#but anyway! emo au content finally happening!

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── PURSUIT // PROLOGUE

Series Synopsis: When your cousin goes missing right before he can challenge the Champion of your region, you must embark on a journey of your own in the hopes that one day, you might finally find him — wherever he may be.

Chapter Synopsis: Your cousin, Shoei, sets out on his journey, leaving you behind with a final gift as a farewell.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Nagi x Reader, Barou & Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2.5k

Content Warnings: pokémon au except i make the world emo and infest it with blue lockers, angst, character death, familial bonds, found families, male-female FRIENDSHIPS, a slow burn so insane the main love interest isn’t even in a solid amount of chapters, it’s my world i do what i want which means liberties are taken, near death experiences, this story is long bro literally everything happens in it the amount of arcs i have planned is insane, original characters because reader will NOT be the only girl i refuse to write in conditions like that

A/N: this is SUCH a niche crossover i’m actually crying but ykw at least it’s different from the typical aus LMAOOO anyways um please be sure to read the warnings and if you enjoy this then like…reblog or comment or send me an ask or smth HAHA (only if you want though i can’t control you)

tag list (send an ask to be added): @sharkissm

The last time you saw Shoei Barou, he was pressing a Pokéball in your hand. His backpack was slung over his shoulder, his typical scowl on his face, and his Houndour sat at his feet, wagging its tail at you. The surface of the Pokéball was glimmering, ruby on top and a pearly white on the bottom, and because you could not bear to look at him, you trained your gaze on the watery sunrise it reflected.

“She’s yours,” he said. “I registered her under your name.”

“Guess that makes me a trainer, too,” you said.

“Don’t start on your journey for a while,” he said. “Or else you’ll catch up to me. Wait until I’m good enough that I’m someone you want to chase after, and begin then.”

He was embarking on his journey later than usual, but you had no doubt that he’d quickly surpass those with five or even ten years of experience on him. Shoei was like that, and so was his Houndour. What they lacked in battle prowess, they made up for with dogged tenacity, and it was impossible to imagine either of the two struggling for any amount of time.

“I won’t,” you said.

“Good,” he said. “Look, she’ll probably be better off if you just leave her in her Pokéball until you start training seriously, so don’t worry about that.”

“Won’t she get bored?” you said. He shook his head.

“Being in the Pokéball is a kind of stasis for them. She’ll know the time has passed, but it won’t be the same as if she were actually living it. It’s better that way, trust me. She’s the destructive type, and I won’t be around to help you if she acts up,” he said.

“Ah,” you said. “I see. I’ll do as you recommend, then.”

He reached out and placed a hand atop your head. You swallowed, staring at the dirt path beneath your feet, the worn toes of your old sneakers, the frayed cuffs of your too-short jeans — anything but him. You couldn’t bear it if it was him.

“You’ll be okay,” he said. “Y/N.”

“Yes,” you sniffed, though you had sworn to him so many times that you wouldn’t cry.

“You’ll be okay,” he repeated. “I promise.”

“Yes,” you said again. His hand balled into a fist, and then he knocked it lightly against your brow. Unlike you, he was smiling, and you did your best to quell the trembling of your lower lip when you made eye contact with him.

“Hey, kid,” he said. “Enough with the bawling, okay? How am I supposed to call you my cousin when you’re like this? We can’t be related if you get so upset about every little thing. That’s not how it works.”

“I can’t help it,” you said, and then he sighed, hugging you tightly. His Houndour barked, rubbing his head against your calf, which was the only method the small Pokémon had of comforting you. “I can’t help it, I know I should be happy but—”

“Be happy,” he commanded you, letting you go and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Y/N L/N. Be happy. I’m going to be Champion one day, and that’s nothing to be sad about.”

“Will you come back home once you are?” you said.

“No,” he said. “No, of course not. I’ll be busy with the duties of the role. Have you seen how many television appearances Mr. Mikage does? But I’ll bring you there with me, you and your parents and mine, and all of us can live there together. Is that enough of a consolation?”

“Okay,” you said, even though it really wasn’t. But it’d be a cruelty to stop Barou, akin to clipping the wings of a Pidgeot and telling it to fly. He was as restless as his Houndour, who even now sat and stared out at the horizon instead of the home it was leaving behind. The both of them were turbulent, impossible to cage, and if one tried to hold them back, then they were little more than a brazen fool.

“I’ll see you later, Y/N,” he said. “Try not to be to sad without me, alright?”

The Pokéball was cold and heavy in your hands as you watched him and Houndour walk off. Neither of them turned back, not for a moment, and then they were over the crest of the shallow hill in the road which led to the nearby cliffs, disappearing from your line of sight for good.

“Y/N!” It was the same boy again. He had been bothering you since you both had entered secondary school, mostly because that was around the time that Shoei had begun his league challenge. Of course, he had obtained all of the gym badges in quick succession, but conferences were only held every four years, and so he had had to wait until the next one before he could attempt to storm through it and reach the Elite Four, hence the delayed interest in his talent.

“Hello,” you said. He had never bothered introducing himself to you, and you were at the point now where it would be awkward for you to ask, so you generally pretended like you recognized him and hoped your conversations never grew to be too long.

“Did you hear the news? I mean, he’s your cousin, so of course you did, but still, still, can you believe it?” he said.

“What are you talking about?” you said.

“Barou!” he said. At the mention of Shoei, your Pokéball grew warm against your hip, and your left hand instinctively flew to the thin chain around your neck. “He’s actually done it — he beat Noel Noa!”

“Noel Noa…the last Elite Four member, right?” you said. The boy nodded at you. He was grinning as hard as if it were his own cousin who had mastered the league, or indeed as if he were the victor, but the truth was that besides you, there were very few in the entire city who could claim to know Shoei, so his pride was unwarranted.

“Yup! No one’s ever beaten him but Mr. Mikage,” he said.

“Well, Mr. Mikage is the champion,” you said. “So what’s next? Does he battle Mr. Mikage?”

“Pretty much,” the boy said. “Although he’s allowed to take his time in between and train his team. The conference win and Elite Four victories are only prerequisites, but it’s not like you have to do it all at once. In fact, hardly anyone ever does. Your team needs to rest in between battles, and besides, challenges to the Champion position are so rare that they need time to set it all up.”

“What do you mean, ‘set it all up?’” you said, sitting down at your desk at the back of the classroom. The boy didn’t usually sit with you, but today he was too excited, so he collapsed rather awkwardly in the chair at your side, leaning over with his elbows digging into his thighs.

“Didn’t you know? All Champion matches are televised!” he said. “The entire region will be able to see him battling. He’s amazing, you know.”

“Of course he is,” you said matter-of-factly. “That’s good that it’ll be filmed. It’s impossible to get tickets unless you’re a league official or have more money than you know what to do with.”

The boy coughed, his face turning red. Your eyes flicked to his belt, which was conspicuously devoid of any Pokéballs, just like the rest of your classmates, and then you curled inwards when you once again recalled that amongst your peers, it was only you who required the league-issued stipend for trainers to afford your tuition.

“Anyways,” he said, pursing his lips — a reminder to you that he had sat in the stands of the last league conference and was in fact one of those such types that you had been referring to earlier, “I’ve heard they’re thinking of moving towards broadcasting the entire conference andany Elite Four challenges instead of just the Champion matches.”

“Really?” you said, eager to change the subject. He nodded.

“Yup, it’s the case. The TV studios and news stations have been pushing for it. As long as they can throw in some advertisements and sponsorships between the battles themselves, their profits will shoot up like crazy,” he said.

“Well, that makes sense,” you said. “Why hadn’t they implemented it earlier?”

“They’ve been trying, but supposedly, there’s been a lot of pushback from some of the league officials. They think they’ll lose money if people can just watch battles online, since there’ll be less of an incentive to buy tickets to watch them in person,” he said.

“Ah. So what changed their minds? Aren’t the league officials notoriously stubborn?” you said. He snorted.

“That’s what my dad says. He’d rather deal with a Slaking than any of them,” he said. You couldn’t quite remember what his father did for a living, but if you had to guess, it was something financial-related, given the boy’s unnatural interest in the field. “Apparently, they tried it out in Johto to great effect, so they plan to give it a go here in Kalos as well.”

“Interesting,” you said. “I guess it doesn’t mean much to me now, since Shoei’s already through, but I’m sure it’ll be helpful to someone or another in the future.”

“Maybe we’ll see you onscreen next, eh, Miss Trainer?” he said. You rolled your eyes at the nickname; coming from him, it wasn’t so horrible, but it wasn’t always like that. Most of the time, you hated when the others brought up your trainer status, because it only set you further and further apart from the rest.

Of course, almost everyone had a Pokémon or two as a companion or to make the activities of their daily living that much easier, but there was a difference between a Pokémon owner and a Pokémon trainer. Trainers were the ones who were registered with the government, who were sent a monthly stipend by the league to pay for their and their Pokemon’s upkeep, and who made a career out of the sport. At least, that was what they were supposed to be, but nowadays, genuine trainers were few and far between; more often than not, those with the distinction were like you, with a single Pokémon that had never known the heat of battle and a desperate need for the extra income that their status, passive though it might’ve been, brought them.

The school-issued Gogoat that was designated to escort you home trotted along beside you, its tail bouncing with the gaiety of its pace, its ears perked against the wind as you went along. You sometimes wondered if the Pokémon you supposedly owned was anything like that, but based on Shoei’s description, you had mostly decided it wasn’t.

“Thanks for taking me back, Gogoat,” you said, patting it on the forehead when you reached your doorstep. It bleated at you, nuzzling you happily and then bounding away. You watched it go with a smile, incredibly fond of it though you knew it wasn’t actually yours — just a vehicle assigned to you because the school knew that most of its students weren’t proper trainers. The institute didn’t want to be held liable in case there was some kind of an attack, so the Gogoats had been trained to accompany students to and from their classes as well as to protect them as best as they could.

Supposedly it was a common practice, one that had been invented in Aquacorde Town, but there they used Arcanines instead of Gogoats, so privately you thought that those of you in Coumarine City got the better deal.

“Mother?” you said, peering into the kitchen, smiling when you saw her there, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. “I’m home.”

“Y/N!” she said. “How was school today?”

“It was fine,” you said, self-consciously drumming your nails against your Pokéball. “This guy told me that Shoei’s going to challenge the Champion soon. Mr. Mikage. They’re going to film it and everything. We should ask Uncle and Auntie if they want to come over and watch with us.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” she said. Shoei’s father, your uncle, was her brother, and they had remained so close throughout their adulthood that it felt at times like Shoei was less your cousin and more a genuine brother of your own who occasionally slept in another house. “Imagine if he can become Champion!”

“He will,” you said, unclipping your Pokéball from your belt and setting it on the table, where your mother’s Espurr was sleeping. At the movement, she sat up, giving the unassuming ball a disgusted look and climbing to the top of a shelf where she could continue to nap. “All everyone talks about is how strong he is. There’s no way he’s losing, especially if he beat Noel Noa.”

“It’ll be great for the family,” she said.

“Yes,” you said. “And for him.”

“Do you know when the match is scheduled for?” she said. You shook your head.

“No, I don’t. The guy said people usually take a break in between defeating the Elite Four and challenging the Champion, so that their teams can rest and all. I’m sure it’ll be announced well in advance, though. It’s not everyday that somebody fights Mr. Mikage himself,” you said.

“That’s true,” she said. “In the meantime, how’s this for dinner?”

“Looks good,” you said, though it was out of distraction, not approval. Your mind was racing as you tried to picture how the battle between Shoei and the Champion might go. Would he look different? Of course, he would have to, it had been a while since you had seen him last, and it might be a while more until you saw him next, depending on how long he took to put in the formal request to battle. Two weeks, or maybe even three.

Yet weeks turned into months, which turned into years, and still he did not appear to face Mr. Mikage. Eventually the excitement faded into a distant memory, and soon, if his name was brought up at all, it was as nothing but the Never-Champion, the one who was too frightened to fight against the undefeated head of the league and the Mikage Corporation alike.

At first you weren’t worried, but as time stretched on, you resorted to begging the police, the local Gym Leader, anyone who would listen, just for a chance at finding him. Yet one by one, they each refused. After all, what could be done? He was a top trainer, they worked in mysterious ways, everyone knew that. Any day now, he would reappear and that long-awaited battle between himself and the Champion might finally happen. Nothing about the situation was abnormal in the slightest. Maybe the cowardice was a bit uncharacteristic, but otherwise? There wasn’t any cause for stress.

And so, for that reason, nobody but you ever thought of actually looking for him — they never even knew that they had to.

[agalnamedlunasea]

You haven't got a prayer 🎶⛓🖤

Pegoryu week day 7: free day (emo au!)

Based on this fic by @shslskaterboy !!

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。i know you still think about the times we had

synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling

— word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)

— contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, it’s the cliche trope where the rich guy’s parent forces you to leave him aka gojo’s father is the villain, angst with a happy ending—i don’t want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvin’s room (iykyk), cliche rain scene—this fic is so cliche i’m sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)

— notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this one’s for you niku 🤞🏽 AND DABITEE ANON

you open the door when satoru knocks—just barely, though. it’s just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things he’s left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. it’s always been happy knocking on your door—he never thought he’d dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. it’s like taking the last bite of something sweet when you’re too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and it’s too much even though it used to be so good.

it’s too much being here. it’s too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. it’s too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, it’s good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you don’t want him to stay.

“that should be everything,” you murmur, still looking down. “let me know if there’s anything missing.”

satoru would never tell you if there’s something missing. he’d never come back and demand back something he gave you, he doesn’t think he could ever take back something he gave you—being handed back his heart after pressing it to your palms is hard enough. but then again, maybe he should look for small things you probably missed. just so he can come back. just so he can see you—how else will he see you now?

“no, it’s alright,” he says quietly. he doesn’t miss the way you quickly let go as soon as his hands grab the bag, almost like you’re being careful enough not to let your fingers meet each other. “you can uh…you can just keep them. or…throw them out if you don’t want them,” he mumbles.

you nod, standing there silently. it’s quiet, and then it’s quiet some more. and finally, you look up at him for the first time since he got here, staring at him a little expectantly. oh, right. now would be the part where he leaves.

“can i…can i just know why?” he croaks. fuck. he’s not supposed to cry. you ripped his heart out and threw it at his feet, you didn’t even care to hand it to him even after you tore every artery apart. but he sniffles anyway, lips wobbling as he stares at you. “why are you leaving me?”

your fingers twitch, like you itch to reach over and wipe that tear that rolls down his cheek. in the end, you cross your arms instead. “i already told you, satoru—”

“that’s bullshit,” he clicks his teeth, shaking his head as he stares at you frustratedly, “you gave me some bullshit reason.”

satoru has worked so hard to be here—to be with you. hadn’t he done enough? hadn’t he told you about himself, things he didn’t want to? hadn’t he tried to become something, someone more than just a guy swimming in trust funds? hadn’t he worked for your attention, waited outside classes and walked opposite directions in the hall with you just to seem dedicated? fuck, he even burned his hand trying to learn how to make pancakes to impress you, let the maids laugh at him as he twisted the stove the wrong way to try and turn it on. 

why wasn’t it enough? what more could he give you than everything? how can the guy who has everything not have enough to give? he doesn’t understand.

“satoru, we weren’t gonna work,” you pinch your nose—it’s like you’re the one who doesn’t understand why he’s being like this. “the sooner you accept that the more hurt you’re saving the both of us—”

“we were working just fine,” he says exasperatedly. it’s like you insist he’s crazy when he’s nothing but sane. like he’s trying to tell you the sky is blue, and you’re refusing to believe it’s anything other than green. it’s clear. it’s practically a fact. you were doing just fine—why don’t you see that? “we were happy,” he takes a step forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “was it someone? did they tell you something? just tell me who, baby—i’ll fix it. i’ll put them in their place, okay? no one can bother you if i get them to leave you alone—”

“then you leave me alone,” you whisper. he stills. you pull away from his hands. “sator—gojo. please just leave me alone. it’s better that way.”

you close the door, and he stands there. numb. maybe a little shocked. entirely ruined.

gojo. he laughs quietly after a moment at that—it’s a laugh meant for men who’ve lost the last thread to sanity. gojo. it’s like a slap in the face, being called the name he worked so hard to get you to drop. it took him weeks—months, even, to convince you to call him satoru. then he upgraded to toru. then it was baby. sometimes you teased him and called him pumpkin—he called you peaches in return. when you introduced him, you called him your boyfriend. 

not anymore. now he’s back to gojo—that god-forsaken name with everything but what he really wants attached to it. his grandfather’s legacy. his future. business deals. fancy invites. more money than he knows what to do with. the name gojo comes with everything but you.

but he had you for a bit, didn’t he? when he was just satoru—but now he’s gojo again, and you’re gone. the only sign of you left is in the faint traces of your perfume in the sweaters you’ve returned. 

and satoru still isn’t sure what brought the break up on. he thinks it’s the part that stings the most—when everything seems perfect one second, and then it’s not. had he not tried enough? maybe he was too much. maybe he didn’t understand you the way you needed him to. maybe he was too overbearing. maybe he asked for too much too fast. 

he’s not sure. he tried asking when you broke it off—you only shook your head and said it wasn’t going to work out between the two of you, that it was a mistake to try at all. mistake? how could you call this a mistake? things were so perfect, weren’t they?

satoru doesn’t think there was even one second he wasn’t smiling when he was with you, and he used to think the same was true for you too. had you been faking it this long? or was it real at one point—had he really failed you so badly, seen past you so blindly that he didn’t notice when your smiles stopped reaching your eyes?

it’s too late, he figures. you and satoru are broken up. 

you ask him to come over one morning, and he does—because he always comes when you call. he brings your coffee order from that cafe you like, the one you don’t go to often because the coffee is more overpriced than any other coffee shop you’ve ever seen. he’s grinning when you open the door, leans in to kiss your lips excitedly. you turn your head then, and his lips meet your cheeks instead—he supposes he should’ve known it at that moment. he should’ve seen that your lips weren’t smiling. your eyes were tired, a little red. you were hugging yourself in that way you do when you’re nervous. you didn’t let him kiss your lips, you made him kiss your cheek. 

and then you sat him down on that worn-down couch of yours, took off that bracelet his mother gave him to gift you on your anniversary, and pressed it to his palm as you said we should break up. break up. you wanted to leave him—and satoru didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand. 

he’s tried for so long, replayed the last month of your relationship in his head over and over and fucking over. you always smiled. you kissed him first. you held his hand, and even squeezed. you asked to see him. you laughed when he was around. you said i love you. you were happy. but then you weren’t—when did you stop being happy? and how could you have stopped feeling it with him?

—————

breaking up with satoru is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. how long can people live without the sun? you think not longer than a few minutes—that’s what it feels like without satoru’s warmth, anyway. 

gojo satoru has always smiled as long as he’s been with you. he smiled smugly on your first meet, smiled bitterly after every rejection, smiled in pure glee when you finally said yes, and smiled like his fingertips could touch the sky every time he saw you after that. 

satoru has never looked sad for long in your presence—you have that effect on him, you make his lips curl and his eyes brighten in that way that they deserve to shine. but for the first time ever, his eyes dim with you around, his lips curl into a frown at your words, and he cries for you. his eyes glisten with tears instead of wonder, and you think for a moment that you might be making a mistake. 

but then you remember that this is for the best—that if you really love gojo satoru, you’ll let him go instead of clipping his wings.

“he’s picked up his things,” you speak quietly into the phone. you don’t sniffle even as you desperately need to—it’s the last bit of control you have left, and you intend to keep it. “i won’t be seeing him again.”

“good,” his father speaks, “that’s good to hear.” 

satoru’s father is a cold man, you learn that on the first meet. he doesn’t look at his wife with a soft look that tells you there’s any love built between the decades of marriage, and he doesn’t look at his only son with any affection for the boy he raised. instead, he stares at satoru like any businessman would an opportunity—with a calculating gaze that tries to work out the best course of action for the most profit. 

satoru is young, but he’s charming and conniving and knows how to get what he wants when he wants—he’s quick on his feet and rarely lets himself get cornered into a wall. in the last three generations of the family business, no heir has shown as much promise as gojo satoru. that’s what his father tells you, anyway. you believe him—satoru is smart and knows how to play his cards right, you won’t deny that. his future is set to be comfortable, and he’s never known anything outside of that, never built any other plans for himself. 

you can’t rip that away from him—not for your own sake, not for your own happiness. 

“you promised you wouldn’t freeze his trust funds once i ended things,” you remind him, “and that he’d keep his inheritance.” somehow, because the world grants you this one favor, your voice doesn’t shake—it’s steady and firm as it reminds the stone-cold man at the end of the line of your agreement—and he offers a slow chuckle that makes your jaw clench. 

“yes, i do recall,” he hums, “i’m glad we could come to agree. you understand, don’t you? it is my job as his father to do what’s best for him.”

you know what he’s saying—what that means. you’re not what’s best for him. maybe he’s right—maybe satoru needs someone who’s equally as promising to build a successful company into even more success. maybe he needs someone who can take him out for a change to those fancy places he takes you every few weeks. maybe he needs someone who’s heard of half the brands he wears and doesn’t scold him to turn the lights off so the electricity bill isn’t high. maybe he needs someone who can keep up with everything that gojo satoru is—and that someone is not you, no matter how deeply you love him. 

“—the offer still stands, should you change your mind. i’m willing to compensate you for the trouble this must all be.” 

your lips curl into a scowl at his words. that’s the thing about rich people, you think—money is always enough to sugarcoat everything. why worry about the dead grass in your lawn when you can paint it green? but you don’t leave satoru for extra cash on your hands—nothing can be worth auctioning off the only man who’s ever made you feel anything. you leave satoru because he deserves to continue living comfortably, to make a name for himself that isn’t just a ghost of his father’s. if that means being cut from the corner of the picture, you’re willing to pick up the scissors yourself. 

“no thanks,” you hiss, “i don’t need the money.”

“i would disagree,” his father sneers, “but suit yourself.”

the line ends, and for good this time, satoru is no longer yours. was he ever to begin with? 

—————

you try to forget your ex-boyfriend—keyword, try. every hour of your life consists of you using your burner account to refresh his instagram page to see if he’s posted anything new. you unfollow satoru from every social media platform the same day he picks up his belongings—you know he’s noticed within the first thirty minutes because all of his pictures with you are gone, just like all your pictures with him. 

in what you assume is an attempt to be petty, he likes every picture of every girl he sees, and he even blocks you on twitter—you know he picks twitter because twitter is the only social media that blatantly states you’re blocked. but then you’re unblocked in two days, and you know he must be missing you now that the initial anger is faded. 

it makes you laugh a little, even through your tears. satoru is not satoru without petty fits of emotion, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad, not when it’s your fault he’s hurting like this. he’s extra sad today, you gather—if the way marvin’s room is posted to his instagram story on a blank screen is of any hint. it makes you scoff in amusement that in true gojo satoru fashion, he’s effectively told all eight-thousand-something of his followers he’s pathetically in his feelings. 

you scroll through suguru’s story, too—he didn’t unfollow you even after satoru temporarily blocked you, but you figure suguru is the only person satoru really has. you shouldn’t keep yourself close to him, not when it could hurt satoru more, so you remove him too. 

suguru is, as always, drinking at some fancy party with obnoxiously rich college students who have not a care in the world for midterms around the corner. who needs to pass when you’re swimming in money whether or not you have a degree? the first thing you learn about the rich is that most of them are only at college for the experience—they don’t see college as the stepping stone to better opportunities, there’s nothing education could offer that trust funds already don’t. but satoru attends college for himself—he enjoys business classes, you learn, and especially finance ones. for someone who spends money so carelessly, he understands it particularly well. 

there’s no sign of satoru at whatever party it is suguru is at, there’s no trace of strikingly bright white strands anywhere in any corners—you do see naoya in a corner, though, and you crinkle your nose in distaste. if satoru were here, he’d say something bitterly under his breath about the asshole, and you would giggle. but satoru is not here, and even naoya the women-hating jackass makes you miss your obnoxiously whiny ex-boyfriend. 

everything reminds you of satoru. that bear he won you at the fair (after maybe six tries) by your pillows, those polaroids at your desk that you can’t bring yourself to take down, that sticky note on your fridge he left promising to replace the creamer he finished (he’s replaced it more times than he’s needed to by now), that extra big blanket you keep on the couch because the old one barely covered his legs, that pair of silly matching mugs you both had for coffee in the mornings. 

every corner of your apartment has something that reminds you that satoru was here, that he was yours, that for a short while, he was the best thing you ever had. it’s your fault, you think—that satoru and you are here in this mess in the first place. he’s always looked at life through a hopeful lens. having everything does that to you, makes you ignorant to the misfortunes of the world, makes you think everything is within the realm of your reach. you, on the other hand, knew this was bound to happen. the two of you together is like hot oil and cool water—what feels like sparks is just the oil shooting out to burn you. you should’ve known this would have never lasted. 

in a way, you think you did. it’s why you hated him so fiercely at first—maybe deep down, you always knew you wanted him, that he would never be yours. maybe that’s why you were so adamant about rejecting him, that even when he was clearly trying, it would never be enough. satoru has always been enough, has always been what everyone has wanted—you’re not so sure you can say the same for yourself. 

you love gojo satoru. he loves you too—he falls first, and you think maybe, he might have fallen harder too. no one loves like satoru. they say if you press coal hard enough, it turns to diamonds—you think if you gave satoru coal, he would hand you back the sun and all of her stars. it’s just the kind of guy he is, the one that turns everything dull into something bright and warm and worth it. you wish you didn’t have to break his heart, you wish you could’ve walked out of this the only one hurt. but maybe, at the very least, if you break him good enough that he hates you, he’ll move on quicker, maybe have something to look forward to while you continue to work your way up and cheer him on. 

before you can refresh suguru’s page one more time to stalk his story, you’re pulled from your thoughts as someone knocks on your door—correction: pounds on your door. you jolt on your couch, standing up and making your way to the front door quickly and looking through the peephole. 

satoru. of course.

he’s soaked to the bone—it’s raining outside, and of course, just as on brand as always, he must’ve rushed here without an umbrella.

you shouldn’t open it.

but you can’t just leave him in the rain, can you? but he’s not your problem anymore, you agreed to leave him, didn’t you? but how could he not be your problem when he’s all you think about? but this could cause him trouble if his father found out he was here, right? but can you really leave someone, ex-boyfriend or not, in the pouring rain? you can’t be that cruel can you?

before you can make up your mind, he speaks up, “i know you’re standing there. open the door,” he demands. 

“satoru, go home,” you sigh, head pressing against the surface that separates you, “don’t make this anymore difficult than it has to be.”

“if it’s difficult, that means you don’t really want to do this,” he argues. he’s still as good as ever at sweet talk, still as persistent and charming as ever at getting what he wants. “please,” he croaks, “just let me in.”

you know it means more than one thing. you know it means more than just your home. but you shouldn’t, you can’t let him know why you did all this—how can you protect someone from something if they don’t let you? satoru would never let you if he knew, and that’s why you can’t let him know. 

“satoru, if you don’t leave…i’ll…i’ll call the cops,” you warn. 

“no you won’t,” he says instantly. “i’m not leaving until you open the door. and if i get sick, i’ll send you my bill for the emergency room visit.”

“you’re not going to the emergency room for a common cold, you idiot,” you scoff. 

the rain doesn’t slow—in fact, you can hear thunder. satoru is still stubbornly outside, knocking away. 

“i’ll start screaming,” he insists, “your neighbors will complain for noise again. do you want to be kicked out of this apartment? just let your cold, wet, heartbroken ex-boyfriend in if you have a heart.”

and because you are, and always will be, weak to the charms of gojo satoru, you open that damned door—even though you shouldn’t, even though you can’t, even though you said you would never again. but you do. because it’s satoru, and he always comes when you call, and you’ll always let him in when he’s here. 

“you don’t come to your ex’s house less than one week after the break up,” you sigh once you open the door. he takes a step in, shutting the door behind him. 

“why did you leave me?” he asks. 

“satoru, you can’t keep bringing this up—”

“why? just tell me why.”

“i don’t have to—”

“tell me why and i’ll stop bothering you. i just need to know why,” he insists. 

and then you break.

you’re only human. you’ve lost the man you’ve given everything to for over a year in the span of one week. you’ll never see his lovely mother again who spoiled you rotten, you’ll never hang out out with his funny best friend who treats you like family, and you’ll never be enough for gojo satoru, the rich, loud, sheltered, obnoxious, handsome jackass you met and had to do a project with and accidentally fucked over and over again until you fell in love. 

so you shove his chest, once, then twice, then a third time, each time getting weaker and weaker than the last as tears slip down your cheeks as you simply break down. “just leave, satoru,” you sob, “why can’t you just leave? why do you keep coming back?”

you hate seeing him here. you want him gone. you never want to see him again. you hope he never leaves. you’re glad to see him. you hope this isn’t the last time. you hate that he seems to not be getting enough sleep. his eyes are hollow. he must not be eating properly. he probably hasn’t attended class. he has a quiz next week. he most likely forgot about that. his clothes are wrinkly. he definitely hasn’t showered in days. 

“last month you said i was it for you,” he glares at you, his eyes red and swollen and every shade of heartbreak. you miss when they were blue—that beautiful, bright, perfect shade of blue. “last week you said we were a mistake. what the fuck do you mean, huh? what are you playing at?”

“you can realize a lot in a month—”

“not enough to erase over a year,” his voice booms. it makes you flinch and hug yourself tightly. tears slide down your cheeks, your vision is blurry. this might be the last time you see satoru, and even if he’s angry, you want to remember the curves of his features. so you wipe them away. they keep coming back. “so tell me,” he clenches his jaw, “did you string me along for a year or did something happen last week that you’re not telling me?”

“i realized you were bad for me,” you say quietly. 

satoru stares at you. it’s a piercing gaze—his eyes are electrically blue and his lashes are unfairly long and every time he stares at you, you think he almost sees into your soul. they’re tired—there are purplish bags under them on that pale skin of his, and the whites of his eyes are concerningly bloodshot. he stares, and stares, and for a second, you think you’ll die like this. watching him stare at you as your heart bleeds out. 

“i spent weeks,” his voice shakes, “i waited outside your class. i followed you to the next one. i memorized your fucking schedule.”

“satoru, you need to leave—”

“and then you fucked me and left every morning like i was nothing,” he glares, sniffling. you don’t know where the rain drops on his face start and where the teardrops end. “and then i begged you for a chance—begged. i burned my hand, got laughed at by the maids to learn how to make those stupid fucking pancakes for you.”

“i didn’t ask you to—”

“it took you two months to call me baby for the first time. did you know that? i waited two months to hear that. i thought it was the best two months i ever waited.”

“satoru,” you plead. 

you’ve given up on trying to wipe away the tears—he’s given up on crying altogether. you’ve never seen him so hollow, so dead in the eyes and so, so tired.

satoru has never gotten tired—not when he’s fighting for you.

“and then you kept pushing me away, acting like i was some shallow guy who wanted to get in your pants and leave cause i had some money to my name. i took you everywhere, introduced you proudly, let everyone say what they wanted to say about me because i loved you, and…and i thought you loved me too,” he shakes his head. 

his voice breaks, and god, so does your heart right along with it.

“i do love you,” you admit it before you realize what you’re saying. 

“then why did you fucking leave me?” his voice is loud.

satoru never yells, not at you. his voice is always gentle, patient, like he worships the ground you walk on, like he’ll get on his knees if you ask him too. satoru never yells—but he does tonight. 

“because i had to,” you sob, fingers digging into your temples as you shake. the words spill from your lips faster than the tears, like a swarm of angry bees, one following after the other. “or you’d lose everything. the trust funds, the inheritance, the company. i couldn’t let that happen to you—not for me,” you whisper. 

it feels like defeat—in the end, you couldn’t keep satoru, and you couldn’t leave him either. you couldn’t love him like you wanted, and you couldn’t let him go like you should have. what else is there left to fuck up? what more can you ruin in less than a week? the bees feel like maggots in your mouth, swarming a dead carcass.  

“so you left me because my old man threatened you with my trust funds?” he asks in disbelief. you think something in satoru dies at that—something in his shoulders falls and his eyes almost seem gray. 

satoru gets his blue eyes from his mother—they’re bright and kind and deeper than the ocean. but unlike the ocean, they’re not scary to fall into, to lose yourself in no matter how far you are from shore. his father’s eyes are gray—cold and blank and not laced with a single hint of emotion. 

you can’t help but think that blue suits satoru so much better than gray ever could. 

“it wasn’t just that,” you shake your head, “that’s not fair, satoru. what was i supposed to do? know you were about to lose everything and stay?”

“you could have talked to me before you decided for me,” he hisses, “what do you want me to say? thank you? thank you for breaking my heart? thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit who wasted a year for someone who didn’t seem to care? thank you for walking out on me?”

“you know i’d have stayed if i could,” you argue, voice breaking.

“then why didn’t you? why the fuck didn’t you?”

“because i couldn’t!”

“you could!” he screams—you realize, for the first time in your life, you hate when satoru screams. he never screams. “all my life, that old man has been making decisions for me. satoru, wear this. satoru, go here. satoru, don’t do that. satoru, put that away. satoru, stay away from them. satoru, come with me. that’s all he’s ever fucking done—make every choice for me. and now…now you’re just like him,” he breathes, lips wobbling as he stares at you with hurt. 

it’s like that for a bit—you stare at him as he crumbles, and he stares at you like he doesn't know you anymore. you don’t know who leans in first, if it’s your hand or his face, but one second you’re feet apart, and the next second his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs swiping away at his tears. you catch them, one by one, waiting to wipe them away no matter how fast they come. because satoru always comes when you call, and you’ll always be there for him to find you. 

“i don’t want to leave,” you mumble, “i never do. you are it for me, i meant that, you know. who else will melt extra chocolate in my hot chocolate?”

“then don’t leave,” he begs, voice cracking, “i don’t want you to. i’ll handle that old geezer—my grandfather will knock some sense into him. fuck, suguru and i can even hide his body, it’s fine. just don’t leave, okay?”

you let out a watery chuckle, pinching his cheek as you shake your head. “i don’t know if i’m worth homicide, satoru.”

“i think you’re wrong,” he huffs, “you’re wrong about a lot of things, you know. so wrong.”

“i never said i was perfect,” you pout.

he buries his head into your neck, clinging to you tightly—you cling back, because nothing is as safe as satoru’s arms. you’d melt into his skin if you could, live in that spot right where his heart is so you can make sure it’s always beating. 

“you’re still perfect,” he mumbles, “but you’re always mean to me. this was the worst you’ve ever been.”

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hair—it’s still wet, you realize. he’s soaked, and he could catch a cold but you don’t care. satoru is back. he’s here in your run-down apartment with the mugs and the blanket and that toothbrush you forgot to return and that pair of socks you found in your drawer. satoru is finally home. “i’ll never leave you again.”

“promise?”

“yeah. as long as you don’t block me on twitter again.”

“you deserved that.”

“and for the love of god, toru, delete that marvin’s room story. that was so dumb.”

“are you stalking me?” he pulls away with a grin, making you glare with a huff. he chuckles, kisses your forehead as he murmurs, “missed me that bad, huh? yeah, i would too.”

“well, obviously not enough to post marvin’s room on my story.”

“you can’t be mean to me after you broke my heart!” he whines.

yeah, you think, satoru is home. he’s still that loud, obnoxious, pestering brat that he always was—and he’s still the only love you’ve ever known. 

“i love you,” you press your forehead to his, kissing him slowly. you want to kiss him harder, you want to kiss him desperately like you’ll never kiss him again. like you lost him and miraculously got him back. like you’ll never see the sun again without him. 

but there’s time for that—lots of it, in fact. because satoru is home.

“i love you too,” he whispers, “wanna shower with me? if you really love me, you would.”

read the makeup sex sequel ;) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

if this fic was a person i would want it dead.

[princes-creations-askblog]

Finally posting oc content again bc I can’t hold it back anymore <3

Ok so I have this set of ocs (I’ve talked abt them before in this post right here) and uh. I’m remaking them now. or trying to, I’m having bad writer’s block hngh—

So like. Now that I’ve exploded and absolutely NEED to post them or I’ll die, I’ll give you some basic info on them :)

I’ve renamed Jay to Jeiviin. They’re a six-year-old Sky Dragon born and raised in Emporia, having lived in Taldrena their whole life (up until an incident in which they ended up in Voxtren). They’re intersex and were raised genderless, and have an older sister.

I’ve renamed Cora to Avaki. She’s a seventeen-year-old Sky Dragon that was born in Talix, one of Emporia’s islands, and moved to Taldrena with her family when she was 8. She’s Jeiviin’s older sister, and really into true crime.

I’ve renamed Sigasi to Sivea. She’s a fourteen-year-old Healer Dragon born in the Philippines, but moved to Emporia (specifically Voxtren) when she was 11. She’s an only child, but became best friends with Jeiviin and Avaki after the events of her (and the other characters’) story takes place, and she’s surprisingly feisty for a Healer.

I’ve renamed Delta Sun to Astrallon. They’re somewhere around 150-160 years old, and they’re an Angel from the Concept Universe (or the Void). They left their home when they were in their 20s to search for their missing mother (idk what happened to her though), but they never found her, and instead decided to just. Stay in Emporia. I mean, it’s a really pretty country, so. Fair enuf.

None of them have designs yet, but I have some very basic ideas for what I want them to look like —

Jeiviin will be pretty short (I mean they’re 6 so ofc), and their main colour will definitely be blue. Lotta scars.

Avaki will be more seafoam green I think? And a lot taller. Possibility of being emo or scene

Sivea is so so purple. I kinda want her to resemble a violet-backed starling. I love those fucking birds. I want her to have a sorta medieval-goth-princess aesthetic, but more modern

Astrallon gets to be tall as hell. Way taller than they need to be. Get enlarged stupid. And I want them to have some vague religious vibes, like biblically accurate or something. Perhaps multiple sets of wings, or too many halos. Or too many eyes.

Ok now that that’s out of the way.

Storyline thing or something!

The kiddos are still both gonna be experiments — that was an integral part of their story before the remake, and I don’t wanna change that — but Astrallon won’t be an experiment anymore. Instead, they’ll be friends with the guy running the experiments, but they won’t know about it until he calls them up and says “DUDE WE’RE GETTING FUCKED UP PLEASE HELP”.

The experiments aren’t gonna be turned into some form of superhuman (superdragon?) beings anymore, either. Instead, the cult is trying to transform Dragons into Humans by surgically removing their Draconic traits and making them physically look as human as possible.

Those experiments never end up working and all the subjects that went through the procedures died. Including Jeiviin. But they get to come back as a ghost, because I said so.

Anyway!! The reason Mr. Cult Guy calls Astrallon screaming for help, is because Sivea and the other still-living experiments broke out and started killing motherfuckers. As they should.

Astrallon is a very kind person, so of course, they immediately run over to their friend’s location to help, and promptly get their shit FUCKING WRECKED by Sivea, who thought they were another cultist.

Some other stuff happens after that, and then the story ends, but I haven’t gotten to that point yet. As I said, I’m having writer’s block atm, so I can’t get past the part where Sivea starts plotting.

Also, despite the setting of this story being in Emporia, which is also where my AHiT AU takes place, this is not set in the AHiT universe! It’s an entirely original work, full of the blorbos from my autism.

I am tired and can’t think of anything else to write, so that’s it post’s over. Eat up

[total-drama-brainrot]

Hello hello ophe 👋😇

How are you going so far? 😊

I just want to say aletrent has taken over my brain and I’m here thinking if I should make it happen for cruise stars but then I remember that I promised the fresh people in the server that AleNoah will happen. I’m here thinking to myself

“😟 damn why do you ship AleTrent? Aren’t you a AleNoah shipper? Alejandro and Trent deadass never even interacted, besides this is gonna be like the last time where you joined a fandom and got brainrotted by a crack pair/rare pair. And Noah and Alejandro’s dynamic is more interesting to write and think about. Besides brain you can shove Trent with Duncan it will be funi 😁.” -me to my Brain 😇 🧠 as I try to keep my brain cells in check

Anyways enough about me taking about stuff that doesn’t matter I finally thought of the main villain(s) for Shitwrecked and I’m really excited to write about them bitches scheming 😈 (but I kinda want to do another idea throwing session sometime again in the future, it was fun to talk and do the funi throw shit together and see what happens 😁, social interaction my enemy😔)

But as always let the brain rot commence as we speak

Lindsay and Noah friendship real tho!

Shitwrecked crap that was on my mind recently-

Emma and Trent friendship- they both are a disaster (lovingly way) one is literally a mess while the other is in the inside (I think in Trent’s bio thing it said that his sprit animal or favorite was a cat and Emma is cat person)

Nemma divorced conformation/rr cameo in a challenge and heather kissing Emma(rr)/j

leonard bringing a horse into the competition

Courtney is remind of Brittney(raccoon) when Zee brings back out lord and savior Oilvia Von Trashpanda

Topher tries to run over Chris with a golf cart

Skyella sweep! Dave becomes more emo as skyella sweep happens

Prillie divorced arc as Millie feel like priya thrown their friendship away for a guy and that priya is hanging out with Caleb more

Hear me out Trent and heather Secret alliance or some shit (I think it sounds funi to me😁) probably not go with it but it was fun to think about tho

Trent being annoy/passive aggressive to Geoff and Justin(oh how who can my favorite character be/j🤪)

Chef probably treating the reboot cast more favorably(no one can stop the Wayne)

Axel being the reason why Duncan is scared of Celine Dion cardboard standees

Gwen having to deal with her golden retriever cousins

Thinking of a scene where Emma is talking with Gwen/courtney about dating advice or something as she describes Axel (Emma doesn’t say name) “they have an eyebrow piercing and they got their ears pierced too. They are all tough as nails and abrasive but they can be surprisingly sweet and caring.” Both Gwen or/and Courtney be thinking to themselves “damn why Duncan of all people?”

Noah with the whole divorce dad look “Owen I miss my wife..”

Don big naturals/j 😈

Damn I think I kinda went a bit off with the rambles😳 brain rot do be hitting harder than the kitchen floor 😔

-Ass Stars anon

Hello hello ASAnon, it's nice to have you back! 👋😊

Alejandro and Trent are very shippable characters, so it was inevitable that someone would start seriously shipping the two despite their complete lack of canon interaction. So long as you're enjoying yourself, who's to judge?

I'm happy to hear you've figured out some of the details of your AU! It can be super hard to figure out what direction you want to take your ideas in, especially for an AU as broad and character-filled as your own.

The brainrot is real and it consumes us all. If these ideas are what make you happiest and/or are the ones that you find the most amusing, then include them in your story! Self-indulgence is half the fun of writing/drawing/creating your own AUs. 😌👍

Don's big naturals are canon though. They're a non-negotiable inclusion in any fan-content. /j

[sunflowerstalks]

Maybe If Remus Had a Plan in the First Place This Fic Would Have Had a Name, Too

Remus is Remus, Roman is tired, and there’s a cat, too. Expected chaos ensues.

This is my gift for Pigeon, @the-pigeon, for @sanderssidesgiftxchange! I hope you enjoy your gift, and i hope your holidays were and continue to go well! Also, happy new year!! :D

word count: 2125

rating: teen and up (for slight language/innuendo)

content warnings: slight innuendo/language typical of remus, hair pulling as a stim, descriptions of bad things happening to animals (as an intrusive thought, it is dealt with accordingly), slight anxiety attack/sensory overload moment

relationships: platonic sides (all of em) with brotherly roman&remus focus, implied/background romantic roman/virgil and romantic patton/remus but it’s pretty subtle

characters: roman, remus, virgil, patton, logan, janus, c!thomas (meaning both character!thomas and cat!thomas asfhjakfh)

additional tags: high school au, punk au, heist fic, like slight conflict and then mostly fluff and comfort. also, side note, cain and abel are the twins’ cats sdhjgdskfh

“Remus.”

“Roman.”

A beat.

“Any chance you could explain… any of this?” Roman gestures wildly to the pile of metal scraps, receipts, the feral cat, and assorted other trinkets strewn across the sidewalk in front of Remus, before crossing his arms and impatiently awaiting an answer without his usual air of, well, put-together-ness.

“Well, I’d actually gotten around to finally cleaning my wallet, when—”

“The cat, Remus! Whose cat is this? Why do you have it? Why is it surrounded by trash?” Roman’s voice increased in both volume and shrillness as he went on, hands reaching unconsciously to tug at his hair.

“Hey, don’t do that shit,” Remus tugged at the cuffed jean at Roman’s ankle for emphasis, “Anyways, like I was saying, I was cleaning my wallet when I remembered that I was like, eighty assignments behind in anatomy, so I figured I could do some cool art or somethin’ with a cat! For… extra credit or something.” Remus faltered for a moment, “In all honesty, I didn’t think I’d get this far.” He had thought getting the cat would be the hard part, so now he was stuck in the swing of success without a direction to turn. Roman, however, was still stuck on the small details (in Remus’ humble opinion).

Roman took a deep breath, muttering something that sounded a lot like a prayer for forgiveness, before looking down at his brother yet again.

“Remus.”

“Yes, brother dearest?”

“Whose cat is this?”

“Do you want the honest answer?”

Roman looked moments away from manslaughter, yet managed to nod anyways. Remus’ face broke into a shit-eating grin;

“I have no fucking clue.”

---

“Let me get this straight—”

A chorus of ‘good luck with that’s and similar sentiments echoed Logan’s statement, much to his chagrin.

“Okay. Redo.”

“You can’t just say ‘redo’ IRL, Lo,” Virgil chuckled, not even bothering to look up from his phone—he had already checked out from the drama, but stayed for the simple pleasure of experiencing the familiar banter—and in fear of being called to the dean’s office for cutting class. Mostly the latter.

“And I would argue that you cannot say ‘IRL’ in a verbal conversation, yet here we are,” Logan paused for emphasis, adjusted his necklaces for the umpteenth time, and smoothed his hands over the table again before continuing, “Regardless. The situation that you—and I mean you two,” he gestured to the twins, “there is hardly a ‘we’ fault-wise here—have gotten into, is one of... feline larceny, without a known victim? Is that correct?” Remus nodded sheepishly—or as sheepish as his wolfish features could get, all teeth and eyes—while Roman just stewed in rage. Remus’ backpack laid halfway zipped on the lab table, and every once in a while a pink nose and whiskers would find its way into the light before being shoved back by a flurry of hands, aware of what yet another detention would mean for the twins. They couldn’t all just skip, though—they learned that the hard way from the last time one of Roman and Remus’ harebrained schemes had made its way from “a slight nuisance” to “an unignorable thorn in everyone’s side that also somehow ends with arson.” So, they had some past experience in handling the, well, experience that the twins brought along with their company—but they normally had at least a lead to work with.

“How,” Janus started, massaging his temples despite only just then contributing to the wreck of a conversation that their art class had devolved into, “do you steal a cat, and not know who from?” Remus just shrugged.

“It wasn’t intentional. I needed a cat, a guy had a cat, I didn’t ask questions. Was I supposed to?” Remus asked, eyebrows drawn together—normally, he’d be a sarcastic shit that would drive the group insane on (some level of) purpose, but now he just seemed genuinely afraid—of the consequences of his own actions, but, still—progress. Logan opened his mouth to offer his advice, but was silenced by the jarring ring of the bell. He sighed. This was going to be a long day of way more stress than he was qualified for—the twins were going to owe him another stick and poke if he had any say in the matter.

---

Remus must have been a wonderful, wonderful man in his past life. He had to have been. Because, somehow, by some good grace, he managed to make it through another two classes on his own, and to lunch in one piece, with a living cat by his side—well, in his backpack, but the merit stands. Logan could honestly say he was impressed—not that he would tell him that, though. Nevertheless, the six friends reconvened at lunch—still without a direction to turn.

“I could just put him back where I found him,” Remus started, attempting to break the icy silence at the table with a jackhammer as always.

“Do you even know where that is?” Roman scoffed, incredulous.

“Well, no, but I could get close.”

“This isn’t helping,” Logan interjected, “How about you bring it to a shelter? One nearby where you found it?” The table nodded in general agreement, but Remus only frowned.

“But that isn’t where I got it from. What if it has an owner? What if the closest shelter isn’t a no-kill shelter, and we go to all the trouble of saving the cat only for the fucks at the shelter to hurt it?” Remus’ pace picked up with his heart rate—despite only having this cat for maybe six hours, if anything happened to it, Remus had a pretty good idea of what he’d end up doing.

“We can check for that, can’t we, Lo?” Patton chimed in, placing a calming, steady hand on Remus’ shoulder, which sunk, relieved, at the touch.

“Possibly. But, regardless, it isn’t Remus’ cat. Our priority is to get it back to its original owner, if it has one,” Logan pointed out, “If that isn’t possible, then we need to reevaluate our plan, come up with another, and settle for a different goal.”

“Have we at any point today even actually had a plan?” Virgil snickered, ever the pessimist—it wasn’t like he was really helping as he was, once again, staring at his phone.

“Well, it’s not like you’ve done much besides stare at your phone today, edgelord,” Remus snarked, though it came out as more of a mumble—his face was pressed into the table, and his eyes were on the cat in the bag.

“You’re gonna have to get better nicknames, Dukey, we’re all edgelords here,” Janus deadpanned, smudging an unhealthy amount of eyeshadow around his eyes while Virgil and Remus argued over their respective contributions.

“Okay, can you, my brother,” Roman pointed to Remus, whose teeth clacked with how fast he shut up, ”and you, my boyfriend,” he pointed to Virgil, who could only look the smallest bit abashed,  “calm all the way down? Stop arguing, holy shit—” Roman took another breath, relishing the silence that had fallen over the table before pushing on, “—how about we all go, together, and fix this shit? I mean, what could go wrong?”

---

The answer was a lot. A fucking lot could go wrong when six seventeen-year-olds tried to coordinate anything, let alone an amateur heist.

Remus managed to get through the rest of the school day without much incident, but the rest of them were not so lucky, managing to receive a grand total of three detentions and six failed tests from lunch to the end of seventh period between the five of them. The teens recounted the horror stories of sixth period; Patton gesturing wildly from the driver's seat, Remus sat quietly (for maybe the second time in his life) in the passenger seat, and the remaining accomplices squished together in the back seat (which would fit three people at most for any group that wasn’t them). Also in the back seat was the cat, who had been dubbed “Thomas” for the time being—he was sat in Janus’ lap, curled up around an abandoned ball of yarn that had been left under one of the seats. The car ride across town would have been incredibly tense and unbearably long without the feline, and for that, Remus was grateful—even if he still had a sinking feeling of guilt swirling in his stomach.

---

           After a surprisingly uneventful car ride (except for the stop at a drive through for a morale boost (Patton’s words) of coffees and drinks which ended, after a rather nasty pothole, with a massive stain on the roof of the car), the party settled into the waiting room at the—no-kill, Remus triple checked—animal shelter. There weren’t enough chairs, so the group made more of a pile around Thomas, some of them standing, and the others sitting both on chairs and the floor. Juxtaposed with the sterile white of the walls, they stood out like the emo cousins that they basically were. Remus bounced his leg, up, down, up, down, over and over. He kept knocking his knee against Janus’, which jostled Thomas every time he did.

“Sorry,” Remus mumbled, trying to focus on holding still.  But it itched in the back of his brain, guilt and stress and fault and all the wonderful, terrible feelings churning, over and over. The clock behind the desk was too loud, and Remus couldn’t do anything about it because they wouldn’t even have to be here if not for him. So he kept his mouth shut and tried not to cry—for all of two minutes, because that was when Janus decided that he had had enough, and shoved a ball of fur into his arms. For a moment, Remus was terrified he was going to fuck it up, hurting Thomas or himself or causing some other inevitable disaster, but Thomas just pushed his warm face into Remus’ palm, and suddenly, somehow the only thing Remus could feel was loved. He choked out a wet laugh, unable to contain the bubbling build-up of emotions that had been brewing since he first saw Thomas that morning. His friends all looked at him, concerned at first, but all they could do was coo at Remus being the softest they had ever seen him. He sniffed, and gave them all a watery smile.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Sincerity? In my brother? It’s more likely than you think!” Roman teased, poking his brother in the arm. Remus stuck his tongue out at him, and the teens devolved into familiarity, playful taunts and sincere joy, waiting to be called back for Thomas’ check up.

---

While the veterinarian had been momentarily taken aback at the request for all six visitors to be in the room during the appointment, she also hadn’t seen a reason to say no at the time. Thus, once again, like the clowns they were, they piled into the room and crowded around the table, Thomas at the heart of it all—confoundingly calm given the situation, at least to the onlookers.

The veterinarian introduced herself to each of them, and began examining the cat for any injuries, microchips, or anything out of place.

“He seems to be healthy, no broken bones or infections…” The doctor said, reaching for a handheld device, “If he’s microchipped, and I’m able to reach the owner, you boys will be off the hook, okay?” Remus cringed, but nodded—he needed to remember that Thomas wasn’t his before he got hurt. She ran the scanner over Thomas’ back, and hummed.

“I’m… actually not finding anything. You said he was lost?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Remus confessed, “I found him on the street, so he could be a stray.”

“It seems he was a very lucky one, for sure. Most cats his age are incredibly susceptible to outside bacteria—finding you guys likely saved his life.” Remus’ eyes widened, and his hand reached for Thomas almost instinctively.

“You said that he doesn’t have an owner?”

“Not that I can determine, no. Did he have a collar, any sort of identification?”

Remus shook his head.

“Well, there are two options in the meantime; we can hold on to him, and put him up for adoption through our services, or you could adopt him. He needs to be immunized and neutered, first, but where he ends up is up to you guys.” Remus thought to himself for a moment.

“Hey, Roman. How mad do you think Mom would be if we brought Cain and Abel home a new friend?”

---

The answer? Not mad enough to outweigh her happiness at Remus’ smile with Thomas in his arms. And even though he didn’t end up getting the extra credit in anatomy, Remus’ circle of best friends grew by one, so he thinks he did alright in the end.

[maybedefinitely404]

American Dream

Genre: angst with a happy ending/fluff

Pairing: romantic Dukexiety 

World: just-out-of-high-school AU

Content: homophobia, threatened abuse from parents (no actual violence), extreme cold, getting kicked out, minor religious talk, getting outed, AIDS and death mention, fluffy Dukexiety because my heart needs it.

Word count: 2.3k

Comments: She doesn’t have Tumblr, but I need to give a shout out to my kiddo for proof reading and beta-ing most of my fics. She pushes me to write more, and even if she won’t see this, I just need to say it.  

This fic is inspired by the song American Dream by MKTO.

Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up… 

The night coolness spread through Virgil like a sickness. It was unforgiving, toxic, seeped with the memories of the evening that curled through his stomach in dark tendrils. Below his bare feet, the sidewalk burned in the way that only ice does, small pebbles digging into his soles. He would do anything for socks. God, why hadn’t he grabbed socks? 

Probably for the same reason he hadn’t grabbed shoes. 

Please pick up, please pick up, c’mon, pick up already!

His eyes hurt. They already burned with unshed tears that he’d still been too scared to release, and the cool air didn’t help. Crying on the street was a vulnerability he wasn’t ready to face. His lungs burned. He’d been sprinting non-stop for who knows how long. His own panicked gulps for air and the all-too-loud hum of a blinking streetlight were the only sound on the silent street. Virgil had been watching the moths swarm at the fixture for who knows how long, finding odd solace in the fact that at least there was still some life in the darkness. They were still alive, untouched, same as they were yesterday and probably the same as they would be tomorrow, unfazed by the complete turmoil his life had become. And that was somewhat comforting. 

“Virgie, you okay? It’s almost midnight!”

Thank fucking god. He opened his mouth to speak, to explain to Remus what had happened. Obviously, Remus would care. That wasn’t a doubt in his mind; that was the only reason he wasn’t anxious as all fuck right now… about the call, that is. He was anxious about approximately everything else. But as soon as the first noise made its way past his lips, the first utterance of a plea for help, everything that he’d been holding back burst forth like a broken dam. He clamped his hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the loud sobbing that he suddenly couldn’t contain.

“Shit. Virgil, what happened? I’m coming over. Are you at home?”

That’s the issue. “No,” he gasped, mildly surprised he hadn’t crushed the phone with the way his grip tightened, “I got kicked out.”

“What the fuck?!”

Virgil flinched. “Can… can you come p-pick me up? I’m at the corner of Jackson and Pullard. Please, please, come get me…”

“Yes. Absolutely. I’m on my way. Stay there, okay?”

Virgil hung up reluctantly after agreeing, not wanting his boyfriend to drive while on the phone, even if Remus gladly would have done it. In fact, he’d used to do it all the time; text, eat, do his makeup, all while cruising down the freeway. He’d only put a stop to it when he saw how much it affected Virgil.  

He counted down the minutes on his phone, always having been nitpicky with times, knowing that it shouldn’t take Remus more than ten minutes to get there. If he remembered correctly where he was at the moment, that is. Remus had gotten kicked out of his parents’ house in his senior year of high school after a bad fight. They’d never really been great parents, always showing favoritism towards his brother (amongst other things), and he was more than willing to leave. Virgil had tried to beg his parents to let Remus stay with them, but they’d downright refused, calling him a bad influence and a string of other insults that Virgil didn’t even like to think about. God forbid what would happen if they found out the two were dating.

…Well, they did now. And God hadn’t exactly forbidden what they’d done. 

But Remus hadn’t had a solid place to live since it had happened almost a year ago. He couch surfed for a while, bouncing between some old friends who had now gone off to college, or just lived in his car. He’d made it work, and had claimed to Virgil that he actually didn’t mind it that much. If he was telling the truth, Virgil wasn’t sure. He’d saved up some money and bought an inflatable mattress that filled up his back seat area, and Virgil was able to give him his family’s old camping stove by convincing them they lost it. It’s not like they’d gone camping since he was a kid, anyways. Last he’d checked, Janus was home for break and Remus was staying with him for the two weeks he was in town, but those two weeks were probably pretty close to done. Unfortunately, Virgil and Janus had never gotten along, so Remus didn’t bring him up. It was a mutual understanding. 

As soon as Remus’ car pulled up to the curb, ten minutes on the dot, Virgil basically flung himself into the passenger seat. The car was warm, so so warm, he almost cried again, this time in relief. Remus pulled back onto the road as soon as he was buckled on. 

“Vee, what happened?” It wasn’t hard to guess, there were only so many reasons his parents would have to kick him out. He’d narrowed it down to his parent’s finally having it with Virgil’s tattoo artist dream, or… well… 

“Someone at my mom’s work found my Instagram. She went up to my mom, basically started gushing about ‘how handsome I was with my boyfriend’. Specifically the picture of us at Pride from a couple years ago.”

“Ah.” Remus knew the picture well. He’d printed it out and it was pinned to the inside of his sun visor. 

“Yeah. Mom called my dad, they were both waiting when I got home. Had screenshots and everything. They grilled me about ‘dishonoring God’ and ‘throwing away my life’. Said I was gonna get AIDS. Die before twenty five. Ya know. The whole lecture.”

Remus didn’t. Surprisingly, him being gay was not a concern of his parent’s. His brother was gay too, and they didn’t give a rat’s ass about that. He nodded along anyways.

“They went on for so long. It was insane. Then they dropped the whole ‘you’re not our son’ thing-” Virgil’s voice cracked, but he swallowed around the lump in his throat and continued, “I figured this is where it was leading to, them kicking me out? I thought they’d give me time to pack, though. Except my dad started getting physical-”

“HE WHAT?!” Remus was tempted to turn the fucking car around and drive to Virgil’s house, just to give his parents a piece of his mind. He was fuming; fuck, he hadn’t been this mad in a while.

“Relax, Rem. I got out before he could actually land a hit. That’s why I don’t have anything with me. I had to run.”

“Doesn’t make it any better.”

“I know.” Virgil pulled his feet up onto the seat cross legged, trying to rub some feeling back into them. Luckily, they weren’t bleeding, just cold as hell. That was one less thing to worry about. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“Of course, Vi,” Remus’ voice had taken on a softer edge that he rarely allowed anyone to see, and he reached over to take one of Virgil’s hands into his own, “Speaking of which, why were you on Jackson? That’s, what, three miles away from your house?”

“When I say I ran, I mean literally. I was scared they would follow me.” Virgil shrugged, as if the statement wasn’t the most heartbreaking thing Remus had ever heard. “I wasn’t thinking clearly, I just ran. That’s why it took me so long to realize I should call you.”

Remus sighed, letting his thumb run against Virgil’s knuckles. “You don’t have to act all brave, Vi.”

“I don’t think I ever saw you cry when you got kicked out.”

“That’s because I didn’t love my parents. I honestly didn’t. I know your parents mean a lot to you. And I’m sorry it went down like it did.”

It was the truth, but he honestly didn’t want to think about it right now. What kind of loving family kicks out their child? Virgil took a shaky breath in and mumbled, “Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

“Okay. Let’s talk about something else. What’s our plan?”

Virgil was quiet for a long moment, as if deep in thought. He watched the scenery fade from his suburban area of town to the darker, rural parts of the town’s edge, not knowing or caring where they were driving. The escape from street lights was nice. “Why do we need a plan?”

Remus’ eyebrows shot up at the sudden playful tone in Virgil’s words. “Oh?”

“I mean, is anything really holding us here?” 

“My, my,” Remus crooned, pulling into an empty lot and parking in the furthest spot from the street, “I thought I was the impulsive one.”

“I’m serious, Rem!” Virgil laughed, swatting lightly at Remus’ hand. The happy sound was like music to his ears. “I’m dead serious! What’s keeping us here?”

“Patton? Logan?”

“Both across the country. And you know they’re considering staying there when they graduate.” Janus’ name was an understood thing. They both knew his school was barely an hour from the other two. Even if Virgil couldn’t stand the guy, he knew that Remus and Janus went far back. Judging by Remus’ slowly brightening expression, he could assume that Janus would probably be down to stay there as well. 

“Work?”

“I work at Walmart. They won’t miss me. Try again.”

Remus scrunched his eyebrows almost thoughtfully, even though this was maybe the easiest decision he’d ever had to make. Plus, they both knew Remus didn’t really ‘think’ in general. “It almost sounds like you want to take a roadtrip, my little emo.”

Virgil scrunched his nose at the nickname, but let a wider smile spread across his tear stained cheeks. “I kind of do.”

Remus shut the car off, turning to his boyfriend with a shit eating grin. “I like this new side of you.”

“Well…” Virgil’s voice turned sheepish under the almost cheshire cat level expression, “Should we?”

“Let’s make up our minds tomorrow.” Remus stated, gesturing to the mattress behind him, “Sleep for tonight. You must be exhausted, coming up with ideas like this.”

Virgil grumbled under his breath, something about ‘not being a baby’, but clambered into the backseat after Remus, double checking the locks on the doors as he went. The air mattress was comfier than he thought it would be, and it was only made better when Remus pulled him in like a teddy bear, tugging a blanket over them. They both sighed in contentment, then promptly burst out laughing at the synchronicity.  

“Oh my god, what have we become?” Remus gasped, pulling Virgil in closer nonetheless. Virgil snorted in response, looking up to meet Remus’ eyes through a haze of sudden exhaustion and amusement. The laughter died down slowly as they both gave in to their fatigue, finishing the day with a slow kiss that left them both breathless. Virgil fell asleep with plans forming and circulating through his mind, the rest of the evening almost forgotten.

--------------------------------------------

His parents were at work, and Virgil knew their kitchen window didn’t lock properly, which was what led to him stuffing everything he could into a black duffel bag while Remus kept watch from his car. He wasn’t too concerned about the parents coming home, but it gave him ample time to look over the map he’d bought from the gas station that morning and plan a route. He didn’t want to admit that his leg was shaking from pure excitement. This idea had been somewhere in the back of his mind for a long time, but he knew Virgil valued his relationship with his family and liked being near them, so he never brought it up. Granted, the situation wasn’t great, but he considered this ‘making the best of it’. A twisted paradise. 

He barely flinched as his trunk was thrown open and Virgil threw his bag inside before hopping back into his seat.

“Okay, so how about we drive up to Maine, apparently the sea food is legendary! Then we cut back through Ohio. There’s literally nothing in Ohio, but we can cross it off the list at least! And then-”

Virgil laughed, cutting him off, “I thought we weren’t planning!”

“Well, we need at least a rough idea,” Remus said with a pout, “What we do there and how long we stay, that’s up to impulse. I was thinking we should try to get through all the states, wouldn’t that be cool?”

Virgil could only nod, leaning forward to kiss Remus again. “Sounds amazing,” he murmured, so close they were almost touching. They’d talked to Logan and Patton earlier that morning, and they were equally as excited for the two of them. Remus had called Janus while Virgil was packing, quickly explaining the situation (and also why Remus had disappeared in the middle of the night), and Janus supported it. Made sense, since he was almost as impulsive as Remus. Plus, he was going back to school in a couple days, so it didn’t make much of a difference. That said, they still didn’t have a time limit. Their friends were just starting second semester, meaning they could schedule themselves to arrive in California for summer break, or they could spend longer on the road. But schedules are for chumps. 

As they rolled out of the quaint neighborhood Virgil had grown up in, Remus reached down and took his hand again. “Say goodbye to white picket fences.” And god, the joyful expression on Virgil’s face was enough to make him melt.

By the time they hit the freeway, they were both nearly shaking with anticipation. Virgil stuck his hands out the sunroof, the wind whipping through his hair, and let out a whoop that was almost contagious. This was the start of something amazing, they both felt it. 

Cali, here we come.

[that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick]

Summary: Winry sat in the optimal place to study in the school cafe for the entire fall semester. Then spring came, and suddenly some self-entitled twit who dressed like off-brand Gerard Way decided it was his territory. He was so not going to get off easy.

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.8k words of coffee shop/college AU with a side of enemies to almost-lovers

A/N: It's finals week, I posted this on Ao3 at almost 5am, and if the rest of the sentence didn't make it obvious, I'm writing from unfortunate experience. Not beta-ed or proofread, although I happened to see one thing to fix when I woke up this morning. Feel my raw power. Rawr.

It wasn't that big a deal.

It kind of really was, though.

Every Thursday morning during the fall semester, Winry sat in the same spot at the same school coffee shop. It was the spot sent by the entire patron pantheon of cram papers. Maybe one person didn't need an entire booth, but it was in the corner, and the tops of the bench seats had opaque plastic barriers that just so happened to be perfect for minimizing excess visual chaos. For the most part, there weren't loud conversations, and the jazz music that came through the speakers helped her tune out people ordering coffee. Add to that the fact that she could use campus flex dollars and not her own bank account that was begging for mercy, and it was the perfect spot to get papers done.

But apparently not this spring.

As soon as Winry walked in, she noticed him in the corner. Some emo wannabe guy on his computer. Probably on Reddit complaining about how women didn't appreciate the amazing pics he sent them on Tinder. Or at least, it was a fair guess based on the sour look on his face. Why did this guy of all people have to steal the holy grail spot? Ugh. She was still gonna get her coffee, darn it.

"You know the deal, Sciezska. Medium roast with a shot of espresso and vanilla creamer."

"On it! You paying in flex?"

"Yeah." She scanned her student ID and lowered her voice. "Who's off-brand Gerard Way in the corner?"

"Who's Ger—"

"The punk kid."

"Ohhh. I can try to get his number for you, if you want."

"No, he looks like a total tool! And not the kind I like dealing with!"

"Which means you think he's hot. I didn't think you were into that type, but you're not wrong."

"For the last time, no, Sciezska! He took my spot! And I'm trying very, very hard to keep this to a stage whisper, but if you keep trying to set me up with some random creep, I won't be able to!"

A distinctly male voice grumbled, "I'm not a creep."

"Keep telling that to the girls on Tinder. I'm sure they'll understand eventually."

"Yeah, and I'll bet if you look at your 'Live, Laugh, Love' sign a little more, you'll understand it eventually." He mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that, Mr. Nice Guy?"

"Lay off, it's eight in the morning. I said the only reason I even have a Tinder account is because my roommate stole my phone while I was going to the bathroom."

"Well, if you didn't want it, why didn't you delete it?"

"Eh, I figured if I really got sick of being single one day, it'd already be there."

"Never would have guessed you were single," Winry said dryly.

"Come on, it's way too early to be rubbing that kind of crap in. Who says I'm not fine with being single anyway?"

Sciezska timidly spoke up. "Medium roast with espresso and vanilla creamer?"

Winry thanked her as red jacket boy continued. "'Edward Elric, Bachelor.' Almost sounds as good as 'Edward Elric, Bachelor of Science.'"

"B.S. degree. Sounds about right."

"About time you stopped acting like I'm an idiot!"

Winry snorted. "That's not what I meant."

"Hey!"

"And with that, I'm going to go find some other spot to write my paper."

Edward, as his name apparently was, scoffed and mumbled something that sounded like "good riddance". Maybe the librarians wouldn't get on her case too much for bringing in coffee.

-----

A week later, Winry walked into the cafe, assuming the circumstances of the previous week were an anomaly. They were not.

"Medium roast with a shot of espresso and vanilla creamer," she grumbled and sulked in the direction of the corner seat.

"Hey, don't start with me again, blondie. I've had a whopping four hours of sleep and I can't promise you'll like what comes out of my mouth."

"We're at a coffee shop. Get some coffee. I can't help it if you're too hung over to be polite."

"Now look, genius. I did not stay up until 4 A.M. working on a stupid chem paper for that sadistic pyromaniac excuse for a professor just for some random chick to accuse me of being hung over."

"Oh."

"Yeah. And for your information, coffee doesn't really help me wake up. It just helps me focus on homework." He lifted up his empty cup and gave it a shake.

"That's the weirdest thing I've ever heard."

"ADHD is a weird thing, and yet, here I am."

"Huh, interesting."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to pick up where I left off with the same stupid ten page paper I started last night."

"Oh right. Sure," Winry stammered. "Listen, I'm really sorry I just assumed things about you. It was wrong of me, and I'd like to make it up to you, if that's okay."

Edward eyed her suspiciously. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well...I could look over your paper once you're done writing it? I've got a paper of my own to write while I'm waiting, and I can sit right across the table here so you don't have to come get me. I won't try to talk to you or anything. Neither of us need that kind of distraction."

"Alright, alright. Get your coffee and sit down. The girl at the counter's been up there waiting for a good minute or two while you've been at confessional over here."

"Wait, she has?" Winry's eyes widened, and Edward laughed at her expense. He was kind of attractive when he wasn't scowling...wait what? She pouted and got up to retrieve her coffee. When Winry returned, she plopped down on the bench opposite Edward and opened her laptop. Peeking out from behind it, she added, "By the way, I'm Winry. I figured you ought to at least know the name of the person who's proofreading your paper."

"Well, Winry, you're the one who volunteered." The corners of his mouth twitched upward. The two worked on their assignments in silence, occasionally speaking up when necessary.

-----

Edward was in the corner again the next week as well.

"Hey, Edward! Mind if I join you for homework again?"

"Normally, I'd say no, but you didn't bother me too much last week, so you might as well." He turned away slightly.

"Great! Have you gotten your coffee yet? I didn't see a cup, and you got something the last two times."

"Eh, I haven't been here long. If you're going up and getting yours, would you mind ordering a caramel macchiato for me?" He asked, sliding his ID across the table.

"Yeah, no problem. I'll be back in a sec."

She returned and slipped his ID back before pulling out her computer. "Do you have anything for me to look over this time?"

"Not this week. But if you have anything you need looked over, I can do that, too."

"Actually, I do, if you wouldn't mind."

"Winry, I just volunteered. Just send the paper to my school email. Mine's 'elricedwa'," he instructed as he proceeded to spell it.

"Medium roast and a caramel macchiato?" Sciezska called out.

"Coming!" Winry replied and turned to Edward. "I just sent it, so you should be able to start while I'm getting our stuff." Eyes glued to his laptop, Edward gave a thumbs up.

Once she returned with their drinks, Winry sat down and wordlessly set Edward's drink next to him.

"Thanks," he muttered distantly. His lips mirrored the words he was reading. Though his lips weren't plump by any stretch of the imagination, they were shapely. His steely concentration made the air leave Winry's lungs. To top it all off, the first rays of sunlight came through the window just right, hitting Edward's hair in a way that made it positively glow.

What was she thinking? Those were only the sorts of things people thought when they had a crush. She'd only had two positive interactions with him, including this one. ...well, maybe it was a crush. She could certainly do worse than someone with a questionable fashion sense. After all, he worked hard, and he got good grades, if the quality of his writing was any indication. Okay, fine. He was also drop dead gorgeous, if you could see past his clothing choices. Yeah, she had a crush.

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

"...no."

"Figures. I finished reading your paper. It's not bad, I just left a few suggestions for sentence structure. Now I am going to enjoy my caramel macchiato." He took off the lid and breathed in the steam with his eyes closed, nearly drooping into the cup in content. When he opened his eyes slowly, Winry was awestruck by the similarity between the color of his eyes and his drink.

"What?" Edward furrowed his eyebrows.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything. At all. Nope."

"Okay." He shrugged. She reopened the document and went through his suggested edits. Gnawing her lip in concentration, she leaned forward a bit to settle in and tackle the editing.

"...hey, uh, Winry?" Edward gulped. "Are you going to drink your coffee?"

"Oh! Yeah, I almost forgot. Thanks, Edward!" she smiled.

"No–no problem. And you can call me Ed, you know. Most people do. Except for that excuse for a professor that calls me pipsqueak. Can you believe he's my advisor? I mean, come on, I'm a grown man. I'm not that short."

Winry made a poor attempt at containing her laughter. "Okay then, Ed. Prove it. Stand up."

"Fine." He slid out of the booth and stood. Winry followed suit and appraised their respective heights.

"Well, I'd hardly call you tall, but you're at least taller than me by a few inches, for whatever that's worth."

Edward grinned as if he had won some sort of prize. "Time for shorties to sit down now!"

"Watch it now. You're not too far from that label yourself, mister."

They both returned to their positions in the booth and worked steadily for the next hour. At the end of that time, Winry closed her laptop. "Ed, are you okay? You seem distracted."

"ADHD. I'm always distracted," he dismissed.

"No, like, are you sick or something? You did get more than four hours of sleep this time, right?"

"No comment." Ed's mouth twitched. He mumbled barely loud enough to hear, "Wouldn't have mattered anyway."

"Are you sure? If you're not feeling well, I can drive you over to the health center."

"N-no. That's not it." He exhaled, then slid a napkin across the table. His hands trembled slightly. "Anyway, here's my number. In case you need me to look over a paper. Or whatever. I've got a class soon."

Winry blushed, but tucked the napkin in her laptop. "Thanks, Ed. See you next week?"

"Yeah. Next week."

-----

Winry: This goes with your major, right?

Edward: Blocked

[xlehukax]

Still Beating Heart

Foreword: Hello! I’ve been working on this thing for a little while now, and it’s finally done! This fanfiction is set in the Pediatric Doctors AU that I made, that you can learn more about here.  It’s done in conjunction to writings by @eeveeeclair246​, to who has the first installment of this series, titled Inefficent Iron, which you can find here. And, if you don’t want to read on Tumblr, I get it! This will also be on Archives in a hot minute, so check my Masterpost for the link. Now, on with the show!

Ships: Roman x Virgil, Implied Remus x Logan

Word Count: 10215

Warnings: LANGUAGE, Alcoholism, Bars, Panic Attacks, Medical Issues (ie. weak hearts), Cheating, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Rape, that creeping feeling of regret. 

Summary: Virgil’s always been the quiet nurse, the prickly one, the don’t talk to me unless there’s an issue one. Roman’s fresh out of a relationship, and looking to go out on the town, and needs a friend to go along with. And Virgil can’t say no to his crush, even if they work in the same place. 

~~~~

It’s just another day at the office: by that, Virgil means, Patton’s handing out cookies, Logan’s being a work-aholic and refuses to let any of the patients go to Janus, in which is being very meticulous and annoyingly good at his job and refusing to let Virgil do his, Remus is going through the latest urine samples, and Roman is doing what Roman does best. Ranting about his latest breakup while painting his nails in the receptionist booth. 

And Virgil just happens to be the only one around, after Patton leads the last patient of the day to Logan and the waiting room finally empties. Virgil simply sighs in defeat, and tries to shrink into his nurse uniform. Let it be known, he did not choose to be there. Or ever.

“Emo, are you even listening?” 

“Yup, yes, I am, absolutely,” 

“Alright, just had to make sure, you know, you tend to ignore me, which you’d think is impossible but you never cease to surprise me in that regard. Anyway, so this guy, Ethan- total dreamboat, eyes bluer than you’d ever believe. So I met him on this app, and we went for drinks a few weeks ago: and thirty minutes in, I’m in love. He’s a painter. Sweetest guy- we end up at his apartment, and you know- but I was in it for the long haul. Virgil, I was really ready for a long-term with this guy. He seemed  like he was down for it too… and then, just yesterday, you know what I found in his apartment?” 

“Another person,” Virgil sighs.

“Some floozy, blond and covered in hickeys, and Ethan painting her. Like, I didn’t know what to be more offended about: the fact that he cheated on me or that he doesn’t have a sexy painting of me!” 

“Mhmm…” Virgil’s almost fallen asleep, and doesn’t even notice Roman hovering utop him until he’s right in his face. 

“Virgil-” Roman shouts, and Virgil startles right into Roman’s arms. Which he now is realizing quite quickly are not just incredibly strong because they hold his weight easily, but landing their faces inches apart. Virgil sucks in a gasp- Roman smirks. “Hey there… you know, you’re not too bad looking yourself. Under all that makeup, you’re quite the princess, aren’t you?” It takes Virgil a moment to craft a response, he’s so scatterbrained and blushing. 

“Fuck off Princey, I’m not your latest conquest,” Virgil hisses, still a large flush on his features. Roman flicks his nose. 

“Yeah, but you’re still cute. Maybe I should date you~” 

“In your fucking dreams- you cycle through boyfriends so fast, I’ll be dust in the wind,” 

“Hmm,” Roman still hasn’t let Virgil go, and it is not helping the warmth in his face whatsoever, “Can’t argue with that.” And then Virgil is unceremoniously dumped onto the chair he was sitting in, with Roman towering above him. Did he always have those pretty eyes? He’s got these fantastically plump lips, it really shows when he’s smirking like that. And that hair is quite… quite royal-  now that he’s looking at it- 

Bloody hell, stop, now’s not the time to fawn, Virgil curses at himself. Virgil has always been introverted, and this- this interaction, Roman’s boldness with him… it’s completely unfamiliar. A bold move, reaching into his space, completely ignoring all of the protective glares and hisses that Virgil had in place. Disregarded his shields completely. Virgil has been harboring a bit of an infatuation with this confident musical wonder as of late, and this is not helping matters. Roman chuckles, running a hand through his hair. 

“Well, J.Delightful, now I simply must make use of this situation,” 

“What are you getting at-” Virgil snarls, to which Roman simply grins widely.

“You’re going to be my new wingman. There’s a open mic at a gay bar I frequent, and if I’m going to find somebody, then I need someone else to be my safety buddy. You know, watch for creepy old men who hit on me and all that jazz,” Roman pushes, eyes alight with excitement, “Patton won’t go with me anymore because he doesn’t like the loud noises, Logan doesn’t drink, I’m not asking Janus to come he’ll scare them all away or steal the attention, and Remus- well, you can probably guess why not Remus, and it’s not because people approach us because we’re twins. I can’t believe I’ve never asked you to come with me! It’ll give us some good outside of work bonding time too. Isn’t it great?” 

“I don’t want to,” Virgil grumbles. Roman tuts. 

“Oh come on now- am I so hard to be around?” No, Virgil thinks, and that’s the problem. “Pfft, if it’s really so hard, I’ll just cave and bring around someone else.” 

“No…” Virgil whispers, so quiet that he’s sure it’s nearly silent, and Roman’s eyebrow perks up. 

“Hmm? Was that a no I just heard?” 

“I just- I’m not good in social situations, do you even really want me there? I’ll probably just screw your chances, scare people off,” 

“Perfect! I’ll need someone to scare someone off,” 

“But- I’ll damper on your fun,” 

“Never! You will never cease to be fun to poke fun at,” 

“I don’t know, Princey. You really want me there?” Virgil says, looking away and speaking in hushed tones still. Roman grabs his pale hands, squeezing them tightly. 

“I need you, Virge,” Roman purrs. Virgil blushes harder, somehow, and tucks his head into his shoulder and murmurs his agreement. Damn it. “Wonderful! I’ll pick you up at 9, how does that sound?” 

“Wait, tonight?” Virgil squawks. Roman drops his hands, blessedly, and steps back from him shrewdly. Smart, as Virgil’s immediate response is to throw a punch. Roman easily sidesteps. 

“Oh, yes- did I not mention that? Tonight. It’s Friday,” Roman nods, smiling wickedly. Oh my god, I need to bathe, I need to find something nice-ish to wear, unearth my good eyeshadow, fuck it all I need new skin- 

“Hey, hey, don’t freak. You don’t have to get all fancy for me: wear what makes you comfortable, and I’ll stop by your apartment at 9,” 

“Wait a second- how do you know where I live?” Virgil says, suddenly horrified. Roman snickers. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Uh, yes I would,” Virgil growls. 

“Pfft, I need to know everyone’s addresses, I’m the receptionist, Virge. It’s my job,” Roman scoffs. Virgil blushes: well, now he feels foolish. But it reminds him: Roman and himself work together. It doesn’t matter if something comes out of this, as it is- Remus and Logan are constantly being sickeningly cute around the office. The real problem is if he screws this up, and still has to go to work with him the next day. This is a really bad idea. But… When will he have another golden opportunity like this one? 

“Okay, okay- 9, right?”

“Yes! Thank you, My Chemically Imbalanced Romance- you’re going to have so much fun. I’ll sing a song just for you, as thanks,” Roman grins cheekily, Virgil blows the hair out of his eyes, attempting nonchalant despite the whirlwind of anxiety confined within. 

“Alright, fine, whatever. Should I- should I dress a certain way? Wait, is there a dress code? How much money should I bring? Is it credit or cash? Do they have food there? Will I have to dance?” Virgil shudders at the thought of dancing, even with Roman, who is currently blinking rapidly under the onslaught of questions. 

“Okay erm, just dress how you normally do? Scratch that, a peg hotter than a hoodie, thank you. No dress code, have you ever been to a bar? Just bring your wallet, think about how many drinks you want, and I’m dancing whether you’re going to or not, so-” 

Virgil takes notes internally, already too worried about this whole ordeal. He should really just cancel, say he just remembered something, but he knows he’ll regret that later. Either way, the only other thing he’s doing tonight is hanging with his spider, Missy, and watching Unsolved Mysteries. So…

“I’ll- I’ll see you later then, Princey,” Virgil murmurs, before gathering the few things he has around him and breezing past whilst trying to make it appear like he’s not running away. 

“See you!! At least pretend to be excited- It’s going to be one hell of a night, Virge- you won’t regret this!” 

As Virgil silently clocks out (Patton will take over the end of the day nurse activities, it’s fine) he thinks to himself, I certainly hope not. 

~~~~~

And then, it’s already 8:50, too soon. Virgil showered, twice, because the first time he used his usual unscented body wash for work and not the one that smells like lavender and violets and by jove Roman inviting him out after work deserves more than unscented. Then the clothes resulted in a mini fashion show in front of the mirror for an hour, where upon he finally settled on a black button down over a grey undershirt with some black ripped jeans (it took him another 25 minutes to decide on mostly untucked in a ‘I just threw this on’ careless feel), and his favorite purple and black hoodie just in case it got cold… of which he ended up shivering right away anyhow and put it on anyway. 

And then a whole other hour on makeup: a very tasteful black eyeliner and purple and black smokey eye with just a hint of dark glitter. Some lipstick, and a little dust on his cheekbones, and Virgil finally felt confident, an emotion that lasted all of ten minutes when he realized that he hadn’t chosen a pair of shoes yet. 

The shoes took another thirty minutes alone. And then the idea of changing his hair up a little occurred to him, and that was another hour wasted that ended with keeping his regular low-hanging hair anyway. 

And now he’s trying not to look like he’s waiting, because he doesn’t want to be waiting on Roman, but he needs to see if his car comes up, but he doesn’t want to be desperate, so he’s panicking slightly in his apartment with all the lights off because he was going to leave and now he’s freaking out instead, because he doesn’t know if it’s more appropriate to wait for Roman to text him that he’s outside and head downstairs after that or to just head downstairs now like a normal person or maybe he just shouldn’t go. His head slowly stops pounding, and his breath evens out, the oncoming anxiety attack fading away with the thought. Yeah, maybe Virgil can stay home instead- there’s too many variables anyway. 

When Virgil was young, he was always making decisions like this. He was sick, not like crazy-sick, but sick. Anemia, coupled with coronary heart disease, topped off with bronchitis. He had weak lungs, weak heart, weak blood- his whole body was frail, and sometimes his blood didn’t move around fast enough to make him work right. There was no running around, no nothing: he was constantly worried about every little thing, because his parents were. Did you take your pills today? How was your bloodwork? Are you feeling woozy? Until Virgil just stopped leaving the house whatsoever. It was just easier. There was no chance of passing out while crossing a street and getting run over, never going to embarrass himself at school by having a heart attack… 

And wouldn’t you know, staying at home made him only sicker. No muscle mass whatsoever, pale as a ghost, always so cold, so frail from not getting enough nutrients. His parents made the best decision of their lives and set him down the path that led him here by… by hiring a nurse. A kind nurse, with funny jokes and encouragement, who helped him go outside for the first time in months. Who taught him little things to make him stronger, like light weights. Virgil grew out of his heart disease, and though he still had bronchitis and anemia, he regularly took medications which made them easy to handle. And just like that, Virgil was no longer sickly (at least externally, he still had anxiety, but he’s managing it). Then he was a normal teenager, who wanted to be strong enough to help someone in the same way that nurse had. 

 Here Virgil is now- and he’s not going to fall into that same loop he was in as a kid. He’s better now, medicating only when needed. Virgil is all lean-muscle, and he’s better than his anxiety. He can totally go on a date-not-a-date with his crush to a gay karaoke bar. Totally. Taking a deep breath, Virgil checks his phone (which is fully charged with two mini backup batteries on his keys tucked into his back pocket) and realizes with horror that Roman texted a whole six minutes ago while Virgil was panicking that he was waiting downstairs.

“Shit!” Virgil slams his door, and just runs down the stairs instead of taking the elevator (he only lives on the fourth floor anyway, because anything higher than like 10 fire ladders can’t get to and there’s a 50% possibility of surviving a fall from four stories), and hopes his meticulous makeup job isn’t ruined. By Roman’s expression, he doesn’t think it did- 

He had been grinning teasingly, mouth open to say some quip, but his jaw goes slack when he sees Virgil. Roman’s eyes are wide, leaning up against his red car, as he watches Virgil stop by the curb only a few feet in front of him. Roman whistles.

“Damn, Virgil… you look- damn. Wowza, do you clean up nice,” Roman falls over his words, making Virgil flush. Roman thinks I look good- I did good, it’s all good. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Princey,” Virgil whispers. Because really, he doesn’t: Roman’s white dress shirt has the top two buttons undone, showing off his pectorals and just a hint of his abs, and some nice pants. His hair is done over to the side, and one crown earring hangs from an ear. It’s really a delightful look, but makes Virgil feel out of place with his dark clothes and his heavy makeup. Roman only has a light bit. “Did I go overboard? I can- I can wash it off,” Virgil asks, hating that he’s offering to change this intensive and difficult look for a stupid guy.

“No, no- you look gorgeous. Seriously Virge, you should do my makeup. Like, I feel outdone, and I never feel that way! Come on, get on in, let’s go,” Roman shoos Virgil into the car, where he feels just as much if not more awkward. Still, he’s excited, out of this world excited: Roman likes how he looks. Roman finds him attractive, and they’re going to the club, together. 

Not together, Virgil- you’re just his buddy. Virgil has to remind him that this is not a date, that he’s gotten all worried and dressed up for sitting at a bar and watching Roman flirt with other men. It makes his heart ache, but at least they’re together now .

“We’re almost there, Emo. You ready to have a good time?” 

“I uh- erm, I mean. Yeah. Yeah sure, I’ll have fun sitting in the corner doing fucking nothing, that’s what I’m ready for,” Virgil’s suddenly defensive and feels horrible about the crude outburst. 

“Oh my- Virge, do you not want to go? I don’t want to force you into anything!” No, I do, I do! 

“Eh, it’s whatever. I got all dressed up, be a shame to not go out. I just- I don’t like to- I’m-” 

“I know you don’t like being left alone! Don’t worry, I’ll be close by the whole time. I’ll watch you if you watch me, yeah?” 

“Why are you so worried about being watched? You’ve clearly been to a lot of these things…” Virgil changes the subject to hide his flush at Roman’s empathy for him. 

“Ah, well- I have been to a lot of these things, and I’ve had some… unfavorable experiences. A few times now, guys have put stuff in my drinks, or waited for me to get drunk and then take me home. It’s… it’s not what I want. I go to meet new people, not to get a one-night stand that I didn’t want. They don’t make me feel good. I hate it,” Roman growls at the road, and Virgil makes what might be a rash decision and places his long pale hands on Roman’s tanned worn ones by the gearshift. Roman looks over at him, and Virgil ducks his head. Roman smiles. 

“I’ll watch out for you, I promise. I don’t really drink either, ‘cuz of my blood issues, so I can drive home too,” Virgil murmurs, still looking away. Roman moves his hand around, grips his tightly. Virgil doesn’t look at it, but knows they’re intertwined, and it makes his head hurt. 

“Thank you, Virge. Aaand, we’re here,” the bar is bright in the dark evening, a neon sign advertising it, and Roman pulls into a parking space behind the building. He takes his key, and reaches out to put it in Virgil's pocket. “Don’t trust myself to hand em over, this thing’s my baby. I’m trusting you, though, and you gotta be good about that, alright?” 

Virgil nods, and allows Roman to exit the car and help him out the other side. Roman throws his arm over Virgil’s shoulders, and saunters into the bar. As expected, it is loud. Someone’s already singing, a song by Chicago, and is doing pretty okay. There are bright lights here and there, some spots illuminated completely and others in darkness. There’s a whole load of people here too: some make eyes at him as he walks in. Virgil sticks to Roman, who chuckles, as they both head to the bar. The bartender seems to recognize Roman. 

“Here for the open mic, are you, King?” 

“You know it! Sign me right on up,” Roman laughs. Roman’s arm drops from Virgil’s shoulders. The bartender rolls his eyes, swipes some green dyed locks from his vision and writes Roman’s name on a pad. 

“What song are you singing?” 

“It’s a surprise, like usual, Vincent, I don’t know why you even bother asking,” 

“Uh huh. And I see you brought a friend… you wanna sing too, baby-cheeks?” Vincent asks, leaning forwards. 

Virgil hisses at him, then clears his throat.

“I don’t fucking sing,” he snarls, adding in his mind, in public. Vincent smiles knowingly. 

“Aha, a feisty one. You really know how to pick em’, eh? Can I get you a drink then?” Virgil feels like he’s about to explode: this is not what he signed up for. He is here to be with Roman and watch out for him, not take this guy’s shit. Roman notices, and slings his arm once more over him. 

“Nah, just a work colleague. He’s a nurse~ and doesn’t drink. It’s a shame, I know, but it’ll work better in my favor anyway. I’ll save money on the taxi. Incredible Sulk, how does a black coffee sound?” 

“I guess that’s okay,” Virgil grumbles, glaring at this man even as he shrugs and complies. They both take a seat at the bar, Roman ordering some complicated fancy thing to match his personality and Virgil immediately hunching over his hot coffee. It’s surprisingly good for a bar, bitter yet flavourful, and Virgil finds himself smiling down at it. 

“Eh, I think that smile says it’s more than just okay!” Roman purrs, shimmying closer to Virgil and bumping their shoulders. It seems as though the alcohol is already having an effect, his disposition somehow brighter. Virgil shies away slightly. Someone else saddles up to the bar and introduces himself. This man has long swoopy raven hair, and is even more lanky than Logan. He leans by Roman, eyes colder than Virgil would like. The dark haired fellow decides to listen in on the conversation… just in case. 

“Hey, do I know you from somewhere?” the stranger says. Roman puts his hand on the bar, slurps the rest of his drink down in one go.

“I’m not sure- I do tend to get around. Where do you think you know me from, blue eyes?” Oh no. The guy’s got blue eyes, he didn’t even notice that. Virgil mourns his only chance at getting with Roman- this guy’s stealing it. 

 “Oh, I know! The theatre, right? You were Jason Dean in the Heathers production! Scary shit, man. You’re a fantastic singer. Hey, can we get another drink?” the stranger waves over Vincent, who fixes Roman another bright cocktail. Roman immediately starts fiddling with the straw, and looks up at the stanger. 

“The name’s Roman. What’s yours?”

“I’m Lucian. It’s nice to meet you. Man, it’s so loud here: I wish we could go~,” Lucian says. Virgil narrows his eyes at the stranger, takes another sip of coffee. Roman smirks, and turns and winks at Virgil as if to say Look at this catch. Virgil tries to smile, but is pretty sure it’s just a grimace. It may just be Virgil’s luck (despite how it affects Roman) but Virgil notices Lucian dropping something in Roman’s drink. Virgil slams the table, slaps Lucian, and pushes the drink away. He fists his hand in Lucian’s shirt, able to lift the man a foot or two in the air. Patrons gawk at the events unfolding, Roman seems shocked. 

“Don’t fucking touch Roman’s drink, what the fuck did you put in there you bastard?” 

“Dude- that’s my drink. It was a little additive, I can consume alcohol without risk without it! He seemed to be enjoying it so much, I asked for one too, can you please- let me down, you’re hurting me-” Virgil snarls, but drops him anyway. Roman touches Virgil’s shoulder gently. 

“He’s right, it’s his drink, Virgil. Thank you for defending me, but really it’s okay-” Roman reassures him, smiling placatingly, and all Virgil can feel is embarrassed. Embarrassed out of his mind and his anxiety is shooting through the roof. 

“I-I… I- uh… I-” to make matters worse, another man comes stomping up to him, throws his drink on Virgil. His hoodie is now soaked, his shirt too. Virgil’s lower lip trembles. He grits his jaw against them, holding it in. Despite the fact that he’s made a total fool of himself in front of Roman. Virgil wants to bite his nails, to go home, to run away and never return. This new man points his finger right in Virgil’s face. 

“Who the hell do you think you are, grabbing my husband’s shirt like that?” he growls. Virgil wants to hide in his sopping wet hoodie. Hide and never come back. 

“I- erm, uh- umm-” 

“My friend here is very sorry, there’s been a misunderstanding. Hey, can I buy the both of you a drink? Tell me how you met,” Roman leads them both away, looking pityingly at Virgil, “How bout you go to the bathroom and clean yourself up a little, huh? I’ll take care of this.” 

Virgil ducks his head and runs with his tail between his legs. He throws himself into the surprisingly clean stall and locks it tight before falling down on the seat fully clothed. I can’t believe you did that you fucking idiot you’ll never shape up what were you thinking doing some stupid stunt like that? You’ve ruined it. Ruined everything. There’s no way Roman will ever want you now. Virgil’s panic attack is coming on quickly, like a train hurtling down a track with no end in sight. He doesn’t want it to happen, but he starts to cry. 

Usually, Virgil looks to his familiar hoodie for comfort. But his hoodie is soaked, and Virgil is shivering in it. He should take it off. But he doesn’t want to, he just wants to wallow in it and wither away. 

You’ll never amount to anything. You should have just stayed inside: no one would have missed you. Roman had to clean up after your mess, you were supposed to be helping and now you’re just rotting in the bathroom like an idiot. Why did you even come, if you’re just going to be a let down? 

Virgil’s breath is coming out in uneven gasps, his heart is palpitating dangerously. He really shouldn’t be alone, he should go out and- no, no, no. His skin is too tight, his head is too small, and his hands are pressing bruises into his arms, he is holding them so tight. What is he supposed to do again? When his thoughts get too big for his mind and he feels like fainting, feels like how he was when he was younger and like his heart could just give out any minute and the next time he blinked open his eyes he’d be on a hospital bed. 

His hazy, anxiety-filled mind vaguely recalls a conversation he had with Logan  once, after he had pulled him back from an attack in the workplace (he mixed up two patients and fell apart in an empty room) that he should… he should ask for help. Call me, he had said, no matter the time. Just call me for help, and I’ll talk it out with you. 

Logan is on speedial, Logan, Logan can help- with shaking fingers, Virgil can just make out the emergency phone button on his cell to call Logan. 

The ringing of the phone helps station Virgil, stations him better than the pain in his hands. It picks up on the fifth ring. 

“Hello, Doctor Logan Berry speaking.” 

“Logan,” Virgil’s voice sounds so fucking raspy and teary, sounds so horrendously uncertain, “You- you said to call, and- if you’re busy just hang up, it’s fine you don’t have to worry, actually this was a bad idea, I’m going to hang up-” 

“You will do no such thing, Virgil. Stay on the line with me. Scale of one to ten, how bad?” 

“I- uh, I dunno, probably like- like a seven? I messed everything up, Lo, I- fuck, I can’t do anything right-” 

“Well, that is one foul-tempered lie. Let’s calm down first, yes, and then you’ll tell me all about what happened. I’m sure it’s better than it seems,” Janus’s voice, even hindered through the phone, forces Virgil to relax. He had no idea that Janus could hear, but apparently they’re together. His mind recalls lamely that tonight is when they get together to go over payments and make sure everything is in order. A part of him is glad that Janus can hear; He’s like a hypnotist with his voice, a snake. Virgil nods, then another wave of idiocy flows through him because it’s over the phone. 

“Okay, Virgil, now exhale through your mouth. I want to hear it through the telephone,” Logan instructs, no nonsense. 

Virgil shakily breathes out. 

“Good. Now close your mouth and inhale quietly through your nose. I’m going to count to four, alright?” 

“O-okay,” Virgil complies, breathing it in. Janus counts him off rhythmically over the phone: Logan’s on the right and Janus on the left, and the result is relaxing. 

“Hold your breath now for seven seconds. I’ll count for you once more.” Janus-

“Exhale again, for a total of eight seconds. Here we go-” Logan- 

“Exceptional work, darling. You’re doing so well. Let’s repeat the process a few more times, how does that sound?” Janus-

Holy hell, do they make a good team. 

And just like that, Virgil feels better. His chest eases, his mind soothes, and he’s no longer shaking. 

“Thank you, both of you. That was- it was really fucking helpful. I don’t know what would happen if I was here alone,” 

“If you don’t mind me asking… where is here?” Logan asks, dry and with no sense of privacy whatsoever. 

“I’m at a bar with Roman. He- he invited me, because he wanted backup, and I made a total fool of myself. I got all aggressive on this guy who did nothing wrong,” 

“Aha, jealous?” There’s a sound of Janus wrestling the phone from Logan, much to his displeasure, “Just finish this weeks, Berry-” is heard through the phone. 

“Maybe… hey, wait a second! Who told you-” 

“I’m not blind, Virgil. Nor stupid. Don’t even try that on me. It might work on the nerd, and even Remus and Patton, but unlike them, I’m not clueless,” 

Virgil pouts, grunting softly. Is he really that obvious? 

“Whatever! And now… I’ve got no chance with him. I don’t know why I even came here, anyone could see that it was a stupid idea.” 

“No- well, yes, this was very stupid and most likely going to end in strife, but you still certainly have a chance! Remember, this is Roman we’re talking about: he’s a carousel when it comes to men, always changing.” 

“That’s part of the issue, Jan- where am I? I’ll be left behind, and have to watch as he finds a another and another and another-” 

“You’re starting to panic again, Virgil. Calm yourself. And I know that won’t happen.” 

“How?”

“You’re more perceptive, attentive, and caring than any of those guys will ever be. Roman would be even more of an idiot than either of us could possibly imagine if he were to let you go. Again, I am not blind: I see how good you are with the patients. You are careful and thoughtful. Despite how you might see yourself, Virgil, you are a good person. A wonderful person, who makes mistakes, but always fixes them. You do not leave them behind you. You feel empathy, and guilt, two very humane things, and you remedy your problems. That’s what happened with me, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah… I guess, I guess you’re right,” Virgil’s blushing again. It’s true, that he doesn't like to leave things unsaid or unfinished: it makes him terribly worried, and the only solution he’s found is confronting them head on. Janus and Virgil had met long ago, when they were both younger: Janus had just started medical practices, and done work for Virgil. It ultimately failed and hurt Virgil more, which sparked deep hatred on Virgil’s side and a continued regret on Janus’s. They eventually reconciled, reuniting later when Virgil started out as a nurse, and everything had become much better. 

“Now, get back out there, darling. You’ll do great.” 

“...Thanks, Janus,” 

“Anytime,” and with that, Janus hangs up the phone to return to Logan. Virgil sighs to himself, and exits the stall: in the mirror, he sees his makeup all ruined. He washes it off, cleans his hoodie (which is relatively drier now) and ends up taking off the damp shirt as well. Thank goodness he’s wearing an undershirt: walking out topless seems hellish, and this only slightly better. 

It’s been a while since Virgil has gone anywhere without his hoodie on or makeup. He barely recognizes himself, and he sees this face every morning. But… it’ll be what it’ll be. Checking his phone, Virgil realizes that he’s been in the bathroom for… nearly two hours? 

Oh my god, I hope Roman hasn’t left yet-  Virgil flies out of the bathroom, holding his damp dress shirt and beloved hoodie in one crooked arm. Scanning the room, he notices Roman sitting at one of the small square tables watching some guy sing “Mad World” somewhat decently. Virgil sighs in relief, and walks over and sits right in front of him. 

“Princey, thank god you’re still here. I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Virgil says, his voice softer than usual from all the crying. Roman looks at him, a smile curving on his features. 

“Hello there, you’re- you’re pretty,” Roman slurs slightly mid sentence, and Virgil gapes. Roman is drunk. Very drunk. So drunk, that he doesn’t recognize Virgil without his makeup and hoodie. While Virgil stares openmouthed, Roman reaches over and squeezes his bicep. “Ooh, you’re so strong too! Pretty face, and a hot body-” 

“Roman, you seriously don’t recognize me? Honest to god?” Virgil insists. Roman blinks slowly, but there’s no spark. Roman seriously has no idea, Virgil’s a stranger. 

He should probably bring him home. 

Or… he can start over. Roman won’t remember it anyway: this might be his only chance. 

“I think I’d remember such a handsome prince” Roman huffs. Virgil, unsurprisingly, blushes. 

“That’s very kind of you. You don’t look half bad yourself,” Virgil purrs. 

“Oh- you’re a flirt too! I like you,” Roman smiles widely, “Do you want to get another drink?” 

“I think you’ve had enough… do you want to go up and sing instead?” Virgil suggests, scooching closer to Roman. Touching his clothed shoulder, he feels how warm Roman is. Roman snuggles up to Virgil just a tad- he’s over affectionate, and with no filter, and no sense. It’s adorable, and Virgil is glad he got here when he did, because who knows who would take advantage of this cuddly child-like man? 

Now he understands why Roman needs a drinking buddy. 

“I love singing, I’m very good at it. I like Disney too. Do you like Disney?” 

“Yes, I like Disney,” Virgil snorts. They’ve had this debate over and over: the both of them like the franchise, though Virgil sees the darker bits that Roman tends to ignore. 

“You wanna- you wanna sing Love is an Open Door with me? I like that song, it’s a good song-” Roman rambles, looking excited. Virgil hates public speaking, let alone public speaking, but… he doesn’t know anyone here, what’s the issue? 

“That sounds good. Let’s go sign up, shall we?” Virgil suggests, Roman excitedly clinging to Virgil’s arm. 

“You’re so cold, it’s so nice,” Roman murmurs, rubbing his face on Virgil’s bare shoulder. Virgil can’t help but smile: his heart is beating fast, but in a fantastic way. Vincent doubletakes as they make it to the bar. 

“Hey you two- heading home? Ro looks pretty slammed…” 

“I’ll take him home in a bit. He wants to do one more song,” Virgil explains. Roman giggles, and Virgil’s heart does another flip. His smile widens. 

“Ah, sorry folks- Roman can’t do another one. He’s already exhausted the limit of five: you should have heard him sing some of those. An undercover celebrity, he is,” Vincent reaches over and mussies Roman’s hair, to which Virgil slaps his hand away. 

“Princey, did you hear? You can’t sing another one,” Virgil tells him, his voice still soft.

“Aww, really? I wanna- I wanna sing some ‘ore,” Roman pouts, his lower lips trembling. Virgil kisses his cheek, just a peck really, that’s all he can manage without exploding. Roman turns on a dime, sadness morphing to elation all at once. He leans in for another, to which Virgil declines, pushing him away with a palm. 

“Hey, how about I sing a song for you, huh? How does that sound?” Virgil asks, nervous beyond anything at singing in front of all these people, but Roman seems so ecstatic at the thought that Virgil knows he’ll be going through with it. 

“You sing? But you just-” gawks Vincent. Virgil glares at him. 

“Don’t act so surprised. And yes, I do. Just didn’t feel like saying it. Totally. When do I go up?” 

“After this guy,” Vincent points at the person going on stage, and Virgil steels himself for this experience. It’s okay, you’re the only one who’ll remember. It’ll be fine. Virgil starts walking closer to the stage, Roman hanging on him still. “Hey, dude, are you going to tell me what you’re singing? I’ll set it up for you,” 

“I got it. We’re good, right Princey?” 

“I’m so good, I’m the best, you’re so nice, gonna sing a song for me-” Roman rambles. Virgil shakes his head good-humoredly, adoring this side of him. Not suave or fanciful at all: only cute. They come to a table right by the stage, miraculously empty and clean. 

“Okay, Ro, you wanna sit here and watch?” Roman smiles, nodding quickly, and plops down in one of the chairs. Virgil goes beside him, fanning his confidence by reaching for his large hand. Just like in the car, Roman takes it and squeezes. 

“I’m so moved, you’re going to sing something for me! So romantic!” Roman gushes. Virgil blushes, rubbing his thumb on Roman’s sun-kissed hand. 

“I’ll sing it just for you: you know, I really don’t like public speaking. Or any of this stuff… but you’re not going to remember me, so I don’t think it’ll matter. I really really like you, Roman. I’ve known you for a while, so it wasn’t all at once, but you tease me with all of your flirty winks and tell me about how much you get around and today, calling me pretty- you’re destroying me, and you don’t even notice. You never do, and- Janus said that I’d be good for you. Grounding. A good boyfriend. I don’t know what he sees in me, but clearly you don’t see that. You like- you like grand gestures, romance, and flirting… I can’t do any of that. Except for today, when I’m not nervous anymore, because you’re never going to remember this whole thing. It’ll just be for me. Just for me to remember, for you to enjoy now. You’ll never know how much I love you anyway, so it’s just for me. Just for poor heartsick Virgil,” Virgil tells him, under the lights and despite the singing in the background. Roman blinks a few times, not understanding. 

“I- uhm… I don’t understand, whadda ya mean?” Roman squints at him. Virgil sighs, presses their foreheads together and gets up. 

“Doesn’t matter. I only want to say… whatever, it doesn’t matter. It’s my turn to go,” and Virgil pulls away, waving slightly to the confused man, and hunches his shoulders to make him look small as he walks to the center of the stage. Scrolling through the music (it operates sort of like a karaoke machine), Virgil selects a song he knows. 

Virgil doesn’t particularly like his singing voice: his mother loves it, would sing along with him during Nightmare Before Christmas, and told him it was very nice. It’s kind of low, gentle, and the words flow into the next. 

“The dawn is breaking, a light shining through… you’re barely waking, and I’m tangled up in you,” Virgil sings quietly. It’s awkward, and he can’t look out into the audience at all, and he hears them ignore him. He takes a deep breath, and continues. “I’m open, you’re closed. Where I follow, you’ll go. I worry I won’t see your face light up again,” 

People are starting to notice Virgil, as his voice rises, and it’s frightening but also exhilarating. He refuses to make eye-contact with them, unlike Roman who always does, and speaking of him- it’s very clear that Roman’s watching, enraptured. Virgil can practically feel it. 

“Even the best fall down sometimes, even the wrong words seem to rhyme- Out of the doubt that fills my mind, I somehow find you and I, collide,” Someone in the crowd whistles, causing Virgil to struggle a bit, but he picks it up right after. He’s imagining that it’s only him and Missy and- Roman. Virgil glances up at Roman barely: he’s awestruck, and it fills Virgil’s heart with glee. 

“I’m quiet you know.You make a first impression. But I’ve found I’m scared to know you’re always on my mind,” Virgil messes up the lyrics a bit, but no one notices at all. They’re cheering him on, listening attentively- it helps him go on, return his gaze to the floor. 

“Even the best fall down sometimes, even the stars refuse to shine, out of the back you fall in time, somehow find, you and I- collide,” Virgil’s voice is still quiet: even as his confidence rises, he can’t seem to raise it at all. 

“Don’t stop here. I’ve lost my place. I’m close behind,” Virgil used to sing this song with his parents, when he was young: his mother and father would sing and dance with him. It has sentimental value, it reminds him of childhood and pain and love and survival. They used to sing it to him, comforting him with the words. He knows every one. 

“Even the best fall down sometimes. Even the wrong words seem to rhyme. Out of the doubt that fills your mind, you finally find that you and I collide. Finally find that you and I collide. You finally find you and I collide,” the music plays for a while longer, with Virgil humming along rhythmically. When it finally fades out, Virgil scurries off the stage to thunderous applause. It is way too much attention, all at once. On his way, he grabs Roman’s sleeve, dragging him out as people fawn. As they rapidly exit, Vincent calls out from the bar. 

“Hey, grump- I don’t sing, my ass! You sing gorgeous! Come back anytime, with or without Roman!” Virgil glares at him, and then he’s out into the parking lot. 

“Phew- that was- oh my god, that was exhilarating. Roman? What did… what did you mmfp-” Virgil was smiling until he was cut off by Roman’s lips on his. Virgil moans into it: it’s more decadent than he could have ever imagined. Roman’s lips are deceptively soft and taste like strawberries. He finally moves back for air, and Virgil leans against the car, holding his mouth. Did… did that just happen? It takes a second to register that a) Roman kissed him, and b) that it doesn’t matter because he’s not in his right mind. It’s worth nothing beyond right now… but it means so so much. Virgil will remember this for the rest of his godforsaken life. 

“Ro-Roman, what was that for?” Virgil murmurs, touching his lips addictively. 

“You’re the kindest guy I’ve ever met. God, I want to take you home. Handsome, and sweet, and caring and a voice of an angel. I wish I met you forever ago,” Roman says, approaching closer to Virgil until he’s pressed up against the car and can feel Roman’s warmth, “Fuck… I don’t even know your name, but you’re… you’re magic,” 

“You’re making me seem better than I am, really,” Virgil flushes, feeling all sorts of fuzzy feelings. Roman chuckles, coming in closer to lean his head on Virgil’s shoulders. 

“I don’t… I don’t think I am, beautiful… I just- I don’t want to go home alone tonight. I’m so freaking lonely, all the goddamn time. So lonely… it’s only me, and no one really cares, when it comes down to it,” Roman sighs, on the verge of tears. Virgil is dumbfounded: who would have thought? Roman, the Prince of Theatre, who sings songs to children and flirts easily, and never is by himself because he’s a magnet for conversation… is lonely. 

“Maybe we can be lonely together,” Virgil whispers aloud, meaning it to be internal but slipping out anyway. 

“Can… can we?” Roman pleads, “Please?” Virgil exhales: he’s so cute. Remember though- he’s not going to recall any of this. It hurts, all of a sudden, that Virgil is at once Roman’s world and at the same time an illusion. 

“Alright, alright. We’ll see,” Virgil smiles at him. Roman leans down for another kiss, and now Virgil lets him. What’s the harm? I’m the only one who will hurt. I can take it. “I should take you home now, huh? You can’t drive, you’re drunk,” 

“Pfft- I am not-” 

“You are,” Virgil rolls his eyes, unlocking his car, “Now get in.” Roman shuffles his feet around. Virgil glares. 

“In the car, Princey, you have to go home now,” he demands. Roman frowns, looks away stubbornly. And, just like a puppy, he’s adorable but persistent as all hell. Roman murmurs something under his breath, inaudible. Glancing at him kinder, Virgil asks him to speak up. 

“I don’t wanna go home, I wanna stay with you,” Roman mumbles, slightly louder. And, Virgil is struck right in the heart. My god, is it even legal to be that cute? Virgil sighs: he should bring Roman to his house, that’s what he had asked before he was intoxicated, and he definitely can’t take advantage of him, but… those eyes are begging for him to stay with him. He can’t refuse. 

“Okay, okay, you win. It’s going to be impossible to explain this to you in the morning, but whatever! I’ll drive you to my house,” Virgil agrees, and the look of pure elation on Roman’s face is more than reward enough. Though Virgil has to help Roman’s wobby body into the passenger seat and buckle him up, he can’t stop smiling. 

Even as he starts the car to drive it home. 

Even as Roman says he’s going to be sick. 

Even as he has to rush Roman upstairs to his apartment before he pukes all over the place, Virgil is happy. 

Roman hugs Virgil’s middle after he cleans him up. Missy and Roman get along swimmingly, Virgil offering to let him hold her, and Roman enraptured by her. He’s enthralled by Virgil lending him a toothbrush, seemingly blessed by the offering of a piece of toast to calm his stomach at the small kitchen bar. Roman stares at it, sitting on one of the stools. 

“Why are you so nice to me?” he wonders. Virgil frowns. Are people usually unkind to you? 

“This is normal, Princey. People are supposed to look out for one another,” 

“Oh. Yeah,” Roman says to himself. Virgil can’t hold back from reaching over and kissing his forehead. 

“Anytime you need, I’ll be nice to you. I don’t mean to be so prickly: it’s a defense mechanism. You only have to tell me you’d like some care, and I’ll give you everything,” Virgil tells him. This charming man, he hiccups and his eyes water as he blubbers. Virgil is good with a lot of things: crying crushes are not one of them. “Hey, no crying, don’t cry! Let’s go to bed, huh? Yeah, that sounds nice, doesn’t it?” 

Roman makes a pitiful little nod, and Virgil leads him to the bedroom. There’s only one… so either they share, or Virgil’s going to the couch. So, he tucks Roman into the warm black duvet and brushes his forehead as a way of good night. As he goes to leave, Roman grabs onto his arm. 

“Stay with me? Please?”

“Ro, I don’t- I don’t think this is a good idea, buddy. No, it’s really not a good idea,” his heartbeat is picking up again, and Virgil bites his lip nervously. Roman ignores it, pulls his hand to kiss it. 

“Stay with me, princess,” he purrs. Are you trying to kill me? Roman’s too attractive, too flirtatious. And Virgil’s too head over heels to say no. And that’s how he finds himself sharing his bed with Roman King. 

Who fell asleep almost immediately, and snuggled up right into Virgil’s side. So close, that there is a permanent blush on Virgil’s face and his breath on his neck. Okay, this is not going to work. I’m never going to get to sleep if this goes on. Fuck. 

Virgil shuffles away, attempting to get out of bed and go sleep on the couch, but Roman slings and arm over him and growls “Stay”. 

Well, can’t argue with that, now can I? 

~~~~~~

When morning filters through the window, Roman blinks awake. Jiminy Cricket, does his head hurt. Ugh, what happened last night? This isn’t his bed: it’s not colourful at all, all blacks and purples. For goodness sakes, the curtains that are blocking most of the sun have spiders on it. Roman rubs his eyes: did he go home with someone? He must’ve. But who? Roman can’t really recall: he doesn’t remember talking to anyone. After Virgil ran out to the bathroom, Roman just wanted to drink and be alone. Anyone who approached him was turned away instantly by one of his cold stares. 

He couldn’t help but feel as though it was sort of his fault: he said he’d be with him. That Roman would leave Virgil alone. And yet… he was in the bathroom for two hours, and not once did Roman gather the courage to go and check on him. And then what? Then he went to some strangers home and left Virgil? 

What kind of asshole would do that to someone? Virgil, despite how he acts, is amazingly perceptive. He can tell when something is wrong, it’s why he’s so good as a nurse… he’s just genuinely a good person. And Roman left him? 

He can’t imagine he’d do that to the emo, even drunk. He wouldn’t be able to forget Virgil, would he? 

No, he really has no clue. 

Think, Roman, think- he presses his hands to his pounding head, as if it would squeeze out a memory. All that happens is scraps of a song. Oh great, not only do I have no idea where I am but now there’s a song stuck in my head. Wonderful. 

“Even the best fall down sometimes, even the wrong words seem to rhyme-” he murmurs under his breath. Then an image follows right after: a man, holding onto the microphone at the bar, singing the words so soft, so sweetly. It makes his heart pang, it’s so lovely. Is that the guy I went home with? Roman thinks to himself. He focuses harder on the memory. The man, he looks up shyly, nervously, and meets eyes with Roman. 

God, he’s fucking beautiful. Love at first sight? Maybe not, but whatever this is, it’s as close to that as it could possibly be. It makes Roman feel all warm and bubbly inside. He bites his lip and looks at the ceiling of this stranger’s bed. Things come back in bits and pieces all out of order; kissing that man by a car, his car- that man laughing at him as he gawks at his, what is that, a spider?- the man sitting at a table in the bar right next to him, letting him nuzzle his shoulder (embarrassing, it makes Roman blush he was so mushy)- a kiss to his forehead to calm him, wiping away drunken tears ever so gently. His hands felt baby-soft, despite the obvious muscular frame he sported. 

Who is he…? 

“I’ll sing it just for you: you know, I really don’t like public speaking…” in his mind, this man’s voice follows: it’s soft, muted a touch. Focus now, Roman, you’ve almost got it- 

“You’re not going to remember me, so I don’t think it’ll matter…” Of course it matters! I’m not a blackout drunk! Roman wants to scream. 

“I really really like you, Roman,” his voice, saying such kind words, is like what he’d imagine an angel would sound like. Or some sweet interaction that only comes between A-List celebrities in a scripted movie. 

“I’ve known you for a while…”  Okay, finally, getting somewhere. He knows him? Does he do tech at the theatre or something? It’s a possibility. 

“You’re destroying me, and you don’t even notice…” Well, that’s harsh. Kind makes him feel guilty: this gorgeous meal of a man was lusting over him, and he didn’t even notice? What kind of idiot- 

“Janus said that I’d be good for you. Grounding. A good boyfriend…” So he knows the snakey doctor. That can either be very good or very bad: is this fellow a sleazeball? No, Roman assures himself blushing heavily, He’s too sweet to do that. Too kind and loving. Did you see him sing that song? Just for you too- and he looked so nervous! Precious!! 

“I don’t know what he sees in me, but clearly you don’t see that…” Roman wants to pull his hair out. Did Roman say or do something wrong? Did he ruin his chances with this Adonis, because if he did, he’ll be furious. 

“You like grand gestures, romance, and flirting… I can’t do any of that,” I don’t care! I don’t care about any of that! I just want someone to hold my hand and not treat me like shit! Just a sweet cute guy! 

“I’m not nervous anymore, because you’re never going to remember this whole thing,” Ah, sorry to break it to you, but hey, I’m remembering! And I’m going to track you down! 

“You’ll never know how much I love you anyway, so it’s just for me…” he sounds melancholy, so very sad, and Roman wants to hold him. Hold him and kiss the top of his head and make him feel better. This person, he doesn’t deserve to be ignored. Why was Roman ever- 

“Just for poor heartsick Virgil,” Roman’s mouth runs dry. Virgil? Virgil. He- the man he went with- Virgil. Virgil was singing to him, with that angelic voice, Virgil drove him to his house because he didn’t want to leave him alone and every other little wonderful thing, the forehead kisses and the smiles and the hands- oh my stars, I am an imbecile. 

How didn’t he notice? How Virgil would bite back at him whenever he flirted with him teasingly, how Virgil wilted whenever Roman talked about his relationships, how careful and thoughtful he was with every move, hell, he even agreed to go out to the bar with him to find some other guy because he was worried for Roman’s safety. 

How was I so blind that I missed the perfect man right in front of my eyes? 

And this… this must be Virgil’s house. It’s… very Virgil. Is that a Nightmare Before Christmas poster? Yes, it is- how wonderful. How him. 

How didn’t Roman notice? It’s that classic blunder, unseeing of the person right in front of him. How did he not see how romantic Virgil is? Little gestures, smart moves, kindness. Thoughtful. He had said that he wasn’t a romantic, but by Jove- he’s sweet. His mind can’t stop repeating Virgil’s soft singing and his gentleness. God, it’s so beautiful it’s painful. He should tell him to go without makeup more often. And a shirt. Yes, without a shirt sounds good. Undercover buff, much?

His mind swirls with the knowledge of Virgil. 

Oh shit- how is he going to face Virgil now? He’s in his house, he’s most likely in the living room: should he just pretend like he doesn’t remember? 

Roman’s a good actor, he could pull it off: but Virgil would still be wanting and lonesome. And Roman would know, and that hurts. He won’t do that to him, not anymore. 

He should just come out, say that he remembers and... ask him out on a date. A proper one. They both have the day off today, it could be now! 

They’d do Virgil things, things that make the emo happy, maybe a zoo or watch movies or coffee shops or whatever. And... Roman will hold his hand, hold him, and hold him and hold him. Yes, yes, this is good. 

Roman wishes he had more time to plan. Time to get flowers, or chocolates or anything, really. Wait, you don’t even know if he’ll say yes! Maybe he’s so embarrassed by the whole interaction that- 

Wait. 

Is that pancakes? 

Roman sniffs at the air: yes, it is. Blueberry ones, at that. And coffee. His stomach rumbles, and hunger is enough to spur him out of bed. His legs are wobbly, and his head is swimming, but he makes it out of the room eventually. 

“Oh hey, Princey, finally decide to wake from your endless slumber, huh?” Virgil teases. His makeup has returned, as usual. He’s wearing another hoodie, a black one, and it’s hanging off his shoulders as he flips pancakes. Roman’s mouth runs dry. “Also, umm, sorry about not taking you to your apartment. I didn’t want to leave you alone.” 

“Oh... it’s fine,” Roman sounds odd, even to himself, and Virgil gives him a skeptical look. “Heh, anyone who makes me good morning pancakes is alright in my book!” 

Virgil snorts, and pushes a plate over the kitchen bar for Roman to sit and eat. 

“How’s your head? What do you- you know, never mind,” Virgil ducks his head into the fridge to receive some maple syrup, “You like it warmed?” 

“Uh... if it isn’t an issue,” Virgil casts another weird look to Roman: is he being too nice? Roman can’t help it, how could he be rude? He puts his syrup in the microwave, with the long pale fingers. 

 “I uh- Virgil,” Roman starts, more nervous than anything, “Oh fuck, this is hard but- I uh-” 

“You’re making me worried, Princey, spit it out or shut up and eat my food,” Virgil glares. Roman gulps. It’s like a bandaid, rip it off, come on, just spit it out- 

“I REMEMBER! I remember everything, I always do after I’m drunk, it’s why I get a buddy, because I always remember in the morning and I hate what I’m like when I’m intoxicated, because I always remember, I think I’ve said that a few times- uh, Virgil, are you okay?” Roman finally looks up at Virgil- or rather down, as the man has crumpled to the floor in a heap. Has he fainted? Roman gets up and squats next to him. 

“Virgil?” he whispers into his ear, poking at him. Virgil jolts up, narrowly missing a collision with Roman’s head as he sits up straight. He groans, and puts his head in his hands to try and hide his full-faced blush. 

“Fuck, I’m such an idiot, oh my god, I’ve made a total fool of myself- oh god, please just leave me alone to die, Roman, just go,” he yells. Roman chuckles, and peels Virgil’s hands from his face. He seems about to cry, moisture glistening at his eyes. Roman’s heart can’t take it: he thinks he looks foolish? No, never. 

Roman kisses the corners of his eyes. 

“You’re not an idiot, you’re most certainly not a fool. I’m sorry I didn’t notice you before at the office. I’m the only idiot between the two of us, because I didn’t see how wonderful you were until you had to be blatant about it. I’m so very sorry, and in your debt. I feel silly to even try and ask, but would you… perchance, want a real date? One where I’m not flirting with other people- only with you, you Incredible Sulk,” Roman consoles Virgil pulling him into an embrace. 

“Really?” Virgil asks. 

“Honestly,” 

“Then yeah, yeah, that sounds okay. I uh… I don’t do a whole lot so-” Roman cuts Virgil off by pressing his finger to his lips. Virgil raises his eyebrows. 

“How’s right this second sound?”

“Yeah- uhm, that works for me-”

“Fantastic! And I believe your pancakes are burning,” Roman notes, laughing as Virgil shoots up cursing colourfully as he discards a very black pancake. Even as the man squawks and yells and forces Roman back into his seat, he can’t help but feel fulfilled. After the pancake fiasco is remedied, Virgil breathes a sigh of relief and smiles at Roman. 

“Sorry about that, Princey,” 

“Hey, it’s no problem for me! Kind of entertaining, actually,” Roman snickers, earning him a slap upside the head. And then, just to push Virgil’s buttons, he snakes his hand through his dark locks and kisses him deeply over the counter. It’s a knee-shaking kiss, a heart-stopper, a signature Roman smooch. One he should’ve given Virgil last night, but was too drunk to make happen. It seems like Virgil likes it too, if the noises are any indication. Virgil is the first to pull back for air, and presses his chest, gasping. 

“Oh my goodness, was that too much? Are you okay, Virgil?” Roman frets. Virgil, he recalls, has some sort of horrible cocktail of medical issues. Most he’s grown out of, but the effects still linger. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s cool. Hah, my heart’s still beating. It’s stopped once before, and I have a defibrillator in my room but- I’m okay. I guess that just means I’m fragile, right? Gotta be careful with my heart, both ways, alright?” A still beating heart. How romantic, how delightful. 

“Now you must stay with me, so I can restart your heart whenever it’s required!” Roman announces. Virgil rolls his eyes and scoffs, despite his small smile, then returns to finishing off the end of his pancake batter. Roman pokes his bicep, his deceptively strong bicep, to pester him into an answer. Virgil catches it, squeezes. 

“Hey! My heart’s still beating, you’re going to have to try harder,” he teases. It has to be the most lovely seductive challenge he’s ever been issued. And you said you weren’t a romantic. 

His heart still beats, and it beats just as hard for Roman as the other way around. 

How positively lovely. 

~~~~

And from that day on, the entire pediatric office would all go out once a month to a particular bar’s karaoke night, and Roman and Virgil would sing many songs but always one. They always sang one at the end, and it was so beautiful that people cry every time. It’s longing and love and acceptance. 

They like to hold hands while they do it, perhaps to show off their relationship… or maybe just the matching rings that adorn their fingers. 

~~~~~

The End! Thanks for reading! 

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[brezchez]

My second fanfic, but my first Sanders Sides one! Prinxiety, with some implied Logicality but..... imma let you read for yourself and there's quite a bit of angst soooo, you have been warned. Anyway I hope you enjoy it 💖

Also, this will be part of a mini Sanders Sides one shot book set in a homophobic AU I'll be releasing on Wattpad, so expect angst... lots of it.

~~~

Now

Prinxiety, Human AU ❤💜

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TW: Implied homophobia, angst, swearing

Pairing(s): Prinxiety, implied Logicality

Word count: 1,133

Virgil stood under the apple tree, behind the four walls of shrubs and bushes and waited for his prince. Usually around this late hour of midnight, he would be exhausted and tired but excitement and eagerness held his eyelids open since this was a rare occasion where he would be able to spend time with Roman.

They first met each other during Sunday Mass at their local church. He had unknowingly been catching Virgil's attention every week and Roman usually sat at the front whilst he sat from behind, making it easy for him to stare for the whole hour. Then, one fateful day, Roman turned around and their eyes locked; they became enamoured by each other and the world around them froze for a split-second to allow the two a moment of subtle ecstasy. After the mass, they exchanged numbers and their relationship only grew from there.

They had more in common than they knew and discovered that they even worked at the same theatre; Roman was an actor and Virgil worked backstage. They seized every opportunity they had to share stolen kisses behind closed doors and fallen curtains and boy, was it, in Roman's words "ridiculously romantic" whenever they did.

Now, tonight was a rare occasion for them as they managed to find free time in their busy schedules to sneak away from reality's watchful eye. Suddenly, Virgil heard rustling behind the bushes. He stood up, his heart speeding up faster by the second and suddenly halting as his gaze met that of his love's. The two men stood still as statues from shock and joy for a few seconds before lunging and embracing each other lovingly and tears spilled everywhere.

Not a second after they pulled away from the hug, Roman quickly leaned forward and kissed his boyfriend square on the lips. Virgil smiled into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Roman's neck as Roman ran his fingers through the emo's hair. The kiss was passionate, stained with salty tears of joy and lasted for a few beautiful minutes. They finally pulled away for air, grinning and Roman let out a hearty laugh before they returned to the hug.

It had been far too long.

They moved over from underneath the apple tree to the grass and Roman sat on the ground beneath the stars whilst Virgil laid down and leaned his head on his lap. The two started their conversations, informing each other about their lives and slyly and frequently slipping in flirtatious banter in the conversations.

The silver jewels above danced for their small audience and Roman soon joined his beloved on the grass and stargazed with him. He intertwined his fingers with Virgil's causing him to shudder at the sudden contact. He had forgotten how soft Roman's skin was and how gentle and safe it felt to hold his hand.

"You know the most vivid memory I have of this place?" Roman's question snapped Virgil out of his reminiscent trance.

"What?"

He turned around to lay on his stomach, Virgil following his actions, and pointed to apple tree.

"Our first kiss there," he turned his head and as the blues met the browns, Roman offered a warm smile towards his love. Virgil returned it and placed a soft, sweet kiss to his boyfriend's tender lips.

But something wasn't right.

"Virgil, my love," Roman cupped his face and stared intently into the cinammon brown marbles the world called eyes, "What's wrong? I could feel the sadness you masked with a kiss."

Virgil looked down then turned around back to facing the twinkling stars above, "I just... couldn't help but think of Patton and Logan."

Silence blanketed them both and Roman turned around to lie on his back again too. He searched for Virgil's hand and held it comfortingly.

"I just... why are they there? They're being punished for simply being who they are? It's bullshit. It's not right. I don't... I don't... I... I just miss them... so... much." Tears began welling up in Virgil's eyes and his voice started breaking, shattering Roman as he watched the scene before him unfold. He pulled Virgil to sit up and held him, trying to comfort him but soon he started crying too. In all honesty, he had no idea what to say since he'd be lying if he said that they were okay when there was a high possibility that they weren't, so he only held his fragile boyfriend who sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder.

They cried for a while at the thought of missing their closest friends and when things had slowly calmed down, Roman held Virgil's cheek. Both men's eyes were red from crying.

"I miss them too. So much. Just thinking of what they could be going through makes me sick. I don't understand how their parents could do that. But..... what can we do?"

They hung their heads in defeat and pressed their foreheads against each other.

Roman eventually looked up, lifted Virgil's chin and forced a smile.

"At least we have each other."

Virgil's eyes started to fill with even more tears and he lunged forward, embracing his boyfriend in a tight hug, desperately wishing to never be given a reason to let go.

The walls of bushes concealed them from the cruel world outside and allowed them to have these incredibly precious few robbed moments together. These inanimate groups of leaves seemed to be the only things in the world who spared sympathy for the boys.

All Roman and Virgil wanted to do, was be with each other, all day, all night. To love each other without fear and be accepted for simply being themselves.

But they were two rainbows in a black and white world.

If they dared to be themselves, they would find themselves in the same situation as their best friends. So they would constantly live in fear and worry, but as long as they had each other... that was all that mattered.

The two slowly broke away from the hug and laid down in the luscious green grass, watching the show the stars hosted exclusively just for them. Virgil rested on Roman's chest and their fingers were intertwined together once more. He released a contented sigh and absorbed the scenery. Yes, they would eventually have to return to their dreaded reality and yes, it may be months before they would be able to share a moment like this again, but at least they had now, and now was all that mattered.

"Virgil, promise me," Roman looked down to the only person who seemed to give a damn about him, "That whatever happens, whatever shit they throw at us, no matter how big the rocks they will chuck at us will be, you will never stop fighting."

Virgil smiled reassuringly,

"I promise."

[madamebaggio]

EVERYDAY DISCOVERING SOMETHING BRAND NEW - JonSa Modern AU

Summary: Jon and Sansa have been leaving together for seven months and they're great friends.

Best friends.

Even if Jon is completely in love with her. Not that he's about to tell her. He isn't.

Then Ed Sheeran came and ruined Jon's life.

Or: Sansa loves "Shape of You", Jon just loves her shape.

***

Notes: This is a one-shot, that can also be found here.

***

Jon Snow was a simple guy; he didn’t need much to be content. He loved his job, his apartment, his dog and the friends he had.

He was perfectly happy to stay home and watch a movie or football, but he was also fine with meeting his friends on a pub for a pint.

Probably this simplicity was the reason for Jon’s calm. Now, he was no pushover, but he was the type of man that acted with calm and restrain on most situations. Jon’s self-control was legendary. He never started a fight, and he didn’t encourage them. He was the guy asking everyone to calm the fuck down.

However, Jon felt like his self-control was close to over and done with.

The reason?

Sansa Fucking Stark.

Now, on his normal days, Jon could take a deep breath and explain the story calmly: he was best friends with Sansa’s older brother; Robb. He practically grew up inside the Stark’s house, and he had a great relationship with the younger kids as well.

Not Sansa, though.

She’d been aloof even as a little girl. By the time she hit high school, she was way to cool to hang around most guys, especially awkward loners like Jon. She was a bit of a bitch back then, but it was okay. Jon had been annoyingly emo during those years and Bran had been half vegetarian. Things are weird during high school.

After he moved from Winterfell he didn’t expect to see Sansa all that much. She’d moved to King’s Landing to pursue a life of glamour and Jon was -as stated before -a simple person.

He kept in touch with Robb, Bran and Arya, and time passed.

Then, one day, he was talking to Robb about his flatmate Sam, who’d married and left him all alone with rent.

That was when Robb had uttered the fatidic words; “You’re looking for a flatmate? Would you live with Sansa?”

Apparently, she’d had some kind of problem in the South and was moving away from it.

(It took Jon three months, but eventually he managed to get the story from her, and it took all of his self-control not to go South and kill Joffrey.)

At the time Jon had been unable to say “no”. It was Sansa, Robb’s precious little sister. Sure, they’d never been close when they were young, but he could remember the sweet girl that would occasionally ask him to play with her and her Barbies, or steal her a lemon cake from the kitchen, because he could reach the counter and she couldn’t.

Of course, he’d said “yes”, even though he was a bit fearful of this arrangement.

At the beginning, it was… Hard. Sansa wasn’t the girl he remembered; she was quieter, closed off, even a bit scared.

Even though she was his flatmate and they shared every single bill, she acted like she was a guest around the apartment; asking permission to do everything, even painting the walls of her own room.

Jon learned he had to be careful with her. Some days, when he was really tired from work, and she’d come around asking if she could use the blender, he almost wanted to snap at her and say of course she could, she lived there!

But he could see it in her eyes: she was scared that this was exactly what he’d do. Because that was what she’d been living with: an abusive person. She was healing, and Jon snapping at her over something like that, just because he was tired, would be the worst thing possible. So Jon was patient and calm with her until she started to feel more and more comfortable.

Which brings Jon back to his quickly fraying self-control.

After seven months living together -yes, seven months – they’d become friends. Very good friends, actually. They had rituals -footballs matches with beer and Chinese food every Thursday. They talked about anything and everything. Sansa teased Jon about his glasses and he teased her about her strange fixation with unicorns. She cuddled and spoiled Ghost so much, the huge dog was starting to think he was a lap dog.

He’d stopped cringing when he saw a tampon box and started making her hot chocolate when she was on her period -she had terrible cramps. She fixed the buttons of his shirts, and mended that one ancient t-shirt he insisted on keeping around.

They cooked dinner together, watched tv together, went grocery shopping together… They were nauseatingly domestic -Theon’s words.

And some might ask, “What’s wrong with that?”

Well, many things, actually.

And it wasn’t the tampons or the unicorns, or even the dozen coats by the entrance door. Nope. It was the dancing. And the shorts.

Mostly the shorts.

The thing was: once Sansa became more comfortable around the house, he’d see her humming and singing along songs that were in her head. Then she started dancing.

And Sansa Stark didn’t do silly, half-assed dances. Oh no. Even her little dances around the houses were…

Jon would rather not think about the word. It’d only make it worse.

Then, there were the shorts. Sansa had a bunch of those. They were really short shorts. Or maybe her legs were just that long.

And the combination of shorts and dancing?

Yes, Jon was in trouble.

If it was only that -the fact that she was too hot to handle -maybe Jon’s self-control would be fine; but it wasn’t. Sansa was whip smart, amazingly kind and sweet. She had a secret dorky side that was cute as hell. Her smile could light up the room and Jon was helpless every time he saw it.

He as fucking whipped.

The thing was… This was Sansa; Robb’s precious little sister. She was also his flatmate and friend. He might be crazy about her -not just the shorts and the dancing, but her -but some things weren’t meant to be and he was fine with that.

He was.

Really.

Ed Sheeran ruined his life.

Well… Actually, Jon wasn’t so sure about that. He had a love-hate relationship with that fucking song and how much Sansa loved it.

Pros: Sansa dancing to it.

Cons: Sansa dancing to it.

There were no winners on this. Much less Jon himself.

Sure, perhaps he was being over dramatic, but it’d been weeks! He just wanted to find Ed Sheeran and punch him for that song.

Or maybe give him a hug.

Jon was still deciding.

“Hey, Jon.”

He smiled when he saw Sansa sitting on the couch, painting her toe nails electric blue; Ghost was dutifully guarding her from his position on the floor. Then Jon noticed the shorts. Those were the purple denim ones; they had silver stars on the back pockets.

He was going straight to hell.

“Hey, San.”

“Listen…” She paused to check her work, before turning fully to him. “Marge is giving a barbecue on Saturday. Do you wanna come?”

Jon groaned. Margaery’s idea of barbecue involved copious amounts of alcohol, a DJ and -likely -the police eventually coming to end it.

He was way too old for this.

“I know.” Sansa giggled upon seeing his face. “I know it’s not your thing, but Harry’s going to be there and I’d appreciate the help.”

Harry was a wanker that Margaery had introduced to Sansa, in hopes they’d date. Jon had secretly hoped the whole time they wouldn’t.

They hadn’t, but apparently Harry hadn’t gotten the message that Sansa wasn’t interested, because the prick always tried to corner her when they were in the same place.

“So now I’m your body-guard?” Jon grinned at her.

“Jon, please!” Sansa whined. “I want to go, but he’s so annoying…”

“Ok, ok.” Jon surrendered -he already knew he would. “I’ll go.”

Sansa squealed in delight.

It was just a barbecue. What was the worst it could happen?

xXx

Good Lord, Margaery Tyrell was fucking insane!

That sure as fuck wasn’t a barbecue. It was a rave!

There was a DJ alright. ON A STAGE! There was also a bonfire -in the middle of the day -and a lot of alcohol.

No barbecue was to be seen there.

Jon had stuck around Sansa -probably looking like a lost puppy or a stupid boyfriend.

Harry Hardyng was as idiotic as his name suggested, and he’d tried to talk to Sansa more than once. She’d tried everything to get rid of him; from being polite to just plain telling him to fuck off, but it still took Jon and Margaery interfering for the guy to finally get a clue.

After that Jon managed to enjoy himself a bit, mostly because he got to dance a bit with Sansa.

He’d had a few beers, so he was relaxed and happy as they got a taxi to go home. Sansa, however, had drunk a bit more than he had. She was a mass of giggles and was stumbling around a bit, until they finally got to their apartment.

“I’m gonna hate that DJ forever.” She proclaimed dramatically, kicking her shoes off and dropping her jacket on the couch, before sitting down.

Ghost came out from whatever he was and jumped on the couch -which he was forbidden of doing -and dropped his front legs on Sansa’s lap.

Jon chuckled. She’d been complaining about the poor sod for the last hour. He’d dared to play some strange remix of her beloved song, and Sansa couldn’t get over his insolence.

Jon tried not to let her see his amusement, or she’d be a very Unhappy Drunken Sansa and he liked Happy Drunken Sansa. She was adorable.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Jon offered easily.

Sansa snorted. “Not that bad? Jon, ‘Shape of You’ is a masterpiece! You can’t touch a masterpiece!”

Jon considered saying it was an exaggeration to call that song a masterpiece, but he let this one go, for the sake of their friendship.

“I couldn’t even dance to that.” She was still ranting about it, pouting as she petted Ghost. “The rhythm was all wrong.”

Jon couldn’t hold back his snort at that, because she’d complained about it, but she’d danced anyway. “Couldn’t dance?”

“Not properly.” She insisted.

“You should send him a formal complaint by e-mail.” He teased.

She narrowed her eyes, like she was trying to figure out if he was making fun of her. “Maybe I will.” She told him defiantly.

“Tomorrow.” Jon suggested with a grin. “Now you should go to sleep.”

“No way!” She got up suddenly and grabbed her bag, pulling her mobile out. “I’m not sleeping until I listen the real song!”

Jon sighed. It wasn’t actually late; they’d spent the afternoon there and decided to leave as it got dark, but Sansa had been yawing -drinking sometimes made her sleepy -so he had -foolishly -assumed she’d want to go to bed.

Apparently sleep wasn’t an option when someone disgraced an Ed Sheeran’s song.

She put her mobile on the dock on their mantle, and the familiar beat was playing on the speakers seconds after.

That was Jon’s cue to leave. She was wearing the jeans shorts -the one with fraying ends -and her hair was on a braid, and… Well, Jon was just a guy pathetically in love with a girl.

He had his limits.

“Well, enjoy yourself.” He mumbled, already preparing to leave.

“No!” She grabbed his hand. “Dance with me.”

“Sansa…” Jon groaned, but he let her pull him closer -he was an idiot. “You know I don’t dance.”

“You do.” She insisted. “You danced with me today.”

He kinda had, but he’d mostly stayed by her side moving awkwardly.

This was different. She was pulling him by the shirt and they were almost chest to chest. She was singing along the lyrics, putting Jon’s hand on her waist, her forehead leaning against his.

Jon wasn’t sure if this was Hell or Heaven.

It kind of felt like one of those dreams he had, where Sansa told him she was in love with him, then when they kissed Ned and Robb would appear with shotguns.

He’d had this one a few times, actually.

However, her hands were on his shoulders, and she was moving with the music, and Jon was pretty sure this was, in reality, Heaven.

He wasn’t a dancer, by any measure, but even he could pull some moves every once in a while. He twirled Sansa around -she let out a delighted gasp -then pulled her back to him.

This time, when she came, she didn’t let any space between them. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her whole body against his. And by her whole body, Jon meant all of it; even her hips were flush against his, their legs kind of tangled as they kept moving.

Jon would probably have to move her, or she was going to feel the effect she had on him, and this would be awkward and she wouldn’t talk to him anymore and…

He felt her nose gently brushing against his, and he looked at her just to see that her eyes were already prepared to lock on his. They were basically the same height, so it was terribly easy to get lost on her blue eyes.

“Jon?” She called so softly it was almost lost to the music.

“Yes?” He asked, his throat dry, his voice husky.

“Are you going to kiss me or what?” She asked, her breath fanning against his mouth.

He didn’t need to be asked twice. He’d been so damn controlled this whole time, but her words broke the dam.

So sure, maybe he should’ve reflected a bit more about the request, but the words had barely left her lips and he was kissing her, like he’d been dreaming of for the last months.

It actually felt like he’d waited an eternity for this moment.

He let one of his hands sink into her glorious hair, like he’d been longing to do for a while now. It felt like silk between his fingers and he wanted to undo her braid and muss her hair up.

However, he also wanted to keep kissing her forever. Jon felt her fingers also grasping his hair and he growled into her mouth. She apparently enjoyed the sound, because she kissed him even harder.

He felt dizzy with the way she bit his lips, and the way she smelled, and her sweet moans against his mouth.

It was a torture to stop it, but he had to.

As much as he’d love to stay there, kissing her forever, he needed to be sure. He needed to know this wasn’t just a drunk escaped, that she wouldn’t regret it in the morning.

He wanted to know if she wanted him the same way he did her.

“Sansa, wait.” He stopped her, pushing her away gently.

The look in her eyes, her red lips, almost made him regret it immediately, but he wanted them to be sure, he wanted them to be on the same page.

“What?” She asked, completely confused.

“Why…” He started, then stopped and tried again. “When… How did we…”

Sansa looked like she was trying not to laugh at his discomfort. “Do you have a question?” She teased.

“I just… Never expected that you would… Want to…”

“Kiss you?” She touched his chin gently. “Because I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.”

“You have?” Jon should feel ashamed of how needy he sounded right now, but he couldn’t. Not when she was smiling like that.

“I have.” She assured him.

Jon noticed -finally -that his arms were still around her, and she was still so entwined to him. He didn’t want to put space between them, so he didn’t.

“I’ve thought about it every time you were sweet to me, every time you kissed my forehead before going to sleep, all those times you got me chocolate because I was feeling bad…” She rested her forehead against his. “I wanted to kiss you every time you smiled at me, and those times you hugged me…” She grinned at him. “And every time you were shirtless. Though… I’m pretty sure I didn’t want just to kiss you then…”

“Sansa…” Jon groaned.

“Licking was probably more what I had in…”

Jon cut her off with a kiss.

When they parted again Sansa was breathless and her face was red and Jon had never seen a more beautiful thing in his life.

“So…” Sansa took a deep breath. “We’re good?”

If they were good? Jon was fucking floating.

“We’re good.” He told her gently, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “We’re great.”

“So you were really looking at my arse all those times I was dancing.” She teased.

“You…”

“I’m not blind, Jon.” She rolled her eyes.

“It wasn’t just that.” He felt he needed to reassure her.

“I know.” She dropped a quick kiss to his lips. “I know it’s not.”

“So…”

“So…” She dragged the word playfully.

“Kissing?” He offered easily.

“To start.” She agreed. “Later we can talk about the licking.”

Jon groaned before kissing her again.

He should send Ed Sheeran a fruit basket or something.

Best song ever.

[thatonechicken]

Soooooooooo I did a thing

I’ve been wanting to post some of my writing on here for awhile, but it’s been kind of difficult because majority of my writing has been and always will be on my Wattpad account.

So, here I am, with a Christmas Sanders Sides one shot! Yes, I’m aware that Thanksgiving was two days ago. I just had the idea, so I ran with it.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Word count: 2001

Ships: Romantic Royality, platonic/family Moxiety, and platonic/family Prinxiety 

This is an angsty one shot, with some fluff here and there, and a fluffy ending.

Human AU.

Warnings: Profanity, crying, unsympathetic Virgil (he’s better at the end, I promise), Virgil is Patton’s son. If I missed anything, I am so sorry, please let me know.

Finally, I’m posting this partially to celebrate the fact that I am now accepting one shot requests! Send me a request, and I’ll see what I can do!

Merry Christmas

"Merry Christmas, fairest of them all!" Roman greeted as soon as Patton opened the door, leaning in and kissing his boyfriend’s lips.

“Merry Christmas!” Patton giggled in return, gesturing for him to come inside. One of the things Roman particularly enjoyed about Florida was that it never got terrifyingly cold outside, like it did in some other places.

He sniffed the air, noticing how it smelled deliciously like tomato sauce. “What’s cooking? It smells awfully good in…” Roman’s voice trailed off when he noticed a purple and black blur hurrying out of sight. Seconds later, he could hear a door closing at the end of the hallway.

“Hey.” Patton wrapped an arm around his shoulders, “Why don’t you help me in the kitchen? The lasagna’s already in the oven, but I need someone to wash and peel the carrots for the salad.” 

“R-right.” Roman shook his head, focusing on the man holding him close. “Let’s go.” Despite how hard he tried to keep himself busy in the kitchen with the numerous tasks Patton gave him, his thoughts always roamed back to the teenager shut away in his room down the hall.

It was Patton’s son, Virgil Sanders. He was only fourteen years old, and already about the biggest pain in his ass that Roman had ever met. He had been dating Patton for roughly four years now, and Virgil insisted on fighting him every step of the way.

When they were first introduced, he welcomed Roman with a cold glare. Patton reassured him that “he’s always like this with new people,” and “he’ll come around, don’t worry,” but Roman wasn’t so sure. He was right, in fact, because Virgil only seemed to dislike him more from there.

The worst part? Roman never really understood why the kid hated him so much. He tried his hardest to get along with the emo, maybe just be friends, but the teen wouldn’t have any of it.

Now, standing in the kitchen and watching Patton half-mindedly, he couldn't help but fidget with the small box in his pocket. Gazing affectionately at the man before him, Roman repeated the name for what must’ve been the thousandth time. Patton Sanders-Princeton.

He loved the way the name sounded, almost as much as he loved thinking of Patton as his fiancé, or husband. The only person standing in his way was Virgil. Well, maybe he wasn’t in the way, exactly. Roman wanted more than almost anything to love him as his own, but he was finding it increasingly difficult as Virgil shied further and further away from him.

Roman also refused to propose to his boyfriend without his son’s consent. He knew what it was like to not have any control over what happens in your life. He’d experienced that when his father married a homophobic bitch named Karen.

“Ro? Babe?” Patton asked suddenly, and Roman’s train of thought quickly dove straight into the abyss. Okay, not straight. It dove gay into the abyss. His eyes fell onto his boyfriend, who was now standing directly in front of him. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, of course!” Roman replied, but his gaze shifted to the door at the end of the hallway. “I’ll… I’ll be right back.” Patton was concerned about his behavior, but tried to think nothing of it as he left the room.

Roman knocked gently on the white door, biting his lip. When he heard no response, he cracked it open slightly. “Virge…?” he asked when he noticed the purple and black heap facing the wall. 

“Virgil.” was the muffled response he got, “Only people I like are allowed to call me Virge.” Roman’s heart sank slightly at that, but he kept up his confident front anyway. He couldn’t afford to let it drop, not now.

He leaned against the door frame with a small sigh, once again fidgeting with the little box. “I, um… I love your dad very much.” Virgil scoffed, but otherwise remained silent. 

“I- I want to propose to him, Virgil.” Oh did Roman regret saying those words as soon as they slipped past his lips. If he could’ve taken them back, he would’ve.

“I’m sorry, what?” Virgil hissed defensively, sitting upright and facing Roman with a murderous look in his eyes, and a scowl on his face. “I want to marry him.” Roman murmured softly, nervously.

Virgil laughed dryly at that. “No! Fucking hell, Roman! I didn’t ask for the two of you to meet! I didn’t ask for you to get together! I didn’t ask for you to come over here every other day! I didn’t ask for you to be near me, and I didn’t ask you to try to get to know me! I didn’t ask for you to ‘love’ dad, and I most certainly didn’t ask for you to be my new father, because you never will be!” the angsty teenager got off his bed, shoving Roman out of the room before slamming the door in his face.

Roman’s heart in that moment was like a small pebble being tossed into the ocean. It was sinking down, and showed no signs of stopping. As soon as he was away from the door, thunder cracked, lightning flashed, and tears poured down his cheeks.

“Roman!” Patton cried, immediately rushing to his side. Virgil sat in front of his closed door, quietly listening to the conversation beyond.

“What happened?!” Pat asked, and at first, Roman wanted to answer, but his mouth was the texture of sandpaper, rough and dry.

“H-h-he said-” Roman shuttered in his boyfriend’s arms, now wishing that life had an undo button.

“Shhhhhhh,” Patton rocked him back and forth, “What’d he say?” “H-he said th-that I’ll n-n-never be h-his f-f-f-father!” Roman whimpered, burying his face in Patton’s neck. It shouldn’t hurt this much. Virgil isn’t even his kid, he’s Patton’s. He wasn’t supposed to grow this attached, and yet he did.

Hearing Roman say those words made Virgil falter slightly. He had said so much to Roman in the brief time that he had been in the room, and yet… he was most upset that Virgil had told him that he would never be Virgil’s father. Not that Virgil didn’t want him to marry his dad.

“Oh, Roman…” Patton whispered, kissing his forehead. “I don’t know why he’d… I’m so sorry!” he led Roman to the couch, sitting down with him in his lap. “I knew that you guys don’t get along, but I didn’t realize he would say something like that…” what Patton said only caused Roman to cry harder.  

“I don’t understand what I did!” Roman sobbed, “I-I just want to know, so I can apologize, and Virgil will like me!” Ever since Virgil decided that he didn't like Roman, he’d forced his heart to remain stone cold. Just… an emotionless rock that kept blood pumping through his veins. And yet, the tiniest crack was starting to wedge it’s way into the outer shell.

Patton sat there with Roman in his arms, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do. For the first time ever, he wasn’t sure how to help the one who needed it most.

After what felt like forever, Roman’s broken sobs slowly began to fade into quiet sniffles. Patton hugged him tightly, and they were both too focused on each other to hear the door creak open. “We’ll figure this out, okay? I promise.” Patton continued whispering sweet nothings in his ear, hoping it would help. He only stopped when he felt another hand on his.

Virgil carefully and cautiously climbed on the couch with them,  wrapping his arms around Roman. If Patton hadn’t been watching him, he would’ve never noticed how glassy Virgil’s eyes were.

“I’m sorry.” was all he said, but it was enough to set Roman off and suddenly, he was crying all over again, hugging Virgil tightly. Roman felt as if the moment he let the kid go, he would immediately go back to hating him. 

“You can ask him.” Virgil whispered, and Roman hugged him tighter. Patton didn’t understand, but he didn’t need to. His son and his boyfriend were making up, and that’s all he cared about.

“How about opening presents before dinner?” Virgil suggested, and Roman offered him a watery smile. “Sounds perfect.” Patton hurried off after that, grabbing the two packages he had wrapped earlier. None of them had ever really been into the whole gift giving tradition on Christmas, so they settled on getting each other one present only.

“Here!” Patton chirped excitedly, tossing both Roman and Virgil similarly shaped squishy packages. They tore through the snowflake paper at the same time, each grinning at its contents.

“Patton, this is amazing!” Roman lifted up the beautifully knit white sweater. It had red sleeves, along with a bright red sash covered in snowflakes that traveled diagonally across. What looked to be golden braids stretched straight across in neat rows.

“This is pretty chill, dad.” Virgil breathed, gazing at his. Unlike Roman’s, it had a big purple thunder cloud at the top, with gorgeous purple and black patterns covering the rest of it.

Patton’s eyes were shining as he tugged on his own sweater. “Really? I’d say mine is rather toasty.” Roman smiled lovingly at the pun, laughing as Virgil cringed.

“Me next!” Virgil decided, handing one gift to both of them. He glanced down guiltily. “I know it’s not a lot, and I only have one, but I-” Patton cut him off. “Whatever it is, you know I’m gonna love it!” Roman nodded enthusiastically as he began ripping through the plain red paper.

Patton gasped at the picture frame in his lap, glancing at Virgil with wide eyes. “You drew this?” Roman was just as awestruck, if not more so. This entire time, Virgil always at least seemed like he hated him, and yet… he’d drawn a beautiful portrait of himself and Patton. It looked so alive that Roman could hardly believe it was a drawing in the first place. 

“You’re turn, Ro!” Patton kissed his cheek, and Roman tried to force the uneasy feelings away. Nothing was going to go wrong. Virgil supported him now. It would be fine. Right?

“Uh- here.” Virgil accepted the present gratefully, quickly ripping it open. “What. The. Hell.” Virgil lifted a midnight black MCR sweatshirt out of the box, along with two tickets for their next concert.

“You… you…” Roman laughed at that. “When your father told me that you liked My Chemical Romance, I decided I wanted to do something special.”

“Thank you.” Virgil threw his arms around his neck. Roman forced a smile in return. There were so many butterflies in his stomach that he wasn’t sure whether to laugh, or cry.

“You got this.” he whispered in Roman’s ear, and he nodded. Roman took a deep breath before reaching out for his hopefully soon fiancé’s hands. “Patton,” he began, gazing into those chocolatey brown eyes that had enchanted him right from the moment they met. “We’ve been dating for four years now, and honestly? I’ve spent some of the happiest moments of my life with you. I’ve loved you way more than I thought any human was capable of loving, and I don’t want to ever stop. You and Virgil light up my world, and together you’ve made me the happiest man alive. 

“Most importantly, you’re the best boyfriend I could’ve asked for in a million years. So Patton,” Roman got off of the couch and leaned down on one knee, “Will you marry me?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, one million times, YES!” Patton cried, jumping into Roman’s arms. “I love you so much,” he murmured as Virgil joined the hug. “I love you too, Snowflake.” Roman carefully slid the diamond ring onto his finger, kissing him passionately.

“Merry Christmas.” Roman said to no one in particular as he leaned down to kiss his now fiancé’s lips again. To his surprise, Virgil was the one who replied. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”

[fueledbysprite]

abandoned wips masterlist

so not too long ago i did an insta poll asking if i should expose all my abandoned fic drafts cause i mean it’s not like theyre ever gonna see the light of day otherwise. i was going to do it when i hit 3k kudos on ao3 and i did so i suppose it has come time for me to expose my mistakes

for obvious reasons, don’t repost these (idk why anyone would lol) but if you really like one of these and want to see it continued, just hit up my ask box and i may or may not consider~

Miscellaneous Fandoms:

Ninjago: Zephyr - a Morro backstory fic bc the hageman bros refuse to feed me more content of my son. barely started it but yknow its there

Miraculous Ladybug/BoBoiBoy: this failed attempt at a fanginette fic bc @secretagentspydetectiveninja got me invested even tho writers block is a binch hahshs

BoBoiBoy:

kokotiam gang angst that reminded me i cannot for the life of me write emotional angst (or any angst for that matter oop)

ramenzo (and kaifang) angst that i churned out on a saturday afternoon on a writing spike instead of doing homework bc I Do Not Control the Writing Juice

au where bbb is a forest guardian(?) and fang just wants away from Society (same fang same) i will probably be yearning for woodland aus till the day i die bc who *doesnt* wanna ditch everything and go live in the middle of the woods amirite?

ramenzo n boifang water fight bc you cant convince me these idiots dont get up to ridiculous shenanigans on their downtime

abandoned draft for the sequel to the og ramenzo fic (dont bother reading it literally nothing happens i swear)

i literally don’t remember where i was going with this i think it was supposed to be fang introspection but idk??

uhh kaifang with ramenzo vibes i think this was gonna be? i genuinely don’t remember anymore oop-

RAMENZO IN QUARANTINE yes this one was regular au (i mean duh) and it’s a shame i never ended up finishing it-

i am actually goboifang t r a s h...until i realized im going to have to make all the food by myself and i never learned to make food :’)) (fr if anyone provides me with any kind of fanon gbf content i will love you forever pls)

this...exists even tho i honestly prefer it didnt but ramenzo is ramenzo n ramen has freckles i will fite u on this (dont read it pls)

if anyone wants ramenzo crumbs (and i mean that quite practically) then feel free to consume the Specks

dont read this pls im begging just dont lets yeet it into the void it doesnt exist~ I Do Not See It

update: i discovered this uhh kaifang post-bora ra incident thing in my other drive

Miraculous Ladybug:

okay forewarning there are wayyyy too many of these so im skipping the ones that are sequels/dependent on other fics for context just to spare myself from having to sort through this mountain

i was planning to participate in chlonath week 2k19 (unfortunately for chlonath nation I Do Not Control the Hyperfixation oop) if you want context then ask

marcnath crumbs thats it thats the doc

oh look allya is self projecting again (writing is still pain) (marcnath)

for the one who requested chloenette with the dialogue prompt i am so sorry

idk why this feels like something ive posted before but then again all lovesquare is the same to me (dead) so who knows im not gonna bother checking hshsh (marichat)

chlonath go to comic con or sth idk chloe is tsundere as always (or would have been anyway if i ever ended up Finishing this)

i *think* this was based on a @terrible-miraculous-ladybug-aus post but heck if i remember now- (lukanette??)

i have absolutely no recollection as to where i was going with this but if anyone finds the concept interesting then by all means go ahead n snatch it- (manon finds the miraculous i guess?)

this is a great. opening. to a chloe fic. that doesnt exist. oof :,)

caline bustier’s home for orphans amirite (i mean she basically already adopted the whole class so)

im genuinely not a fan of the jealous!lover trope but someone in the marcnath server wanted some at one point so i. attempted. and failed but you know thats to be expected at this point :’3

oh look allya is projecting her writing struggles onto marc again is anyone surprised?

theres probably a museum brotp story in here but it doesnt exist and at this point it never will rip

oh good lord not this again i genuinely managed to forget about it for a while until now-

i just read the first line and im already reeling what the heck is this nathanette(??)

WHY IS THERE MARICHAT IN MY WIP FOLDER WHAT

allya stop projecting onto emo weebs challenge failed

i really wanna know where the context for chlonath skiing trip came from i literally have 0 recollection of this at all??

YO I ACTUALLY REMEMBER THE CONTEXT FOR THIS ONE anyway nath n aroace!alix arranged marriage au anyone?? well too bad cause i abandoned it oop-

ahahahahahahaha wdym i wrote 7k of chlonath and then ditched it i would never do that lmao-

i think this was a hunger games au uh

something something marcnath

marcnath angst i guess? *allya pls stop trying to write angst we’ve already established that is not a thing you can do*

something something chlonath

im never gonna forgive @powerdragonmoon for the fact that i thought “beecock” while glancing over this to figure out wth was going on. cholaon works here too tho so that is what i shall call it //sideways glare at moon

take your otp. now put them on a trampoline. but heaven forbid you ever finish the fic- (chlonath if it wasnt obvious)

nathanette doll au from forever ago with @lotus-duckies that was a real concept its a shame i have 0 commitment

i wanna call this lukanathanette but i honestly don’t remember where i was going with it so idk

hi uhm what is this and why is it so depressing allya fr quit self projecting on emo tomatoes oml

chlonath established relationship i guess??

museum brotp go skating?? is that what this is?

how much chlonath do i hAVE also chloe u tsundere

nathaniel is Yearning n tbh i dont blame him cause same (ft. marc)

i could swear this was gonna be luklonath (chlolukanath??) but i wouldnt be able to remember-

if anyone can figure out what’s going on with marc pls tell me bc i dont-

cholaon but theres no context

Oh god im finally done good lord that’s all of em i hope i never have to look at a mlb doc again in my life anyway pls be grateful n enjoy the crumbs n stuff thanks i sacrificed my sanity for this-

[ilovemygaydad]

"staring at the other’s lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in" for any ship in your punk AU cause I'm weak as fuck for it

another fic??? far ahead of the current timeline????? absolutely. that’s the only kind of fic i deal in rn, okay?

title: weak spot

pairings: logince, mentioned moxiety

warnings: kissing, a suggestive joke, food mentions, mild panic attack, swearing, possibly something else

for the main story and all other additional content, check out the masterlist!

read on ao3

After the first time that they went out for dinner, it became a weekly ritual between Logan and Roman to go to some nice-ish restaurant to eat. It was a good way for each of them to mellow down after a stressful week of dealing with patients or having to wrangle a bunch of seven-year-olds. It was a nice way to become better friends. This time, however, Roman had mentioned that he had never seen “The Theory of Everything,” and Logan almost took personal offense to that.

“Even if you aren’t going to watch it for the scientific aspects, you can appreciate how good looking Eddie Redmayne is!” Logan had argued as he unlocked the front door to his house, which he then repeated when he remembered that Roman couldn’t hear what he had said.

He had put the movie into the DVD player, and he had fully intended to watch it, but then he looked over at Roman and became entranced. Roman had his attention fully on the movie, and the shifting blue and yellow light made his features glow. Logan’s gaze shifted to his lips, which were painted the same deep red as his eyeliner. They looked soft and smooth, obviously well cared for. That wasn’t surprising, really; Roman put a lot of stock into making himself look the best he could. It was just… admirable. Right. It was simply admirable that Roman wanted to look nice.

That was all.

Truly.

Logan wasn’t crushing on his good friend.

Nope.

Maybe…

He was.

He’d fallen in love with Roman.

Fuck.

“What’s on your mind, Logan?”

The sudden question caused the aforementioned man to jolt back as if he’d been burned. “I just–It’s…”

“Hey,” Roman said in his soft, gentle voice. “You can tell me anything, okay? I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I…” Should he say anything? It could ruin their friendship. Worse, it could ruin things for Virgil and Patton, and Logan loved those kids more than he’d loved anything else.

“Just breathe. In and out. Got that? In… and out… Good.”

It took a minute, but Logan finally calmed himself down. And then he looked back up at Roman’s caring face, and he just about lost his shit again. In fact, he did. He did lose his shit because he very quietly said, “I want to kiss you.”

And then that small smile on Roman’s face grew just a bit, and he said, “I want to kiss you, too.”

Which was definitely not something that would rationally happen, so Logan had absolutely started to hallucinate. But then Roman leaned in, and Logan’s hands gently clutched at the collar of Roman’s shirt, and they both closed their eyes, and–

“Ha! Called it. Under ten weeks, baby! Fork over the money!” Patton’s voice called out from the front hall, and Logan nearly fell off the couch in shock. Both adults looked up to find a giggling Virgil, who was clinging to Patton.

“I… I thought you weren’t going to come home until ten,” Logan murmured.

“Virgil kept slipping on the rink, and the ice was making him cold, the poor thing!” Patton mock cooed, nuzzling his face into Virgil’s puffy hat. “He insisted that we come back.”

“O… kay?”

“Anyway!” Virgil giggled. “We’re going to go upstairs so I can dry off and change.” Then, he addressed his dad. “Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do!”

It took every ounce of restraint to keep Logan from immediately pulling Roman closer while the boys went up the stairs. As soon as he heard the door upstairs close, however, he leaned forward, and their lips met in the middle. It was messy and honestly not all that great, but neither of them truly cared.

When they parted, Logan couldn’t help but laugh a bit, resting his forehead in the crook of Roman’s neck.

“You would not believe how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Roman whispered as he ran his fingers down Logan’s arms. 

Logan raised his head. “Really?”

“Yeah. First, it was when you were talking to Virgil about teaching, and then you showed me all of your books, and… Well, it was very attractive. I have a bit of a weak spot for cute, smart guys.”

“And I guess that I have a thing for pretty, intelligent types.” Logan paused, thinking it over. “Would you… How would you feel about staying the night? I mean–just to sleep! I don’t want to, like, do anything! I just–”

Roman cut him off with a light chuckle. “Yeah, Logan. I’ll stay and cuddle with you.”

“Oh. Okay. Uh, cool.”

“You’re really adorable when you’re nervous.”

Logan rolled his eyes, tugging Roman forward for a kiss. “God, do you ever shut up?”

“Not really.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that I know a magic off button.”

tag list under the cut

tag list: @residentanchor @eeveeawesome@xionical@absolutesandersidestrash @stormcrawler75@musikasworld @ironwoman359@a-weirdo-with-a-computer@thegaypotatoroyalty707 @darkrainbow333@ravenclawunicorn1@noahlovescoffee@whymustibedraggedintofandomhell@romansleftshoulderpad @still-waiting-for-cookies @emounicorn2006 @lana–22 @angels-ofthe-sea@demonickittykat @lonelysoul43 @the-virgil-mary @five-second-cookies @noisywolfbatbakery @band-be-boss-blog @heck-im-lost@lamp-calm-sanders @patton-e @knightofbloodcancer@cloudchaser7@really-sleep-deprived-nerd @era-eclipsed @khadij-al-kubra @anxiousmorality@are-you-really-sure-about-that @today-only-happens-once@notalwaysthevillian @backatthebein@sunshineandteddybears @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @emo-sanders-sides-loving-unicorn @dodos-in-damnation@some-lost-meme-boi @dead4sevenyears @spookyingarbageisland @the-poison-apple-of-art@radioactivehelena @the-melody-of-eliza @im-a-mess-aaaaaa @whycantihavemorethan32characters@broadwaytheanimatedseries@veryvirginvirgil @llamaavocado@unisaurioamorfo @caterpiller-tea@cornycornfriendo @simon-at-3am @calico-kiri

[justoneday-namjoonii]

Midnight Circus pt.7

☾pairing: Jungkook(?)♡→  reader ☾genre: Angst. Fluff. Mature content. bad boy summer fling au ☾summary: “You’re ten times hotter this summer, you know that?” ☾Series status statement: “She is?” a/n: This is a lil shorter than most chapters and I just want to say I’ve enjoyed going on this story’s journey with you all, it’s been an emo time and I love it^^

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | coming soon

Lying on a yellow blanket in the park, pretty hands combing through his hair like a lullaby. A sweet scent of flowers and churro vendors engulfed his nostrils, reminding him of the confectionaries served at the county fair.

That’s what he so desperately wanted to make his reality, but instead, he stood in the back alley of the vinyl record and music shop, smelling old sweets from the bakery next door. The wind tousled with his hair and the brisk air threatened to nip at the tip of his nose. He was texting a friend but on his way to the sweet escape of his car. When he finally took a seat in the vehicle, he set his phone down and turned on some soft music.

Lately, music has consumed the majority of his time. That, school, and his new job. The bowling alley was nice and all but he decided he should venture into different things in this season of his life. He’s been drawing a lot, thinking, singing, little things that make him feel a tinge of happiness inside—that’s what the counselor said to do anyway. He’s been seeing a counselor secretly, Namjoon suggested it because of the divorce and emotional problems he’s been dealing with. He was reluctant at first, he didn’t feel the need to go to someone with his baggage, but after that episode with you, he felt like he should try it out. And it helped him deal with himself. More importantly, it helped him deal with losing you. He never had you, it was hard for him to say that out loud, but it’s true. 

What you two had was so wrong, in the beginning, it was wrong. That’s what you said, you said you regretted it and if you had the chance to do it again, you’d say no in a heartbeat. He went home to try and forget about it, about you. But oh how very difficult that turned out to be. He wants to know how you are and how your life has been. Somewhere deep down inside of him, he felt like he should be forgiven. He’s demonstrated that a mistake isn’t all he is—he screws up sometimes, but he’s only human.

His phone buzzed and he quickly picked it up.

“Hey,” It was Namjoon on the line, “what’s up?”

By the wind in the background, he was in the park, walking his dog probably. 

“Would you happen to have any acrylic painting paper?”

“Uh, yeah, I should have a few sheets at my place.” That was an odd request. “I can bring them to you or-”

“No!” He sounded almost alarmed. “I’ll come over and get it this evening.” 

“Okay,” Jungkook furrowed his brows in suspicion but went with it anyway. “I’ll see you later then.”

Namjoon sighed, slipping his phone into his pocket as he sat back in the park bench.

“I got them! They only had two left too.” You smile, skipping over to him with two sweet soft pretzels in your hands. “I don’t know how I got them.”

“Because you’re a lucky girl.” He smiles, dimples deep and pretty as always when he reaches out for one of the treats. 

“Yeah, that’s true, I am pretty lucky.” You beam, sitting beside him and tearing a piece of your pretzel to give to the cute ball of fluff sitting next to his feet. “Here puppy, have some yummy pretzel-” 

“Sweets aren’t good for dogs,” He looks at you, giggling when you give it to RM anyway, “you’re gonna spoil him.”

“Like you don’t spoil him already,” You roll your eyes, “he practically thinks you’re his maid.” RM reaches up to like your hand and you return his affection with a well-deserved ear rub. You coo to that little bundle of cuteness. “You love me, don’t you puppy?”

“Yes, he does.” Namjoon suddenly turns your jaw, the sweetest grin on his face when you tilt your head to him. He leans in and kisses you, a peck on the check that made your heart flutter.

He smiles at your rosy cheeks, that color had to be the prettiest thing in the world to him. “We both do.”  

He helps you reach the stars.

Flashback

The prison they call school is now back in session. The break was nice, you spent a lot of time with family and you even went out with your close friends a few times. On New Year's day, you actually went to a party. There were actually quite a few people you’ve never seen before, but one person, in particular, was there—Jungkook. 

The entire night, you did everything in your power to avoid him, but it was inevitable when you were re-introduced to each other by a mutual friend who was unaware of your pre-existing relationship.

“Jungkook,” He shuffled him over to where you were, safely in the corner with a bowl of trail mix, “have you met Y/n? She’s a friend from school, we go way back.”

You were stunned and quickly tried to chew and swallow the pretzel in your mouth. Sitting the trail mix down, you stand up, mouth opening to say something but nothing comes out, your friend probably thinks your just flustered but that’s not the case.

“We, um, we know each other actually,” Jungkook clears his throat, speaking to lessen the awkward silence. “we’ve gone to the same school since preschool.” He glances at you. 

“Y-yeah.” You nod in agreeance.

“Really? Wow, small world.” He laughs, “Well I’ll leave you two to catch up then.” 

He leaves you and Jungkook, still completely unaware of the tension in the air.

Jungkook stands in front of you, eyes hesitant to scan you but he did so anyway. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” He moves to sit on the couch, next to where you were sitting, “how are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” You don’t look at him when you say that, you know better than anyone that he rather forget the meeting you had ever happened, that’s why he’s trying not to sound awkward. It’s hard for you to sit here, just to be near him is difficult to stomach. He looks different from the last time you saw him,  almost brighter as if he’s decided to hydrate himself with water instead of cola. 

It’s just silence after that, a silence that brings the thought of what he’s been doing lately to your mind. Honestly, this is the longest you’ve gone without speaking to him, it’s been a few months. Fall had passed, winter came and school started again. 

After what happened during the summer, there was no way you were gonna come out of that the same, there were too many changes. For one, surprisingly, Jimin still contacts you when he gets the chance and you don’t know how to feel about it. Jen often reminds you of the good things Jungkook has done to keep you from completely ripping him in your frequent conversations about him. And then there’s Namjoon—he seems too good to be true, doesn’t he? He listens to you, he wants to help you get over what you went through, and he defends you at all costs. He’s still a confidant to Jungkook and they talk but he never tells you what they talk about. 

One day, he told you that he hadn’t told Jungkook about you two going out after that New Year’s party. He was the first person you kissed to begin the year, it was as magical as they make it look in Manhattan, maybe even more so. That night, you promised yourself that you’d never settle. You’d never open your heart to someone who justs wants to play with it. 

Because let’s be real, Jungkook likes to play, he always has. If it means he can get a little rush or a good feeling out of it, he’ll do it. In this case, he recognized that he felt an attraction towards you and acted on it instantly, and you being the person to Jungkook that you are, you let him.

Just this is just as much of his fault as it is yours. His habit of playing with females was gonna bite him in the butt and it did—he caught feelings. Hilarious. The Casanova, the man with not a single soul tying him down, decided to catch feelings. And not with just anyone, with you of all people, his once mortal enemy. Now he’s really in trouble because you didn’t return those feelings the way he thought you would. So he acted out, tried to take you by force, tried just about anything to get you, but it only pushed you further away. Now you’re living your own life. You’re not letting your past with him dictate your life, he can see that clearly.

“Are you here alone?” He asks, his words somewhat muffled by the pin the tail on the donkey game in the background. 

“No, I’m here with Jen.” You take a bite of your trail mix. “You?”

“Tae’s here somewhere.” You nod at that. ”Namjoon too.”

You brighten up at the mention. “Namjoon is here?” You look around for him. “I haven’t seen him...” 

“Yeah, he’s somewhere.” After a moment of silence, you get up to go look for him and Jungkook’s heart breaks out in a thousand hairline fractures and he merely watches you for the rest of the night. You were able to track down Namjoon, and when you did, you two started to drink a little. Your outfit is flattering, distracting even. Distracting, that seemed to be the only word that came to his mind. He played beer pong, croquet, table tennis, but he kept looking for you, looking to see if you’de be looking at him...

Namjoon pulled you away and it was beautiful. The two of you talked and laughed about everything, he is even more hilarious at night. You two weren’t drunk but your red faces would beg to differ. 

Within the hour, everyone huddles around the TV for the countdown. When the clock strikes twelve you all scream happy new year. Jungkook watches from the sidelines and when he sees you jumping around looking—genuiniely happy—something in him becomes uneasy and he goes outside on the porch to get some fresh air. Just as he does that, Namjoon cups your face with the softest smile and kisses you. 

After that night, Jungkook doesn’t see you again and it tries not to let it tear him apart.

- Flashback End -

You lay sprawled out on your bed, a Greek history book in your hand, and your eyes slowly falling victim to sleep. The plan was to go study with Namjoon but you ended up on a little date at the park—you didn’t mind that though. Just as your eyes were about to close, you hear your phone buzz and you quickly bring it to your ear.

“Hello?” You frown a little bit, sleepiness wearing off almost immediately when you realize that it was a freaking text message, not a phone call. “Hugh...” You bring the phone down to look to see who it’s from and you do a double-take—Jungkook. You distinctly remember telling him to lose your number...

Jungkook [11:23]: i think. i need need u to cakll me

You’re taken aback, completely confused as to why he would be texting you some gibberish like this at this time of night. For a moment, you wait to see if he’s gonna text you back but the typing bubble disappears and you’re getting a phone call from him.

“Oh God no, no.” You stare at your phone, just waiting for it to stop ringing. “Not tonight, we’re not doing this tonight.” You’re saying that more to yourself than anything. After ignoring the call, he calls again and you ignore it, then he calls again, and again, and again, and you cave in. You pick up the phone and hold to your ear.

“What do you want Jungkook? Why do you keep calling me? Do you know what time it is?” You don’t shout, but you do speak with a blunt delivery.

“I need you...I miss, miss you- h-how are you by the way?...” His words are slurred, making him sound odd. “Y/n...” He draws your name out with a tug in his voice—he’s drunk, that is the only reasonable explanation for this. 

“Jungkook,” You sigh, “are you drunk?”

“No, I’m not d- drunk,” He chokes, “I-” He sounds like he’s drinking something at that very minute, “I’m sorry, I’m- so, so- I’m stupid, I’m so stupid, but I need you, I need you bad...Please, please tell me you want me, please...” Now it sounds like he’s crying and you panic, you need to get off this phone.

“Stop that, you need to get off of this phone, I’m gonna hang up, okay? I need to go to bed.” 

“I’m coming over your house,” He pants into the phone for a moment, “I’ll come and do whatever you, whatever you want...please, please...I-...I love you...”

You bite your lip, your heart aching at the drunken rambling. “Jungkook, you drank too much, you need to go to sleep and sober up...”

“Only i- if you tell me you love me, I need you,” He sounds like he’s crying again, “I want you to love me, I know I’m an idiot but I can’t take this, I can’t take it...”

“You don’t love me Jungkook.” You shake your head when you hear him let out a small sob. “We don’t love each other and it’s okay. It’s for the better. Now, I’m gonna hang up, alright?” He doesn’t say anything but you can hear his attempts to steady his breathing. “...Okay, goodnight.”

Long gone is your voice, all he hears is a dial tone taunting him. He tips up a bottle of soju and blinks back some tears. He’s at Yoongi’s place, again. His plan was to go home but he couldn’t resist drinks with Yoongi and Hoseok. But Yoongi was in the shower and Hoseok ran out to get something from the store.

”Jungkook,” Yoongi steps out of the bathroom, eyes scrutinizing a disheveled Jungkook, “what’s the matter?”

Jungkook sniffles, eyes and nose tinted a rosy pink. “She hates me...She fucking hates me.”

“Who?” Just as Yoongi asks that Hoseok walks in, plastic bags in hand.

“Y/n...” Jungkook said your name as if it was painful.

“Oh my God Kook,” Yoongi sighs, “did you call her?”

“Yeah.” 

“Why?” Hoseok joined the conversation. 

“I wanted to talk to her.” He sighs, mind still not processing the problematic appearance of it all. 

“At this time of night? Why would you think it was okay to call her Jungkook? And what did she say?” 

“She said doesn’t love me.”

“You told her that you love her?... “ Jungkook nodded, “Do you love her?” 

“I don’t know, I think so- I know I care about her, y’know? Like, I care about what happens to her...” 

“She’s been going out with Namjoon for the past few weeks, you know that right?”

“She has?” Jungkook’s eyes were glossy and he looked like someone had just taken a dagger to his heart.

“Well, I saw them out a the movies one night and the other day he said they were going for a run together. If that’s not going out, I guess they’re just really close friends.” 

“Jungkook, this might be for the better,” Yoongi interjects. “You two were never together in the first place, so why are you so heartbroken about this?”

That was just it, you two were never together in the first place. There is no logical reason as to why he’s behaving as if that were the case, it’s not. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s trying to get over it, and it’s just taking a while. “I’m not, I’m just trying to stop thinking about her like we had something, I thought we had something, I don’t know why.”

“You need to sleep it off Jungkook, your life doesn’t depend on Y/n.” Hoseok pats his shoulder and heads off to the guest bedroom to get some sleep himself. And Jungkook, after an hour or so of trying to find something on tv, he fell asleep and the world pitied him

You put on your nice top and best jeans because your mom said she had some friends coming over for Sunday dinner. You, of course, weren’t going to stay for the whole thing, due to your social anxiety around friends that aren’t really your own. So, you said you’d stay for a little while, then go out.

“Y/n! You’ve turned out to be such a beautiful young lady.” Mrs. Belle, she’s a long time family friend and she says that every time she sees you.

“Thank you, Mrs. Belle.” She’s sitting next to you at the dinner table as you eat the last few bites of your beans and rice.

“And you’re taking college courses now, right?”

“Yes, I’m just getting my A.A right now, I’ll figure out the rest of my plans when the time comes.” You smile, making sure you cut off any opportunities to talk about your major.

Shen went on about how great that was and how she hopes I can meet up with her son soon and help him out. You said you’d be more than willing to but the fact of the matter is, her son is more of the free-spirit time. In fact, you know Brian well and you know he rather play sports and find vegan burgers rather than talk about college. 

Soon, you’re able to break away from the table and tell your mother you’ll be back soon. Jen texted you early this week, saying she was going on a picnic and a movie screening with Naeun, Nayeon, some other girls and guys. She also said Namjoon would be there. You wondered why he didn’t tell you himself, but you pushed that thought aside and ran upstairs to slip into a cute little sundress. You ran downstairs, bid farewell to your family and hoped in your car. She sent you the location and you put it in your GPS. The drive wasn’t too long, maybe 30 to 40 minutes, give or take a few minutes. When you pulled into the parking lot for the hilly park, you suddenly got a little nervous. Sure, these are your friends and all, but still, they make you nervous sometimes. 

With courage, you get out of your car and bring your little cooler of fruit with you. There are quite a few couples having romantic little picnics, and families as well, your heart swells at the sight. You’re guilty of being a bit of a hopeless romantic and you think it probably shows. Because in reality, you don’t know if you’ve ever had a real boyfriend. You’ve gone on dates but never committed, it’s not a bad thing though, it’s just how it is. 

“Y/n! Over here!” Jen waves you over and you see everyone else wave as well. There were about five blankets around, all with people you know and you greeted all of them.

“Hey,” You take a seat next to Jen and Jin—apparently they’re a thing now—you smile, “how are you guys?”

“Good, you?” Jin responds.

“Great.” You look around, hoping to see Namjoon heading your way but he’s no where to be seen. And in just the nick of time, you get a phone call from him

“Hello?”

“Hey, Jen told me she told you about the picnic, I’m sorry I can’t make it.”

“It’s okay, I understand.” You try not to sound too disappointed. “I’m good.”

“Okay, I’ll see you in class on Tuesday, alright?”

“Alright.” You say goodbye and you settle into a comfortable sitting position as you think of how you wished Namjoon was here, he made you feel really comfortable.

“I’ve missed you bestie.” Suddenly, Jen wraps her arms around you, so tight that you feel like she was probably doing it on purpose.

“How? I see you all the time Jen.” You giggle, unpacking your fruit and setting it out for whoever wants it.

“I know but you’ve been busier these days, which isn’t a bad thing, but we don’t get as much time anymore.” She lets you go and leans back on her hands. “We’ll have to do another trip soon.”

Never.

“I don’t know if I could do another summer like that Jen, maybe with just us girls.” Your tone is a bit bitter and she catches on immediately

“You mean?-”

“You know what I mean.” You look up at the screen the people are setting up. “I can’t do that again.”

“Y/n,” She frowns, knowing you were just at the point of ripping Jungkook apart, “you and Jungkook settled your differences, right?”

“I mean yeah, but-” You pause and look her in the eyes. “He called me last night, but he was drunk.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, he was rambling about how he needed me and asking me to love him, I couldn’t believe it.”

“That’s crazy...He must-” She cuts off what she was about to say and you narrow your brow.

“He must what?”

“Nothing!”

“You said that too quick, say what you were going to say. He must what?”

She’s hesitant to say something, but she caves under your scrutinizing glint. “He must just, miss you.”

You scoff. “No, he doesn’t know what he wants Jen...I honestly think he’s confused and I just hope he can get through it.” You two sort of end the conversation on that, but you don’t stop thinking about it. You never thought Jungkook could really, genuinely miss you, it didn’t sound right in your head. But it could happen, he could somehow feel like there’s a void in his life and it’s because of you. Jungkook did a lot of crap to you that just wasn’t right, but you gave in every time when you could have easily said no, and he used that against you. 

But it’s okay now.

You’ve healed and now it’s Jungkook’s turn to do the same.

But no matter where you go, or what you do, Jungkook will be not too far behind. After the movie had started, you saw him arrive with Yoongi and Hoseok, your heart dropped at the sight of him. Every time you see him unexpectedly, you feel yourself panic a little bit. It’s obvious that he hasn’t yet seen you, and you want to keep it that way. 

Little did you know, he sees you but he does his best not to make that known, he doesn’t want to suffer any more awkward meetings. He settles at a spot on one of the huge blankets and tries to watch the movie. You, on the other hand, you’re scared that he might see you and get embarrassed about what happened last night. Wouldn’t that bruise his ego to know you heard him like that? You thought so.

The night goes on, people end up talking during the movie and Jen asks if anyone will go get some paper plates from the little shop over the hill. You volunteer and scurry off to get the plates.

When you arrive at the little vendor, you have to get in a short line—that’s not too bad. Well, not until you realize who’s standing in front of you.

Jungkook.

And to make matters worse, he glances back at you and you can practically see the blood leave his face.

“Hey.” You’re the first to say something, in hopes that the silence and staring is put to an end.

“H-hey, we seem to keep meeting...” He breathes, referring to the many times you two arrived at the same function by sheer coincidence.

“Yeah....” 

He clears his throat. “So, how have you been? I know we haven’t talked since New Year’s”

No, you two have definitely talked since then.

“Um, pretty good, how about you?”

“I’ve been fine, can’t really complain I guess.” He turns from you so he can purchase some bottles of water from the cashier. Now it’s your turn. 

“Five plates please.” You smile and the man promptly takes your money and gives you the plates in exchange. When you look up, Jungkook is standing there, just looking at you.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’ll walk back with you, if you’re okay with that,” He rushes to make sure this is something you don’t mind. “It’s dark out.” He has a fair point. Instead of saying something, you begin to walk back and he walks beside you, eyes stealing small glances at your dress. You look really pretty tonight, he can’t deny that. But he wills himself to look at his feet, or at anything else, he can’t afford to have you catch him staring. 

You’re feeling so, so awkward. Does he not realize that he called you last night? You were starting to think he was completely unaware of it because he didn’t look uneasy, ashamed, nothing, he acted like the last time you two talked was on New Year’s Day. You two go your separate ways to your own blankets and your mind is spinning with one conclusion. 

He doesn’t know he called you.

[amethystdarkwolf]

Emotionless Emotionals [Chapter Four]

AU: College

Ship: Analogical

Warnings, for the entire fic: Swearing, self-harm (both mentions of past and present), Panic attacks, emotional detachment, mentions of past eating disorders, hints of present eating disorders, homophobia, emotional abuse, previous death mention, car crashes mention.

Word count: 1,619

Okay! So this is a fic based on an Rp I am currently doing with @side-for-sides it’s going to be incredibly long and there are bursts of both angst and fluff.

As it’s ongoing, there may be more warnings added if need be, so be cautious and actually read them before each chapter in case I have updated them.

[Ch. 1] / [Ch. 2] /  [Ch.3] / [Ch.4] / [Etc. Soon]

Note: Perfect Imperfections has begun! It is another Multi-chaptered Fic like this one and has a completely separate Taglist. Again, Perfect Imperfections is the Royality parallel to this story, at certain points the two stories will cross over, you don’t have to read that one to get the crossover points and they won’t be for a good bit, if you enjoy mine and Gale’s writing then go read the first chapter here, and if you’re really interested in the story ask to be added to the tag list!

Enjoy the chapter!

As their lips connected, Virgil’s swirling thoughts vanished, leaving him blissfully blank. His eyes fluttered shut and he focused on the softness of Logan’s lips and how gently he was cupping his cheek. Holy shit, Virgil thought. This is actually happening.

After a brief moment, Logan pulled away, his eyes opening trying to gauge if he'd just royally screwed up, or if he'd just made one of the best decisions in his life. He didn't move his hand from its place, but his touch was still subtle and gentle so Virgil could, again, easily pull away. Virgil stared into Logan’s ridiculously beautiful eyes, only pausing for a moment before plunging back in for another kiss. It was a little messy, a little rough, but so, so good. He shifted so that he was even closer to Logan, throwing one of his legs haphazardly over his waist so that Virgil was practically on top of him. He pulled away after a moment, panting, his cheeks flushed.

Logan's face was burning red, at first, he was caught off guard by Virgil's decision, his hands moved and gripped onto Virgil's waist. He realized just how close they were as he felt their panting and heavier breaths bouncing off one another, he cleared his throat. "I... I'm unsure of what to do now..." He admitted quietly, he normally knew what to do in almost every situation, but this left him uncertain, and not necessarily in a bad way. Virgil blinked, his mind still blank and empty. “I, uh, I don’t really know, either,” he whispered breathlessly. “That... that was...” He trailed off, a tiny smile quirking his lips up. “Fuck, Logan, that was incredible.” Logan smiled, "I... I certainly agree with you... It... It was amazing." He gave a breathy laugh, "As I've previously stated, I'm not good with emotions... But... I'm well aware that... I am romantically attracted to you," he spoke, his tone clearly still nervous and slightly shaky. Virgil was fully convinced by this point that his face was going to be permanently red. “Shit, I feel the same way,” he said, then added quietly, “Honestly, I wanted to do this since I saw you on move-in day.”

Logan was noticeably surprised, "Really?" He asked, "If I'm being truly honest, I thought I had scared you when we first met..." He added. Virgil‘s tiny smile turned more sly. “I called you intimidating, yeah, but I definitely meant that in the best possible way.” Logan's smile was replaced by a bit of a smirk in response to Virgil's sly smile, "It's rare to hear intimidating in a positive context, and even before that you seemed rather tense with just me being present, therefore my point still stands," he replied with a bit of uncharacteristic sass. Virgil’s smile dropped, his eyes going wide at Logan’s ungodly smirk. He hid against the man’s chest, not wanting him to see how flustered he was. “Fuck, I thought you were hot, okay?” Virgil whined, his voice slightly muffled.

Logan tried to ignore his own face flushing yet again, as he quietly chuckled, "I found you incredibly attractive as well, now onto a different topic... Are you alright?" He asked, moving his hand from Virgil's waist to his hair. Virgil lifted his head up solely so Logan could see him roll his eyes. “Really, Logan? We finish making out- great first kiss, by the way, like holy fuck- and you ask me if I’m alright?” He kept his tone light and teasing, a smile making its way onto his face. “I’ve never been better.”

"Well sorry! I was just checking!" Logan replied sarcastically, and obviously joking, he sighed in a content manner, "and that's great..." There was another silence for a few moments, while he was happy with this, they'd been in bed for a while longer than normal, "We should probably get up now..." He offered but made no attempt to actually get up. Virgil interrupted Logan with a huff, shifting so that he was laying completely on top of him. “Just a few more minutes...”

"I have a feeling if we stay this way for 'just a few more minutes' it will more realistically turn out to be maybe a couple hours," Logan stated, "and you do realize I could easily move you off of me, right?" He questioned, Virgil’s pout slowly morphed into an evil grin. “You underestimate my power,” he whispered mischievously. Logan tilted his head slightly, "Yeahhh right, anyway..." He held onto Virgil's waist and tried to move him off of him and onto the other side of the bed. Only instead of cooperating,  Virgil practically hissed, latching onto Logan even tighter. He snaked his legs around Logan’s, looping his arms around his shoulders and hanging on."Oh, come on...." Logan rolled his eyes, his tone and expression weren't annoyed in the slightest, however. "Virgil, come on, we have to get up..."

“Says who?” Virgil asked dryly. Getting an idea, he buried his face in the crook of Logan’s neck, leaving soft kisses along the skin. “Logan... stay... for... awhile...” He purred in between kisses. Logan noticeably shivered, "You aren't playing fair..." He whined in a whisper, while Virgil grinned to himself, pleased at the effect he was having on Logan. “When did I ever say I’d play fair?” He teased, playfully nibbling at Logan’s neck. “Staaaaay...” Again, Logan tried to move Virgil off of him but failed.  He sighed, getting an idea in his head, but decided to act like he was giving in to get Virgil to let go, "fine... But only for a few minutes." He mumbled.

Virgil relaxed on top of Logan, grinning in triumph. He unwrapped from around him, now snuggled against his chest, his eyes closing peacefully as he curled on top of him. After about a minute of Virgil being curled up on top of him peacefully, Logan again, but much quicker this time, grabbed onto Virgil's waist and moved him to the other side of the bed. He smirked as he sat up and stretched. Virgil let out a surprised yelp as he was suddenly moved, scowling at Logan. “You little shit!” He lunges forward, latching onto Logan again. “You’re not going anywhere!” Logan laughed at Virgil's reaction,  "Virgil, we're already awake, give up already, we can cuddle later tonight," he explained, trying to unhook Virgil's arms from him.

Virgil leaned against Logan’s shoulder, pressing a few more kisses to it. “I would, but it’s a matter of pride now.” Logan rolled his eyes, "I guess we're staying like this then, where neither of us is comfortable enough to fall back asleep." He said, again with that smirk. Unfortunately for Virgil, he had tilted his head to look up at Logan... right as Logan smirked down at him. He groaned and finally let go, hiding his face in his hands. “I can’t stand it when you smirk like that,” he grumbled, refusing to look at Logan. Logan chuckled as he stood up and grabbed his laptop, "and why is that?" He asked Virgil huffed when he heard Logan’s laugh but refused to move his hands away. “Because... it makes me flustered... because you’re cute...” He mumbled.

"And you're incredibly adorable when you're flustered, so remind me to smirk like that more often," Logan stated as he made his way over to his desk and sat down. “Noooo,” Virgil complained, pulling his covers over his head. “Not adorable...”

"Yes, you are, you know I don't lie," Well about most things Logan spoke, looking over at Virgil and just smiling in appreciation, "So just accept the truth." Virgil hesitantly moved the covers away from his face, staring at Logan before mumbling, “I wouldn’t choose the word adorable to describe an angsty emo nightmare.”

"Well, that's just how you see yourself, I see you as adorable, therefore that is the word I choose." He said before turning back starting to work on the project again, Virgil offered Logan a tiny smile before he turned back to his work. He reached over and grabbed his laptop off of his desk, pulling up the research paper he had tried to start on the night before. He suddenly froze, a thought occurred to him. “Hey, Logan...” Virgil said softly, too embarrassed to look away from his computer screen. “Does this mean... we’re dating?”

Logan paused, his fingers stopping on his keyboard the noticeable lack of the clicking noise making the room go silent, he turned to look at Virgil over his shoulder, "I... I would assume so," there was another tension-filled silence before he hurriedly spoke up again, "I mean... Unless of course, you don't want that..." Virgil nodded quickly, waving his hands. “No, no, I- I absolutely do!” He stuttered. “I just- I didn’t want to assume- I didn’t know if you- if we- if it was... official.” He winced at his oh-so-eloquently phrased response, muttering an apology before turning back to his work, his shoulders hunched. Real smooth, Virge. Real smooth.

"Well, neither did I... Neither of us asked the other out directly... So there wasn't a definitive way to know... But... Now.. I assume, we are? Officially dating?" He said with a more questioning tone as if asking again if Virgil was wanting and okay with this, Virgil’s eyes wandered back over to Logan as he spoke, slowly nodding again. “Yeah. Yeah, we are. Officially dating.” His voice was full of awe.

"Good... I'm... I'm glad," He said before turning back and zoning out on his work for a while. Virgil broke into a dorky grin as he turned back to his computer, starting on his research and somehow managing to find some really good sources.

[Taglists under the cut, ask to be added or removed.]

Sanders Sides General Taglist: @starryfirefliesbloggo @weirdsthenewnormal @purpleshipper @darkle-elkrad @just-an-anxious-mess @emo-potato-virgil @kaymischief25 @pinkpandapancakes @blueeyedscorpion @rayndropsonrosez @ts-random-pictures @aurinkari @itsme98z @lunacatzuniverse @illogicaldeath @heretoreadmyfics @echomist13 @crownswriter123 @logan-smarter-than-you-sanders @never-saygood-bye

Analogical Taglist: @patchworkofstars @virgil-is-verge

Emotionless Emotionals Taglist: @thequeendevious @dragonsight9 @shadowamongfireworks @alldewonderfulfandoms @soft-boy-patton @sopi-montezzz @prickly-problematic-programmer @kawaiikiwi984 @fandom-random2405 @certifiedfangirlluna @rieka-onyx @warnadudenexttime @notveryglittery