how good. He lets out another groan, soft and muffled, as if he’s containing himself. “You’ll let me know if you need me to stop?” You nod again. “Fuck, kitten, you’re so good for me.”

He starts to move then, dick dragging against your walls as he pulls back out slowly before slamming back in. Your moan echoes through the apartment, but all you hear is the soft call of your name from his lips as he repeats the motion. You raise your hips to meet his thrusts and it only takes a couple of minutes before you’re both panting. Your legs lock around his hips to bring him in deeper and he moans at the contact. He sits back on his knees and brings you up with him.

You’ve wanted to ride his dick for years, and it’s so much better than you ever thought. Every drag of his cock has you clenching, every thrust with this new angle has him hitting your g-spot and you’re seeing stars. He’s got one hand on the small of your back to keep you steady and the other on the back of your neck so he can bring you in close and kiss you deeply, whispering sweet nothings in your ear when he has to breathe.

The two of you move in tandem, hips gyrating against each other’s as you chase that high together. Having him inside of you feels like heaven and you never want it to stop. He starts to pull out and you shake your head, slamming your hips down onto his with renewed vigor.

“Gonna cum,” He huffs, and you press a kiss to his cheek.

“Good,” You tell him. His grip on you tightens and he slams into you harder. “Fucking cum inside me, Kook, please.” He moans, loud and unashamed, as he hits deeper inside of you with more force than you expect. You’re bouncing on his dick now, there’s no other word for it, and you fucking love it.

“Fuck, kitten, gonna fill you up so good,” He mutters. You nod, feeling the pressure inside of you tighten. “Gonna paint you with it gonna cover your pussy with my cum, want you to feel me inside you for days. Fuck, take it, kitten, take my cum inside, all of it, don’t let a single drop fall out.” He slams into you, again and again and again. Your throat is raw from the screams, you’re pretty sure he has scratch marks on his back, but you can’t bring yourself to care because, fuck, he feels so good.

He slams into your g-spot again, at the same time he kisses you deep and moves his hand to rub against your clit, and your orgasm slams into you like a freight train. You can’t even say anything, moans swallowed up by Jungkook’s mouth, but he knows by the way you clench and spasm around his cock, you can tell, because it only takes a few more shallow thrusts and he’s over that edge with you. You can feel his hot seed settling inside, spreading to fill you completely.

He lays you back on your bed, gentle, and slides out. His cum starts to seep out of you, you can feel it on your thighs, and when you open your eyes, he’s staring at the sight.

“Is this…something to be worried about?” He eventually asks. You shake your head and tap your bicep.

“Implant,” You tell him. “We’re good.” He nods and leans forward, and you feel his finger slide up your slit once more, gathering all of his cum before he pushes it back inside of you. When he’s satisfied that you’re as full as can be, he lays down next to you and tugs you into a lazy embrace. You take his hand and lick it clean, surprised at the fresh wave of arousal that hits despite your exhaustion. He smiles, cute and bunny-like, with the nose scrunch and everything, and you let yourself get lost in it.

He traces invisible shapes on your skin with his hands, all over your thighs and belly and arms and chest, and it’s an intimacy you’ve never had before. You watch him, eyes following each curve he makes, and trying to figure out what he’s drawing.

“It’s not Hatsune Miku,” He eventually says. You raise your brows at him and he grins. “I don’t have a Hatsune Miku body pillow.”

“Oh,” is all you can say. “Well, then, I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

“It’s Nami from One Piece,” He admits. You roll your eyes and grab a pillow to smack him.

“This is why we can’t have nice things, Kook.”

“I disagree.”

“What do you mean, you disagree?”

“I’ve got you, don’t I?”

The blush on your face gives you away even as you suppress the smile, but Jungkook lets you pretend, content to continue drawing on you with his fingertips. It’s the first time you’ve felt content and at peace in two years, and - you can’t believe you’re about to think this - you’re glad you put on that fucking cosplay.

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Pretty in Pearls, Chapter 3 (Jankie) - Plastiquedoll

read on ao3 💄| previous chapters

A/N: hi! I was going to update earlie but things happened...... so here's a new chapter. I hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading it <3

-3-

It was late when they went back to their room, Jan had only two classes in the afternoon but Rosé had one in the morning, yet, they talked for what it felt like hours and Jan only stopped speaking to read Jackie’s message. She was very happy. During that day she had made several friends –something she couldn’t have imagined a week before- she had met some of her professors and attended a couple of classes so she wouldn’t feel as nervous the following day.

In the morning she heard cursing in whispers when Rosé’s alarm went off announcing she had to get ready to go to class. After the girl left, Jan had the room for herself. She laid in bed watching videos on Instagram for a while and then decided it was a good moment to take a shower and get a cup of coffee.

Tuesdays were her lightest days and she could get used to it. She felt fresh out of the shower, braided her hair, and put on some clean clothes before walking out of the dorms.

On her way out she crossed paths with Nicky and who seemed to be her roommate. The girl had orange long hair and a great amount of makeup on but that worked perfectly on her. She also wore high waist pants with a turquoise loose blouse and dangling earrings. Nicky looked as great as the day before with a mauve off-the-shoulder mini dress and a high ponytail.

“Jan!” She waved at her.

“Hi, Nicky! How are you?”

“I’m doing good, thank you.” She smiled at her. “This is Crystal, my roommate. Crystal, this is Jan, the friend I talked you about.”

“Hi!” Crystal greeted Jan with a lot of energy. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Crystal. Well, I kind of feel like I know you through your room.”

“Oh, God…” She blushed. “I’m not taking the One Direction poster off, I already told Nicky.”

“I swear Niall’s eyes follow me whenever I’m in the room.” Nicky shivered.

Jan giggled.

“I have to go, I’m already running late.” Crystal said while checking the time on her phone. “See you guys later.”

“Don’t forget your keys…” Nicky reminded her.

Crystal pulled a key set with tons of colorful keychains. “Never again. Bye, Jan.”

“Bye!”

After the girl left, Nicky looked at Jan. “You missed a great dinner yesterday.”

“Oh, I imagine but I needed to spend some quality time with my roommate. But I’m still craving Thai food since it was mentioned.”

“There’s no choice, we’ll have to go back soon.”

“Please.”

“Are you heading to class?”

“No, I have my Tuesday mornings free. I was getting some coffee, actually.”

“Ugh, lucky you. I have a class in thirty minutes. Do you mind if I get coffee with you?”

“Sure, that’s great because I was going to google where the café is, I have no idea.”

Nicky just smiled. “I’ll show you the way.”

They walked for a couple of minutes; Nicky pointed to the café’s exterior when they got closer. As soon as they got in the smell of freshly brewed coffee embraced them. Autumn was around the corner and college students demanding pumpkin spice lattes prematurely were flooding the place.

Luckily for them, the line moved fast and the barista quickly took their orders. Jan ordered decaffeinated –because she wasn’t technically allowed to drink coffee after that one incident on St. Patrick’s day- but she compensated it with a lot of sugar and whipped cream. Nicky, on the other hand, asked for an iced Americano.

While they were waiting sitting at a little table, Jan recognized the familiar figure of the one person from her hometown she so badly wanted to see.

“Oh my God…” She suddenly felt coy when he started walking in their direction.

“Janie!” He greeted the girl but his eyes went directly to Nicky who was unimpressed while on her phone.

“Hi, Nathan.”

The name rang a bell for the blonde girl who looked up.

“How are you doing?” He rested half of his arm on almost all the table’s surface.

“Oh you know… just chilling before classes. I have Tuesday mornings free.” She tried to sound chill, smooth even.

“Cool…” He kept staring at the other girl a little too much. “Who’s your friend?”

“Ah, yes… this is Nicky, she’s in the same dorm as I am… Nicky, this is Nathan, he’s…”

“A friend from New Jersey.” He extended his hand to shake Nicky’s but the girl glared at him.

At that moment, their names were called by the barista.

“I’ll get the coffee.” Nicky rushed to leave the table. “Salaud…” She murmured before going.

Jan was thankful because now she had some time to speak with Nathan alone.

“So how’s the-”

“Janie, your friend is smoking and she’s French or something, right? That’s hot. Do you think you could set us up?”

Jan’s spirit sank. She should’ve guessed.

“Uh… I don’t think she’d be interested. She’s already dating someone.”

“What a shame because she’s one hundred percent eye candy.” His gaze followed Nicky’s curves.

“Besides, I thought you liked that girl you met yesterday,” Jan mentioned shyly.

“Abby? She’s alright I guess but this is week one, I have to keep my options open, you know?” He shrugged. “Can’t wait to hit the baseball field next week again, huh?”

“Yes! I’m so excited about it, actually-”

He threw his backpack over his shoulder. “I gotta run, Janie.”

“Oh, okay… see you.”

“Tell your friend that if she ever needs a rebound…” He left, still looking in Nicky’s direction.

Jan tried to smile but she ended up with a weird grimace.

The blonde returned to the table when he was away.

“Here’s your drink…” She tried to put a real smile on the girl’s face but she failed. “Jan, what is it? Did he tell you something?”

“Oh, no… it’s nothing.” She took a sip of her sweet beverage but didn’t enjoy it as she intended. “It’s just Nathan being Nathan…”

Nicky bit her tongue to avoid telling her he seemed like an asshole.

Jan looked at Nicky, of course he’d be interested in her. She was beyond gorgeous and she was stylish as hell with her pretty dress and makeup while Jan had barely washed her face and put on the first pair of joggings and a graphic t-shirt she found in her drawers.

“I bought you a cookie.” She slid the little chocolate treat in front of her.

“Aw, Nicky… thank you.”

Nicky squeezed her shoulder.

“I have to go to class but I don’t want to leave if you’re feeling down.”

Jan shook her head. “No, I’m fine, really…”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep, I’ll go to the library or drop by the copy room to annoy Jackie a little.”

“She’s in class during the mornings, someone else is running the copy room in the mornings.”

Jan sighed. “The library is then.”

“Always exciting.” Nicky checked the time on her watch. “Now I really have to go. See you later, dear.” She blew a kiss in the air.

“For sure.” She smiled to show Nicky everything was alright even when it wasn’t.

But enough of being pitiful, she had a cup of coffee, a cookie, and the sun was shining outside. She had this.

The library turned out to be a great place to spend some spare time between classes. Jan met the librarian –Mrs. West- who was probably one of the sweetest people she had ever seen and she was kind enough to explain Jan the rules –besides keeping it low in the study and reading area- Jan walked directly to a free desk and pulled out her computer. She needed to check if she was registered correctly on her classes once again just to be sure and she had to revise if her teachers from the previous day had left some new reading –they did.

She read the two papers and prepared a little draft for the next class before she noticed, it was almost noon. Nicky had said Jackie had classes in the morning but maybe she was free already, so Jan pulled out her phone and typed a quick text.

To Jackie C.: Hi Jackie! Nicky told me you were in class I was wondering if you’re out already, I can drop by the copy room :D

The reply arrived a minute later.

From Jackie C.: I’m already out and heading to the copy room, I’ll be there in no time.

And with that, the girl picked up her things and walked following the map that was scribbled over. She rushed toward the copy room in a way that her former high school teacher would’ve scolded her for« running in the hallways». Finally, she opened the door of the room carefully.

“Hello…?” She walked in.

“I’m over here.” Jackie had a little closet in the corner open. “I’m picking some toner for the machine. I swear, every morning it’s the same, Yvie forgets to change it every time and I have to-”

Jackie smiled as soon as she saw Jan waving in front of her.

“Hi, there.”

“Hi! Thank goodness you’re out of class I was so bored… Well, I was being «productive» or something like that –I’m guessing it’s something college students aspire to be- but then the internet of the library started malfunctioning and I got distracted with the little T-Rex game –do you know which one? With his little jumps and tiny arms, it was so cute- and then I wasn’t being productive anymore so…”

“It’s so good to see you again.” Jackie shook her head.

“How was your morning?” She moved closer to the counter.

Jackie pointed at the chair next to her and Jan sat there.

“All of my classes are during the mornings; that’s how I get to work here after I’m done with them.” She explained while changing the copy machine’s toner. “On Tuesdays, I have this one class with a professor that absolutely despises everything I say because –and listen to this- «I try to push a gender agenda» on his classes.” She scoffed. “Only because they don’t mention women in art centuries ago it doesn’t mean that they weren’t there… it’s ridiculous.”

Jan listened to Jackie ranting for ten minutes about the class, the girl was fuming but there was something entertaining about seeing her mad and the way she gestured as if it was a Ted talk… not to mention she did it all while doing the maintenance work of the printers.

“I’m sorry, I really went off with it…”

“No! It’s okay. I don’t know much about art and listening to you is like actually taking a class… but more engaging because you’re pissed and it shows.”

“Yeah… I have to tone it down in class or that… professor… is going to fail me.” Jackie let a big sigh out of her chest. “Anyway, I’m sure Nicky told you about last night’s dinner…”

“Yes! I wanna eat Thai food so badly now… Nicky is great by the way, she’s very nice and helped me a lot with the dorm things. Thank you so much for introducing me to her and Jaida.”

“No worries. They all liked you the moment they met you anyway.”

Jan beamed and blushed a little.

“So, you met your roommate…”

“Oh, right! My roommate, Rosé, is great… we got along like, instantly and she’s a theatre major so now I’m sharing the dorm with a Broadway fangirl. It’s going to be fun.”

“Wait, isn’t that the girl with the pink hair? I’ve seen her a couple of times I think.”

“Yeah, she thought you were very serious.”

“Don’t tell anyone I’m nice, I have a reputation to keep.”

Jan giggled. “But you are nice! I can’t believe people think otherwise.” She snapped her fingers. “You know what, I’m having lunch with her right now. I have a class at one so I was going to head to the cafeteria, why don’t you come with me?”

“I’d love to but I have to stay a little longer before taking my lunch break. If you have a class at one you better hurry before it gets too crowded there.”

“Oh, that’s too bad… I’ll get going there but… text me later?”

“Sure.” Jackie smiled at her.

“Okay, have a nice day! See you later!” The younger waved on her way out.

“Bye, Jan.”

At lunch, Jackie sat with her friends and while she tried to finish reading a museum review of a new exhibition, she got a text message from Jan telling her how boring the class was. Jackie shook her head and replied back to her shortly after.

Widow was next to her chatting with Heidi, Jaida was sitting across the table typing on her phone until Nicky arrived so the quick smile that appeared on her face went unnoticed –thank goodness.

“Bonjour, mon rayon de soleil.” Nicky kissed her on the cheek.

“I’ll pretend I understood every word… hi, baby.” She kissed her back.

The blonde sat next to her and they shared a lovey-dovey look.

“I want what they have,” Heidi whispered while looking at their friends. “What does take to get a girlfriend here? I’m in the art department, it should be easier.”

Widow cackled.

“I thought you had retired from the dating world when Janelle Monáe blocked you on Instagram.”

“Okay, listen… I was nothing but respectful to Miss Monáe, I still don’t understand the reason behind that blocking but yeah…”

“Heidi you don’t want to date, you’re just horny.”

The girl gasped. “How dare you?”

“Because… you can’t keep your interest on one person for more than a week.” Jackie pointed.

“I think you’re better off single.” Widow agreed.

“Excuse me… I came here to have lunch and a lovely chat not to be attacked like this.” Heidi crossed her arms on her chest. “Unbelievable.”

They didn’t say a word.

“You may be right though…” She finally admitted.

“Oh! You know who should get a girlfriend…” Jaida glanced at the brunette in front of her.

Jackie sighed. “We’ve been through this yesterday… I already told you she’s out of the conversation.”

“I didn’t give any names though,” Jaida smirked. “You did that to yourself.”

Jackie blushed. “Whatever… I’m too busy to date anyway.”

“But you’d make an exception for a special someone, wouldn’t you?” Nicky pushed.

“She’s straight.”

“So it’s pasta until it gets hot and wet.” Heidi pointed.

“Heidi!”

The table burst into laughter.

“Enough with that, I’m serious. The last thing I want is Jan to feel awkward, she already has a lot on her plate.”

“Right, all jokes aside… I met the guy she pines after this morning…” Nicky started gossiping. “and my goodness he’s even worse than what I pictured… a jerk with capital letters. I think he was trying to get my number through Jan.”

They all made a disgusted sound in response.

“No fucking way…” Heidi’s mouth dropped.

“She deserves better and I don’t even know her personally.” Widow stated.

They agreed, especially Jackie who had seen the guy the day before breaking Jan’s heart in just a matter of seconds.

“Maybe meeting new people will help her seeing beyond his… spell?” Jaida raised an eyebrow.

“He’s not that charming, trust me.” Her girlfriend assured, basing her opinion on the –hopefully- only encounter they had. “But anyway… Crystal has classes until four…” She looked at Jaida with bedroom eyes. “would you like to take a nap with me?”

Jaida caught the hint instantly. “See y’all later, bitches.” She stuck out her tongue and both left the table.

“Maybe I am just horny.” Heidi reflected before sipping her apple juice.

“Be honest with me, do you hang out with us because you like us, or is it part of your sociology thesis investigation?” Jackie asked Widow.

“Bitch, you’ll never know.” She chuckled.

A week had passed and with that, Jan had established a little routine: in the mornings she would go to the library –sometimes on her own, sometimes with her roommate or one of her classmates-, she had lunch at the cafeteria in rotating schedules –as if she was the loving child of a divorced couple- during the afternoons she was at the copy room whenever she had some spare time and when Jackie was there and afterward she’d have dinner with her and her friends or with Rosé. They all ended up having dinner together on Friday night so Jan was secretly hoping the group would merge into one big supergroup.

She had also become close with Jackie’s friends including Widow of whom she had heard a lot but was formally introduced to a few days later and with Crystal, Nicky’s roommate who shared the struggles of being a freshman like her. Plus, she met one of Rosé’s friends from her musical comedy class as well, a girl called Lagoona that adopted Jan immediately and kept teaching her Spanish words.

On the weekend she watched cartoons wearing pajamas with the girls from her dorm in the lounge room and then completed some assignments for her classes with Crystal at the same place.

On Monday, however, she was extra excited –more than usual- because it was the day she was going to play baseball again. She could almost smell the grass of the field, the rubber of her sneakers, and the leather material of the ball… She could picture herself running around scoring like no other.

And because she was so thrilled, time seemed to pass slower than ever.

“Jackie…” She cried while sitting on her –now- regular reserved spot behind the countertop. “I still have to wait another two hours…”

“Two hours are almost nothing, c’mon.” The brunette was in the middle of copying a Shakespeare play for a group of students from the Literature department. “Besides, it’s not like it’s been years since the last time you played.”

“It’s been like two months.” She pouted. “Two long never-ending months.” She dragged the words to make emphasis on her sadness.

“But you survived.” Jackie pointed out before reaching for the staple on the shelf.

That day, Jackie was wearing a pleated plaid skirt with a knitted long sweater and mid-heel loafers. She moved smoothly in the limited space; Jan had memorized her moves by the time; she knew exactly when she had to lean back for the brunette to pass through while she mumbled something about Yvie not taking proper care of the machines or when she was fighting with the printer that didn’t mind for the students’ urgencies at all. She had also discovered that Jackie always hummed to California Dreamin’ no matter how often it played on the radio, that she liked gourmet jelly beans and that she had a stock of candy hidden somewhere -only she hadn’t found her secret spot yet.

“Hi, Jackie.” A girl hummed with a melodic voice as she rested her elbows on the countertop while batting her lashes overly.

Jackie, who was on her back stapling a final set of copies, took a deep breath as she recognized the owner of the voice right away.

“Hello, Vanessa.” She spun on her heels and faced the girl. “What can I do for you?” Her tone was deadpan.

Vanessa, the girl in question, was gorgeous with her long black hair perfectly curled, flawless makeup, and clothing; she was wearing a cropped pullover with the word «Angel» stamped on it a and pair of high-waisted jeans. She was tiny but she wasn’t scared of wearing high high-heels.

She flashed a dazzling smile as soon as Jackie turned around.

“Are you finally going to accept going on a date with me?” She blurted out.

Jan’s eyes got wide. Her type of courage was worth admiring, she was certainly fearless.

“No,” Jackie replied, coldly. “I’ve told you before; I’m not going to date you.”

Jan gasped but Vanessa didn’t even flinch. She just waved her hair and readjusted her pose.

Oh, she was about to say something, wasn’t she? Jan looked, expectant.

“Please…” She pouted. “Pretty please? You can’t say no to a pretty please.”

Jackie rolled her eyes. “There we go.” She shook her head and sighed. “Look, I’m not going to repeat the whole speech but if you have something for me to print or copy, I’m all ears.”

This time, Jan couldn’t keep it to herself. “Jackie!” She shouted and jumped off the chair.

The brunette turned toward her. “What? It’s Vanessa.” She said as if that was a fair justification.

Vanessa waved. “And who are you?” She looked at Jackie, then at Jan, and then at Jackie again. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“No.” Jackie blushed a little. “This is my friend, Jan. Jan, this is Vanessa she’s a sophomore that testes my patience since she was a freshman.”

“I worked very hard for that title.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Jan!” She shook her hand.

“Vanessa has an on and off long-distance relationship and she likes to flirt when she’s on the «off» side,” Jackie explained.

The girl shrugged. “Can you blame a girl for asking? I gotta try once in a while at least.”

Jan chuckled.

“Anyway, can you copy the marked pages of this textbook? I need it for class, you’ll be glad to know I didn’t come here exclusively to ask you out. Although…”

“Give me the book.” The brunette extended her hand to grab the object, Vanessa held it tightly for an instant but Jackie pulled it. “I’ll be done in a couple of minutes.”

“Thank you!” She smiled showing all her teeth. Then she turned back to Jan. “So Jan, is it…?”

“Don’t even try it!” Jackie yelled from the distance.

Once her shift was over, Jackie closed the copy room and walked around for a little before deciding to take a look at Jan’s baseball practice. She told herself it was okay to drop by, after all, she had been hearing about it all afternoon, she was curious now. But being honest, she had to ask around to find where the baseball field was –she didn’t even know their university had a women’s team before she met Jan- so she wandered through the corridors before finding the door that led to where they were playing.

The lights were on since their practice was after sunset and most students had classes during the day. The perimeter was surrounded by a chain-link fence so she guessed that was how close she could get to the field; she finally found a bleachers section -and she was one-hundred percent sure people smoked weed behind them.

She sat holding her purse against her chest. It seemed she made it just in time; it was Jan’s turn to bat. Even in the distance, Jackie had never seen the younger so focused on something as she was at that moment, it was like watching a completely different person. She moved into position and prepared.

She had the number eleven on the left sleeve of her striped uniform, purple socks on and a pair of shoes –already- covered in dirt. She adjusted her high ponytail under her cap before grabbing the wood bat with determination. Jan’s eyes were sharp as she tried to read into the pitcher’s moves.

Jackie had a shiver.

The pitcher threw the ball and she missed it, it went directly to the catcher’s glove. The brunette mouthed some curse. She had never been this invested in some sport.

Second attempt, she would get it this time. Jackie crossed her fingers, her heart was beating faster.

The pitcher threw the ball again and this time, it impacted against Jan’s bat making a thunderous noise that echoed everywhere. Jackie gasped, her eyes followed the girl’s figure as she ran as fast as she could before one of the players grabbed the ball from the ground. Now she knew her heart was about to break her ribcage, she couldn’t get herself to calm down. Jan was running and running like a roadrunner cartoon and she was about to make it when the players started passing the ball, maybe someone was going to catch her before she made it. But she was so close, just one more base to go. She ran, encouraged by her teammates, and drifted creating a cloud of dirt around the base.

She made it.

Home run.

“Yes! Yes!” Jackie cheered and raised her hands in the air.

Apparently, loud enough for the whole team to hear it.

Jan, who was bent over her knees, still out of breath due to her incredible race, grinned and waved as soon as she recognized Jackie. The brunette smiled back and clapped discreetly, even when she had just displayed such enthusiastic behavior.

The team -mainly the batter- had gained a new fan and the season hadn’t even started.

#rpdr fanfiction #jan sport #jackie cox #jankie #jaida x nicky #s12 #college au #lesbian au #slow burn #pretty in pearls #plastiquedoll #concrit welcome

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