#i WILL however say it here: 'four of them!' on ao3? absolutely fucking amazing

[greensaplinggrace]

do you have any darklina fic recs?

I certainly have a few! But first I want to clarify that I don’t really read fic when I’m writing it, and since I have so many fics in the works right now, I haven’t really been reading a lot of fanfiction. So this list probably won’t be as extensive as it could be.

Here are some other great fic recommendation posts, however:

DARKLINA FIC RECS by @vicioux

DARKLINA FIC RECS // part ii by @vicioux

Darklina Ruling the World Together Fic Recs by @clubofthestarlesssaint

Tumblr Ficlets

Aleksander’s First Memory by @kestrafagnor

Fivan Talk About Darklina by @jomiddlemarch

a little light in the great, big dark by @valkyrhys

Alina tells Mal she’s with Aleksander by @lorsanbitch

Darklina week day 5: intimacy & touch by @starlesscne

AO3 Fanfiction

if it ain’t me by larry_hystereks (Incomplete - 10/13 Chapters)

alina’s in her second year at Yale when she meets aleksander at one of his frat parties.

a hookup with the potential for more, only if alina wasn’t still struggling to piece herself together from last year’s breakup.

or: alina, zoya, their trust issues, and the men that fall for them

---

I’m only at about chapter 6 of this fic currently, but so far it’s one of my all time favorite Modern AUs. The characterization for Alina and Aleksander is incredibly well done, and the entire fic itself is so feminist and queer in such a refreshing way. Aleksander and Alina are bisexual as fuck, both with their own separate complex lives, and much of Alina’s own traumas and relationships are explored outside of Aleksander.

There’s some Zoyalina, with Nikolina friendship and endgame Zoyalai. There’s some mystery and some tension, but nothing too extreme, and a lot of the fic is merely an exploration in growth and overcoming one’s history and learning how to move on in healthy ways. I love it.

She Wears a Collar (With My Name) by Ceris_Malfoy (Complete)

She is immortal, and whatever lingering hints of humanity she may have once had have long been bleached from her heart.

I will grant you one wish, boy, if it is in my power to do so. What does a Shadow Smith most want?

"You," he answers.

Written for Darklina Week 2021 - Day 2: Role Reversal

---

This piece is just exquisite. This author’s writing style is one that I particularly enjoy. Their stuff is always so uniquely composed and crafted, and this one especially is a work of art. The way Darklina as a relationship is portrayed in particular is fascinating to me because it’s a role reversal but it’s still so complex. Aleksander’s character is nailed.

the bright sun was extinguish’d by athousandwinds (Complete)

Somewhere, deep in the dark forests of Ravka, a boy grows up on stories of Sankta Alina of the Wastes, the Sun-Scorched Saint.

---

This fic is just straight up magnificent. It’s so engaging and I love love love the way a role reversed Aleksander who joins the army is portrayed. He reminds me so much of Demon in the Woods Aleksander, as if he’s exactly what a grown version of that young boy would be. When I say I adore his characterization in this I’m not lying.

If I wanted any completed fic I’ve read to have a second chapter, it would be this one.

Winter in the Little Palace by redisxwing (Complete)

Written for Yuletide 2020.

Baghra and Alina's wildly different perspectives on the Darkling, and how things could have gone if nobody listened to Baghra.

Warning: Baghra is written as a harsh and arguably abusive parent, and this is darkfic about that relationship, with a side of shipping. Everything is terrible (except the parts that are pretty much okay).

Canon divergence pretty much as soon as Alina gets lessons in summoning.

This fic is likely not compatible with King of Scars (or any subsequent work).

---

As is said in the summary, this one makes Baghra a bit more extreme. If you’re a fan of Baghra, this fic probably isn’t for you. But since I’m not a fan of Baghra, I had no problems with it.

My biggest praise for this fic is in regards to the character interactions and the POVs. There’s a brilliant grasp of unique perspective and how to convey it, and that talent is carried over into the way character interactions are brought to life in the text. Also, there’s a scene where Alina gets kind of protective of the Darkling, which is one of my biggest weaknesses when it comes to Darklina.

Good Ideas by FelixRivers (Complete)

Alina Starkov had a very good idea. Aleksander Morozova would definitely agree. (or: Alina wants to go camping and Aleksander won't complain)

---

This fic is just straight up adorable and hilarious. They’re such a cute couple and Alina’s POV is great. It’s just pure fluff and humor 💕

I’m not a bad girl, but I do bad things with you by SanktaJenya - @sankta-arya (Complete)

Winter had been hard on Old Baghra and Ana Kuya was worried about her, so she decided that Alina should make the trip to her cottage on the other side of the woods to bring her some food and kvas. On her way there, Alina meets a stranger...

Darklina Red Riding Hood/Company of Wolves AU

Darklina Week, Day 4, Fairytales

---

This fic has a splendid grasp of tension and atmosphere. It’s very enchanting and dark and intriguing, and it nails those aspects with absolute precision. I love the style and the way the fairytale is incorporated into the narrative. It’s truly a masterpiece.

The Wretched by @aceofnowhere (Complete)

“We are strangers, but I want to help.” He growls at her, mocking and mistrustful. “I understand,” she said. “You think I am one of them. I certainly look like one of them. But I want to help you. Will you let me?” Prompt: fairytale. Alina saves a dragon.

---

Okay so I’ve mentioned this one before as one of my Top 5 fics of all time and I still stand by that. I can’t even describe why I love this fic so much except that the pacing is amazing and the prose is stunning and the story is beautiful. Aleksander is a dragon and Alina is a witch, and their relationship is just so...interesting and fascinating and lovely. I would literally kill for this fic. There’s such a softness to it as well. Such a tenderness. Idk, I just really love it.

Show Me Who You Are (I Want To Know) by Ceris_Malfoy (Incomplete - 12/?)

Alina takes her future in her own hands and makes her own decisions.

---

This is a great “what if Alina had stuck around after the reveal” rewrite. It doesn’t have Mal bashing and in fact still writes them as close friends, which is something I’m fond of in Darklina fics. Aleksander is allowed to be soft and Alina is allowed to be powerful, and I really enjoyed the take on their dynamics as a power couple wherein Alina is given a lot of control.

There’s something to be said for the way Aleksander is written in the scenes where he must be honest and earnest with Alina. I really enjoy the way they both come to equal ground, and I’m even more fond of the way Alina is allowed to grow darker without losing her light. She also engages a lot with quite a few other characters, developing tons of friendships and alliances on her own that help strengthen her as an individual character.

on this bridge between starshine and clay by @rhea-imagined (Complete)

"His breath narrows for a moment, his fist clenched tight before he forces himself to loosen it. She is his only opportunity for salvation, but vulnerability is not a cape he wears easily. “In those days, there was less prejudice against Shadow Summoners. But everyone fears the dark, in one way or another.” He does not look at her as he waits for the penny to drop, half-hoping it stays suspended in the air."

In which Alexander comes clean to Alina and tells her about his true identity in hopes that this will help convince her to take down the Fold.

A rewrite of the fountain scene in episode four, with a good!Darkling that is trying to make amends.

---

This is my all-time favorite good!Aleksander AU. He’s kept in character despite the major changes made to his motivations, and Alina is given a lot more agency in her own story. It’s the first fic in what might become a series, but it can stand alone beautifully.

I love how Aleksander and Alina’s relationship is allowed to grow tense without breaking, and how it’s a clear sign of change but not abandonment. I love how both characters are able to think for themselves and become self-aware and are given the chance to think critically. I love the character interaction so much because it’s honest and fresh and engaging. Everything from the smallest action to the most off-hand thought is in character and meaningful and incorporated with an amazing style of writing. It’s a very refreshing piece, and the writing only makes it that much better.

Bunnies of a Feather Stitch Together by Ill_Ratte (Complete)

"Just as Alina called to the light, gathering and twisting it into a ball in her hands, the door swung open.

Kirigan blacked out the door frame. His appearance enough would have surprised Alina, but there was something clutched in his arm, something dark and floppy. It almost looked like the stuffed toys that had been passed around to the younger Orphans." - Alina and The Darkling bond over a love of soft things

---

Soft stuffed animal shenanigans. Bits of trans!Aleksander, which I’m very fond of, as well as just a lot of fluff with a bit of something bittersweet and sad in a good way.

Half Lie by Ill_Ratte (Complete)

"Baghra always talked of the demon that had stolen her daughter." Or, Alina learns the hard way that the Darkling isn't the only one who deals in half-truths

---

This one is trans!Aleksander, and it handles it in a very interesting way. It’s quite sad, and deals a lot with Baghra & Aleksander’s relationship through Alina’s POV. I want to give a warning for transphobia, because it does center around that a lot as the premise, but it really is worth the read if that isn’t a trigger for you. This is one of my favorite trans!Aleksander fics, and the way it handles emotion and grief and pain is quite extraordinary.

The CEO and Helioseismologist by mrthology (Complete)

Aleksander Morozova doesn't get sick. He's the CEO of one of the most successful companies in the world, one that he had built from the ground up with blood, sweat, and tears. He exercised daily (usually), maintained a healthy diet, and kept himself fit.

He wasn’t sick.

Too bad no one believed him. And too bad Genya decided to call Ivan to take him home before also calling Alina to take care of him.

Maybe, just maybe, being sick wasn't so bad. Especially not when he has such a wonderful girlfriend.

---

Both of the fics in this series are great, but I love this one in particular because I’m an absolute sucker for hurt/comfort. Anyone who’s been on my blog for a while knows that it’s my all time favorite trope to read, and this fic fits the hurt/comfort trope to a T in the best of ways. It’s very tender and in character, and Aleksander and Alina are so soft with each other. It’s adorable and really makes you feel for Aleksander, and the caretaking is done perfectly.

All the different layers of dark (thousand little suns) by Anuna (Complete)

One month after the Winter Fete, Aleksander returns to the Little Palace, and Alina has been missing him.

Or

Episode five canon divergence in which Alina had never left Os Alta.

---

This one is soft emotional hurt/comfort smut. They’re both so open and vulnerable with each other, and it’s so beautiful to read. I love the writing style and the emotion in this one. It makes my heart ache in the best way.

An Honourable Man by liviy695 (Complete)

A reimagining of the scene after the winter fete. Alina catches a glimpse of a caring Darkling after he returns from integrating the Conductor. Plus, no Baghra interference.

---

This one is what it says on the tin, in that Baghra doesn’t interfere and they’re allowed to talk after the Darkling interrogates the Conductor. But more than that, it’s a great imagining of how a scene where Aleksander reveals Marie’s death would have gone. There’s a sort of quiet to it that I appreciate, with grief and solemnity weighed against care and vulnerability.

I see the real you (even if you don’t, I do) by Anonymous (Incomplete - 8/?)

A series of questionable decisions lead Alina to meet the Black General a bit earlier. Butterfly effect ensues.

---

I’ve only read half so far (I hadn’t realized it had updated!! 👀👀) but I’m already in love with this fic. Alina’s dialogue and perspective is perfect, her relationship with Mal and the other cartographers is great, and I really enjoy how much personality she has. Aleksander is so smitten, but more than that, his characterization is soft but not weak. It feels almost as if he’s swept up by Alina, instead of the other way around, and I quite like that.

Of parenting by Anuna (Complete)

Alina finds out how her husband handled yet another parenting situation.

---

This is pure adorable Darklina parenting fluff and I live for it. Yet it doesn’t lack depth and in fact explored Alina and Aleksander’s relationship with parenting quite well.

i have a longing by LRCee - @ladylyannastark (Complete)

“So, Alina Starkov, risk-taker, how did you end up being editing’s newest wunderkind?”

Alina Starkov is rising in the publishing world. Singlehandedly responsible for editing (see: rewriting) the hottest book of the year, she lands a coveted spot at Morovoz Publishers. It's the position she's always wanted, at the biggest publishing house in the country. Life is perfect. That crush on her boss though, that's gotta go.

---

OKAY! I LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH!! Let me tell you, as someone who is not too fond of Boss/Employee dynamics, I was very wary going into this fic. But boy did it deliver in a way that was perfect for me.

The relationship that develops between Aleksander and Alina is complex but healthy, and it never feels as if there’s too much of a power imbalance or anything that would make Alina feel forced or unhappy. The tension lies purely in how she fears others will perceive her, and not in how unhealthy her relationship with Aleksander is. For somebody who’s often attracted to unhealthy ships, I have to say that my favorite fics are usually ones that don’t have that type of dynamic between the characters. This fic delivers on that.

Also, Aleksander’s POV surrounding his struggle with his Russian heritage and his feelings for Alina is amazing, and has some of the best writing and characterization I’ve seen.

You receive: an evil demon; I receive: human souls by @aceofnowhere (Complete)

The next morning while she tried to tell herself it was a dream, that of course there wasn’t a fucking demon in her house, she found a note taped to her fridge.

“You might eat this shit,” it had written, “but I would like some fucking souls please.”

Darkling Week Prompt 7: free choice. Alina has a demon in her house.

This is absolute crack, and I have no idea what the fuck is wrong with me.

---

May I just say that this is the most fun I’ve ever had when reading a fic. It’s interesting with a bit of mystery, and Aleksander as a little shit of a demon is hilarious. Alina in this fic is great too. It’s such a unique take on her POV, especially when you reread it after knowing the ending. 10000/10, this fic is brilliant in every way and I love it.

I had been lost to you, Sunlight by BrytteMystere (Complete)

A Girl became a Woman, became a Sankta, became a Goddess.

Or: An Immortal Alina calls upon merzost to reunite with the Prince of Shadows she lost long ago. She may have lost herself in the process.

But then again, maybe time and endless wars did that instead.

---

You really just have to read this one to get it. It is utterly haunting and fascinating in the best of ways. The writing style is strange and novel and fits so well with the story being told. The composition of the fic as a whole is genius.

I Look Inside Myself (And See My Heart Is Black) by Ceris_Malfoy (Complete)

"When is a monster not a monster? Why, when you love it, of course."

Written for Darklina Week 2021 - Day 6: Favorite Quote • King & Queen • Monster

---

Once more, this author comes through with an absolutely breathtaking writing style and story. The imagery is elegant yet brutal, simultaneously horrifying and glorious. There’s a certain way these stories are written, like fairytales, where the beautiful becomes the macabre and becomes ever more stunning because of it. It’s very dark but in a good way - an almost bewitching way.

Afterlife by @aceofnowhere (Complete)

“You are asking me to leave?”

“Not asking, shadow,” she said. “Telling. Time to get unlost, loser.”

Day 3 Darklina Week prompt: Modern AU (I mean, barely)

Alina expels ghosts from purgatory.

---

@aceofnowhere once again bringing the best of the paranormal to the Grishaverse. Literally everything you write is amazing idk why I’m even pointing out individual fics when I could just rec your whole page. But anyways!! This is fun and interesting and Alina is a badass. Aleksander is, of course, compelling and dark and kind of a little shit, and it’s all incorporated seamlessly into an existential paranormal narrative.

Once Upon a Shooting Star by Ceris_Malfoy (Complete)

"But most of all, she was drawn to a vast darkness that reached out above all of them, a void so hungry for companionship that she knew she could fulfill."

---

Let. Alina. Be. Feral!! Anyways, I clearly have a type when it comes to storytelling, and it’s whatever the fuck this person has got going on. Feral!Star!Alina is literally the light of my life. Her interactions with not only other people but the world in general are so well done, but my favorite parts about this fic are the numerous ways her relationship with Aleksander is described and depicted.

I love the dark and light imagery, especially with how it’s portrayed as them filling in the gaps of each other’s lives and supporting each other instead of trying to block each other out. There’s such clear passion and joy and love and devotion between them. The central focus of this fic is on her and Aleksander’s relationship, the interplay between them and their powers and the way her light fills his loneliness, the passing of adoration and trust and reliance between them. It’s very beautiful and I love it.

A Blaze of Light by Keira_63 (Complete)

They discover the Sun Summoner in the burnt-out remains of the Shu laboratory in which she has spent the last seven years of her life.

Or, the Darkling finds himself with a Sun Summoner whose greatest wish is to burn Shu Han to the ground. He is happy to oblige her.

---

👀👀 Badass Alina and Badass Aleksander. The ultimate power couple, and Alina burning a path through Shu Han before they both burn a path through the world together. The darkness and rage in this one are handled very well, and the way that rage turns to coldness and then resolve is done so well. This fic is very cathartic and also very furious, and reading it is certainly a trip down emotion lane.

One more for the Road by Rist (Complete)

He returns to the war room shaken, and finds an Alina that cannot leave without at least having tried.

---

This one hurts so much but its soooo gooood!!! Very smutty but also very tender and very bittersweet. Sad and soft all at once. I just... love the way Alina and Aleksander are written so much, and Alina’s complicated feelings for him are explored in such detail and depth. This one is truly worth the read.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Just Ask

Prompts: Hey… So, I was wondering if you could write a fic where one of the sides are dyslexic? Since that usually just ends as "Oh, I can't read, oh no!" and not like the actual neurodiversity it is. Yes, I admit, I want to relate to one too, but… Well. It'd be awesome if you would, but if that's too tall an order or too specific that's fine too. If you do, though, maybe college AU with roceit? -anon

Hi you're amazing! I love your writing and brand of writing and just I've read a lot of your stories and I love them all kskejejwuwugfhsv-

I was wondering, if you take requests, that maybe you could write a human AU with fake dating Roceit? With confident fat Janus because we need that! Or not, that's your choice!

(I sound like some snob asking for a highly specific coffee shi-) - anon

oh babe y'all wanted to be FED huh

Read on Ao3

Warnings: slight ableist/fatphobic language

Pairings: roceit

Word Count: 2487

Sometimes, you can get all of your work done in the library. Sometimes, people are ableists.

And sometimes there's something wonderful in finding out there's someone there for you as well.

Roman scrubs his hands over his face and sighs. Between waiting ages at the printer or absolutely destroying his retinas by staring at a screen for hours on end, he isn’t unhappy with making the choice to save the environment by using less paper but god.

“At least this pdf was convertible,” he mutters, scrolling down to see how many pages he has left. The last four weren’t and reading without the right font is a fucking pain in the ass.

Seven pages left. Great.

Roman focuses on the screen and starts to mutter under his breath again. Focus on the word, figure it out, make the sentence, move on. Pause to take notes, make sure it’s legible to read later, and repeat.

A computer and heavy bag thuds onto the table next to him and he jumps, almost knocking his coffee over. He looks up, glaring at the person who stares down their nose at him like he’s some sort of stain. Rude.

“You’ve been here for like, three hours, dude,” they say, like that’s supposed to justify their behavior, “move. I need this spot.”

Roman looks around. There’s like, four more tables open. “Can’t you just go sit somewhere else?”

“No! This is my spot! You can go sit somewhere else.”

“Well,” Roman mutters, glaring at his screen again, “I was here first. So you can either wait until I’m done or sit down.”

“Dude, I swear—“

“Excuse me,” comes a smooth voice that has no business being this polished in the fucking library, “is this person bothering you, sweetie?”

Roman turns around and his mouth drops open.

“J-Janus?”

Janus raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms and glaring at the dick with the heavy bag. Who, as a matter of fact, seems to be muttering and stuffing shit back into said bag.

“Sorry I’m late,” Janus drawls, still sounding way too confident and way too much like he knows what’s going on, “got held up after class.”

“Uh, no problem,” he mumbles, glancing over his shoulder to see the asshole is still standing there, “just, um…working.”

“Ah, well then, you won’t mind if I join you.” And with that, Janus sits down with a flourish, propping his chin up on his hand and fixing the asshole with an impressive look of disgust. “And you…you can leave.”

“Look, buddy—“

“My partner and I have work to do,” Janus says, swiftly cutting them off and making sure Roman has no idea what’s going on, “now leave.”

Roman’s really glad there was no ambiguity that Janus could’ve been talking to him, because he’s about ready to bolt. Only when the asshole has retreated does Janus turn his gaze to him.

“Sorry about that,” he says, flicking a speck of imaginary lint from his gloves, “he seemed like he was bothering you. Thanks for playing along.”

“Oh, uh, no, I’m, uh—“ Janus raises an eyebrow as Roman stumbles over his words— “sorry. Uh, thanks?”

Janus chuckles. “Oh, no worries, sweetie. I was happy to do it. Although…”

Janus squints at him and Roman fights the urge to squirm under that gaze.

“You’re in my seminar class, aren’t you?” Roman nods. “The one that let out three hours ago?”

“Yeah, uh-huh.”

“Have you…been here since then?”

Roman nods, trying to get back to work and, you know, maybe get out of here, only for Janus to reach across the table and still his hands as he goes to pick up the pen again.

“Have you eaten?”

“What?”

“Eaten,” Janus says slowly, mouth stretching into a smile, “lunch, sweetie.”

“Uh—“ no, is the correct answer— “I was going to?”

Janus just gives him a look.

“…no.”

“Mm.” Janus glances at his computer and notebook. “You’re not by any chance attempting to read all of the assignments in one go, are you?”

Roman’s guilty flush seems to answer that question for him. Janus sighs and it’s such an odd mixture of disappointment and fondness Roman hasn’t earned that his brain spits out the only question he actually wants an answer to.

“Why are you here?”

Janus chuckles. “In the library, at this school, or are we already to the point of questioning the very nature of existence?”

Roman just blinks at him.

“Oh, relax, sweetie, I’m teasing.” Janus glances off in the vague direction the asshole wandered off to. He leans a little closer. “I know how…difficult it can be to try and do work when they bother you.”

Roman’s cheeks flush. “Oh, uh…thanks, then.”

Janus waves a hand. “It’s none of their business why you’re doing so much work at once. Even if it does make you skip lunch,” he adds with such a pointed look that Roman can’t help splutter.

“I was going to! And you’re not my mother!”

“No,” Janus purrs, “but like any good partner, I like to make sure my sweetie takes care of themselves.”

Roman does not squeak, despite Janus’s chuckles, but he does start to fiddle with his pen. “I can’t…stop yet.”

“Why ever not?”

“Can you stop,” Roman blurts, scrubbing his hands over his blushing face, “please? For like, two seconds?”

“Sorry, you’re just adorable.”

“Stop, dude, seriously, if you want an actual answer to the question?”

“I’m done,” Janus chuckles, “I’m done, sorry.”

Roman takes a deep breath. He fiddles with the pen. “It’s just—with my dyslexia, it takes a while to…find the, um…”

“Zone?”

“…sure.”

Janus hums in understanding. Then he reaches into his own bag and pulls out a book of his own. “Then we may as well work together until you’re finished.”

Roman blinks. Hi, hello, brain is confused, what just happened in the last five minutes?

Janus waves a hand in front of his face. “Hello? Sweetie? You okay?”

“Sorry, I’m just—trying to process what happened.” Roman blinks again. “Because it seems like some asshole tried to take my seat, you came up and pretended to be my partner to scare them away, proceeded to badger me about taking care of myself, and now you’re…still here?”

Janus nods. “That’s how I experienced it too, that’s correct.”

“…so now what’re we doing?”

“Well, I’m also going to try and get some work done, you’re going to finish your work, and then we’re going to get lunch.”

“And what about the dude that now thinks we’re partners?”

Janus looks at him and shrugs. “I’m game if you are.”

Roman blinks again. Is…Janus suggesting they fake being in a relationship to, what, defend Roman’s right to sit wherever the fuck he wants for however long in a library?

“What’s in it for you?”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me,” Roman says, “what’s in it for you?”

Janus’s fingers still on the book he’s pulled out. He sighs and looks up at Roman.

“How long have you known about your dyslexia?”

Jumping around a bit here, aren’t we? “About six years, why?”

“And you know how to manage it? For you?”

“Uh, yeah, why?”

“That doesn’t mean it goes away,” Janus says softly, “it’s still work, you just…know how to do it now.”

“Yeah, it still takes me time to do things, why—“ Roman’s eyes widen— “oh. Oh, wait, you mean—wait, what do they have against you?”

Janus’s mouth tugs up into a smirk. “How sweet.”

“Shut up,” Roman mumbles, “you know what I mean.”

Janus just winks at him before sobering. “Well,” he says wryly, gesturing at himself, “surely you can understand that…not everyone treats you very well when you aren’t the circumference of a toothpick.”

Oh. They’re those kind of assholes. Something Janus chuckles about when that thought gets out before Roman can stop them.

“Quite. I can manage them, but it’s still work.” He looks at Roman. “Maybe we can split the load?”

“I’m down with that.”

“Wonderful. Now,” Janus says, mock sternly, “get back to work. We have lunch to get.”

Roman chuckles. “Sure, sure, don’t ask to borrow my notes.”

“I would never, I just forget things like a cool person and make things up that the professor likes to hear.”

Yeah, this is gonna go just fine.

As it turns out, it does. Roman won’t lie, he was…skeptical about the viability of this plan of theirs. He’s read the stories. He knows how this works. He knows about the misunderstandings and whether it’s a bet or a dare, something goes wrong.

But…nothing does.

Watching Janus tear anyone to shreds is entertaining enough in class, where Roman gives up on taking debate notes and just watches because goddamn, but when he gets to stand there and just glare at some ableist while Janus verbally decimates them? Poetic cinema. He debates sneaking some popcorn into his jacket pocket but that would take away from the power of his glare.

And it is nice to have someone else do the work of glaring assholes away from his table when he’s working on reading. He would be lying if he said that actually having someone else to talk to isn’t part of it. It’s so much easier to keep track of where he’s messing up so he can focus on it during his exercises later.

“You know,” Janus remarks as they leave the library one day, “you can ask the professors for editable pdfs.”

“Huh?”

“For your font stuff.” Janus nods toward his backpack. “I know you like to change the font so you can read it better, most of them have editable copies of the materials.”

“Not for the eBooks and scans and stuff.”

Janus huffs, waving his hand. “How do you think they get the audio transcripts for the recorded versions? They have to transcribe it anyway, just ask for those.”

Roman stops. “How…how do you know those exist?”

Janus just taps the side of his nose and winks.

“Can…can you do that?”

“Of course.” Janus links his arm through Roman’s. “Anything for you.”

That shouldn’t do what it does to Roman’s chest.

Because yeah, okay, maybe Janus is…really cute.

Like, unfairly cute.

No one should be able to rock that hat all the time. And the gloves. And the pocket watch. And the curly hair. And the attitude. And the impressive vocabulary. And the razor-sharp wit. And he actually knows how to flirt! What is flirting? All Roman knows is Gay Panic™ and Suffering™. What is this? Why is it allowed?

And why, oh why, did Janus have to be the one that started the fake-dating idea?

Because here’s the thing. It would be so easy to just be friends with Janus. It would! They’re already friends now, fake-dating kind of does that to you. And Janus, despite what he wants everyone else to believe, is a fucking dork. His actual laugh is squeaky and bubbly and ugh, Roman could drown in it. And he’s really kind. It’s not the same breed of kind that Roman’s used to, but goddamn, Janus is so sweet when he lets himself be. And it’s been so long since Roman had like, an actual friend…

But it would also be so easy to be more than friends with Janus. To actually be able to take him out for dates and not just lunch at their janky cafeteria. To be able to spend time together that isn’t just for show, or platonic, or just hanging out ranting about stupid dead supposed-to-be-smart people.

Again, Roman’s read the stories. He knows how this is supposed to go.

So when he takes a little longer to pack up one day, enough that Janus notices and eases himself back down into his seat with a soft, real, ‘what’s wrong, sweetie, let me help,’ Roman prepares the bittersweet ‘nothing, I’m fine,’ and to swallow down everything real.

But instead…

“Can we, um, actually date?”

Janus blinks. “Come again, sweetie?”

Roman fiddles with the buckle on his bag. “I, um, I really appreciate what we’ve been doing, and I, um, I’m super happy being your friend…”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“…but I, um—“ god, why are words so hard?— “I think I would actually like to try…dating you. For real.”

He peeks up nervously at Janus.

“Is…is that okay?”

Janus sits there, silent. He blinks a few times. Then a slow, real smile spreads across his face.

“Roman,” he says softly, almost too quiet, even in the hush of the library, “why do you think I proposed this idea in the first place?”

Oh.

Oh.

Roman blinks. “Wait, you—you?”

A pretty flush covers Janus’s face. “Well, I…was planning to ask you normally, but then I saw you being absolutely tormented and…panicked.”

“You panicked?”

He throws his hands up. “Well, what was I supposed to do? The most gorgeous person in my seminar was being bullied and I was supposed to just let it happen?”

Wait. Back up. Roman is what?

“And yes, maybe I...wanted an excuse to be your friend first, but as I said, I panicked and so—“

“You—wait, you think I’m pretty?”

Janus stops, mouth open, before he’s scoffing. “Roman, have you seen yourself?”

“Uh—“

“At least you’re pretty,” Janus mutters under his breath, “pretty and dumb, but pretty.”

“Hey!”

“You can be big of brain and dumb of ass at the same time, sweetie.”

“Oh, says the man whose idea was to fake-date me because you wanted to actually ask me out!”

“I will not be lectured on dramatics from a theater kid.”

“That’s ex-theater kid to you.”

“Oh, you know once you go, you never come back.”

Roman giggles. Then he’s laughing. Janus joins in and oh, this is much better than shoving feelings down and pretending they don’t exist.

“You’re such a fucking dork.”

“No,” Janus purrs, reaching over to boop the end of Roman’s nose, “I’m your fucking dork.”

Oh. Oh, that sounds…really good. Roman’s chest is really warm now, when did that happen? Janus smiles too.

“So…dinner?”

“You’re paying.”

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

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[dapandapod]

For the hug prompts: 9, 13, 27, 40.

They're all amazing prompts and I narrowed it down to those four with a lot of effort, lol.

The hug that feels like home is my favourite though. A

s someone who (because of covid) will see their mum for the first time in 18 months tomorrow evening, where she can visit me, but I still can't go home, that hug is going to feel like home ❤ (sorry I didn't mean to get all rambly)

Hello love! It is my honor to recieve these chosen four, and uh. Sorry my brain went and made it a wee bit angsty.... Hope you like it! Because I tried to get all of them!!

9, the hug that feels like home 13 the hug to hide your tears 27, the hug you didn’t know you needed 40 post-nightmare hug

Pairing: Lambden

Warnings: Near death experience, possibly ptsd, mention of past torture and scars? I tried to make it soft, but there is a lot of sad in there

This is Aiden returning to Lambert after presumed being dead. Enjoy!

Send me a hug prompt?

On Ao3! Hug collection here

Aiden wakes up with a start, his breath coming fast, heart trying to beat its way out of his chest.

He can still feel it. The cold breath of death on his neck, the numbness in his limbs. The pain where the arrows had hit home, where his shoulder still aches long after healing.

Time has passed since then, but no time can distance him from the memories. It doesn’t matter how far he runs, every night he feels it, every night he wakes up, body forcing itself upright in it’s panic to stay alive.

The room is empty. Both his swords lie at the side of his bed and downstairs the cooks of the inn are waking up and preparing for the day. He is all alone, but as tears prickle his eyes he feels the need to hide.

Sitting up and leaning against the wall, Aiden hides his face against his legs. Sobs tear through him, and he clenches his teeth to muffle the sound, hugging his thighs tightly. The fear just won’t let him go.

It takes him the better part of an hour to calm down, and then he resigns himself to his morning routines. It is no miracle he is alive, it was painstaking work. His muscles need to be reminded of that work, how to give when he stretches and bends.

He is fine.

He is alive.

It is enough.

The path leads ahead, and where he would usually stroll with no care in the world, he is hesitant to go now. He isn’t sure Lambert still wants him around.

They didn’t part on the best terms, and then That happened.

This is Lambert's territory. No cats allowed.

But the only decent inn around here, The Peddler, is that one inn where Aiden and Lambert usually met up after a long time apart. And with Aiden’s body still in the shape it is, he can’t afford to sleep too often on the ground anymore.

It will be fine. Lambert will never know, he will just be there over the night. No harm done.

Turns out, it isn’t fine.

When Aiden enters the dimly lit inn, Lambert is already there. His eyes go wide when they lock onto the cat witcher, and Aiden suddenly finds it really hard to breathe. He stands in the doorway, indecision plaguing him. He could just turn around, leave, ride far away from here and pretend nothing happened. Or, he could listen to his body, not give a shit about Lambert, rent a room and get the fuck out of sight.

Both are tempting options.

The decision gets made for him however when Lambert stands up, chair scraping against the floor.

Fuck. He can’t stay. Not with what they had yelled at each other last time. Not when those burning eyes radiate anger and betrayal.

Aiden turns around and steps back out into the falling darkness. He shouldn’t have come here.

He makes it as far as the stables when Lambert catches up to him. Aiden hears him coming, but he doesn’t… do anything about it. Something small inside him whispers that maybe he wanted Lambert to find him. That he missed him.

That thought hurts more than any arrows, any torture, any nightmares.

With a hand on his shoulder he is turned around, shoved against one of the wooden beams.

“What the fuck, Aiden!” Lambert hisses. “I thought you were dead.”

“Well, I’m clearly not.” Aiden retorts.

It’s been a while. Years, if he was being honest. Lambert's hand on Aiden’s bad shoulder tightens and he can’t help but wince. The other witcher notices, frowning and gentling his grip.

“Where have you been? Have you been avoiding me all this time?”

Always straight to the point, Lambert.

“For a while.” Aiden admits, no point lying about it.

Lambert keeps staring at him so Aiden has to look away. His heart is aching just looking at the wolf again.

“And the rest of it?” Lambert insists. “Kitten, your eye--”

“Please.” Aiden interrupts him. He knows what he looks like now. “Not here.”

Lambert looks at him for a moment, and then he sighs.

“I am not letting you run away again.” Lambert mutters, catching his wrist instead when Aiden tries to shrug him off.

Whatever travel companion Lambert had found, they are ignored now. Lambert leads Aiden up a set of rickety stairs and down a familiar hall. They usually rent the double room down the hall, but Lambert had no reason to this time. Instead they walk to the room right across, Lambert pushing him inside with a hand on his lower back.

There is only one bed in here, crammed in with a small writing desk filled with Lamberts projects. Half of them being bombs and somewhat dangerous experiments to let lying around unguarded.

The room looks well lived in, actually. Clothes are thrown haphazardly over the only chair and a few plates are stacked on top of the chest by the foot of the bed.

“Been living here for long?” Aiden asks. “Not like you.”

Lambert doesn’t even reply, just turns to face Aiden. It is a little bit intimidating, having someone stare at him so intently, seeing him.

Slowly he reaches out, giving Aiden plenty of time to back out of reach. Aiden can’t move, can’t think.

Lambert’s thumb reaches out and traces one of the new scars on his cheek. Aiden closes his eyes, and then Lambert’s arms are around him crushing him.

It’s been such a long time since someone hugged him. Touched him, really, without setting a bone or sowing a wound. It startles him, how much he needed it.

And more than that, it is Lambert’s arms around him. Aiden never could say what Lambert was to him, prickly asshole as he is, but this feels right.

Safe.

It takes him a moment to realize Lambert isn’t letting him go, and Aiden finally gives in and wraps his arms around Lambert’s neck. For a long while, they just stand there, breathing each other in, enjoying the warmth, the closeness. It is like a piece of himself has been missing, and it took Lambert to hold him to feel whole again. His throat feels tight, and he pushes back. Aiden is not going to cry here.

“What happened to you?” Lambert whispers, again reaching for Aiden, again letting his thumb drag against his cheek. “I thought you… I avenged you.”

Aiden will not cry. He will not.

“Thank you.” he whispers back. “They almost had me.”

They talk very little that night. The shock of being in each other's company again puts all old disagreements on hold. Lambert doesn’t ask, but when it is time for sleep Aiden feels his eyes on his back as he removes his tunic.

“You take the bed.” He grunts, grabbing Aidens bedroll and throwing it out on the floor. No comments or pity. Again Aiden swallows around the tightness in his throat, and he falls asleep faster than he has in a long time.

It doesn’t take long for the nightmares to return. Cold breath against his neck, the strain on his muscles as the chains keep him upright, the edge of the knife pushing into his skin.

Once again he startles awake, sitting upright and gulping for air, ghost sensations of the dream crawling and clawing in the back of his mind.

Breathing is hard, and he focuses on that for a while. But this time, Aiden isn’t alone. He can hear shuffling from the floor, feel the mattress dip, and then Lambert’s warm body leaning against him. Aiden turns into him, accepting the comfort he is offering.

Whatever it is they had, whatever this is, Aiden breathes easier with Lambert near him. Lambert’s hand rub against Aiden’s bare back, pulling him closer. He tucks Aiden under his chin, cupping his neck, and all the tension in Aidens body gives out at the same time.

“It’s alright, kittycat. I got you. You are safe.”

You are home.

Lambert doesn’t say it but suddenly it is clear in Aiden’s mind. He is home. The walls don’t matter, nor the town. As long as Lambert is there to catch him when he falls, Aiden knows he is safe. How this madman, this absolute imbecil pushed himself inside Aiden’s heart is forever going to be a mystery.

As is his habit, Aiden doesn’tsleep more that night. But he allows himself to be held, to breathe in the stink of sweat and chemicals and something else that Lambert must have rolled in earlier in the day. He allows himself to feel, to remember, to talk.

Lambert listens all the while.

Their old fight is still there, but in the far back. They will talk about that too, eventually. For now, all that matters is the sun slowly climbing in the sky, Lambert’s thumb tracing back and forth behind his ear, and Aiden being allowed to lean on him, pressing his nose into his neck.

If Aiden felt a kiss against his hair, he won't mention it. If Aiden pressed a barely there kiss into his collarbone, Lambert didn’t mention it either.

For now, there is just peace, safety and home.

[angelinasway]

Regaining Hope

Chapter Eight

Pairing: Clark Kent/Buffy Summers Warnings/Triggers:Torture, Violence, Mention's of Major Character Death, Bad Language, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut, Mentions of Sexual Assault Summary: Takes place during Man of Steel. When Buffy discovers the U.S Military trying to keep quiet about an object buried in a twenty thousand year old glacier, she immediately thinks the worst. However, when a surprise visit to the Canadian Arctic puts her in the path of a mysterious stranger her whole world is changed forever. Authors Notes: Thank you all so much for being so very supportive. You guys have been absolutely wonderful. Seriously I couldn't ask for a better group of readers. I need to warn you all that this chapter has quite the graphic and gruesome scene in it, so if that's not your thing I highly recommend skipping the part where Clark starts to watch the video. Some major questions answered here. Hope you all enjoy, and keep the reviews coming. Special thanks to my ever amazing beta Hipkarma. She always helps and inspires me. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Previous Chapters: [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven]

[TTH] [AO3] [FFN]

Chapter Eight

 Dawn smirked as she saw the caller ID flash. So, Buffy had talked to Wes. That was good. She really didn’t want to have to break into the Watchers Council just because she was nosy and worried for her sister. Buffy hadn’t told her much when they talked yesterday, just that there was some sort of prophecy about her and this Clark guy, which just raised all sorts of red flags for her. Dawn had insisted on seeing a copy of the prophecy and her hackles raised even more when she found out how quiet Wes and Willow were trying to keep this. Looks like big sis came through however, and now it was time to give the man on the other line hell for keeping something this important from her.

 “Xand, honey, can you take Abby? Wes is on the phone and it’s time for her nap anyway.” Dawn said, reaching for the phone.

 “No!” Her one and a half your old screeched at the top of her lungs, making Dawn cringe. When they coined the phrase, ‘children are your parents secret revenge,’ they weren’t lying. Abigail was just like her too, even in looks.

 Xander came out of their shared office, a crooked and amused smile on his lips. “You should know by now not to say that word in front of her,” He said, kissing Dawn on the forehead before reaching out and swooping up their toddler. “Come on Abby,” he said as Dawn answered her call. “Daddy will read you your favorite story.”

 “Try to get Joyce down too,” She added, before saying into the phone, “Hello Wes, so good of you to finally call me.”

 She heard the groan on the other end of the line and smiled. “How much do you know?”

 “That there’s a prophecy about my sister and some uber-powerful guy she’s been spending time with, on your instruction I might add.” Dawn said in a mockingly sweet voice.

 She heard him sigh. “Yes, that is all true. Look Dawn, I’m going to send you a copy of the prophecy through your secure fax now. We’ve been able to translate some of it, but there are certain areas where…I don’t think the language is of this world. It’s nothing like we’ve ever seen in any human or demon writings before.”

 Dawn got up and walked into the office, a frown on her face. “You mean like interdimensional, there’s gotta be a reference somewhere Wes.”

 There was silence over the line and for a second and she thought Wes had hung up. She’d just opened her mouth to see if he was still there, when he finally said, “No Dawn, that’s not what I meant at all.”

 Her frown deepened as the first page spat out of the machine. She slid it off the rack and looked at the prophecy. There were several different languages written on the copy, Etruscan, Ancient Sumerian, Ancient Greek, and Latin. At the top were strange symbols unlike anything she’d ever seen before, almost flowing together like cursive. The next page that came out was Wesley and Willow’s translation of that page. She bit her lip, walking over to her desk and went to work making sure what they had translated so far was correct.

 “So,” she began casually, “what I’m getting from the first page is that this guy is much farther from home than just another dimension.” She paused, huffing in annoyance as she snootily added,” It was Sun God by the way, not Star God.” She sighed. “Who are you using anyway, Basile?”

 “Vonten,” He answered and Dawn rolled her eyes. Of course, he was using that moron’s guide.

 “Vonten is an arrogant prick Wes, that book confuses people more than it helps. Burn it, it’s better as kindling. Bachman is the best at Etruscan and Ancient Sumerian, and you already know Ancient Greek and Latin enough not to need a reference.” She said, before frowning as she came to the part about the soulbond. “Wes, what the hell is a soulbond, and why is this referencing my sister and Mr. E.T. having one?”

 As Wesley began to explain what they knew so far, Dawn's face began to pale. Oh, this was not of the good. Buffy was gonna wig to the nth degree when she found out.

 "Does she know any of this?" Dawn asked, turning around and grabbing more of the pages that were still spitting out of her printer.

 "She knows about the bond. I told her this morning." He answered.

 "And what, you’re waiting until she gets pregnant before you tell her the rest?" Dawn asked angrily. "You know this is gonna freak her out..."

 "Which is why I decided not to tell her." Wes interrupted.

 "If you'd let me finish," Dawn snapped, slamming her hand on the desk. "I was going to say this is gonna freak her out, but it would be better if you tell her now." She huffed in frustration. "This just proves how little you guys know my sister. She absolutely will freak and she'll probably fight it at first. Just the idea of her own children having to live the life she has, is not gonna be a happy, joyous moment for her. She's already worried that Joyce or Abby, or maybe even both will be called one day.” Dawn said, before emphasizing her next words, "However, my sister is not stupid, and when push comes to shove, she'll make the right decision like she always does. I get that you’re worried about the Slayer line Wes, we all are, but keeping this from her is not the right way to go about it.”

 She heard Wes’s sigh, “I realize that Dawn, but with the bond itself needing to be fulfilled, I thought that was more than enough for both of them to handle at this time.”

 Dawn looked at the pages covered in the strange flowing script, similar to the symbols on the first page. Wes was right, it was a language. "We need to find a way to translate this. Do you think this is Clark's language from his home world?"

The line was silent for a moment, before he said in annoyance, “Yes, that’s what I meant when I said I don’t think the language is of this world.”

 “Do you think Clark knows how to read it?” Dawn asked.

 A sigh came over the line, “I honestly don’t know. I believe he just discovered where he came from, so I don’t see how he could.” He paused in thought and then murmured to himself, “But even if he can’t, perhaps the ship has a historical archive or maybe there is some form of AI technology that could translate it for us.”

 Dawn frowned, “What ship?”

 As Wesley explained how Buffy and Clark met and the danger Buffy had recklessly put herself in, Dawn found her ire sparking at Buffy’s stupidity. “I’m gonna kill her!” Dawn growled. “She hasn’t done something that reckless since Joyce was born. God fucking dammit, she promised me!”

 Wesley sighed. “In her defense, it could have very well been her fate that made her act so rashly.” He paused before saying, “In any case, Clark was there and according to Buffy, he saved her and watched over her after she went into a healing sleep.”

 Dawn was quiet as she processed that information. So, she didn’t die, which meant Buffy actively tried to stop it from happening. That was good, she was still getting smacked when Dawn saw her, but at least she hadn’t completely broken her promise from three and a half years ago. It was also good to see that this godlike Champion the prophecy spoke of wasn’t just a creature with a penchant for destruction playing at being a white hat because of a curse. That was a nice change.

 “What else do you know about him?” Dawn asked. “I’m assuming you started trying to find him as soon as you started translating this.”

 “Well,” Wesley began, “We first caught wind of a possible candidate about a year ago. We’d been monitoring airwave chatter for possible beings with superhuman strength when we caught a lead. A distress call came in about an oil rig off the coast of Canada in flames and about to explode. In that communication there was talk of a man rescuing the crew members aboard the rig and preventing the tower from collapsing on the rescue helicopter with his bare hands.” He paused for a moment, before saying. “We managed to find a few other incidents of him saving people, one that happened when he was thirteen. According to the incident report, his school bus went off a bridge and into the river. Three witnesses stated that a young Clark Kent managed to push the bus out of the water and rescue his classmate.”

 Dawn whistled, “So this guy really is the real deal white knight, huh?”

 “It would appear so.” He sighed.

 “Wes we’re gonna need to access that ship.” Dawn said, looking over a small section of Sumerian that talked about a trial of choice. The rest of the page was in the alien script however, so any clue as to what that meant was beyond her.

 “I know,” Wesley agreed.

 “Which means, we’re gonna have to tell Buffy and Clark everything.” Dawn reiterated.

 She heard Wesley groan, but he conceded nonetheless. “Alright fine, Willow needs to bring them some pendants to stave off the worst of the compulsion the bond is creating. I’ll have her stop by and get you on her way, unless you want me to tell Buffy myself, that is.”

 Dawn shook her head, “No, no. I think it will be safer for everyone if I’m the one to do it.” Then she bit her lip in thought, “And don’t bother with Willow, just call me when she gets back. I think I need to do this one on my own.”

 “Very well,” Wes agreed. “Willow should be finished within the next few hours. I’ll call you as soon as I know she’s returned.”

 “Alright, in the meantime I’m gonna go over this and make sure all the parts I can read are translated correctly.” Dawn said, adding, "Talk in a few," before hanging up.

 She sighed, rubbing her fingers along her forehead. "Well fuck," she muttered to herself.

 "Everything alright?" Xander asked, coming into the office. 

 "No, not really," she answered handing him the translated first page of the prophecy.

 She watched his eye scan the words before he blew out a breath. "So, this guys an alien?"

 "Looks like." She answered.

 Xander snorted, "Man the Buffster really knows how to pick 'em, doesn't she?"

 Dawn mock glared, before she couldn't contain her amusement at the absurdity of the situation. "Well, you know Buffy. She doesn't do anything by halves."

 ****<S>**<S>****

 As Clark followed Buffy down the hallway, his thoughts were a jumbled mess. He knew she had been trying to reassure him, but her words only had the opposite effect. Were they only feeling any of what they were because of the prophecy and furthermore, given the choice, would she even choose him? She had basically confessed to falling in love with her best friend. The history they had both shared, as disturbing as it was, was an important one to her. She had cared very deeply for this man. How could he ever live up to the memory of a man who had essentially changed a piece of himself for her? Part of him wanted to erase Spike’s memory from her mind, to do whatever he could to drive this man, this demon from her past and another part of him just felt wholly lost. He didn’t want to be anyone’s second best and he certainly didn’t want her to want him only because some guy thousands of years ago decided they were destined. God, he wished his dad was still alive. This would definitely be the type of thing his dad could help him through.

 She stopped at a large set of double doors and turned, catching his expression before he had time to school it into a much more neutral one. She blinked in surprise, "Clark...what’s wrong?"

 He shook his head, “It’s nothing Buffy.”

 Her frown deepened, “Oh no, you definitely have something face. Talk to me. I promise whatever it is, I’ll try to understand.”

 Clark shifted uncomfortably, before finally admitting, “I’m just feeling a little unsure about all this.”

 Her eyes widened slightly, “Because of Spike?”

 Clark sighed, “Well I mean think about it Buffy. You basically told me that you fell in love with your best friend and were willing to marry him for eternity, but the only reason you didn’t is because you were too scared. Would you even look twice at me if he was here now? Are the feelings I’m having for you even real, or is this just destiny trying to force us together?”

 Realization flooded her expression, and she quickly shook her head. “I can’t speak for what-ifs, because I would be lying if I answered that either way…” She swallowed, “As for how you’re feeling, I’ve been under love spells before and granted you usually don’t know you’re under one when you are, but if the feeling’s part was being fabricated, we…we wouldn’t be able to fight this like we are. We would have probably already slept together.” She blushed, looking down. “Fabricated feelings they’re false obviously, but they’re very strong…strong enough to make people dangerous. If what we were feeling was a manifestation, you wouldn’t have these doubts Clark, you wouldn’t even realize there was doubts to be had.” She met his eyes then, her expression serious and stoic. “And as for the fear part, I didn’t want to get into it because…” She sighed again. “You remember how I told you that Angelus showed up right when I was starting to get my life back together?”

 Clark nodded, “I remember.”

 “Well, what I didn’t say is that I was planning on retiring.” She rolled her eyes, “I had this grand plan of going back to school and getting a degree in Art History and moving to Hawaii to open a gallery.” She shook her head, “It was stupid, I know.”

 He immediately shook his head, “That doesn’t sound stupid at all.”  

 Buffy blushed. “I just mean it was stupid that I ever thought it could happen.” She shook her head, “Anyway, I started training a girl named Rayanne when we were first getting the new Watchers Council on its feet. She was bright, witty, resourceful and she already had the makings of someone who could be an excellent leader.” She looked at her feet, her hands clenching. “Me and Giles had agreed, in three-years-time, when Ray was eighteen, she would step in and fill my shoes. Faith didn’t want the position and the only other possible candidate that actually did, I flat out refused due to her inability to get along with just about anyone but Willow. I mentored Ray for over a year and she became…well, like a little sister to me. After the whole General Voll fiasco, I was ready to promote her to Senior Slayer status. She had been on it more than any other girl at the compound, helpful and demanding when need be. She’d fought through a horde of zombies and we came out of it with zero losses. The attack was completely unexpected and if she hadn’t been there, I don’t know what I would have done.” She met his eyes, “I was so proud of her.” Buffy sighed, “A few months later is when the first girl, Alicia went missing, and by the time Ray disappeared, there were already six that seemed to have just dropped off the planet.” She swallowed, “Angelus revealed himself and killed Giles a few weeks later, and almost three weeks after is when we found Alicia. She was the first and youngest to go missing and she was the first he dropped on our doorstep.” Buffy shook her head squeezing her eyes shut, “I knew what he was doing to Rayanne then, and that she would probably get the worst of it because of her association with me. Alicia was just a taste of what Angelus was capable of.” She opened her eyes, meeting his. “I wanted to have Spike claim me so we would be strong enough to save her and the rest of them, and I was scared because I knew I’d be asking for the wrong reasons. I was afraid Spike would know it too and I would only hurt him by asking. Does that make sense?”

 It was Clark’s turn to avert his eyes. “Yes,” he said quietly.

 She pulled out her phone and began to scroll through it, “Well just in case you have any doubts…” She swallowed, “I don’t even know why I kept this. Angelus loved tormenting me and we didn’t know it at the time but there were several Watchers from the old regime who were very unhappy with the way we were running things. Some of them made deals with Angelus, gave out my email and phone number and my location.” She looked at him, her lips pursed in anger. “One of them would even take video or pictures, documenting my pain for him when he couldn’t be there hiding in the shadows to see it.” She handed him her phone, “I’ve never watched this one, it’s the morning I found Rayanne, he saved her for last. I don’t need to see it, I lived it.” She nodded at her phone, “When he sent it, I didn’t even open it. I just dropped it in an archive and it’s been there ever since.” She shook her head, “I highly recommend only opening the third video file, the one that says, ‘Are you broken yet?’ She met his eyes then, “The first two will be what he did to her. So, unless you feel like throwing up, I would skip those.” She gestured with her chin at the double doors. “I’ll be in there beating on a bag, meet me when you’re done.”

 She turned without another word and went through the double doors not looking back. Clark looked down at the phone swallowing heavily, before opening the file. The video began with the image of the front of a house, not unlike the one they were in now, except there was a large tree in front and something very obviously dangling from it. It looked to be sometime in the middle of the night or perhaps early morning, but he couldn't tell either way due to the lights on the house illuminating everything.

 The person carrying the camera ran towards the house and a refined British voice in distress yelled, "Ms. Summers, come quickly. I think it may be Miss Stevenson."

 The front door flew open and there she was, except she looked nothing like she did now, her eyes were wild, feral even, and she was so pale and sucked up. She looked hollow, worn-down, nothing like the girl he’d spent the last couple of days getting to know. The scream that tore from her lips and the look on her face when she saw what was hanging from the tree, tore through him like a tidal wave of emotion. Clark felt himself growing angry at the Watcher, who was obviously playing both sides. Another man with bleached hair and nothing on but a pair of black jeans came flying through the door next, his eyes wild and worried. 

 The camera panned and followed Buffy as she ran out to the tree, falling to her knees and screaming again. Clark saw what was in the tree then and his stomach almost rebelled right then and there. It was a young girl, no older than sixteen and the only skin left on her body was on her beautiful face and near her pelvic region. The girl’s expression was frozen in a horrified scream that no one who cared ever had the chance to hear. A large white sheet wrapped itself tightly around the girl’s wrists and tied over the lowest branch, the excess linen draping behind the dead girl as some sort of sick backdrop silhouette for the body hanging lifelessly from the tree. There was hardly any blood to speak of, just a pinkish residue from where the body had touched the clean white linen, which told Clark she had been dead for more than a few hours. It wouldn’t be visible to a human through the recording, but because of his enhanced vision Clark could even see puncture wounds in places and deep gashes from where the girl had been restrained.

 The blond man came into the picture then and the Watcher came towards them, circling around so he could see Buffy’s expression, or at least that’s what he assumed the person with the camera was doing. Buffy's mouth was open in silent gulping sobs, giant tears dripping down her cheeks.

 “Love,” The blond man whispered in an apparent British accent not nearly as refined as the Watchers Clark had heard so far. The man fell to his knees behind her looking up at the tree. He shuddered as tears sprang to his electric blue eyes. “Don’t look Buffy…please kitten, please go back in the house.”

 The man placed his hand on her shoulder, and Buffy turned at the gesture and Clark could no longer see her face as she flung herself into the man’s arms and began to sob harder. “It’s Ray,” she howled. “Oh god, it’s Ray.”

 “Shh,” The blond man hushed, rubbing hands along her back in a comforting gesture. “I know,” He choked. “I know, love.”

 “We…we can’t leave her like that.” She sobbed. “I-I have to get her down.”

 Clark watched the blond man close his eyes and shake his head, “I’ll do it. Go back in the house, please Slayer.”

 “No,” Buffy shook her head as Clark caught the silhouette of another man flying from the house and over to them. The sound of retching could be heard, and it took Clark a second to realize the sound came from whomever had just come from the house and seen the body. “It has to be me. Don’t you see, don’t you get it? I knew,” she sobbed. “I knew what he was doing to her and I didn’t do anything.”

 “Oh, sweet girl, you’ve been trying to find her. We all have. This isn’t your fault.” The man choked.

 “It’s not good enough,” She screamed, shoving away from him and falling on her rear, “And it is my fault, all of it! They were called because of me, because I was too chicken shit to just except the power that was offered to me!”

 A sob broke from her lips, and she turned looking directly at the cameraman a sudden realization dawning in her hollow eyes. “You!” She snarled, her eyes flashing. “It’s you, isn’t it?” She started marching towards the cameraman.

 “Ms.…Ms. Summers,” Whomever was holding the camera stuttered and then she was there, a well-aimed kick flying towards the camera before Clark saw sky for a few seconds.

 “I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!” She screamed suddenly hovering over the man, the wild fury in her eyes telling Clark that she had every intention of killing this man, and part of Clark couldn’t agree more. “No one else but an Angelus minion would have called me out here for Rayanne! Everyone else would know better!”

 Clark watched as she threw a punch, the sickening sound of cartilage breaking ringing through the speaker as the guy howled in pain. The way her arms were angled next and the gurgling sound through the phone told him she was choking the man before three sets of arms suddenly grabbed her, pulling her off. Clark could hear the man wheeze as he tried to catch his breath while Buffy screamed and fought the three people who had pulled her away. Faith was one of them, and then the blond man, which Clark was pretty sure by now was Spike, and another man, tall, brunet, with an eyepatch. He saw Willow in the distance coming towards them and when she reached them, she touched Buffy’s shoulder before she could react and muttered a few words that sounded like Latin. Buffy suddenly collapsed and Clark realized Willow had put her to sleep. All eyes then turned towards the cameraman.

 “Get her in the house, Xander.” Spike growled.

 “Uh, Spike–” Xander started to say when Spike turned on him.

 “Get her in the bloody fucking house, now!” He snarled, a sound like grinding bone emanating from the man as his voice altered to something more sinister. “I’m not going to kill him.” He said turning back towards the camera as two glowing amber eyes stared at Clark.

 “Speak for yourself,” Faith said marching towards the man. “I’ve been getting those fucking emails too.”

 “So have I,” Willow said, her eyes black as she stared the camera down.

 “We won’t have to kill him,” Spike clarified as he fell in step with Faith. “Angelus will do that for us.”

 “How you figure?” Faith asked, her eyes just as enraged as Buffy’s had been.

 Spike suddenly sprung forward, his arm reaching out and a ripping sound emanated as the man screamed. His hand came back with what looked like a wad of hair. “This enough Red?”

 “Plenty,” Willow said, sudden realization dawning in her black eyes.

 “Now,” Spike said, a sinister grin stretching his fanged mouth, to the whimpering man. “The way I figure it, you got three options. The first being, you can go back to Angelus and give him this tape, at which point he finds out we now have a way to track you, and oh trust me Marcus, he will most definitely kill you for that.” Clark heard the man begin to sob, and part of him wanted to turn off the video at that point but couldn’t look away at the furious amber eyes that stared back at the camera. “Option number two, you can destroy the tape and run, which if we’re being honest would be the preferable of the three, but I’m sure you are well aware of the kind of wrath he would bring down on you if he didn’t get to see his almost masterpiece complete, so I’m sure you won’t.” Spike’s hand suddenly flew forward and the man screamed in pain, “Or option three,” He growled, “Where you run like a coward and keep the tape for leverage, hoping that your usefulness hasn’t run its course.”

 He suddenly had the camera in his hands, staring directly into the screen his eyes burning into the lens. “Looks like your mole got ousted. This is your last one, Angelus. We’re coming for you and when we’re done there won’t be anything left.” The screen suddenly went black as the video cut off.

 Clark let out a trembling breath looking around him and realizing he had slid to the floor at some point, his heart pounding in his chest. God, he didn’t know, he didn’t understand until that moment. That poor girl, no wonder Buffy was desperate. How many girls did she find like that before this one was left for her? How many videos did she force herself to endure before this one was sent, even Faith and Willow had said this wasn’t the first one? Clark squeezed his eyes shut, she had told him, so had Gunn but to see it. She was driven half-crazy by what that vampire had done and he could not blame her for that. What would he do if it was his mother in that position? God, he could only imagine.

 He shakily got to his feet, listening as he heard the sound of a fist hitting leather, he walked to the doors and threw them open, not stopping when she paused to look at him. He had to reassure himself that she was okay, that she wasn’t that angry creature that he saw in the video. He went straight to her, his arms coming around her in a crushing embrace before his lips met hers. God, she was so strong, he didn’t realize how much until that moment. Buffy immediately melted into him, her lips parting for him as he slid his tongue into her mouth. She was such a small woman, everything about her was deceptively tiny, except her strength and fortitude both physically and emotionally. To go through what she had and still be able to function on a normal level was just short of a miracle.

 He pulled away and looked down into her green eyes, haunted by her past but not dead and hateful like in the video. He bent down and laid his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “I…” He started, “I didn’t…I’m so sorry Buffy.” He whispered, and he could still feel himself trembling. “I didn’t… You hear words like torture, rape, and murder but–”

 “They’re not real until you see it for yourself.” She finished in understanding.

 Clark sighed, hugging her closely, her head resting against his chest. “I get it now, not…but I understand how desperate you must have been to try and save the girls from that.”

 He heard her sniffle, “I didn’t know what else to do. I watched all the others you know, even…even what he did to them. It was my fault, you see; those girls lost their lives because they had a connection to me.” She shook her head, “If they hadn’t been called, they would still be alive today.”

 Clark pulled away and used his hand to raise her chin so he could see her eyes, “You blame yourself for every one of them that dies no matter how it happens, don’t you?”

 She closed her eyes a shuddering breath hissing through her lips, before she opened them, meeting his gaze head on. “How can I not?”

 He sighed, hugging her close again and shook his head. He had no response to that; he didn’t think she should. He didn’t think it was healthy, but he didn’t want to get in an argument about it with her right now either.

 They stayed like that for a little while before she whispered, “You’re shaking.”

 Clark nodded. “I know, the video…I’m still upset.”

 She pulled away, meeting his eyes again. “Do you want me to show you how to throw a punch properly? The heavy bags have been warded well, we can start there.” She looked down, “It will…it will help relieve some of what you’re feeling at least.”

 “Yeah,” He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, okay.”

 ****<S>**<S>****

 To say Clark was a fast learner when it came to training would have been the understatement of the year. He was an absolute natural. He moved with precision and grace, sometimes striking so fast she almost didn't see him move. 

 As of now she was simply holding the bag for him as he got comfortable with the rhythm of landing punches and even with the wards on the bag, she could feel the impact of his strikes. At this rate she would need her suit within a few days to let him get the feel of fighting a moving target. At some point she might even bring him back to Cleveland to put him up against multiple fighters and see how he did.

 "Remember to move your feet,” She reminded. "A moving target is harder to hit."

 He nodded, bounced on the balls of his feet and struck, the impact of the punch making her bones rattle. "Whoa, nice one Clark." She laughed, "Felt that one in my toes."

 He grinned, striking the bag again harder. "You were right," he said casually in between punches. "This does help."

 She grinned, "Nothing like getting your aggression out with a bit of violence." And then she blushed, smirking, "Well almost nothing." 

 He chuckled as he threw a few more punches in quick succession, his own smirk forming on his lips. He had a mischievous look in his eyes and had just opened his mouth to comment when Buffy’s phone rang.

 Buffy sighed, releasing the bag. "That will either be Wes or Willow."

 It was now around three in the afternoon; Clark had told her he had to pick his mom up at six and it was an hour drive to Smallville from where they were. So, she was grateful that they were going to be able to get this taken care of before meeting his mom.

 Buffy walked over to her phone and answered. "Hey Wes," she said in greeting. "What's the haps?"

 He was silent for a moment and she could almost hear him roll his eyes at her butchering of the English language. "Willow," He began, "should be there shortly. Dawn would also like to see you. I told her I would call her once Willow was done securing the pendants."

 Buffy frowned, “What? Why?”

 “Dawn and I have come to the conclusion that one of the languages in the prophecy that I have been unable to identify, is most likely written in the script of Clark’s home world.” He paused, “We are going to need access to the ship, unless of course Clark can read it.”

 Buffy looked at Clark and raised an eyebrow, but he quickly shook his head. “Only a few words,” He confirmed. “I think the computer on the ship might be able to translate it though.”

 “That’s a negative, Wes,” Buffy answered, beginning to pace. “But he agrees that the computer on the ship should be able to do the job.”

 “Very well, I’ll inform Dawn to dress accordingly. The ship is still in the same location I presume?” He asked.

 “Whoa,” Buffy said halting her steps, realizing what he was suggesting. “You want us to go tonight? Clark has to pick up his mom from work, Wes.”

 “I think it would be for the best. The sooner we get this prophecy translated, the better.” He paused. “Lorne told me I needed to send out more Slayers to India, Kansas, and Metropolis within the next two weeks and I would very much like to know if I should be sending two or a few hundred. If this prophecy gives any indication of what’s to come, I would very much like to know what it is.”

 Buffy and Clark exchanged worried looks. “He only told me something was coming for Clark, and we’re gonna need all hands-on deck when it does.”

 Buffy watched Clark swallow nervously. “He told me my time for hiding was almost up, but he said it was in the coming month.” His eyes widened in realization. “We need to translate that prophecy.”

 Buffy nodded in agreement, “And I need to train you harder than just beating on a bag, which means it’s gonna be eight-hour days from here on out.” Clark opened his mouth to argue and she held up her hand, “We’ll get as much as we need to do in the mornings done, but if for whatever reason we can’t, I would loan you the money before I would let you lose your home.”

 Clark frowned, “Buffy–”

 “Take it from someone who knows what those kinda money troubles feel like,” She interrupted again. “I think in the scheme of things saving the world is a little more important than pride, don’t you?”

 His frown deepened. “You think it’s going to be that big?”

 “Lorne said all hands-on deck and it’s you. Someone coming after you has got to be as powerful, if not more.” She watched his face fall and reached out her hand out running it down his arm, “You’ll be ready, and now that we have a general idea of where this stuff might take place, we’ll all be even more prepared.”

 “Wes,” she said, addressing the Watcher once more. “Were gonna need Willow to keep close, and I would call Illyria back from Cairo.”

 “I agree,” Wesley said, just as a portal opened up and Willow walked through. Her smile melting away at the look on both Buffy and Clark’s faces.

 “Uh-oh,” Willow said nervously. “I know that face.”

 “Is that Willow?” Wesley asked over the line.

 “Yeah,” Buffy said.

 “Let me speak with her, please.”

 Buffy held out the phone to Willow, who frowned but took it anyway. “Hey Wes,” Willow said in greeting as Buffy walked over to where Clark was standing looking more than a little worried.

 “Hey,” she said quietly.

 He attempted to smile but he couldn’t pull it off. “Hey, yourself.”

 She bit her lip watching him, seeing the turmoil play across his face of having an unknown enemy out there that could be responsible for hurting others when they decided to rear their ugly heads. She didn’t blame him, if she needed to pull out her big guns as Lorne hinted then it could definitely get bad. She was optimistic however, because of what she’d had to face in her past. Clark didn’t have that same luxury.

 “I-I know you’re not exactly used to going up against big bads, or having to fight gods,” she started. “But I promise you Clark, no matter what it is we’ll deal with it together. Tonight, I’ll have my sister meet us at your place and we’ll go to the ship and find out what this prophecy says. Whatever’s coming, we’ll deal. I promise you; we won’t lose.”

 “How do you know?” He asked, a bit of hope showing in his eyes.

 She stared at him seriously, “Because I don’t lose when it’s the world.”

 His lips quirked slightly, and he opened his mouth to say something when Willow walked up to them. “Wes wants me to fit you for a suit,” She said to Clark, handing Buffy her phone before saying, “And, he wants to talk to you.”

 As Buffy reached for the phone Clark said, “I already have a suit and it’s Kryptonian.”

 Both Buffy and Willow blinked in surprise at his words, their voices ringing out in unison. “You do?”

 He nodded, “Yeah, it’s on the ship still, but I have one.”

 Willow smiled, “Well then, that’s gonna make this quicker. Can you bring it to me? I can enhance it with magic, add some safety features and protect you against the mystical.”

 “Will that still work, even if the material isn’t of Earth?” He asked.

 “Yeah Wes,” Buffy finally said into her phone, pulling herself away from the conversation. So, Clark already had a suit, she wondered what it looked like.

 “So, for the time being I’m going to send fifty Slayers to each location, but keep the others on standby incase things go pear-shaped.” He said, already planning ahead. “I’ll also be moving quite a few closer to all three locations, that way all the girls have backup nearby. I think Willow should stay there at the safehouse that way she’s not far from either of you.”

 “And Dawn, Xander, and the kids? They live in Metropolis after all.” Buffy asked.

 “Perhaps you should explain the situation to her when she gets there. Staying there at the safe house with Willow might also be a wise move for them.” Wes said, adding, “As well as a few Slayers. I know Faith’s been itching to get out of Cleveland for a mission, maybe she and a few of the other girls should accompany her.”

 “Just as long as it’s not Tanya, that girl’s a liability and she doesn’t listen to anyone.” Buffy said.

 “I concur,” Wesley agreed. “Only the girls who are focused and dedicated will be allowed to participate in this mission. I would like as little casualties as possible.”

 “I agree,” Buffy nodded, “What about the mystics, how many of those can we tap?”

 “I have sixty-eight on file, I’ll start making phone calls now.”  He sighed. “I’m just glad we have this much to go on.”

 “Me too,” Buffy agreed. “I’ll call Dawn when Willow gets done here and tell her where to meet us and to put on her suit and a warm hat.”

 “Very well,” he said. “Call me when you know more and I’ll begin the preparations.”

 Buffy hung up, walking back over to Willow and Clark as they spoke to each other a bit awkwardly. “So, let’s get this over with Wills.”

 Willow quickly nodded opening a small bag she brought with her. “So,” she said quickly. “These were a bit difficult to make since from what we’ve read the compulsion itself seems to be based purely on hormones as well as a need to unite your souls.” She looked at them both, “It took me a little while to find what I needed and even longer to put the spell together.” She sighed, “The pendants themselves will be made out of several crystals used to block compulsion, amethyst, ametrine, chrysocolla, and ruby.”

 Willow pulled out two small corked vials filled with multicolored stones and handed them to both Buffy and Clark. “Now, hold out your hands and link your free ones together.”

 Buffy and Clark did as she asked, holding their hands out palm up. Willow placed a vial in each of their hands and then covered them with her own hands, closing her eyes and beginning to chant. Buffy immediately began to feel her hand heat up and for a second it almost became unbearable and Buffy even watched Clark wince from the heat. It was gone just as quickly however and in its place were two hard looking marble like multicolored stones with a dark metallic chain that would hang from each of their necks. Buffy heard Willow mutter one more spell that she recognized to be a ward against breaking.

 “Well go on.” Willow said smiling happily at her work. “Try them on, see if it worked.”

 Buffy quickly slipped the necklace over her head and a sigh of relief left her lips. The sexual tension that had never fully abated her all day finally easing enough to where she wasn’t thinking about sex every few seconds.

 Clark had a similar reaction, his face seeming to ease slightly, but Buffy was surprised when he turned to Willow and asked, “You said the compulsion is only based on hormones, does that mean any feeling we have that aren’t sexual are real?”

 Willow nodded, “Of course, real love is something that can only be based off of free will. Its why love spells don’t ever work. You can’t force someone to love you.”

 Buffy watched amused as Clark seemed to sigh in relief, and then quickly blushed when he noticed her watching him. “Come on stud,” she said hooking her arm through his and dragging him towards the door of the training room. “Let me go grab my stuff before we go get your mom,” a grin creeping over her face as she turned and wished Willow a good night and a promise to catch up tomorrow. “And for the record”, she added quietly as they walked out of the training room. “I still want to jump you, that hasn’t changed even with the necklace on.”

 He quickly reached out to grab her arm, but she easily dodged him and took off down the hallway, a blush and a giggle leaving her lips.

 Clark was suddenly there in front of her, a crooked and devilish smile on his lips. “Is that so?” And then his lips were on hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth as she squealed in surprise.

[ukulelecal]

Bloom - Part One

The story of flowers.

Pairing: Poet!Luke Hemmings x Female!OC

Warnings: angst!!!! implied smut. perhaps a swear or two. mostly angst

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: can yall believe that this video sent me so feral that i wrote this whole lil mini series in like five days?? i'm not surprised tbh. ANYWAY omg i really am excited for y'all to read this!!! i hope you love it!!! i would love your feedback, and please please remember that reblogs mean the absolute world to creators!

series masterlist

masterlist // posted on ao3

Devon would never forget the first poem Luke wrote for her.

He was a blushing mess as he handed her the folded piece of paper, insisting she read it later because he didn’t want to see her reaction. He had a lip ring then, blond hair spiked up and a wardrobe full of band t-shirts and black skinny jeans. He certainly didn’t look like how anyone would imagine a poet, but one look at his work would tell anyone that he had the mind for the craft.

Luke’s way with words was unmatched. Devon always called it a superpower; the way he was able to capture readers with words strung together so beautifully and paint a picture in the brain. He made people feel something. He had a gift, no doubt.

All of his poems were breathtaking, and he wrote many for her. The first would always be her favorite.

It was called The Orchids. The poem compared a woman to a field of orchids, delicate and lush. It was simple but sweet. Devon vividly remembered the rush of giddiness she felt as she read it, knowing it was written just for her. She remembered calling Luke after reading it over and over again, gushing about how much she loved it. He explained to her later that he chose orchids because the color of the shirt she was wearing the day they met reminded him of them.

They were only freshmen in college then. First time away from home, getting their first taste of real independence. Of adulthood. They met in a seminar class that every first year student had to take. One that everyone else hated but Luke and Devon loved, just because they got to see each other. A couple of coffee dates lead to The Orchids, which lead to a loving relationship and many, many more poems.

College was just about to come to an end now. Graduation was coming up fast, and that brought the simultaneously exciting and dreadful question: what next?

The future was something that used to delight Luke and Devon. Countless nights, they talked about marriage, a house, a dog, children. Luke would be a renowned poet, Devon a respected social worker. They had it all planned out. Even if their white picket fence dreams fell through, they would be happy so long as they had each other.

With graduation creeping closer and closer, Devon wasn’t so sure about their plans.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want it anymore. She still loved Luke with all of her heart. She wanted everything they had talked about, a future with him. Some deeper thinking into her career led her heart elsewhere.

It came out at dinner one evening, sat at the table of Devon and Luke’s shared apartment that they had moved into junior year.

“I’ve been thinking about going to grad school,” she blurted out. She twisted her spaghetti on her fork to distract herself. His face lit up, but Devon didn’t quite share his excitement. She knew this was something she wanted, but she was about to make a huge sacrifice that she had been trying to convince herself that she was ready for.

“Yeah? That’s great, Dev!” Luke cheered. “Here?”

The proud smile on his face quickly dropped when he saw the look of dread on hers. Graduate school was certainly a good thing, but if she wasn’t thrilled, Luke knew there must be a catch.

“Not here?” Devon shook her head. “Then where?”

The name of the school that she mumbled under her breath made Luke’s heart sink. It was far away. Very far.

“Oh.”

Luke wanted to kick himself for being disappointed. It was selfish, so selfish. He should have been proud that Devon wanted to further her education, and he was. He couldn’t fathom trying to take that away from her, but the thought of his girl being so far away was gut wrenching.

He wiped the frown off his face as quickly as it came. He reminded himself that he needed to be supportive, even if it hurt.

“That’s awesome, baby. I’m really proud of you.”

Devon knew he wasn’t lying when he said he was proud of her, but she could tell he wasn’t as excited as he was trying to seem.

“You don’t have to act happy about this, Lu,” she murmured, still pushing her pasta around. “I know what you’re thinking.”

He sighed and dropped his fork on his plate. Of course she saw through him. She always did. After four years of being together, Devon knew Luke better than anyone.

“I really am proud of you for doing this, honey. Don’t think that I’m not. It’s just…” he trailed off, unable to think of a way to put what he wanted to say without sounding selfish. “It’s so far away.”

Devon swallowed the lump in her throat. She was headstrong, and she knew that she needed to put her career and her own desires first. That didn’t mean it hurt any less to move so far away from the love of her life.

“I know, bubs,” she whispered. “But this is something I really want for myself. For my future.”

“Oh, honey, I know,” Luke sighed, not wanting her to feel bad. “I want you to do this. But the distance...I know it’s selfish of me-”

“It’s not selfish, Luke,” she interrupted, shaking her head softly. “It’s not easy for me either. But this school has the best graduate program for social work. Besides, I haven’t finished my application yet and I’m applying to some other places too. I might not even get in.”

Perhaps the most selfish thing of all was that a tiny part of him hoped she wouldn’t get in. It would break her heart if she didn’t, but maybe she wouldn’t be so far. Luke hated himself for the thought even crossing his mind for a split second.

Devon could see how this was affecting him. She understood; she knew he was planning on proposing shortly after graduation, though they were in no hurry to actually get married until they both had secure jobs. Moving hundreds of miles away for two years undoubtedly threw a wrench in the plans.

She had gone back and forth for a while as she searched for grad schools. As much as she wanted to stay close, her future career was something that she valued greatly. Devon was a first generation college student, and she wanted nothing more than to make her family proud. However, Luke was important too. The distance wouldn’t be easy, but she tried to be optimistic. She could only hope that he would want to try too.

“Don’t think like that, Dev,” Luke mumbled. He let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. His desire for Devon to succeed and his desire to keep her close were battling each other, and it only frustrated him.

He thought about his words for a few moments, but couldn’t find the right thing to say.

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

Devon gave a silent nod. She needed to let him feel this out, and honestly, she needed to do the same. Thinking about it was one thing, but actually telling Luke was another. She had been stressing over it for a while, and now that it was finally out, her and Luke had to actually deal with it together.

The couple finished their dinner in silence, the only sounds to be heard being the slight scraping of forks against plates and the occasional sighs.

Devon couldn’t help but feel guilty. Over the years, she had conditioned herself to put her own aspirations first. She had sacrificed a lot for others in her lifetime, but many people had made sacrifices for her as well. She felt she had found a balance between taking care of herself and taking care of the people around her. She knew that moving away for a while for her own benefit would have an effect on her relationship, but she didn’t feel as if she had to choose one or the other. If Luke was willing to try to make things work, then so was she.

Luke took his last bite of spaghetti and stood up from the table. He silently made his way to the sink to wash his plate before turning back to Devon.

“I’m going to write for a bit, okay?” He mumbled, slowly making his way towards the spare bedroom that doubled as his workspace. No doubt a poem was going to come out of everything he was feeling at the moment. Devon nodded and her brown eyes watched as Luke turned on his heel to walk away.

“Luke?” She called out before he got too far. He turned around with a hum of acknowledgement. “I love you.”

Despite the anxiety and dread he was feeling, he smiled.

He walked back over to where Devon still sat at the table. With her face cradled lovingly in his hands, he bent down to press a soft yet meaningful kiss to her lips. The kiss said that even if things were uncertain, this wasn’t over.

“I love you too.”

…

Devon’s breath caught in her throat when an email from her top choice grad school came through.

She had poured over her personal statement and fretted over her interview. No matter how much everyone assured her, she couldn’t help the anxiety that ate her away.

With a deep breath, she opened the email.

Accepted with a scholarship.

“Luke! Bubs, I got in! I got in!”

She ran into the spare bedroom where Luke was hunched over one of his many poetry notebooks. His head whipped up at his girlfriend’s yells, his brain taking a moment to process her words after being in the writing zone.

For a moment, neither of them were thinking about the distance. All that mattered was Devon’s amazing achievement.

Luke stood up to meet her. Devon practically tackled him in a hug and he easily held her close.

“Congratulations, honey,” he mumbled into her hair. “Fuck, I’m so proud of you.”

He held her for a few minutes, neither of them able to wipe the smiles off their faces. This meant a lot to Devon, and Luke knew it. He knew from the moment he met her that she was going to do great things in life. She was motivated, intelligent, passionate. Anyone could see it. It was one of the many things he loved about her.

Luke pulled away in favor of cupping her cheeks in his hands. Devon flushed under his adoring gaze, eyes falling downwards.

“You’re incredible, Devon Murphy.”

She kissed him as a form of thanks, melting into each other’s touch. Their eyes met when they pulled away, bright blue and warm brown. Devon wasn’t the wordsmith that Luke was, but she didn’t have to be. Her eyes and her actions told him and everyone else everything that they needed to know. Devon was in love with him, and Luke, her.

Even with Luke’s way with words, Devon could read his eyes too. They were just as expressive as his poetry. As they gazed at each other, she could see the flash of sorrow as his mind travelled elsewhere. She didn’t need to ask to know what he was thinking about.

“Luke…” she whispered with a softened gaze. The guilt was returning, although she knew she had nothing to feel guilty about. She had always struggled with her determination to put herself first. It wasn’t Luke’s fault either, however; his feelings about her leaving were completely valid.

“No. None of that right now,” he stated, shaking his head. “This is a huge accomplishment, Dev. We’re not going to be sad tonight.”

A grin tugged at the corner of Devon’s lips as Luke pulled away, grabbing his phone from the desk and sticking it in his pocket. He placed a hand on the small of her back and led her to the door of the bedroom.

“I think you deserve a celebratory dinner, honey, yeah?” He offered, handing trailing to the side to hold her waist. She chuckled and leaned into him.

“You could throw in a frozen pizza and I’d be happy, bubs.”

“Hell no,” he scoffed as if it was the most ridiculous suggestion in the world. “You just got into grad school! I’m taking you out for dinner. If you want pizza, we can get pizza, but not a frozen one.”

Devon couldn’t help but throw her arms around him again, burying her face into his chest. He tilted his head down to press a kiss to the top of her head. She knew this wasn’t easy, and she was beyond grateful that he was being supportive.

“Thank you, bubs. I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. So are we getting pizza, or do you want to go somewhere else? It’s up to you.”

“Pizza sounds good. Can we go to the place with the good garlic knots?”

Luke laughed as he slipped on his shoes.

“Of course we can.”

Devon slipped on her own shoes and grabbed her denim jacket from the hook by the door before the couple made their way downstairs. Luke’s beat up Prius came into view as they stepped into the parking lot. Devon had named the car Bertha; she was old and a little rusty, but she got the job done.

Luke drove to the small pizzeria not far from their apartment complex. Once inside, they were seated quickly and ordered garlic knots and a pizza to share.

“We haven’t talked much about your writing lately,” Devon said once the waitress walked away. “What have you been working on?”

Luke shrugged and sipped his water.

“Not much. I haven’t really gotten anything good out.”

Truthfully, he had written a lot of poems about Devon leaving. He wasn’t going to tell her that at their celebratory dinner, though.

“In a slump?” She queried sincerely.

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Maybe next weekend we can go out, go to the park. You always get inspired there.”

Luke grinned and reached across the table for her hand.

“I’d love that, Dev.”

The rest of dinner flew by, conversation getting lost in buttery garlic knots and savory pizza. Luke offered dessert, but Devon was too full to even think about it. A sly joke about having her for dessert at home had the giggling couple paying the check and driving home at record speed where Luke certainly made good on his promise.

Devon and Luke laid in bed that night where whispered I love you’s and gentle kisses put them to sleep. Not a negative thought in either of their minds. They were content, but the future still loomed menacingly ahead.

…

The apartment was once a place of solace. It was a place where Luke and Devon could get away from the stress of college life and simply be together. It was safe and comforting. A place they knew they were always welcome.

As time went on, the apartment slowly shifted from a place of joy to a place of dread.

Graduation day was coming up, and both Devon and Luke knew what that meant.

They busied themselves with assignments and exams, Devon simultaneously preparing herself for grad school. She didn’t say much about it to Luke; whenever it came up, the tension between them only got stronger. It led to them bickering about other things to avoid the conversation.

Before they knew it, graduation had come and passed. Devon and Luke officially had their bachelor’s degrees, Luke in creative writing and Devon in social work. The days leading up to it were a good distraction, celebrations with friends and family taking their minds off the move. But it was over. Devon needed to get to her new city soon to set up her new apartment and get her bearings before school started. It was time to face the music.

“Luke?” Devon mumbled as he came out of the spare bedroom. She had been waiting for him to finish so they could talk.

He sighed and sat down next to her on the couch, knowing exactly what this was about. They both had been dreading the conversation, but he knew just as well as her that they needed to discuss it before it was too late.

“Are you ready for this?” She whispered, glancing at him with sad eyes. He didn’t return her gaze.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to be away from you for this long, honey.”

Luke could feel his guard coming down. He wanted this for Devon, but he was struggling to keep his want for her to stay close suppressed.

“I don’t want you to think I’m not considering you in this,” she began, reaching for his hand in his lap. “Leaving won’t be easy for me either.”

“I know.”

He was too scared to say much else.

The couple was silent for a moment. They racked their brains for something to say that would make the situation easier on either of them.

“Maybe you could come with.”

Devon regretted it as soon as it came out of her mouth.

Luke huffed and sent her a look.

“You know I can’t do that.”

She did know. If he could do that, he would have jumped on the opportunity immediately. Luke couldn’t afford to move. He was working on fulfilling his lifelong dream of releasing a poetry book. He was getting so close. Publishers were starting to take interest in him, and he nearly had enough money saved to cover the costs. It was difficult to save money when his part time job at a local bookstore didn’t pay much in the first place and he still needed to pay for school as well as his share of the rent and groceries, among other necessary things. Devon was a little luckier. Neither of their families had much to contribute, and she needed to pay for the same things as him, but her part time job paid better than his and she had money saved from when she managed to land a paid internship first semester. It was covering the costs of her move and grad school.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She watched him for another moment, trying to fight back the tears that were welling in her eyes.

“Please say something, Luke,” she whimpered. All she wanted was for him to affirm what she so desperately wanted; for them to be okay.

He finally looked at her, both sets of eyes red rimmed. Devon squeezed his hand.

“Do you really have to go, Dev?”

The break in his voice sent the first tear gliding down Devon’s cheek.

“You know how much this means to me, Lu. I really think we can make this work.”

“Can we? Can we really?” Luke’s tone turned frustrated. Devon’s mouth dropped open slightly. Did he not believe they could last?

“What are you saying?” She whispered, voice shaking.

He sighed and roughly stood up, dropping Devon’s hand in the process.

“We’ll never talk. We’ll both be so busy. You’ll have school, I’ll be working. And you know neither of us have the money to be visiting each other often. There will hardly be anything,” he rambled, pacing around the living room. Maybe his selfish side was coming out, but he felt he was just being realistic.

Luke always aimed for realism, particularly in his poetry. He wrote largely about real life experiences and channeled his emotions into beautiful, flowing rhymes. His best work came from personal connection.

Sometimes, he couldn’t help but write about what he wished he had.

His idealistic poems were never about Devon; his relationship with her was practically perfect. But this was something that no idealistic poem could fix. No words could change what was happening to them.

“I’ll make time for you, Luke. Won’t you do the same?” She questioned, growing frustrated as well. She had wanted him to share her optimism, but clearly he didn’t. A part of her knew he was right, but she wasn’t going to back down.

“Of course I’ll make time. But will it be enough? No matter how much we try, will it be enough to keep what we have going? Look at what it’s doing to us now! You haven’t even left yet and we can barely keep it together.”

“Do you really have that little faith in us, Luke?” Her voice was calm, despite how she felt on the inside. She narrowed her eyes at him. “No one said it would be easy. But we’ve been together for four years. I believe in us.”

Luke took another breath, trying his best to keep his emotions and tears at bay.

“I want to believe in us, Devon. I really do.” He turned to look at her. Her cheeks were stained with tears, and it only made his heart ache more. “I still want a future with you. I want the house and the dog and the kids we’ve always talked about. But I have a bad feeling. We’ve never been away from each other for more than a few weeks. I just...the distance is going to break us.”

Luke’s own words cut him like a knife. As much as he wanted to believe they could last, his own insecurities caused him doubt. He wasn’t sure if he truly believed that or if he just wanted to save himself the heartbreak of being away from Devon for so long.  

Devon let his words sink in. Even if it did break them before she finished her degree, she was willing to try until they couldn’t anymore. Maybe he was right. Maybe the distance would break them eventually. But it hurt her that he didn’t have any faith at all. Still, she understood where he was coming from.

There was no winner in this situation.

She thought for a moment, and finally came to the conclusion that they were both thinking about.

“Fine.” She slowly stood up from the couch and looked him in the eye. They were both shattered. Hearts were breaking into a million pieces simultaneously. Devon put on the most stoic face she could muster with tears still leaking from her eyes. “We obviously want different things right now. I have school, you have your book, and clearly we can’t handle both at the same time. Maybe there shouldn’t be an us.”

Although he had essentially been the one to suggest it, her words felt like a punch in the gut.

This wasn’t what either of them wanted. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But the truth was becoming more and more apparent. They couldn’t do this. Not now.

However, Luke mimicked Devon’s actions and put on a blank face.

“Maybe there shouldn’t.”

They stared at each other for another few moments. Reality was setting in. This was the end of Luke and Devon. All of the coffee dates, the love poems, living off Ramen and questionable dining hall food together, walks in the park, kisses, I love you’s, the late night talks of the future, everything gone down the drain.

Devon shut herself in the bedroom before Luke could see her break.

…

The next month before Devon moved was painful. Her and Luke hardly said a word to each other. They ate their meals separately, not bothering to cook together like they used to or order food to share. They both spent time with friends before everyone went off to their new adult lives. When they weren’t out, Devon locked herself in the bedroom while Luke did the same in the spare. They hadn’t slept in the same bed since before their fight.

Devon spent a lot of free time packing. She went through all of her belongings, creating piles of things to keep, things to donate, and things to throw away.

She soon came across something that made all of her emotions about the breakup resurface.

It was the shoebox that she kept all of the poems Luke had written for her in. She kept every single one.

With a quivering lip, she opened the box and gazed at its contents. Piles of folded papers were neatly tucked inside, his declarations of love all written out in one place. They were her most prized possessions. She went back and reread them often, and the feeling of having someone love her like Luke did was the best feeling in the world.

Devon choked out a sob, burying her face into her hands in hopes that he wouldn’t hear her through the thin walls. The fact that he was right next door hurt her even more. The caring, gentle boy that made her swoon with his charming smile and romantic poetry. He made her fall in love with him all over again every day. He was everything, and she lost him.

She slowly read through each poem. Instead of joy and adoration, all she felt was anguish and heartache. She never thought she would feel this way about Luke.

When she got to the bottom, she pulled out the last poem, and her heart completely broke in her chest.

The Orchids.

Devon couldn’t keep her sobs at bay. She clutched the paper to her chest, every bit of pain coming out in tears.  

Luke could hear her through the wall.

His heart told him to run in and comfort her. His brain told him it would only make things worse for both of them.

He plugged his ears, trying to block out the dreadful sound. He was in just as much pain as her, but the sound of the love of his life’s sorrow only made his own worse.

Glancing down at the open notebook in front of him, he reread the poem he was writing, and soon he found himself joining Devon in tears.

It was called Wilted. Their relationship that had once been a beautiful flower, an orchid, lost its sunlight and its water, and now it had wilted. Dead, grey, dried up.

Luke dropped his pen and folded his arms on the desk, burying his head into them. He cried.

The broken couple, only separated by a thin wall, might as well have already been miles apart. They cried together, but there was no sense of unity between them. Their pain was past what any poem could portray.

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.IV

[previous] [next] [Ao3]

A new chapter for my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with the amazing @gen-syz-art as my artist ✨

____________________________

When he wakes, it’s still early morning. 

His head feels much more clear than it did last night and Geralt almost chuckles at his own impressionability but somewhere deep in his chest, he still feels that pull of uncertainty, of a “what if”.

Before long, however, he’s back on the Path. 

Finding his way back to the mansion isn’t hard, he still remembers the directions the alderman had given him for the nekker contract and remembers also where he needs to leave the main road in order to find what he’s looking for. 

The sun is just starting to get properly warm when he stops Roach in front of the gates. 

“I won’t be long,” he tells her, jumping down from the saddle and running his hand over the mare’s neck. “A few minutes at most.”

Roach snorts at him, flicking her ears to indicate her disinterest. 

Geralt leaves her be, taking the brush and the dog collars wrapped in black cloth out of the saddlebags and walking up to the gates. Surely, he thinks, It’s going to be Arthur that’s going to come to see who’s there. 

He barely raises his hand to push open one of the arches of the gates, assuming that they’re open just like they’ve been the last time, when, seemingly out of nowhere, Lucio appears, his ears perked up in interest. There are only a few steps between them, and it’s a matter of seconds before the dog is right at the other side of the gates, its long nose sticking out between the intricate metal bars and sniffing at Geralt’s extended hand. 

Geralt isn’t really expecting to be recognised, but Lucio doesn’t bark and doesn’t bare his teeth, just inspects his hand for a moment or two, and then turns back towards the mansion, quickly disappearing somewhere between the rosebushes. 

Something deep inside Geralt tells him to wait, and so he does, shifting from one leg to the other a little awkwardly. 

It doesn’t take long. 

“Who is there?” he hears Julian’s voice, addressed to Lucio. “Arthur didn’t tell me someone was coming.”

Fuck, Geralt thinks. 

He’s suddenly hyper-aware that he’s got no real reason to be here other than he couldn’t get his own thoughts in check, and now facing Julian feels like facing the consequences of that. If it had been Arthur, like Geralt had hoped, it would’ve been so much easier. He would’ve given him the collars and asked to hand them over to Julian together with his gratitude and maybe a greeting, but now… Now he has to actually make sense of his being here. 

It’s way too late to leave, for even if he was able to make it to Roach in time, Julian would see him riding away. And in the end, well, how scary can it be. If he lets his own uncertainty get the best of him now, his brothers are never going to let him hear the end of it. 

“Geralt?” he hears, and now there’s no turning back. 

Julian emerges from behind one of the trees planted at either side of the gates, both his dogs close at his side. His snow-white chemise with voluminous sleeves pinched in at the wrists and embroidered with an intricate pattern of gold thread really does make him look like a prince, and for a second Geralt is overwhelmed with an irrational desire to bow, last night’s conversation with the innkeeper coming back to him. 

“Julian,” he says, giving up on himself and inclining his head like he’s at court. 

The younger man smiles at him, bright and open, like he’s an old friend, and opens the gates, gesturing for the witcher to come in. Geralt half-expects the dogs to run outside, into the forest, but they don’t take a single step, staying close to their master like guardians. 

“Why are you here? Another contract?” Julian asks, and Geralt knows that just standing there when the door has been opened is impolite, so despite his own better judgement, he steps through the gates. 

His throat is suddenly dry. 

“No,” he says finally. “No, no contracts. I-- I took this, on accident.”

Julian takes the brush from his extended hand, narrowing his eyes like he’s trying to figure out if Geralt is messing with him, and the smile on his lips only grows wider. 

“I didn’t notice at first, but then I did, and I wanted to return it,” Geralt falters for a second, looking at the bundle in his hands. “And I also wanted to give you this. In gratitude for the kindness you’ve shown me.”

Julian’s eyes light up and he takes the bundle from Geralt, running his fingers over the soft black cloth.

“You really shouldn’t have,” he says, undoing the lace holding it together. “Anyone would’ve done the same.”

“No,” Geralt says, almost too quickly. “Not anyone. I think you know that.”

Julian darts him a quick look from under his long lashes, and as the fabric unwraps in his hands, gasps. An endless second goes by in silence, and Geralt is more than aware of his inability to take in a proper breath, but then Julian is smiling again, even brighter somehow, and his heart starts beating once more. 

“They’re beautiful,” Julian says, picking up one of the collars and running his fingers over the dyed leather, the metal of the eyelets and the little quartz details that shine in the sun. “Oh, they’re absolutely gorgeous.”

He leans down, petting Lucio on the head, and fastens the collar around his neck, the purple a sharp, beautiful contrast to the white fur. It’s a perfect size, tight enough not to get lost but also not digging into the fur and disrupting its flow.

Lucio doesn’t budge, and neither does Asra, when Julian puts a collar on her, as well. Once he straightens his back again, though, the dogs sniff at each other in interest. 

“Oh, would you look at them, they look gorgeous,” he says, turning back to Geralt. “Thank you. That’s so thoughtful of you.”

And then, before Geralt knows it, Julian reaches out and takes his hand, holding it in both of his. It’s only a second, how long it lasts, but his mind short-circuits. 

“Will you stay for lunch?” Julian asks, indicating to the front door with a move of his head. “Don’t tell me you came all this way to leave so soon.”

Geralt stares at his hand, half-expecting there to be imprints of Julian’s fingers where they touched the leather of his glove. His touch burns on Geralt’s skin, and for a few long moments he finds himself unable to concentrate on anything else. 

Finally, he clears his throat and meets Julian’s eyes. 

“I wouldn’t want to distract you from--” he starts but Julian cuts him short. 

“Oh, don’t be like that,” he smiles, already turning towards the mansion. “Come on. Arthur will take care of your horse for you.”

***

Somehow, Geralt allows himself to be convinced. Again. 

He gives Roach an apologetic look over his shoulder, as if trying to tell her that he’s helpless in this situation, and follows Julian to the front door, still feeling like he doesn’t belong here. 

It was so self-indulgent of him, coming here. Finding something that would justify him coming back, riding for three days with barely enough rest, asking about the mansion back in that little town, and now - following Julian to the front door after promising himself that he would only stop for a moment before leaving. 

And all of that, for what? 

To talk? To feel like he’s more than just his medallion and swords? Or just to feel the warmth of the younger man’s fingers on his skin again? 

The answer was right there, turning restlessly in Geralt’s chest, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn his attention to it, not yet. He knew it was stupid, spending an entire month with his mind slipping back to this mansion whenever he would loosen the grip on his self-control, and at first he did keep it all at bay but the further the Path took him, the more contempt glares he felt on himself and more whispers he heard behind his back, the brighter burned that fire of longing in his chest. 

He wasn’t sure if he could be blamed for it but then again, it’s always the easiest option - to justify yourself in your own eyes. 

Suddenly, that fire in his chest flares and Geralt can feel the heat run through his vein only to freeze into ice once it reaches his heart. What if he’d misjudged? What if Julian was just being nice because he was afraid, just like everyone else always was, and him returning here was the single worst thing he could’ve done? 

What if he read into his smiles and fluttering touches wrong, made it all up because he was tired and hurt after the hunt? The lingering effects of his elixirs were still wearing off by the time he’d stumbled upon the mansion, and even though they weren’t affecting his appearance anymore, they could still have been playing tricks on his mind without Geralt even realising. 

The witcher stops dead in his tracks, just a few steps away from the door, his heart beating hard against his ribcage. 

He never should’ve come. If he wanted so bad to give Julian the fucking collars, he could’ve hired a messenger boy in town, it would’ve only cost him three or four crowns. But instead, he’d decided to make the trip himself, how lost in his own delusions he was. 

Geralt is already turning away, ready to leave and then, somehow, make himself forget about all of this, but before he can turn his back to the door, Julian’s voice breaks through the haze in his mind. 

“Are you going to stay on the doorstep?” he enquires, a teasing little smile to his voice. “You know, Witcher, I’ve once read that vampires cannot enter a building unless they’re invited in. Are you, by any chance, one of those, seeing that I seem to have to do that every time?”

Geralt turns to look at him, leaning against the doorframe, and the smile playing on Julian’s lips gets right under his skin in a wave of warmth. And just like that, the spell is broken. 

The witcher blinks, bringing himself back to the present, and all the thoughts that were making his mind race but a second ago, fade into a faint echo. 

There is nothing in Julian that indicates fear or resentment. He smells of sweetgrass - or is it vanilla? - and cinnamon, just as sweet and home-like as he did the first time they met, and Geralt finally takes in a proper breath, letting that scent fill his lungs. 

“Nonsense,” he chuckles. “If vampires needed an invitation to get into a building, I wouldn’t have a job. And, well, even that was the case and I just happened to be one of them, disguising myself as a witcher, you’ve already given me access once, so there would now only be so many places that you could hide in.”

Julian gasps theatrically, pressing a hand over his heart, but then just laughs, eyes sparkling as he steps aside to let Geralt through the door and into the sunlit hallway. 

“Well, that’s a rather romantic way to die,” he says.

Geralt doesn’t mention that vampires - aside from the Higher ones - tend to rip their prey apart and not just bite them on the neck like he’d seen described in a few books.  

Julian takes him down the endless corridor, ducking into the dining room by the staircase and then peeking into the kitchen to tell someone that the lunch should be served for two. 

It’s still strange, being in the mansion, but Geralt makes himself forget about it. At least to a degree. 

“It’s still a few hours until everything will be ready,” Julian says, letting go of the door and letting it slowly swing shut. “But if you want anything--”

“It’s alright,” Geralt says quickly. “I wasn’t expecting to stay in the first place, really. Thought it was going to be Arthur that would come see who’s at the gates.”

Julian brushes past him, close enough between the wall and a large cupboard that Geralt can feel the warmth of his shoulder where it touches his own. 

“Ah, well,” he smiles, running the tips of his fingers over the polished surface of a long dining table on his way back to the hallway. “He would, usually, but Asra and Lucio are both trained to inform me when there is someone at the gates that I already know. I prefer to meet guests myself.”

Geralt follows his lead without a word, making his way through the labyrinth of rooms all the way into the library, which now feels familiar in the enormous house. The wide table by one of the windows is covered in pieces of parchment, perfect lines of runes written on them in ink. The structure of them looks like poems or songs but Geralt doesn’t want to be caught looking, so he averts his eyes before he can read anything. 

In some strange way, it’s almost comforting, being here now. The first night he came across the mansion the library seemed too big and too dark, illuminated by nothing but the fireplace, but now, filled with sunlight streaming in through the large windows, it’s almost something that Geralt could get used to. 

For what seems like the thousandth time in the last month, Geralt thinks back on the feeling of Julian’s warm fingers on his skin, stitching up with wounds with practised ease.  

“How is your shoulder?” Julian asks, as if reading his thoughts.

He settles down into his armchair, indicating to an identical one next to it with an incline of his head. Geralt hesitates for a moment but then sits down, setting his swords aside. 

“It’s healed,” he says, reaching his hand out unconsciously to touch it to his shoulder, the thin scars left from the wounds hidden under the leather of his armour. “With my regeneration, the scars will be barely visible in a few months.”

Julian smiles, pleased with what he hears, and nods. 

“I was a little nervous, patching you up,” he confesses, and there’s a hint of blush that creeps over his cheeks. “The only times I usually need that skill is when one of my gardeners or one of the ladies from the kitchen cut themselves on accident, and need help. And, well, I needed it a couple of times with Aiden and his inability to keep himself out of trouble. But you’re rather--”

He falters, the colour of his cheeks growing a deeper red. Geralt doesn’t interrupt him, intrigued. 

“You’re rather-- built, you know,” Julian says finally, his gaze slipping over Geralt’s broad shoulders. “More than Aiden, he’s closer to my body type. And certainly more than the ladies.”

He laughs, shaking his head. 

“Forgive me,” he says. “It’s inappropriate of me.”

What is this, Geralt thinks, The Cintrian court?

“You had me half-naked in this very chair half an hour after meeting me last time, and now it’s inappropriate to talk about my physique?” he asks, teasing.

The tension slowly bleeds away from his shoulders, just like it did that morning in the arbour, and he feels himself relax, let go of his constant self-control, at least a little. 

“It’s not like I was looking,” Julian objects, defending himself with a glint in his eyes. “I’ll let you know that I’m a very responsible man and I was only focused on the task at hand.”

Geralt knows it. He knows that Julian didn’t look. Remembers the way it twisted something deep inside him, for the first time. But backing down now would’ve been a horrible omission. 

“Of course,” he says, raising his hand in a mock-conciliatory gesture. “Very focused on me and my built shoulders.”

He expects Julian to keep his own line of argument, but the younger man just narrows his eyes at him slightly like he’s testing him, and smiles charmingly.

“Well,” he murmurs. “If that’s what you want to believe.”

Oh, that is not something Eskel or Lambert are ever going to let him forget if he chooses to tell them. Getting beaten at his own game, what an event to remind him of for the rest of his life. He can already see Lambert’s shiteating grin that makes Geralt want to kill him every single time without fail. 

But Julian’s eyes sparkle an impossibly bright blue, and maybe it’s not that bad, after all.

Geralt raises his hands again, genuine this time. 

“Alright, alright,” he says. “You win. All hail Julian the Victorious.” 

The younger man clasps his hands together and shakes them above his head in a gesture that Geralt has seen at tournaments. He expects some kind of a smug comment, since the victory is rather flawless, but instead, Julian says:

“You can call me Jaskier. Julian is really only a name that pretentious nobles and my employees use.”

Pretentious nobles, Geralt thinks and his mind suddenly snaps back to thinking that the man in front of him might very well be the prince of Redania, legitimate or not. 

“Jaskier,” he echoes, instead of asking any questions.

The younger man nods.

“In my first year in the Academy, we were supposed to come up with pseudonyms for ourselves for one of the subjects, and I chose Jaskier. I read it somewhere, I can’t even remember where exactly, but I’m pretty sure it means something like “buttercup” in one of the dialects spoken in Toussaint. It was just a pseudonym at first but by the end of the year, everyone including my professors were referring to me by that name alone, because I started using it everywhere.”

The Oxenfurt Academy, Geralt thinks, Would he be able to attend if he really was the king’s illegitimate son? Could they just hide it, so that no one knows who he really is? 

“What did you study in Oxenfurt?” he asks, trying to tell himself to stop thinking about it. 

Jaskier’s entire face lights up, like he’d been waiting for that question. 

“The seven liberal arts,” he says, nodding towards a framed diploma above the parchment-lined desk. “We weren’t obliged to study all of them but I wanted to try a little bit of everything. However, it was music that captured my heart, almost immediately. I loved astronomy, too, but not nearly as much.”

“Astronomy with professor Linderbrog?” Geralt enquiers.

Jaskier nods.

“I’ve been to a couple of his lectures,” the witcher says. “He’s rather… popular with the ladies on the course, isn’t he?”

The younger man snorts, covering his lips with the back of his hand. 

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, he is. I honestly don’t know what they see in him, he’s like fifty-five. But like half the Academy was dying over him and his beard. It’s still beyond me how it’s still dark in the middle but grey on the sides.”

Geralt notices a quick little look Jaskier darts at his hair and averts his eyes, letting it linger for a moment longer. And the question in the younger man’s eyes is so obvious that Geralt can’t help but answer before it’s even spoken:

“Yes, when I grow a beard, it’s also white.”

There’s a momentary, fleeting confusion that slithers over Jaskier’s face but a second later, his cheek flush with colour.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I wasn’t staring, I just-- didn’t know how to ask.”

Geralt chuckles, letting his shoulders fully relax as he settles into the armchair more comfortably. His armour is still restraining but he’s not sure what it’s going to look like to Jaskier if he just starts undoing the buckles, so he brushes the thought aside. 

“I’ve lost pigmentation after the Trials,” he says, and it feels almost liberating to know that he doesn’t have to explain, that Jaskier knows enough about witchers to know what the Trials are. “My hair turned white and my skin got much more pale than before. My tutors thought that it’s temporary, that the hair will just grow out, but it’s been very long now and, as you can see, it’s still white.” 

Jaskier gives him another look, more tentative. 

“You’re not doing yourself justice,” he finally says. “My dogs are white. And your hair is silver.”

Geralt rolls his eyes in mock-exasperation. 

“Alright,” he nods. “If that’s what you say.”

***

Time goes by fast. 

Jaskier tells Geralt about his years at the Academy, asks a few careful questions about the witcher’s own training, and somewhere in the middle of the conversation Geralt suddenly realises that he can’t remember the last time he talked so much to anyone other than his brothers. 

When Arthur appears in the room to call them for lunch, Geralt knows that it’s been an hour or two, but it feels like minutes. 

The dining table is enormous, and though there are only eighteen chairs set around it, it could probably fit twice that amount of people. Jaskier offers Geralt to choose a seat with a wide move of his arm, and, after some hesitation, the witcher chooses the end of the table opposite to the door. 

Jaskier takes his place at the head of the table and Geralt, trying desperately to remember court rules, finally takes a place to his right. 

There is a large painting of a hunting scene next to the table and Geralt asks Jaskier about it, even though there isn’t much that he understands about art. Usually, he wouldn't ask about something he doesn’t know because he’d had people looking down at him for that one too many times, but Jaskier wasn’t like that. He explained things to the witcher in a way that made him want to listen, a way that didn’t draw a line between them. 

He told Geralt about the painting in the dining room and about some of the other ones that he’s got in the mansion. Overall, he said, he’s got about a hundred. Some of them are bought, some of them are gifted, some of them - though only a few - he painted himself. 

“You paint?” Geralt asked then, taking another sip of what might be the best wine he’s ever had.

Jaskier shrugs with one shoulder. 

“We were obliged to take two additional courses in the Academy,” he says. “Mine were Elder Speech and fine art. Of course, I’m no van Rogh, nor am I de Varvari, but I do enjoy it.”

Somewhere under the table, Asra and Lucio poke their cold noses at Geralt’s knees every now and then, and it’s still completely beyond him how the dogs manage to appear wherever Jaskier goes. 

“Didn’t we leave them outside?” Geralt finally asks when Jaskier clicks his tongue to get the dog’s attention and feed them a few pieces of meat from his plate. 

“We did,” the younger man nods. “But they have their ways. I’ve had them for a little over four years now and anywhere I go, they follow. Even if it feels like they materialise out of thin air.”

Materialise out of thin air, Geralt thinks and concentrates just a little, listening to his senses and trying to figure out if there’s magic involved in this. He does feel the pull of it somewhere deep in his chest, has been ever since he crossed the gates, but if it really were the dogs, it would grow much stronger with them near. 

It was probably nothing. Maybe an artifact or two.

It was probably nothing.

[clumsyclifford]

can’t believe you thought you could get out of getting a prompt from me by saying it after i’d gone to sleep again? well jokes on you i’m still lurking so if you’re so inclined please can i have “I noticed.” with... i mean you know who don’t you

now go study and good luck!!!!! 💖

kgjfkjslkdmj it wasnt on purpose and thank you for the well wishes, i love you. also sorry that i keep writing the same thing for you but as you said you do have a brand so i think i’m justified

tw for quarantine times i guess??? still not sure if people need a tw for that. more specific tags on ao3 of course

read on ao3

-

It’s days like this Calum wishes he worked from home.

Of course, if he worked from home he wouldn’t have even had a coworker for whom he was expected to bake birthday cupcakes. (Cupcakes that, admittedly, he’d volunteered to bake and promptly forgotten about.) The whole situation could have been avoided by Calum going virtual, the way Luke has.

Realistically, he knows he would hate working from home. He’s uniquely susceptible to going stir-crazy when stuck indoors for too long, and even if it means waking up at six in the morning on a Thursday to bake cupcakes for a coworker he only kind of knows that he’d entirely forgotten about until he’d already been in bed the night prior, the regular change of scenery is good for him. As is the change in company.

Calum loves Luke with his entire heart and then some, but he thinks it’s for the best that they don’t spend every second of every day together.

Unfortunately, the kitchenware casualties of Calum’s cupcake endeavours only add to the piles of unwashed dishes at home in their kitchen. The reason they’re unwashed is simple: Luke has been away for the last week, visiting his parents, and with no one to hold him responsible, Calum has become the king of negligence. At this rate, the used mugs in the sink are going to develop abandonment issues for how long they’ve been left there.

Every morning Calum thinks, I’ll wash the dishes after work. And every evening after work, like clockwork, he finds himself thinking, I’ll wash them tomorrow.

It’s not like he believes himself anymore, but it’s a fun little ruse. 

Thursday is a long day at work. The cupcakes only barely take the edge off (though they are delicious, especially for the rush job they’d been). He’s so busy that he barely gets a chance to check in with Luke, who’s driving home today. There’s really no time to call, but Calum texts him before he clocks in to make sure he’s left on time. In a spare minute in the middle of the day he catches Luke’s reply, an affirmative that yes, he’s heading out and he’ll be home before Calum is home from work. The text is from several hours ago. Calum doesn’t bother responding, only puts away his phone and returns to his task.

By the time Calum’s finally able to leave — almost an hour late — he’s practically dragging his feet.

Only the thought of Luke at home keeps Calum from taking a power nap in his car before pulling out. That, and he doesn’t want to spend any more time here than strictly necessary. He can always nap at home. With his boyfriend. Cuddling, ideally.

Steeling himself (and slapping his face a couple times to wake himself up), he twists the ignition and drives out, turning up the volume on the loud, guitar-driven song that starts playing on the Bluetooth.

Several songs later, he’s home.

There’s already a small smile on his face as he turns the key in the lock and pushes the door open. “Luke?”

“Calum?” comes Luke’s voice, from the direction of the kitchen, and some of the tension melts out of Calum’s shoulders. He follows Luke’s voice but Luke meets him in the entryway to the kitchen, arms already open to wrap Calum in a tight hug. Calum doesn’t hesitate before throwing his arms around Luke’s neck.

“Fuck, I’m happy you’re home,” he mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling deeply. Luke smells familiar — like nothing, but in the way Calum’s used to; like he could close his eyes and breathe in this scent anywhere in the world and know it was Luke.

“I’m happy to be home,” Luke responds, a quiet murmur in Calum’s ear. “You seem like you’ve had a long day. I barely heard from you.”

“Yeah, it was busy. Incredibly. And on top of that I was up at six making— oh, fuck, no, I have to wash— these…” Calum’s eyes fly open as he remembers the hurricane of dishes he’d left in the kitchen and his sentence trails into nothing.

The kitchen is spotless. Not a dirty dish in sight. “Wh— what happened here?” he asks, freeing himself from Luke’s grasp.

Luke’s face breaks into a smile. “I cleaned the kitchen!”

“Yeah,” Calum says, somewhat dazed. “I noticed. You— you drove almost four hours and then you got home and…cleaned the entire kitchen?” 

“It was a mess,” Luke says. “That plus the fact that I figured you were having a busy day. You shouldn’t have to come home to a messy kitchen.”

“You shouldn’t have to come home to a messy kitchen.”

“I just spent a week with my parents, where they did all the cooking and cleaning,” Luke says with a little laugh. “While you’ve been working. And alone. This is the least I could do. I don’t blame you for putting it off, I’d have done exactly the same.”

Calum stops scanning the kitchen in disbelief and moves his gaze to Luke’s face instead, bringing his hands to Luke’s cheeks and drinking in the sight of him. There’s a new light in his eyes, lifting his whole face. Luke always brightens considerably after spending time with his family. However far he travels, Calum knows Luke is a homebody at heart. His Home Battery is now fully recharged, and Calum can see it in his eyes.

“Hi,” Luke says with a smile.

“Thank you,” Calum says, pulling him into a kiss. Luke is sweet and his hands settle exactly where they belong, palm warm on Calum’s waist, fingers fanning out over the fabric of his shirt. He tastes familiar in that same indescribable way. Fits exactly right in Calum’s hands. All week Calum’s been returning to his flat after work, but only now can he truly call it coming home.

With a smile, Luke pulls away, tugging Calum closer and linking his fingers behind his back. “That was a disproportionate reaction to me doing a normal thing, but I’ll take it.”

“Good, you should. If it’ll motivate you, I’m happy to keep giving disproportionate reactions as rewards for household chores.”

Luke laughs. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Well, I’d really hate to do any damage to this pristine kitchen,” Calum says, quirking a smile. “Also, I don’t feel like cooking. You wanna get takeaway for dinner?”

“You read my mind,” Luke says, kissing Calum’s nose before stepping away. “You can go change, I’ll order. What do we want? Pizza? Chinese? Sushi?”

“Yes,” Calum says. “Any of that sounds amazing. Whatever you want. You be in charge of dinner and I’ll be in charge of putting on a hoodie and doing absolutely nothing.”

“That seems like a fair division of labour.”

“Yeah, I think it is.” Calum steps back, turning away to go change, but then he turns back and gives Luke one more smile. “Seriously, thank you. I should’ve cleaned but I appreciate that you did it.”

Luke shakes his head, a wry smile on his face. “Seriously, it’s no big deal and I’d do it anytime. Go.”

Calum presses his lips together, which does nothing to suppress his smile, and he finally retreats to their room to pull on a hoodie he will definitely steal from Luke. 

Maybe they shouldn’t spend every second of every day together, but it’s been a week since they’ve spent any days together at all, and Calum intends to make up for it by clinging to Luke’s side until they fall asleep. Somehow, he doesn’t think Luke will mind.

[strawbrrysun287]

Office Chaos #1

Hi everyone!! Recently I got into writing again and decided to cross post on here and AO3! If you take the chance to read it I hope you enjoy it <3 This will be part of a series of one shots! Happy Reading <3<3<3

If there was one thing Seokjin could safely say, it was that he was a confident gay. He would always throw a wink or a kiss to baristas, those who held the door open for him, or just anyone within the distance of him if he was feeling particularly playful.

That being said he was also openly gay. In no way shape or form was he afraid or worried about showing the person he truly was. Be it soft pink off-the-shoulder sweaters, a pair of heeled boots that made his bum look like it was carved by the gods (fun fact: it was), or even a black shirt with pastel lettering literally saying (I’m Gay, Suck It).

This was amazing for his social and love life because there was no confusion platonically or sexually. However, a certain middle-aged squat ugly fuckwad who was too dense to realize sooner Seokjin’s sexuality despite all the signs decided to fire him solely for Seokjin giving a customer, a fellow gay, his number.

In his defense, the customer was cute, was hitting on him, and was even interested and gave his own number to Seokjin as well. So all in all, who could blame Seokjin? He was young, horny, and single.

But back to the original issue. He was fired for being himself which led him to where he is now. Walking down the busy streets of Seoul heading to some gaming design company for an interview as a personal assistant to the CEO. It was a major jump from a barista to PA but he had experience… in high school, he was student council president, led three clubs, and even fixed their student budget so that way they could throw a fun concert/overnight party for the graduates.. Okay, maybe that one was a little selfish. It was still experience though! College didn’t exactly go as planned but he still was involved in the radio station and another club… although he couldn’t for the life of him remember what the club was about.

As he arrived in front of the building he could feel his heart beating against his rib cage just the tiniest bit more. He was confident though, he could do this. It would be a breeze. Throw a wink or kiss at whoever was interviewing him, talk about his experience, talk up himself and his abilities, then leave with the job and start the following Monday.

Walking inside of the building left him just the slightest breathless. Fuck. Who designed this building? Who PAID for the building? Or the interior decorating? As he tried calculating it in his head he vaguely heard someone clearing their throat but didn’t pay it any attention. After a few more minutes he finally snapped out of his calculations when the throat-clearing wouldn’t stop. He was two seconds from shoving a glass of water down the person’s throat only to look around and realize the throat-clearing had been directed at him.

With a guilty smile flashed towards the main receptionist, Seokjin finally made his way up to the desk gripping the strap of his bag even tighter.

“Kim Seokjin? I’m here for an interview with a Mr. Kim? For his personal assistant?” Despite the flash of nervousness when he was caught staring into space he quickly put the confident smile back on. The receptionist seemed less than pleased though.

“Elevator down the hall to the right. Floor 35. Park Jimin will help you from there. Try not to stare off into space again, yes?” With a sinister smirk, the lady lifted her hand just to point down the hallway and Seokjin took that as a dismissal which is exactly what it was. It didn’t stop him from mumbling down the hallway the whole time though.

“Honestly? With that kind of attitude, it’s amazing someone hasn’t dumped their coffee over her by… accident... “ Once inside the elevator he hit the button for the 35th floor and listened to the boring music as the numbers flashed above the elevator doors showing what floor it just passed. Once the doors opened for the 35th floor he took a deep breath and stepped out.

Immediately he noticed an adorable guy, younger than him with bubblegum pink hair and the cutest smile when his eyes crinkled. Okay, maybe this place wasn’t all bad. That was until he heard a deep voice shouting, seemingly the pink-haired man’s name if the way his head snapped over was any indication, and then there was a body colliding with his sending him straight to the floor with the other man on top of him.

“Kim Taehyung!! You need to watch where you are going!!” Pink-haired guy’s voice rang out. Seokjin wouldn’t be surprised if the entire floor didn’t hear the shrill yell. Which seemed plausible as there were four other heads that poked out from different rooms like little peeping parrots. Well, this was turning out to be quite the impression to leave on the people he would hopefully soon be working with.

“Sorry, Jiminie! But!! We got the house! I just got the email and we can close on the house today but we have to be there within the next hour!”

“Taehyung I swear on Yoongi’s new laptop th-”

“Don’t be swearing on my things Park Jimin! I will skin you alive!!” A voice seemingly coming from nowhere yelled in offense.

“... that you better be telling the truth or else I will make you sleep our on the balcony for the rest of the week.”

“It’s real. Like really real. The realest real you can really real kind of real! But we have to GO. NOW!”

“Okay okay! Fuck. I gu-.. Oh… Hello there. I uh… kinda forgot you got thrown to the ground in the process. I hope you aren’t injured? No injuries right? Taehyung can’t afford to be sued we are closing on a house today. Uh… if I make Namjoon Hyung give you the job would you be willing to forget this entire mess? He still owes me because of that ridiculous picture I took of him a few weeks ago when he decided to get shit-faced.”

It was official. Seokjin clearly hit his head too hard on the floor and now he was in some kind of dream drama. Shouldn’t the drama involve some super hot guy? A best friend who has his own issues but they support each other no matter what? What about the chaotic couple who he questions how they are still alive? Well… he might have found the chaotic couple. But that didn’t mean anything else. Once he realized he was being spoken to he had to blink a couple of times in order to clear his head and only vaguely caught the end.

“You… you would force your boss to give me the job just so I don’t sue the guy who knocked my ass to the ground? What if I tell you I wasn’t planning on suing him anyway? Although it did kind of hurt but if you could still get your boss to give me the job that would be fantastic and I would kiss the floor you walk on because this job is desperately needed and I’m too handsome to be walking from building to building begging for a job.”

Finally getting up from the ground he rubbed the back of his head where it hit the floor before fixing the wrinkles in his shirt. As he finished getting straightened (HA) out again another deep voice that was almost addicting echoed from down the hall along with heavy footsteps and deep down Seokjin just KNEW that the person coming towards him was the big boss. AKA the one who would hopefully be signing his checks if he got the job. Before he could utter a single word bubblegum hair spoke up again.

“Namjoon Hyung! This is Kim Seokjin, your new personal assistant. Long story short, Me and Tae got the house but in his excitement he kind of barreled into your new assistant here and sent him hurtling towards the floor, and because I’m a good honest person I told him I would assure him the job.”

Namjoon stared at bubblegum hair, Jimin?? In what seemed like absolute boredom like this was a daily occurrence. Well then again, it might be. Things were already more than a little chaotic but chaos is where Jin thrived.

“Jimin. You can’t just give people jobs because Taehyung knocked them down. You have so far given away a car, an apartment, a date, a fashion shopping spree, and part of your investment in the company which I was thankfully able to get back all because Tae didn’t watch where he was going. You know, apologizing in a HEARTFELT way will do the job nine out of ten times.”

“Okay you may speak some facts but I already gave the job to Seokjin and I already read over his resume. He seems like he can tolerate you well enough and you need an assistant to start ASAP because Tae and I have to go sign for the house okay hyung? Make sure you show him the ropes and don’t fuck it up! Bye!!”

With that Seokjin and Namjoon stared as Jimin dragged Taehyung along into the elevator with a cheeky smile and flirty wave before the elevator doors closed on the image that left the pair sputtering.

“Well… I guess they won’t be back till tomorrow afternoon. At least all my morning meetings are finished so I shouldn’t have to worry too much. Ah. Kim Seokjin-sii I apologize for the uh..”

“Chaos?” Jin supplied with a cheeky grin of his own.

“I suppose that is the best possible term for what happens on the 35th floor. Since Jimin already gave you the job I am in no way able to deny it and if I’m being honest I am in desperate need of an assistant as all my paperwork is piling up and I’m not sure where the mailroom is or where the place I normally get coffee from is and the coffee here is made by my director of media and he makes it as black as his soul is what he says at least and no amount of sugar makes it any better.”

And that’s when it happened. When Jin went from being the confident flirty gay to the shy flustered panicked gay that he always read about in stories. Namjoon smiled and he had dimples. Fucking dimples. There was no way the man standing in front of him was real. Tall, handsome, successful, understanding, kind, big hands, muscled if the fabric fighting for its life stretched over Namjoon’s biceps and thighs were anything to go by, and he had fucking D I M P L E S. Who did this Kim Namjoon think he was? God? Actually, that may be true. It wasn’t until he realized he was about to suffocate did Seokjin exhale the air he was holding in before stuttering out a hasty reply.

“Assistant? Now? Like now now? Me? For you? Coffee? I’m good with coffee and with paperwork. Yeah. I can 100% do that for you, Mr. Kim. And there is no need for formalities you can just simply call me Jin as I will be working closely with you. With you. Closely. Working. Yeah. Now?”

Seokjin knew the second the last syllable left his mouth that he was an idiot. A certified idiot who shouldn’t be allowed to be the personal assistant for a business of Namjoon’s caliber but like hell, he was going to give up the opportunity to get to know the taller man and completely wow him. Fuck was he even gay? It didn’t even matter. He could figure that out later down the line but first…

“Just tell me where to sign Mr. Kim and we can begin our new… partnership as boss and assistant. I promise I’ll do everything to learn the ropes quickly to help make your life a little less hectic.”

“Namjoon is just fine Jin. Even though I’m your boss I like to keep a close relationship with those who work close with me. You will find everyone on this floor is on a first name basis and the chaos is real and alive everyday.” And there were those fucking dimples again.

Maybe Seokjin needed to send a gift basket to his homophobic ex-boss because this new adventure at Kim. Co was going to be fun.

Chaos and all.

[batfam-chaos]

[timkon one shot] home

home

[rating: T | 2,381 words]

Tim returns from a mission exhausted and with a new stab wound. Luckily, Kon is there to take care of him.

read on ao3!

read below:

Tim grits his teeth as he walks through the front door of the apartment that he shares with Kon. He drops his duffel bag down on the rug next to the sofa before allowing himself to finally collapse into the beautiful invention known as cushions.

Letting his head hit the back of the sofa, Tim sighs and contemplates the sharp, unwelcome pain in his ribs. In his experience, getting stabbed will cause things such as pain. Despite being well-acquainted with the sensation, it isn’t exactly pleasant.

Jason stitched the stab wound up for him in addition to giving him a handful of advil that Tim only took two of before stashing the rest in a random drawer in Jason’s apartment while his back was turned. He doesn’t like the way that painkillers make his head feel slow and warm, like it’s wrapped in a blanket of fog. After all, somebody needs to type up a report to inform the Green Lanterns that somebody in Gotham has access to illegal alien tech. Considering how Jason had been up for the past thirty-six hours for their stakeout while Tim has only been awake for the past twenty-four, the choice is obvious.

Bending over to retrieve his laptop from his duffel bag causes the wound in his side to flare with bright, searing pain like his insides are being barbecued on the surface of the sun. Tim gasps and just barely manages to yank his laptop out of the bag as his vision goes spotty.

He takes a moment to let the pain subside into angry throbbing before he opens his laptop, squinting at the sudden onslaught of bright light. Tim unlocks his laptop before pulling up an empty document so he can begin typing his report.

After entering the date and location of the stakeout, he frowns. Didn’t the arms smugglers refer to the alien tech by a particular name? Tim leans back into the couch and stares pensively up at the ceiling. What was that name? He closes his eyes as he plays back each step of busting the arms smuggling ring. There was the initial infiltration, the first time he and Jason were allowed into the warehouse, the excruciating stakeout, and they were finally able to raid the warehouse….

Sometime in the space between one thought and the next, Tim falls asleep.

“Babe,” a familiar voice whispers.

Without opening his eyes, Tim grumbles a response that means something along the lines of please let me continue to fucking sleep. Still, the voice doesn’t relent. “Babe,” it repeats. “Tim. C’mon, you’re going to be sore if you sleep on the couch.”

Tim opens his eyes and finds his boyfriend staring back at him. There’s a slight crease in his brow that means he’s concerned but not overly worried.

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” Kon says with a goofy grin. “I’m just gonna move you to the bed so you can actually sleep.”

Tim grunts in assent and Kon slips his arms around him, preparing to pick him up. However, as soon as Kon’s arm presses against the newly-stitched wound on Tim’s side, Tim gasps in pain and instinctively flinches away.

Kon immediately steps back, snatching his hands back. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?”

Pressing a hand to his side, Tim waves Kon off. “A little. It’s fine.”

That little line in Kon’s brow deepens. “That doesn’t sound like a little.” He kneels in front of Tim, looking up at him worriedly. “Are you okay?”

“It’s not that bad, in the grand scheme of things,” Tim rasps. “I was only lightly stabbed.”

“Lightly stabbed.”

“Yeah, just a little. Didn’t even hit any organs or anything.”

Kon glances at Tim’s computer, which is sitting on the coffee table and still open. “And you were planing on working more?”

Tim shrugs. “I have to type up a report.”

“I’m going to suggest an a different idea. Are you ready?”

Raising one eyebrow, Tim gestures for Kon to proceed.

“See, I was talking to Clark the other day and he said the darndest thing,” Kon begins.

Tim can’t keep himself from snorting. “The ‘darndest thing’?”

“Yes,the darndest thing, hush. He said that humans do this absolutely wild thing, you’re never gonna believe it. It’s called sleeping in a bed,” Kon explains, raising both of his eyebrows. “I’m thinking, hey, why don’t you try it?”

“It’s funny that Clark was the one to say. I’m pretty sure that at least twenty percent of his sleep comes from napping in patches of sunlight on the floor,” Tim remarks. “Also, I do sleep in a bed.”

“When did you last sleep in a bed?” Kon counters.

Closing his eyes, Tim hums loudly. “Sorry, Tim is unavailable right now. Please leave a message after the beep. Beep.”

Laughing quietly, Kon places one warm hand on Tim’s knee and rubs circles into it with his thumb. “If I carry you over with my TTK, will you sleep in a bed?”

Tim cracks open one eye. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“...Will there be food in bed?”

“I can heat up some leftovers and bring them to you.”

At last, Tim nods and shuts both of his eyes. “Very well. Bring me to this ‘bed’ you speak of.”

Laughing, Kon stands up and easily scoops Tim up with his TTK. He’s wrapped up in a gentle pressure, but, noticeably, there’s nothing touching his injured side. Tim lets Kon lace their fingers together and lightly lead Tim by the hand as he floats him into their bedroom. The TTK gently deposits Tim on their bed and he opens his eyes as the mattress dips next to him.

“Hey,” Kon says, smiling down at him.

Tim feels himself smile. “Hi,” he replies, and then Kon leans down and kisses him.

“I missed you,” Kon murmurs against Tim’s mouth before planting another kiss on his lips. Leaning into the kiss, Tim tangles his fingers in Kon’s curls. It’s soft and warm and feels like coming home. When they finally pull away, Kon is breathless and smiling crookedly.

“I missed you too,” Tim tells him, and Kon’s smile widens.

“I’ll go reheat something for you, but I wanna check your side after you eat.”

Raising one eyebrow at Kon, Tim pokes him with his foot. “You just want to see me shirtless.”

“That too,” Kon replies, grinning.

Rolling his eyes, Tim nudges Kon with his foot again, earning a laugh as Kon stands up and heads into the kitchen. Tim closes his eyes again and drifts drowsily until Kon returns with food. Only then does Tim finally heave himself upright, wincing at the way that the motion pulls uncomfortably at his stitches.

Kon flops down in bed next to him, tossing his jacket onto the chair in the corner and scrolling through his phone as Tim eats. It looks like some kind of casserole-- one of Ma Kent’s recipes, no doubt. Tim is hungrier than he thought, so he eats quickly and lets Kon float the now-empty dish onto the nightstand.

Sitting up, Kon sets down his phone and turns to face Tim. “All right, let me take a look at your side?”

Tim nods and starts to pull off his sweater, but the motion tugs painfully at his side. He ends up with his head stuck in his sweater and his arms lost somewhere inside the sleeves. Turning to where he assumes Kon must be, Tim shoots him a despairing look through the fabric. “Help.”

“Sure thing, babe.” Giggling, Kon reaches over and carefully frees Tim’s head, then his arms, from his sweater. He tosses it onto the laundry pile in the corner before turning back to Tim. “There, I saved you from the deadly sweater.”

“You saved my life,” Tim deadpans. “However shall I repay you?”

Kon leans in and wiggles his eyebrows. “You can kiss me, you know.”

Smiling, Tim leans in and kisses Kon. “There you go. Happy?”

Kon kisses him once more before drawing away. “Very. All right, let me take a look at you.” He leans back and his eyes flash white as he activates his x-ray vision. “Well, it didn’t break any bones, so that’s good….”

Tim leans back on his hands and holds still as Kon peers at his side.

“Who did your stitches?”

“Jason. Considering the amount of sleep he’s gotten, they’re pretty good.”

“Must be the bat training. Lesson one, how to lurk ominously. Lesson two, how to stitch yourself up. Lesson three, how to punch things.”

“Actually, we didn’t learn how to do stitches on people until later. Alfred had us practice on oranges first.”

“And how did that go?”

Tim grins. “Poorly.”

Kon laughs quietly and pats Tim’s thigh. “It doesn’t look like any stitches tore. You’re right, it didn’t hit any major organs either. Congratulations, you’re still in one piece.”

Yawning, Tim slowly lays back down. “Great, that’s a dream come true.”

“You’re a dream come true, babe,” Kon replies, settling down on his side next to Tim.

Tim turns his head so he can smile at Kon. “That was a cheesy one.”

Grinning, Kon pecks him on the forehead. “I know. Hey, how sore is your side? Think it can stand some light cuddling?”

“Definitely, get over here.”

Kon wriggles closer and carefully throws his arm over Tim’s waist before pillowing his head on Tim’s shoulder. As always, it’s amazing to watch Kon curl his tall frame into a ball as he clings to Tim.

With a soft sigh, Kon nuzzles Tim’s neck. “I love you.”

Tim kisses the top of Kon’s head. “Love you too,” he murmurs.

They stay like that for a minute as Tim closes his eyes. Without opening them, he asks, “What’s the likelihood of you falling asleep on me within an hour?”

“Pretty high. I found you on the couch right after I came home from work, so I’m pretty tired and you’re a good pillow. I could conk out right here.”

Tim hums. “How was work?”

Even without looking, he can tell that Kon is making a face. “Somebody brought in this bike-- this really nasty piece of work, let me tell you-- and wanted me to fix it up. The thing is, the cost to repair it was almost as much as the bike was worth. I told the customer, hey, it’s not worth it, and he got all up in my face about it.”

“Aw, I’m sorry,” Tim murmurs, carding his fingers through Kon’s hair. “You were only trying to help.”

“Exactly! We ended up fixing it up anyways, but the customer was a jerk when he came to pick it up. It freakin’ sucked,” Kon grumbles into Tim’s chest. “I was just trying to be nice!”

Humming, Tim continues running his hands through Kon’s hair. Kon grows quiet and leans into his hand with a pleased sigh. For a few minutes, Tim pets his hair in silence until a familiar rumble fills the air. Smiling, Tim listens to the soothing sound of Kon’s purring and lets the sensation reverberate around his chest.

“Ah, so you’ve started the engine,” Tim remarks casually.

Without lifting his head, Kon grumbles something in reply but continues purring nonetheless.

“For the record, I still think that your purring should be measured in Konpower, not horsepower.”

Kon opens one eye and snuggles closer to Tim before closing it again. Laughing quietly, Tim kisses the top of his head before settling back onto the bed. He closes his eyes and absently pets Kon’s hair as he purrs.

“Hey, babe,” Kon murmurs when Tim is just beginning to drift. “You know that I’m proud of you, right?”

Tim opens his eyes. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“I mean, you’re out there doing all of the superhero stuff alongside us, but you can get injured,” Kon says softly, gazing up at Tim. After a moment, he glances away. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just on my mind because you’re hurt, and everything.”

Tim frowns. “And you’re proud of me for getting injured?”

Shaking his head, Kon’s grip around his waist momentarily tightens. “What I’m trying to say is that you put yourself in danger every time that you’re out there, and that takes guts. That’s all.”

“You can get hurt too,” he says softly. Reaching up to cup Kon’s face, Tim runs his thumb over his cheekbone and watches as Kon’s eyes flutter shut. They don’t often speak of those months when Kon was dead. It happened years ago, now, but Tim still remembers the pain of his loss like a phantom ache in his chest.

Kon inhales a shuddering breath and places his hand over Tim’s. His skin is warm like a miniature sun. “I know,” he whispers. For a moment, the room fills with silence, save for the sound of their quiet breathing. Finally, Kon says, “Still, the way that you run around throwing yourself into every fight you see… I dunno, babe. Seems pretty heroic to me.”

A smile spreads across Tim’s face. “When have you ever known me to back down from a challenge?”

Kon buries his laugh in Tim’s shoulder. “I know, I know. You’re a feral little creature with no fear of god.”

“Exactly.” Tim kisses the top of Kon’s head. “But really, I just want to do the right thing, and sometimes that involves getting into a fight or two. That’s all.”

In response, Kon pushes himself onto his elbows and kisses Tim. When he pulls away, he gently rests their foreheads together. They stay like that, just breathing each other’s air as Tim cups Kon’s face with one hand.

“I really am proud of you,” Kon says at last. “I hate seeing you get hurt, but the shit you do… damn.”

“Somebody has to do it,” Tim replies.

Kon kisses him again before settling down against his side. “You should get some sleep.”

Glancing down at his sweatpants, Tim shrugs. These will do as pajamas. Stifling a yawn, Tim wraps an arm around Kon and pulls him closer. It doesn’t take long for them to fall asleep, all wrapped up in each other. Between the sound of Kon’s soft breathing and his familiar warmth curled into Tim’s side, Tim can finally relax. He’s home.

[lakesandquarries]

Jump the Fence Part One: Something Out Of Nothing

chapter one:  started with a big bang

summary: Post Black Mesa, things get weird. Well, weirder. The Science Team is back, but it's not just them, and Gordon has to learn how to readjust.

notes: series title from “jump the fence” by mother mother, chapter and fic title from “infinitesimal” by mother mother. this is part one of a four part fic and should be about 3 chapters. maybe.

AO3 Link 

Gordon wakes up on his couch, face pressed against the cushions. He’s sore in places he didn’t know existed and exhausted in a way that goes past physical, but mainly he’s confused. For a moment he just lies there, staring at the dark brown fabric of his couch, appreciating the fact that he’s alive. It’s only when he tries to sit up that he realizes things are off.

His hand is missing, replaced by a prosthetic. An admittedly cool looking one, sleek and orange, but - that wasn’t supposed to be real. It was all just a game - or a dream? His VR stuff is nowhere to be seen, and he did essentially just wake up. So why the fuck is he missing a hand now?

A sharp buzz interrupts his thoughts. His phone is on the coffee table next to him, ringing loudly. Gordon lets out a goran, rolling over to grab at it as it screams at him. The caller ID just says “Unknown.” Never a good sign.

“Fuck it,” he says out loud, and answers the call. “Hello?”

“Hello, Gordon!” A familiar voice says, and for a second Gordon thinks he might cry.

“Dr. - Dr. Coomer? Is that you?”

“Indeed it is!” Coomer responds.

“Holy shit,” Gordon says. “Holy shit.”

“I completely agree,” Coomer says, and in the background Gordon can hear other muffled voices.

“Is - is that Bubby?”

“Yes! Tommy is here as well, along with Sunkist!”

“Can you put me on speaker?”

There’s silence, followed by a very muffled conversation where Gordon can just make out Tommy’s voice.

“Mr. Freeman?”

“Tommy!”

“I’m here too, you know,” Bubby cuts in, and there’s a bark in the background.

“It’s so good to hear you guys,” Gordon says, and he means it. He’s smiling so wide that his cheeks hurt.

“I’m very glad to hear you as well, Gordon. However there’s a few things I must ask you! First of all, where are you right now?” Dr. Coomer asks.

“Uh, my apartment. Why?”

“Do you have a car?” Bubby asks.

“Yeah.”

“We may need some assistance,” Dr. Coomer continues. “For you see, we are all still in Black Mesa!”

“What’s left of it, at least,” Bubby grumbles.

“What do you mean?” Gordon asks, running his hand through his hair. Oh, that feels weird with the prosthetic.

“It’s real fucked up,” Bubby says, which explains absolutely nothing.

“It looks like it got hit by the Tri-State Tornado of 1925,” Tommy says, which also explains nothing.

“The most "extreme" tornado in recorded history was the Tri-State Tornado , which spread through parts of Missouri , Illinois , and Indiana on March 18, 1925. It is considered an F5 on the Fujita Scale , even though -”

“Cool, got it, thank you Dr. Coomer.” God, he missed them. Granted, he’s only been apart from them for like ten minutes, but that was ten minutes where he thought he would never see them again. “Right, okay, do you guys need me to come get you?” Oh, fuck, are they gonna need somewhere to stay?” With the initial excitement of hearing his friends fading, Gordon is starting to realize the actual logistics of this. Three entire people have apparently sprung into existence in a place that doesn’t exist. Plus a dog. Where are they gonna stay?

“I don’t wanna be here a second longer than I have to,” Bubby says. “How the hell did you get to wake up somewhere new while we’re all stuck in this shit hole?”

You’re not real, Gordon thinks but doesn’t say. “I dunno, man.” He puts his own phone on speaker, opening the maps app. How the fuck is he gonna find a place that doesn’t exist?

Except when he opens the app it shows him places he has saved. Right under Home is Work, and work is apparently located at “Black Mesa Research Facility”.

“What the fuck,” he says.

“What?” Tommy asks. “Is something wrong, Mr. Freeman?”

“Everything’s fine,” Gordon says. He doesn’t wanna reveal anything to them, not yet at least. That's not a conversation to have over the phone. “I’ll be there in 20, okay? I’m gonna hang up while I drive but call if - if anything happens. I’ll be there soon.”

“We’ll see you then, Gordon,” Dr. Coomer says, and with an echoing bye from the three of them, he hangs up.

---

He spends the drive over having a mild panic attack. The route feels at once new and familiar, roads he recognizes moving in ways that feel just a little off. Even the music on the radio seems weird, though that might just be his imagination - he doesn’t actually listen to the radio that often.

Black Mesa isn’t a far drive. Gordon can imagine working there, picking an apartment based on location, commuting everyday. But Black Mesa isn’t real . Or, it wasn’t, until today. Because regardless of what he remembers, he pulls into the parking lot and the building is right there.

He understands what the Science Team was talking about, now. The glass windows are all shattered, the door completely smashed. He carefully picks his way inside, avoiding especially large shards, and the front desk has been crushed by a fallen chunk of ceiling.

He opens his phone and redials Dr. Coomer’s number, hoping for a quick response. He picks up almost instantly. “Hello, Gordon!”

“I’m here! I’m in the front lobby, I think? The aboveground part. Where are you guys?”

“We’re in the main building! I suppose it would be easier for us to come to you, though, wouldn’t it, Gordon?”

“I really do not wanna go any deeper into this place,” Gordon admits. Coomer chuckles.

“I don’t blame you! Well, we’ll start trying to find our way up. Don’t go anywhere!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Gordon says, and he hangs up again.

He does a little exploring as he waits for the Science Team, wandering around the remains of the lobby. The ceiling has almost completely caved in, but he manages to find a small waiting area that's semi-intact, with one chair left miraculously unscathed. He takes a seat, looking over the assorted magazines left on the table. A couple he even recognizes. He flips through them quickly, and quite a few reference Black Mesa, mentioning their research in fields from genetic engineering to theoretical physics. Apparently the experiment that got them attention in the first place was a successful sheep cloning done decades ago, and that got them enough funding to branch out into other things.

What the fuck.

Well, no one’s here anymore. Can’t hurt if he just...takes them.

It’s then that he hears voices, distant and indistinct, but Gordon knows his friends well enough by now. He scoops up the magazines and starts heading towards the noise, grabbing the handle to the stairwell just as Coomer pulls it open. Gordon’s pulled with it, colliding with Coomer’s burly chest.

“Hello, Gordon!” Coomer says, wrapping him up in a hug.

“Hi Dr. Coomer,” Gordon wheezes as Coomer’s arms squeeze all the air out of him. He finally releases Gordon, who has to take a second and lean against the wall to get his breath back. Tommy pats him on the shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he says. Tommy beams at him. “Fuck. Okay. It’s good to see you guys again,” Gordon says, some of the tension leaving his shoulders for the first time since he woke up. “Whadya say we get out of here?”

“Please,” Bubby says.

Gordon leads them to the car. Tommy calls shotgun as soon as they step outside, which Gordon is happy to oblige, and soon enough they’re on the road.

“So, I’m not gonna have space in my apartment for everyone to stay. What do you guys think of getting a hotel?”

“We don’t have any money, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy says, turning his pockets inside out.

“It’s cool, I figured I’d cover it.” He doesn’t really have the money for this but it’s fine. It’s fine! He’ll work something out.

There’s a pretty decent hotel a couple blocks from his apartment. Gordon had stayed there once when the electricity got all fucked up and couldn’t get fixed for a week, and for a few dudes who have presumably lived in Black Mesa their whole lives it’s probably gonna seem amazing .

“They better have a hot tub,” Bubby says from the backseat. Gordon glances in the rearview mirror to see him scrunched up sideways in the middle seat, leaning against Coomer. Neither of them have their seat belts on, though somehow Sunkist does.

“Guys, come on. Wear your seatbelts.” He waits until he hears the click to keep talking. “I’m pretty sure they have one. Shit, maybe I’ll stay with you guys too. Be nicer than my apartment.”

“Uh, Mr. Freeman?”

Gordon risks a glance at the passenger seat. Tommy’s staring intently at his phone, propeller hat spinning slowly. “Whats up?”

“My dad just messaged me,” Tommy says. Gordon almost considers pulling over and demanding to see the texts. “He, uh, he said I can come stay with him?”

“I thought you were an orphan?” Bubby asks, leaning forward and grabbing onto Gordon’s seat.

“It’s complicated,” Tommy says. “But, uh, if you guys wanna come stay too, I’m sure it’ll be fine!”

Bubby makes a thoughtful noise. “Wait, is your dad the weird guy in the suit who was at Chuck E Cheese? Fuck no, I’m not staying with him.”

“I’d like to stay with Bubby,” Coomer says.

“Okay, well, I’ll guess we’ll...split up, then. Coomer and Bubby can get a hotel, Tommy stays with his dad, I go home.”

“We’ll see each other again though, right?” Tommy asks, eyebrows furrowed.

Gordon and Coomer both say “Of course!” at the exact same moment. Gordon keeps one hand on the wheel as he reaches over to Tommy and rests the other on his knee. “You guys are stuck with me whether you like it or not. Science Team stays together.”

Tommy pats his hand, and doesn’t say anything else as they pull into the parking lot of the Los Gatos Garden Inn. The four of them shuffle into the lobby, Sunkist staying in the car - windows rolled down, of course. Tommy and Coomer immediately get distracted by the tourist brochures, even though most of them advertise places a long drive from where they are. Bubby, at least, is being helpful. Sorta.

“Just so you know, we only have singles available right now. That’s a room with just one bed,” the receptionist informs them.

Gordon turns to Bubby. “You and Coomer gonna be okay with that?”

Bubby hunches his shoulders up. “I can sleep on the floor if I have to,” he says.

“If you insist.”

Gordon books it. It’s not as bad as he was worried it would be, but still, he has a need to check his bank account. To his surprise, when he opens his banking app, he’s informed that he has nearly a million dollars that were just deposited. Clicking the deposit gives him no useful information, the source being a string of glitched out text.

Okay. Sure. Fine! Why not.

Bubby’s eyeing him strangely, like he wants to ask something, but Gordon ignores him. “Okay! Coomer, Bubby, you guys are set. Do you, uh...need anything?” Oh, shit, they don’t have any stuff, do they? Everything they owned is probably still in Black Mesa, if it even existed in the first place. “Do we need to go shopping?”

Bubby picks up the collar of his lab coat, sniffs it, and recoils. “Yes, we do.”

“Alright. Let’s fucking…go to Target, I guess?”

---

Wrangling the three of them through Target may actually be harder than getting through Black Mesa. It feels like every second someone is wandering off, getting sidetracked by something. First it’s Bubby insisting he needs some space suit pajamas, then Tommy discovering the toys section, then Coomer harassing some random employee he somehow mistook for Gordon. At least Sunkist is behaving. She doesn’t have a leash, but she stays near Tommy anyway and doesn’t run off once.

“Guys, we do not need all this,” Gordon says as Tommy stacks a third 12-pack of soda in the cart. “We’re just getting the essentials. Some clothing, toothbrushes, that sorta thing. Okay?”

He feels like he’s aged several years by the time they make it out. But they’re out, and Gordon’s bank still says it has a ridiculous amount of money, and they have everything they could need for the next while, so. Gordon’s feeling confident. He drops Bubby and Coomer off at the hotel, helping them carry everything inside. They’ll be okay there. It’s one of those hotels you can basically live in long term, with a minikitchen and everything. He wonders how the single bed is gonna go.

Well, not his problem.

“Alright, next up is to take you to your dad’s, right?”

Tommy nods, buckling his seatbelt, then rattles off the address. Gordon plugs it into his gps. It’s barely ten minutes from his apartment.

Gordon’s running out of things to say, but Tommy seems content with the silence. They’ve never really gotten to have a peaceful quiet like this. In Black Mesa quiet moments never lasted very long, and the day has been extremely hectic. It’s not until Gordon is pulling up to Tommy’s house that he feels the need to speak.

“Holy shit , dude. Your dad lives in a fucking mansion. Why were you staying in the Black Mesa dorms?”

“I-it’s company policy, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy says, wringing his hands together. Gordon doesn’t press. Probably didn’t exist in the game - though in that case, how does it exist now?

He can worry later. Tommy’s getting out of the car, and Gordon offers to help him carry stuff but Tommy assures him he’s fine. Gordon’s glad, to tell the truth - he doesn’t wanna risk interacting with G-Man again.

“I’ll see you later, Mr. Freeman!” Tommy says as he waves goodbye, and Sunkist gives a single farewell bark.

“See ya soon, Tommy,” Gordon says, and he drives off.

[the-book-reaper]

my @thewitchersecretsanta gift for @saltytransidiot!! I’m no IndigoDream, inexplicifics, round--robin, or any of the other amazing authors in this fandom, but I hope this makes you smile 💕💕

Jaskier absolutely loves wintering at Kaer Morhen. Geralt had finally worked up the nerve to invite him  to meet his family two years ago. They’d been together for thirteen years and together for a little over five.

Jaskier loves the winter because it’s really the only time Geralt gets to completely relax. With his father-figure (though none of them would ever admit it) and brothers there, isolated from a world that seems to wish them every harm.

read on ao3 here

Even after just two winters with them, Jaskier loves Lambert and Eskel. Not in the same way as he loves Geralt, of course, but as some mix of friend and brother. Eskel showed him around the library and Jaskier is teaching him how to craft his own lute, since every lute made for a human would be much too small. Lambert, while he loves his pranks, is quite clever and they can spend hours trading riddles and jokes.

He’d been expecting at least some animosity from Vesemir, considering he is the first “human” to enter Kaer Morhen since the raids. Geralt had blushed so adorably when Vesemir casually mentioned how often he talks about his bard. Jaskier likes doing food prep with him, though he’ll leave the actually cooking to the old wolf. The few times he tried… well, let’s just say those scorch marks in the stone of the kitchen weren’t completely intentional.

He loves cuddling up to Geralt in the evenings, all five of them around the crackling fireplace. He’d tried one sip of Lambert’s moonshine and started tearing up from the sheer amount of alcohol in it. The wolves would need a lot of human drinks to get drunk, so they usually only can during the winter. Every coin they make on the Path goes to food, shelter, supplies, and the occasional prostitute. Anyway, they don’t feel safe enough around humans to allow themselves to be in such a vulnerable state even if they did have the money.

Vesemir never gets terribly drunk. Actually, Jaskier has never seen him act even just the littlest bit intoxicated, even though the witchers drink from the same barrel and roughly the same amount. Eskel either stops after he feels tipsy or drinks until he falls asleep. Lambert usually has to be cut off once he starts suggesting things like going outside—during a blizzard—to spar. Naked.

And Geralt. Oh, how Jaskier loves his witcher. Completely sober, Geralt always maintains at least one point of contact with him if they’re in the same room. After one drink, he purrs easily and will grumble at Jaskier if he stops playing with his hair. At two, Geralt either pulls him into his lap, or is nearly in Jaskier's lap.

Somewhere between three and four is the adorable sweet-spot. When he hits this point, Geralt gets sad if Jaskier's attention strays from him too long. He demands many kisses, pouts if he only gets a peck, and whines adorably if Jaskier refuses him outright. Jaskier will herd him to their room at this point, where he cuddles his darling witcher until he falls asleep, secure in his arms.

This year, he is very much looking forward to exchanging their gifts. Geralt has been extremely secretive about his present, and the anticipation is killing him. This year, Jaskier’s gotten his love a couple new journals with some pencils, colored chalks, and a few paints.

Geralt recently shared that he initially had a lot of trouble with memorizing the bestiary. After the first couple beatings when he couldn’t answer the Masters’ questions, he learned that if he drew each monster, labeling as he went, he was able to retain the information much easier. Soon, he had a sketchbook completely filled with drawings and his only bruises were from training or roughhousing.

But once he’d memorized the bestiary completely, he didn’t want to stop drawing. So he started filling up notebooks with sketches of herbs and flowers, whether or not they had a use. Then he turned to anything he could think of, really.

Nothing is secret in Kaer Morhen though, and the other trainees mocked him mercilessly about it. Eventually he just stopped drawing altogether. Once he was on the Path, he didn’t exactly have much coin to spare on such frivolous things.

When the bard started improving his image, however… Geralt found his coin-purse to be not nearly as empty as it was before. Still, he worried that Jaskier would make fun of him about this hidden interest as well.

He honestly can’t even remember how, but Jaskier did find out and actually supported it, surprisingly. Jaskier had even been the one to buy his first notebook along with a few different pencils.

He never made fun of him, instead praising his art to a near ridiculous extent. Ridiculous to Geralt, that is. Jaskier insisted he was merely being honest.

Now Yule is coming up, and Jaskier has his gifts prepared. The art supplies for Geralt. A good set of strings for Eskel’s lute and some more sheet music. For Lambert he’s brought a book of 500 names since the idiot never calls his horses anything but “Horse” as well as more of that fancy soap he pretends to hate.

Vesemir is always the toughest. The old wolf doesn’t want for much, and it’s pretty bad form—in Jaskier's opinion—to give a person a gift they’ve already received in the past. Last year, Jaskier gave him an extremely old book of poetry written in Elder Speech he’d gotten for a steal at the market. The poor merchant had absolutely no idea about the true value of it!

That find had just been a fluke however, but he somehow got lucky again this year.

--

Now, four Wolves and one bard lounge by an open fire, safe and content. Jaskier takes another sip of his hot tea, the warmth spreading through his body. He can’t help but snuggle in closer to Geralt, who squeezes him gently with the arm around his waist. Finally, it’s time to open presents.

Jaskier insists they open their gifts from him first. He simply can’t take any more anticipation; he needs to know what they think. They’ll probably like them, but there’s always that little niggling voice telling him they’ll only say they like it to be polite.

“Oh, fuck you.” It seems Lambert has opened his gift the fastest. “And why do you keep getting me this fancy-pantsy soap?”

“Why do you keep using it?” Jaskier teases. Geralt chuckles at Lambert’s petulant grumble. Warmth completely unrelated to his tea blooms in Jaskier's chest. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being nice to yourself every once in a while, my little wolf.”

Lambert growls at him, but can’t protest because he is several decades younger than Jaskier.

Eskel and Vesemir love their gifts, which is good because Jaskier had no doubt whatsoever that they would. Absolutely none.

He turns to Geralt, who had been able to open his gift with only the one hand, and is staring down at the art supplies in his lap. Jaskier doesn’t think he’s breathing. His heart drops. “Darling? It’s okay if you don’t like-”

Geralt quickly sets the gift aside, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. His shoulders are shaking suspiciously. “Oh! Oh, my dear. I take it you do like your present, then?” Jaskier tries to add a teasing tone to his words, but he really was not expecting this kind of reaction.

“Thank you,” Geralt whispers emphatically into his neck.

Jaskier adjusts his grip on his—thankfully unsplit—tea and hugs him back just as fiercely. After a moment, Geralt releases him, kissing him softly.

There’s a gagging sound to their right and Jaskier has to pull away to laugh. Eskel cuffs Lambert on the back of the head—almost starting a spat—but Vesemir growls at them before it can go much further.

They move on to opening Vesemir’s gifts, no one mentioning the water in Geralt's eyes. Despite being crass and rough with each other, the Wolves know when not to make fun of something.

They open their gifts from Geralt last. Jaskier unties the meticulously wrapped string and unfolds the paper. Inside is something made from yarn, a light lavender that’s ever-so-slightly reflective. He runs a finger over the indescribably soft yarn, breathing in sharply. The fabric unfolds as he picks it up, revealing it to be a long scarf. Holding it closer, he can see the beautiful design woven along its entire length. There are a few breaks in the pattern, but they only make it more perfect.

Geralt spent gods know how long making this, either late at night or early in the morning, most likely frustratedly undoing his work half the time. That he spent so much time and effort, remembering how Jaskier is sensitive to the cold, and deciding to do something about it… His eyes prickle with an emotion he cannot name, he only knows that the word “love” is not strong enough.

He looks up at Geralt, who seems nervous. “Darling… You made this?” he whispers, just to be sure. Geralt nods and Jaskier mimics his love’s actions from earlier, throwing his arms around him—mindful of his drink, of course—and holding him close. “I love it so much. I can’t even imagine how difficult it must have been!” Jaskier releases him and holds the scarf up. “Will you put it on me?”

With reverent hands, Geralt wraps it loosely around his neck. Jaskier rubs a cheek against the yarn, breathing in Geralt's scent, etched into every fiber.

What happened after that, Jaskier honestly couldn’t tell you. The rest of the night passes in a sort of happy daze. Geralt gets all gooey with him and Vesemir herds them all off to bed.

He would have slept with the scarf on, but his dear witcher is much too fond of falling asleep with his nose buried in Jaskier's neck. They both relish in the little touches. Being able to hear the other’s heartbeat, feel their chest move as they breathe.

The undeniable truth of it gets to Jaskier sometimes. That scarf is just one more testament to their love. He really had been loathe to part with it so soon, but it would have just become tangled or stifling in the night. Besides, no item of clothing—even one made by Geralt—could ever amount to the man himself.

[sammiexwtf]

DIO Sounds About Right

Hi please enjoy my shitty JJBA fic (You can find it on AO3 and Wattpad with the same name) NSFW

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“Giorno I am so sorry that you haven’t been on good terms with your father practically since your birth, but I am NOT failing this project just because you want to avoid him,” You huffed. The blonde man on your phone screen shot you an annoyed look, which most likely mirrored the one on your own face.

“I don’t know why you’re so damn adamant on staying at my house to finish this project Y/N. I’ve already stayed over at your place countless of times and as a plus you’re closer to the library, we could just walk over when we need to,” Giorno let out a deep sigh as he leaned against his bed frame. “You know how I get when he’s around and since his business trip was cancelled he’ll be here for the whole weekend.”

“Look Gio, I know you try and avoid him as much as possible and I’m not clueless about your feelings towards him,” you mumbled with a small frown. “It’s just that my roommate is planning on using the apartment for one of her ridiculous parties and we’re not going to have any peace for our work if you come over here. Besides, even if your dad is going to be home all weekend you always tell me he locks himself in his study, so it’s not like we’re going to be graced with his presence anyways.”

“Still it’s just the simple thought of being under the same roof as him that’s bothering me. Plus, I don’t think you’ve even met my dad, so you wouldn’t really understand why I’m so against it.”

“You make it sound like he’s some sort of monster, maybe we should start calling him Count Dracula or something.” Your friend snorted at your stupid joke, trying to hide his smile by turning his face away from the screen.”Either way you won’t be completely alone with him if I’m there, and I know you wouldn’t be able to put up with a bunch of drunk college girls trying to get you into their panties.” At your last remark the blonde made a look of disgust and knew that you basically won the argument. If there was one thing that bothered Giorno the most, it was those self proclaimed ‘fans’ of his that were scattered throughout the university that you both attended, your roommate being one of them. Trying to avoid their affections while they were drunk would cause him even more displeasure than usual.

“Fine then. I’ll text you the address.” You couldn’t hide your excitement as you jumped out of bed to start packing your bag. This would be the first time going over to Giorno’s house since you’ve met him, and you weren’t going to waste any time if he decided to change his mind last minute.

“Alright I’ll see you soon then. Bye Giogio!”

“I told you not to call me that!” You playfully stuck your tongue out at the blonde before ending the FaceTime call to finish packing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed at the enormous house before you, flicking your head back and forth between the address Giorno had sent to you and the one plated in gold above the large double set doors. You even asked the boy more than once if he sent you the wrong address by mistake, earning you a barrage of middle finger emojis and obscenities at having to repeat himself over and over. Gingerly you lifted your hand to the doorbell and rang it, hearing the chime as clear as day echo inside. Your eyes shifted above the doorbell and noticed a plaque with the name ‘Brando’ etched across it. The sound of one of the doors opening gained your attention once more as a gorgeous young woman stepped out from them. She was wearing what looked to be a tight fitting maid’s uniform, with long brown hair swept to the side and cascading down one of her shoulders.

“Welcome to the Brando residence,” She said with a polite smile. “How can I help you Miss?”

‘Brando residence?” You thought to yourself. ‘I thought Giorno’s last name was Giovanna?’

“Uh hi...I’m looking for Giorno? I’m not sure if I’m at the right address.” The young woman perked up at Giorno’s name and stepped aside, holding the door open with a warm smile.

“You must be Y/N! Please come inside, Mr.Giovanna is indeed expecting you tonight!” At the confirmation you let out a breath of relief before stepping through the threshold, only to stop at the sight of the marble staircase before you. The house was far from being considered a mansion, but nonetheless did it look like something straight off of one of those celebrity reality shows. You jumped at the sound of the large door closing behind you, forgetting momentarily about the girl as she quickly made her way towards you. “Just give me one moment to go get Mr.Giovanna for you, he was insistent about showing you the house on his own.” All you could do was nod your head as words seem to fail as she hastily made her way up the stairs. You didn’t have time to look around though as Giorno came around from the top of the stairs and smiled down at you.

“This would be the part where I’d say welcome to my humble abode, but there is absolutely nothing humble about this monstrosity, my father made sure of that,” He sneered. He motioned with his hand for you to come up and you quickly began to ascend the stairs. Once you were at the top it didn’t seem as scary as before, but the rest of the home was just as beautiful. You honestly weren’t paying attention to where you were going, you were trying to take in everything at once from the amazing artwork that lined the walls, to ornate furniture, and even taking a moment to look at how pristine the hardwood floors were that you could practically see your face through it. Ok, maybe they weren’t that clean but still.

Before you knew it, you were in Gio’s bedroom as he made his way to his bed and opened his laptop. His bedroom was a simple creme color, a coffee brown bookcase filled with novels and trophies was lined next to a window that reached from the floor to the ceiling. Directly across from his bed was a flatscreen T.V sitting on top of a matching brown dresser. His walls were covered in paintings that looked as if they belonged in an art museum and a map of the world hung above his headboard. You stared down at his bed then, afraid to sit down as you didn’t want to wrinkle the deep purple duvet atop it. It took Gio a moment to realize that you were still standing by the doorway, his eyes following yours as they danced across his room as well before stopping right back at you.

“What?”

“Why am I just finding out now, after 2 years of friendship might I add, that you’re fucking loaded? I mean I knew you came from a family with SOME money but holy shit dude!” You stared into his green eyes, looking for an answer. Only to be met with a smile.

“Well technically I’m not rich. My father is. Hence there was nothing to find out.” You gave the blonde a dirty look, earning a chuckle from him before deciding that the bed was no longer intimidating and sat down on it.

“You know what I meant. I know you said your dad had a busy job, but what does he do to be able to own a house like this? Is he part of the mafia?” This time your question earned you a hearty laugh from your friend and you felt your ears get hot, not liking to be laughed at when you were being serious. You threw your duffle bag at Giorno, only for him to catch it with ease before placing it next to him on the bed. “I’m not trying to be funny Gio! Answer me!”

“First and foremost, you should know the mafia is MY forte, and I probably would respect the man if he actually was a member. It would make getting in a bit more easier.” You snorted at his answer. If you had a dollar for every time the boy mentioned dropping out of school to join the mafia you’d probably be as rich as his father by now. “However, every now and then he gets one as a client, if they’re willing to pay good that is. He’s a lawyer.” You looked around once more and out the open door as the maid walked by carrying a basket full of laundry. If this is what a lawyer could afford, maybe you were studying the wrong major.

“I have one more question.” Gio simply nodded his head for you to continue as he began typing on his laptop, pulling up the notes for the project you were assigned. “Why did that maid say this was the Brando residence? There was a plaque outside too with that name. I thought your last name was Giovanna?”

“It is Giovanna,” he answered without looking up from the computer screen. “That was my mother’s maiden name. My father’s last name is Brando. They were never married.” His curt reply told you that there was definitely more behind the story, but you decided not to press the issue for now and kept any more questions to yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roughly three or four hours had passed since you and Giorno had begun working on your project, satisfied with the work so far you both decided to take a break. The due date wasn’t until a week from now, but this project was for your marine biology class and the professor was known for being a hardass when it came to grading so the sooner you could work on it, the more time you could use to perfect it before it reached him. You tossed your pen onto the bed, cracking your fingers and stretching your arms. Giorno had brought out his espresso machine an hour into the session and was now brewing himself another cup. You honestly never heard of anyone who kept a spare coffee machine in their bedroom, but Giorno mentioned that while he lived in Italy, it apparently was a normal thing. You called bullshit but decided not to break your head over it anymore.

“You sure you don’t want another cup of coffee Y/N?” You covered your mouth to stifle a yawn, wagging your finger at him.

“No thank you, if I drink too much caffeine I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Besides,” You added while hopping off of his bed. “Another cup of anything and I think my bladder will explode. Where’s the closest bathroom in this maze?”

“Down the hallway on the other end of the staircase, turn right.”

“Grazie!” He simply shot you a thumbs up as you made your way out with his, albeit vague, directions. Soon you went down the hallway and passed the stairs. “Alright he said turn right and we should be in business…” As soon as you turned the corner you stopped to see three doors, one on the right side closest to you and two on the left. All three were closed and Giorno hadn’t mentioned there’d be more than one door. “Well...only one way to find out.” Without another thought you naturally went to the single door on the right and opened it without hesitation. Not the brightest idea.

You halted in place, mouth going dry. The door you opened led not to the bathroom but to an older looking study. The three walls in front of you were lined ceiling to floor with bookcases, a small globe in the corner. In the center of it was a large mahogany desk, covered in scattered papers. What made you really stop however was the tall and muscular blond man casually leaning against the desk...with the maid on her knees facing him. The moment you had opened the door he had slowly looked up from the woman to you, not even startled by your intrusion. At first the only sounds you could hear was your own rapid heartbeat echoing in your ears, but now you were focusing on the sounds coming from the maid and noticing how her head was bobbing. A blush began to creep up your neck to your face as it looked like he made no intentions of stopping her either.

“Is there something I can help you with? I’m a bit busy if you couldn’t tell.” His deep voice had wrapped around your mind, slowly dragging you out of your thoughts. It sounded so calm, despite the current situation. You had to basically tear your eyes from the scene in front of you, your face burning more.

“I-I’m so sorry! I was just looking for-” You began to stutter, but he raised a hand stop you mid sentence.

“It’s the door across.” You quickly bowed and practically slammed the door shut, missing the sinful look on the man's face as he watched your retreating form.

You bolted into the room across, thankful this time for it actually being the bathroom as you locked the door letting out a shaky breath. You had no doubt in your mind that you had just met Giorno’s father, and unceremoniously at that.

“What a great first impression,” You thought aloud. You made your way to the sink to run some cool water on your face in hopes of getting your flustered look back to normal. After you were done and completed your original business you just stood at the closed door, you were a bit nervous to step foot outside the bathroom if god forbid HE was to come out at the same time. Unfortunately, god decided to dislike you at this moment as you heard a small knock on the restroom door. “Just a second,” You shakily called out. Deeply hoping it was Giorno wondering what was taking you so long. When you finally had the gall to open the door you were instead met with the sight of the young maid, her hair this time was a bit disheveled and a small pink tint was hinting at her cheeks.

“Hello again Ms. Y/N,” She squeaked out. This time she would not meet your eyes, looking towards the ground instead. “Mr. Brando would like for you to join him in his study for a moment. I will be taking my leave for the evening, please enjoy the rest of your stay.” She bowed and sped away and out of sight, not giving you a chance to apologize about walking in on them. You swept your eyes over the closed door to the study across from you, feeling a cold sweat begin to form on your brow. You inhaled deeply before settling your nerves and walking over. This time you knocked on the door and waited for an answer.

“Come in.” With another deep breath you slowly edged the door open, once again being welcomed by the dimly lit study. This time the man, whom you now knew was in fact Giorno’s father, sat behind his desk patiently, fingertips pressed together right above his wide chest. “I’m glad you learned how to knock this time,” He teased with a grin.

“Trust and believe I learned my lesson, again I want to properly apologize about intruding on...something so private.” You could hear your voice falter under his intense gaze, and he let out a deep chuckle. The sound was so alluring, and you felt your throat beginning to dry.

“That’s quite alright. I wanted us to start over on that first impression. Given the maid explained to me you’re a friend of my son, I didn’t think it appropriate for your first meeting of me to be in the middle of having my cock sucked,” He stated as if he were just talking about a small inconvenience. Your eyes widened at his crudeness and you couldn’t help but blush and look away, positive that you were as red as a cherry now.

“Well then...I appreciate the second chance then Mr. Brando.”

“Dio.”

“I beg your pardon?” You turned your face back to him, now he had his arms resting beside him on the chair. There was an almost playful look in his eyes.

“You can call me Dio. Mr. Brando is far too old for my taste.”

‘Of course his name would be something like Dio...how well it suits him too,’ You thought to yourself.

“Alright then...Dio. I’m Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You bowed to formally greet the man, and when you looked back up he was beckoning you with his finger to come forward. You thought about just staying put but in the end began walking towards him. As you got closer, you were able to notice his features more clearly. His vibrant blond hair sat at neck length, small fringes of bangs reaching right about his thick brows. His eyes almost looked cat like, predatory even yet strikingly alluring. You assumed they were a light brown color but with the dim lighting they almost looked red, adding a supernatural aura to him. He was gorgeous, and now you knew where Giorno got his looks from. Once you reached the edge of his desk, he held out his hand for you, almost as if he were asking for a handshake. You reached out your own to reach his, taking notice at how incredibly large his hand was to yours. However he gently wrapped his fingers around your hand and leaned over, placing a warm kiss on your knuckles. The small action immediately sent a wave of heat through your entire body. He looked up at you through hooded eyes, not moving your hand away from his face. Your blush had never left, and the heat began to grow unbearable as you watched his eyes slowly sweep down your face, stopping for a moment at your lips before coming back up to lock once more with your own.

“The pleasure is mine, Ms. Y/N.” His voice dropped to a seductive whisper, the breath from his words ghosting over your knuckles and sending a shiver down your spine. Slowly he slipped his hand from yours, lingering on your fingertips for the briefest of moments before resting it on his thigh. You followed his movements with your eyes, noticing how thick and muscular his thighs were, straining against the fabric of his beige dress pants. Your eyes crept up, landing on the small amount of skin peeking out from his shirt he hadn’t bothered to tuck back in. The white button down seemed to be a second skin, as it clung to every contour and muscle on his body, the first two buttons undone to give you a glimpse of just what lies underneath. Finally, your journey stopped on his lips; deliciously pouty and upturned into one of the most devilish smirks you’d ever seen. “See something you like?” You dragged your eyes up completely to meet his, only to be greeted with an intense gaze that burned through your entire body. He had watched you ogle him shamelessly like a horny school girl, and couldn’t look more proud about it. At that moment the door to the study swung open, snapping you out of your trance.

“I was worried you got lost, looks more like you got trapped.” Giorno’s familiar voice was laced with venom, his face contorted to one of disgust. He stayed at the entrance of the study, holding the door open to allow the light from the hallway to seep through. He was focused solely on Dio, who sat relaxed in his chair unbothered by the angry blonde boy.

“Oh, what a pleasant surprise my son.” He emphasized the last two words, earning an eye twitch from the younger. “ I was just introducing myself to your exquisite friend here. I’m quite hurt that you hadn’t introduced me to her sooner.” Giorno simply scoffed at his father’s words.

“Well now that you’ve met, I’d like to have her returned to me now. We have a project to finish.” Giorno then turned his eyes to you, his gaze softening immensely. “Come on Y/N, I ordered us some takeout and it should be here soon so we can get back to work.”

“O-oh. Uh thanks Gio,” You mumbled. Your mind was still in a bit of a haze, but you were beginning to get your bearings. You turned to look at Dio and bowed once more. “It was nice meeting you Mr...I mean Dio. Please have a great rest of your evening.” With that you turned and began high tailing towards the door. Giorno moved back into the hallway as you approached, but before you could close the door that seductive voice reached out to you once more.

“Y/N,” he purred out. Slowly you turned towards him, hand still in the door knob. “If you need anything at all tonight, please do not hesitate to come look for me. You are our guest here and it would be my...” his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, “greatest pleasure to assist you.” You couldn’t help but swallow at the second meaning behind his words. Afraid to hear your own voice you simply nodded your head before softly closing the door behind you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Giorno had interrogated you for a bit on your meeting with Dio, and you lied and told him you simply got curious after finding the bathroom and stumbled upon the study. You could tell he knew you were leaving something out but you would be damned if you actually told him the real way you found his father. After making sure you were ok enough for him and confirming that the man never touched you he dropped the subject and you both went on with the project while enjoying the food he had ordered. At around 1 AM you both agreed on turning in for the night and to continue in the morning. Giorno showed you to the guest room right next to his and bid you goodnight, finally leaving you alone with your thoughts. You laid on top of the bed just staring at the ceiling for a while. No matter how hard you tried, you kept replaying the meeting with Dio over and over again to the point that the memory of the maid slowly morphed and it was now you on your knees in front of him instead of her.

“Get out of my head!” You angrily whispered, not wanting for your friend to hear you through the walls. You glanced at your phone to see the time, ‘1:30 AM’ mocked the bright numbers. You got up from the bed and dug through your duffle bag and pulled out your pajamas. You thought about just changing and forcing yourself to sleep but you felt too warm and wanted a shower. Immediately you thought about going to the one down the hall but your stomach dropped, you did NOT want to run into you know who. “This house is huge, there’s definitely another bathroom somewhere.” You slowly made your way out of the room and into the quiet hallway. You checked the other rooms near yours only to find another guest room and a movie room, which you knew you were going to beg Giorno to set up a movie night after all of this. You walked down the hall and stopped at the stairs, looking at the hallway across from you where you knew the bathroom was.

“Maybe he’s not there anymore and went to bed?” You said to yourself. You shook your head and continued on your mission of finding another bathroom and descended down the stairs, you weren’t going to take any chances. Finally after finding the kitchen, two more guest rooms and a billiards room, you found a second bathroom. It was smaller and less ornate than the one up stairs but it was still a decent size and had a stand up shower. You mentally cheered before placing down your items and quickly began stripping. Soon you were in the shower letting the cool water bounce across your skin, feeling the tension in your body slowly melt away. Occasionally your mind would wander onto the relationship Giorno had with his father, yes the man was indeed intimidating and there was something below the surface of that beautiful face that felt a bit dangerous, but there was nothing else that struck out to you as to why your friend couldn’t stand him. He’s told you about how egotistical the man is and how they always lived on edge of a fight, but never actually gave you hard proof or reasons for the intense dislike. Giorno had told you about his mother and how a complete bitch she was while he was growing up and everything she had put him through so you understood his feelings towards her completely. Eventually she dumped him off onto Dio one day and just disappeared from his life, ‘good riddance’ he had told you. Yet the mechanics of his relationship with his father was still kept a mystery to you and he would close up about it if you started asking too many questions. The only answer you’ve gotten so far was that they shared a difference in morals, and that was it.

After a good while you finished your shower and started to dry off. You felt as if a thousand weights were lifted from your shoulders and quickly put the events of the evening to the back of your mind, finally feeling sleepy. You began to get dressed but noticed something odd. You could have sworn you brought a clean pair of underwear to change into along with your pajamas. You looked around the bathroom floor to see if maybe it had fallen but found nothing.

“Maybe I left them in the bag by accident?” You shrugged your shoulders and just decided to just slip on your night shorts without underwear , you’d put some on when you got back to your room. You opted for a simple tank top as well to complete the look, your body was still a bit wet so the shirt became damp making the material a bit see through. You didn’t really care much, not like you were going to run into anybody like this..

You made your way out of the bathroom, the air inside the house suddenly felt a lot more colder and you began to shiver. Scurrying your way through the first floor you finally made it back to the stairs and started to climb them. You hadn’t noticed the extra pair of footsteps walking the hall until you were half way up, stopping completely in your tracks and if you hadn’t met him tonight the sight before you would’ve been a terrifying one. Dio stood at the top of the stairs, his back facing the little bit of light from the hall so all you could really see was the outline of his body, his face was completely hidden in the shadows. It felt like you were looking at a ghost and not a man.

“What a coincidence, I was just on my way down to look for you, Ms. Y/N..” His voice was as smooth as ever, but you noticed there was something else there that you couldn’t quite pick up on. “What on earth are you doing up at this hour?” You were feeling a bit uneasy with how calm he sounded, and the fact that you couldn’t see his face was making it worse.

“I was just taking a bath..” You answered meekly, your throat feeling tight.

“And why would you go through the trouble of going all the way down there? You already know there’s one upstairs.”

‘ Because I didn’t want to run into like I just did now.’ You thought to yourself. You swallowed hard before answering.

“I-I didn’t want to disturb you in case you were asleep.”

“Aren’t you the thoughtful one.” He let out a chuckle. “No matter, I actually was looking for you to see if you forgot something.”

“Not that I know of..why?” You wanted for this conversation to be over already, the tension that you had just showered away crawling right back to you. Dio let out another chuckle, this one sounded a bit huskier. He didn’t say anything but lifted his hand out to the side, and your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. In his hand were your missing panties, where as he was still in the shadows they were illuminated VERY clearly in the light. You felt your embarrassment multiply as he laughed at your reaction.

“I found them on the floor up here by the stairs and figured they were yours, unless Giorno has changed his sense of fashion recently which I doubt considering he’s never liked polka dots to begin with. Then again I’m not one to judge.” You could hear the teasing tone in his voice and you couldn’t help but laugh nervously at his joke.

“This is just outright embarrassing, but thank you for trying to return them to me.” You kept mentally cursing to yourself about this whole situation, and how this happened in the first place; you should’ve just let Giorno come to your apartment to study like he wanted from the beginning. You began climbing the stairs to retrieve your underwear from the blond, but as soon as you reached the last step he took one step back just out of your reach. You furrowed your brows and stepped forward again, and once more he took another step back. “Um...what are you doing?”

“Playing your game, Ms. Y/N.” You rose a brow in confusion, you were honestly getting annoyed now.

“What game?” He let out a ‘hmph’ before turning around and walking down the hall, still dangling your underwear over his shoulder for you to see. “Hey!” You shouted and followed after him as he disappeared around the corner, once you reached it you stopped to see the door to his study was wide open. You made your way over and stood in front of the open door, on top of his desk were your panties, but Dio was nowhere in sight.

‘ I would have to be a complete idiot not to realize this is a trap.’ You stayed in place, just staring at the underwear that was mocking you. He had to be somewhere in there, but the dim lighting made it hard to see into the small shadows in the corner of the room, and the light from the hallway wasn’t helping much either. You contemplated just leaving them there, it wasn’t like you had no more underwear at home, but deep down you wanted to see what would happen and the moment that thought crossed your mind you felt a warm sensation through your body. Your fantasy was getting the better of you and before you realized it you were walking towards the desk. You reached the desk and still no sign of the man, so you reached out to grab your underwear without hesitating.

*Click*

The light from the hallway completely disappeared as the door was closed, you didn’t turn around but you could feel someone staring at you from behind. His footsteps echoed in the room, surprised that you could even hear them over the sound of your own heartbeat blaring in your ears. He stopped right behind you, his chest practically pressed against your back. A large hand reached out from behind you and took hold of the clothes that you were still clutching in your hands before tossing them to the side. Once more the hand came into your line of vision and tenderly cupped your face and turned it to the side to meet Dio’s hot gaze. His hand was cold in comparison to your hot face as he slowly traced circles on your bottom lip with his thumb. He bent his head down to your ear, pressing you against his body in the process and feeling his hardness rub against your ass. You let out a gasp, earning you a chuckle from the large man, his warm breath tickling your ear.

“I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you, that you’d be a special treat.” His voice felt like velvet as he whispered into your ear, the sound along with his breath was beginning to make your body betray you as each word he whispered sent a throbbing heat to your core. He kissed the spot right behind your ear, slowly ghosting his lips across your jaw, then your cheek before hungrily taking your own lips with his. His lips were softer than they looked as they caressed your own, earning a moan from you. Dio took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. You should’ve pushed him away, bit his tongue, elbowed him to make a run for it or something instead of just giving in. His other hand had wrapped around your waist, but was now moving up and under your tank top grabbing a hold of your right breast and massaging it. Dio finally pulled away from the kiss and aside from the lustful look on his face he seemed unaffected, unlike you who was a panting red faced mess.

“We shouldn-'' Was all you were able to breath out before he pinched your nipple hard eliciting another moan from you as he began rubbing the sensitive bud between his fingers.

“Your voice sounds so sweet when you moan for me Y/N, I want more of it.” His other hand left your face as it travelled to the waistband of your shorts before slipping through easily, running a long thick finger across your slit. Your hips on their own accord bucked at the sensation, making Dio laugh darkly. “My, my, all I did was kiss you and you’re already so wet. You’re a very filthy girl aren’t you Y/N?” You turned your face away from him and bit your lip to hold back another moan as he slipped his finger inside you and began pumping it slowly. Your knees began to buckle from underneath you, so Dio pushed you both forward effectively pinning your legs between him and the desk to stop you from falling.

“I can’t do this,” You whined to him. “Your Giorno’s father..” You squeezed your eyes shut in pain as he added two more fingers and began pumping at an obscene pace, not allowing you to stretch around them first.

“I’m well aware of who I am to that boy.” He answered gruffly.The hand that was on your breast moved and was cupping your face a bit more rough than before, his fingers now hitting your sweet spot causing your breath to stop in your throat. “I’m also aware about his feelings for you and how blissfully ignorant you are to them. Which makes this so much more sweeter for me.” He kissed you again, this time more feverishly. As he pulled away again he withdrew his fingers from your heat at the same moment, leaving you feeling empty. That feeling was short lived however as he pushed you down onto the desk, your chest was completely pressed against it making your ass push out towards him. Dio pulled your shorts down to your ankles, the cold air rushing to your wet core making you shiver. You could hear him unzipping his pants and the ruffling of clothing, before you felt the tip of his dick tease against your entrance. Slowly he inched it into you, stretching out your hole. It had not hurt as much as you thought it would but there was a dull pain nonetheless from how big he was. You’ve had partners before so you were by no means a virgin, but you’d be damned if you had anybody with his size.

“Such a nice and tight cunt you have my dear Y/N. I can’t wait to ruin it.” Without wasting another moment he gripped your hips with both hands as he began to fuck you roughly, the lewd sound of his skin slapping against yours were drowned out by your loud moans. His chest was pressed firmly against your back, his head right next to your ear and you could hear every groan and grunt that escaped his lips. “I wish you could see the look on your face right now,” He panted into your ear, not once stopping his relentless pace. “Such a dirty look for a dirty girl.” You had no response, the only thing falling from your mouth being your own incoherent screams and moans. Soon you felt a hot pressure beginning to build, each thrust bringing you closer to your edge.

“Dio please!” You couldn’t recognize your voice, it sounded so hoarse and needy. He took notice and snaked a hand down between your legs, pressing a finger onto your clit but not moving it.

“Please what, my dear Y/N?” He began to slow his pace, getting you on the verge of tears as you felt the pressure begin to fade. “I want to hear you beg for it.” You tried to bring your hips to meet his but he only pulled farther away. Finally you gave in.

“Make me cum from your cock Dio, please!” Satisfied he picked up his pace, slamming into you as he began rubbing your clit in tight circles. The pressure began building up again causing your vision to go in and out.

“I want you to scream my name when you cum. Be a good little girl for me.” His voice is what sent you over the edge as his name ripped from your throat as you orgasmed. As you came your core squeezed around him, bringing him close to his. He pulled out with a final groan as he emptied his load onto your ass. As your high began to die down, you felt the pain on your thighs from being pounded into the desk. You were going to have bruises tomorrow for sure. Slowly Dio lifted himself from on top of you, lifting you off of the desk as well. “I apologize, but it seems I may have made a bit of a mess on you.” His breathing was back to normal, but when you turned around you looked down and nearly choked. He was still as hard as a rock. “Why don’t I join you for a another shower, Ms. Y/N?” The devilish look on his face was enough to tell you that your little romp was far from over.

[authorized-trash]

To Tie a Knot: Chapter 7: Fate Really Needs to Make Up Her Damn Mind

Ao3

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

Content Warnings:

Self deprecation, mild language, elusion to character death, misunderstandings, anxiety, pain

Chapter Summary:

Roman nearly dismisses a life changing phone call from his brother, way to go Cain Instinct.

Word Count:

2,200+

Note:

Lol I’m not sorry.

(This chapter has been up for weeks on Ao3, it came out same day as chapter six, I guess I forgot to put it here, whoops)

-

-

Damian woke up slowly, blinking groggily as awareness came back to him.

He moved to sit up, but stopped as he realized he couldn’t move his right leg or arm. He couldn’t move much of anything, actually.

His eyes widened as he did a quick roll call of his limbs and where they were at. His right arm was under Logan’s chest, his legs tangled with the others. His head was tucked under Logan’s chin, nose to his collarbone.

Logan had a pretty firm hold around Damian. He must have been pretty clingy during sleep then.

Damian removed himself from the embrace as gently as possible as to not wake Logan, tip toeing to the bathroom. He took care of his business and hopped in the shower. By the time he was out Logan was waking up, stretching with a yawn.

He looked over at Damian with an odd expression, as if forgetting who he was. His eyes trailed down to his hand at the “snake yellow” string that connected the two. He visibly brightened.

“Good morning Damian, I trust that you slept well.”

Damian thought about it. He had slept well, great, in fact. He slept better than he had slept in a very long time.

“Yes, I did sleep well,” Damian said, brushing a hand through his hair, which was still damp from his shower.

“Well, according to the alarm clock we have an hour to leave. I’ll go ahead and get ready for the day. I’ll be back shortly,” Logan said as he entered the bathroom, the lock clicking behind him.

Damian sat in silence. The exhaustion was still there. The horrible guilt, as /fucking/ always was still there. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was excited to meet them. Like, really excited. 

He went to get ready to leave, hoping he could ignore the issues at hand. He slid on his shoes and gloves, reaching for his hat. He half wished he had some other clothes, but it wasn’t like they were dirty, he had only worn them to the coffeeshop and to the hotel. 

He ignored the way his hands trembled and his breath quickened. He heard the shower head turn on, signalling Logan was in the shower. Damian moved to sit on the edge of the bed, staring at his gloved hands without thinking about much.

The fatestrings tied to his fingers came up and over the top of the glove. It didn’t feel like anything was there, it was nearly completely unnoticeable. The strings were weird like that, you wouldn’t feel them and they wouldn’t bother you as long as you didn’t want them to.

He ran his fingers along them, his touch featherlight. He watched as the little piece of torn string on his left hand dangled over them and gulped audibly.

He gave the four strings a soft tug, more out of curiosity than anything.

He got a couple tugs in response from Red and Purple, and a shake from Blue. It had occurred to him that he had yet to ask Logan which string belonged to who. Guess he’d find out shortly.

The showerhead turned off, and Damian looked up at the door.

“Need something Damian? You tugged,” Logan called through the door. His voice was muffled by what was probably a towel.

“Huh? Oh, no, sorry,” Damian said, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Alright, well, the others and I have a system, you see. One tug is you need something, two is a reassurance, and three is an emergency. Patton also occasionally shakes his but that’s just him,” Logan said with a fond chuckle. 

“Sorry,” Damian said and winced. Of course, look at him, already fucking up their rules.

“What? No it’s fine, you didn’t know,” The door to the bathroom swung open and Logan was standing there, hair dripping. He was fully clothed, which was a mild surprise. He hadn’t been in there too long, when the door started to open Damian half expected for him to come out in his underwear or something.

He nodded, fixing his hat onto his head.

“Well, I’m ready to leave,” Damian said, standing. Logan gave him a thumbs up as he began to throw his few belongings into his backpack. He occasionally reached up to the toothbrush in his mouth to multitask, but didn’t do it often. It just kinda sat there.

After a few tense moments of Damian staring at Logan while he got ready, Logan straightened up and dusted his shirt off.

“Alright, I’m ready as well.”

The two left the hotel room without another word, and Logan signed out at the front desk. Damian slid into the passenger seat as Logan threw his backpack in the backseat. He turned the keys, and they were off.

“How long until we get there?” Damian asked.

Logan raised an eyebrow, “Thirty minutes. Are you excited? You keep fidgeting in your seat.”

“Excited is one word for it, sure,” Damian said, tugging his hat a little more over his eyes.

“You’ll like them. Roman and Patton can be a bit much at times, but Virgil is… ah, what’s the word? Cold?”

“Chill-?”

“Yes! That’s it,” Logan snapped his fingers, “Virgil is ‘chill’.”

“I’m sure I’ll lo- like them, Logan,” Damian caught himself before he made a mistake, “You are amazing, and a man like you probably has wonderful standards.”

“Technically I don’t need standards, as they are my soulmates, but I get what you mean. If standards were necessary, then yes, they meet them very well,” Logan said, heading up a ramp onto the interstate. 

Damian gave a thoughtful nod and clasped his hands, twiddling his fingers around. The anxiety and anticipation was building in his chest, and he could’ve sworn Logan could hear how loud his heart was beating.

They chatted idly, the time flying much faster than Damian would have wanted.

They pulled into a neighborhood with houses running up and down both sides of the road, and now was really when Damian felt like he was going to have a heart attack.

His stomach seemed to leap to his throat as Logan turned into a driveway.

“You ready?”

Damian laughed aloud, “Absolutely not.”

Logan gave him a small smile, “We can stay in the car a little while if we must.”

Damian shook his head and reached for the handle, swinging the door open. He let out a shuddering breath.

“Better to just get it over with.”

-

The other three soulmates had been collectively losing their minds since Virgil’s phone call with his sibling the day before.

“We are literally going to meet them tomorrow, I’m so excited!” Patton had quite literally bounced around the entire house, and if he had the ability to, he would probably be doing somersaults.

Roman spun around with him at times, laughing loudly. Virgil would snicker and film them, lovingly of course, hiding his phone in the overly large sleeve of his hoodie.

They thought they had been prepared, but none of them were ready for the front door opening at a little past one in the evening the next day.

“I have returned,” Logan called into the house. Patton nearly tripped with how fast he turned the corner from the kitchen, his shoulder slamming into the wall. Roman was next, his singing abruptly cut off as he turned to see Logan, smiling brightly.

Virgil crept from their room, peering around the corner of the hallway.

“Did you bring them?!” Patton practically shouted, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

At that exact moment, a head poked over Logan’s shoulder, looking in through the door. Logan moved out of the way, and the new arrival stepped in through the door. He had his head held high, and a smug-looking smirk on his face.

Virgil, for one, noticed the tense set of his shoulders and the way his hands were shoved into his pockets forcefully. 

Everyone, however, noticed how said pockets had four strings that spread to all four of them.

“This is Damian, he is our fifth soulmate.”

There was silence for exactly four seconds.

Then, chaos.

“Hello!” Patton nearly shrieked, his hands fluttering so fast you could nearly see through them. He looked like he wanted to run forward and wrap his hands around the other man, but barely managed to restrain himself.

Roman gave a fake swoon, “Gods am I smitten already, what is it with Lady Fate giving me such perfect boyfriends?”

Damian smiled at the both of them, “Hello, I’m guessing you’re Patton? Logan did say you were adorable,” he winked, ignoring Logan’s indignant squawk behind him, he turned to Roman, “and you are Roman, then? I must say, I’m charmed.”

For good measure, he reached forward and grabbed Roman’s hand, kissing his knuckles just above the yellow string.

“Goddamnit, two overly-dramatic asses,” Virgil grumbled from the hallway entrance. He was now leaning against the wall, a smirk on his face giving away his amusement.

Damian finally noticed him, eyes snapping up to meet his. Fuck, he really did have a thing for emos. 

“That makes you Virgil. As stunning in person as Logan had described,” Damian purred, stalking forward. Virgil curled into his hoodie, hiding how red his face was quickly getting.

The new arrival stopped a few feet from Virgil. Virgil’s eyes widened as he realized he was a good six inches taller than Damian.

The emo turned to knock his head against the wall, “Oh God, why did you have to be short?”

Damian’s face immediately turned defensive.

“You got an issue with that?” He hissed, crossing his arms. Behind him, Roman began to laugh himself to tears.

“Our tall emo has a thing for shorter men. Especially cute shorties,” he said between laughs.

“Shut it,” Virgil snapped. It was Damian’s turn to flush red.

“Well! Damian! I’m so happy to meet you! To be honest with you, I didn’t think we were going to find you so fast, I’m glad though!” Patton said, clapping his hands together. Logan put a hand on his shoulder and nodded in agreement.

“I ran into Damian’s friend in a coffee shop, he saw my four strings and put two-and-two together pretty fast.”

Damian turned to look back at Virgil when the emo snickered.

“I knew you all met at a coffee shop, Elliot was the barista. They called me to check in and recognised you half way through the call,” he explained, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “‘Said you were looking ‘thoroughly smitten’ with an unknown stranger. Knowing you, Mr. No Feelings, I knew you would only look that way with a soulmate.” 

“Yeah! And Roman fell off the couch with how excited he was when he realized,” Patton said, poking Roman in the ribs.

Laughing softly, Damian took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair.

“Glad I could have such an effect,” he said. He closed his eyes as he did so, which was convenient for the other three, as they all had locked eyes with a frayed little string attached to his left hand.

“Hey, Damian, do you mind if I-” Logan was cut off by a loud ringtone. Roman groaned as he reached for his phone, checking the caller ID.

“Huh, its Remus,” He said, lifting an eyebrow in confusion. Damian shivered at the name, a chill going down his spine. 

Weird, it must be colder in here than he thought.

Roman clicked a few buttons.

“Surely it’s fine, I’ll call him back shortly,” Roman waved it off, putting his phone back into his pocket.

It rang seconds later.

Roman groaned, getting it back out, “What does he want?”

“Maybe you should answer it,” Virgil said. He began to fidget nervously with his hoodie sleeves, “It might be important-”

Roman laughed, “It’s Remus, when is it ever important?”

Damian looked back and forth between the four of them as Roman hung up yet again.

This time the call back was instant.

Roman groaned, answering it this time.

“Remus this better be important, I’ll catch up with you la- what?” Roman went pale startlingly quick, “... Wait no, back track, what do you mean ‘cut’? That’s not even possible- When did this happen… That long? Why didn’t you tell me then!”

The other’s all looked around at each other, looks of fear on all of their faces.

Roman went quiet for a short while, before running towards the closet by the front door. He threw it open and slid into his jacket and sneakers.

He looked over at his four soulmates, worry all over his face.

“Alright, Remus, I’ll be there. Give me thirty minutes… Alright, bye.”

He hung up, already turning towards the door. 

“Roman?” Patton asked in a small voice, “Is everything alright?”

Roman shook his head, and his voice was thick with tears, “He finally did it. That bastard. He finally pissed off the wrong damn people.”

And with that, the door closed behind him.

They all exchanged glances, and Damian had never felt so small.

Awesome first meeting, really.

-

The man who was on the other side of the phone sniffed, wiping the tears from his eyes with a trembling hand.

He looked up at the ceiling and pursed his lips, a small smile on his face, at least his brother was coming.

The dull, throbbing ache in his left hand had yet to stop, even a month later.

He looked down at the four inch string that hung limply from his hand, the end frayed. The once brilliant yellow an ugly faded beige.

He sniffed, mourning the person he’d never know.

-

-

Taglist in the reblog

[elyreywrites]

so tell me what you want to hear

a gift for @bionerd2point0 for the Capes & Coffee Discord server’s gift exchange!! a huge thank you to my betas for this fic: Oceans and Tasteofpaint!!

title is from One Republic’s “Secrets”!

please REBLOG - DO NOT REPOST

AO3 Link

Teen 3,714 words Tim Drake/Jason Todd

Summary:

And here Tim was, about to ask his goddamn crush to be his fake boyfriend.

He couldn’t do this, he absolutely, positively, could not—

This was a huge mistake.

- - - - -

Tim stared at the phone, at the contact pulled up, and wished for some sign to either call or suffer through the whole situation. He could suffer through it, but… Tim was fed up with being asked the same question every time he was out in public.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“Who are you dating?”

“Is there anyone special in your life right now?”

Ever since he turned eighteen, the vicious sharks that made up the press were desperate for the details of his romantic life. Bruce had said it would blow over soon enough, once some new sensational story came about, but four months later they were still going strong. Tim was at the end of his rope with them.

There were only so many times he could say, “No comment.” It hadn’t made any difference at all in four months. Apparently, being the youngest CEO in history and of such a huge company made him very eligible. While the chatter had calmed down a bit over time, it was still present enough that something had to be done. Something drastic.

Something he was dreading.

All he needed for a few weeks was a fake date, a partner that would get the vultures off his back. It had to be someone he knew because it had to seem authentic. That was a short list though. Dick wasn’t an option. Kon, Bart, and Cassie were all out because they were all busy and they’d have to be in Gotham. Stephanie and Tam were just… no. He wasn’t doing that. That really only left the first and last person Tim would ever want to pick.

Jason.

Once upon a time, Jason had been his Robin, his hero, the person he wanted to make proud almost as much as his parents. The hero-worship had died when Tim nearly did. Tim’s crush did too, but that didn’t stay gone. It took a few years, Jason apologizing, and the Reds working a few cases together, but it returned with a vengeance.

And here he was, about to ask his goddamn crush to be his fake boyfriend. Tim would be lucky if this didn’t break the shaky… truce? Friendship? Whatever it was they had. Tim would like to call them friends, but did Jason think they were friends? Oh god, Jason probably didn’t think they were friends.

He couldn’t do this, he absolutely, positively, could not—

The soft chime of his phone’s reminder tone broke him out of the downward spiral of his thoughts. The notification popped up, dragging his attention from Jason’s contact. Right, he was supposed to appear on some talk show tomorrow. Youngest and most eligible CEO and all. He just knew they’d try to pry into his love life.

Tim had to do this. Before he could rethink it, he pressed dial. At the first ring, he almost panicked and chucked it across the room instinctively. This was a terrible idea, but it was the lesser of the two evils. He was just about ready to snap and really tear into the press. Physically, verbally, he wasn’t even sure at this point.

Jason answered on the third ring. “What’s up, Timbo? You don’t call very often.”

This was a huge mistake.

“I need you to do me a big favor.”

“That depends,” Jason drawled, “on what the favor is.”

Wincing, Tim said in a rush, “I need you to be my fake boyfriend for a little while so the press will stop hounding me for details on a love life I don’t have.”

Silence. Every moment without a response made it harder for Tim to breathe. He had fucked up, he had fucked up, abort, abort—

Jason snorted. “You know, I was wondering how you were holding up with that. I’ve seen the news about it. Guess this answers my question, huh?”

“Guess it does. Any chance you could answer mine?” Nerves and stress made him snarky, okay? The past few months were rough, Tim thought he could be forgiven.

“Yeah, Timmy, I can help you get them out of your hair for a little while,” Jason said. “Alright, do you want to figure out our epic love story right now, or is there something you need to do?”

Tim sighed, relaxing bonelessly into the couch. “Now please. I have to be on some morning talk show tomorrow, and they’re going to ask.”

The next hour and a half, Tim swung wildly between excitement over getting to date his crush and hopeless misery that it was fake. They both gave the okay for holding hands, going on dates, even kissing to sell this charade. He would get to do all of that with Jason, which kind of made him want to bury his face in a pillow and scream like a complete cliche. As soon as they were out of the public eye, though? There wouldn’t be anyone to pretend for. All bets would be off.

The next few months were going to be amazing and terrible all at once.

Tim didn’t sleep much that night.

- - - - -

This was absolutely a mistake and Tim should have just suffered through the continual questioning about his non-existent love life. What the hell had he been thinking?! Sleep-Deprived Tim made terrible choices, honestly. Sure, he could totally fake-date his sort of long-time crush! That wouldn’t end in disaster and heartbreak at all ! 

Real and fake heartbreak, even, because they had a messy break-up planned. It was going to happen in two months in public, and he would cry – that probably wouldn’t be fake – and the press would hopefully feel sorry enough for him to not pester him about romance for a while.

Tim was absolutely doomed. He literally set himself up for failure.

“Mr. Drake-Wayne?”

Tim startled, staring at the assistant that had called his name.

“You go on in 5 minutes,” the assistant said.

This whole situation was messing him up. He was usually more aware of his surroundings, but he kept getting lost in thought because he was fake-dating his crush and one-time hero. Oh god.

Focus. Talk show. They’ll inevitably ask, and then he has to get to work on selling this whole… thing.

He heard clapping and then the assistant gave him a nod. “That’s your cue,” they said. Tim walked out, his CEO-Drake Heir smile firmly in place.

To his surprise, the host, a woman in her mid-thirties, stayed on script and didn’t ask if he was dating anyone until halfway through the show. When the question did come, Tim coughed and glanced away. The flush on his face wasn’t fake because for a couple months everyone would think that someone like Jason would date Tim, of all people. Jason Todd was legally dead, but he was handsome and kind and he would publicly be dating Tim. No, his blushing was very real, but that only worked to help sell the act even more. 

“Oh,” the host teased, “that look says you are. Who’s the lucky lady? Or maybe you haven’t asked her out yet?”

His head snapped towards her with a very real scowl on his face. “He and I only started dating recently. It’s still pretty new, and I’m not willing to share more at this time. We would like to figure out our relationship before we face the scrutiny of the public.”

He almost smirked at her stiffly pleasant smile. She was trying to hide her shock, and to the inexperienced eye, she succeeded. However, Tim was a detective on a different level altogether. Plus, with Cass for a sister, he was bound to pick up something from the master of reading body language and expressions.

“‘He’, huh?” she said cheerfully for the camera. “That’s quite a surprise – you’ve had multiple girlfriends in the past.”

Tim hummed, “Yes, I’m bisexual, though I recently realized that I lean more towards men than women. See, something a lot of people don’t understand is that it’s like a scale and everyone has their own preferences. It took me a long time to come to terms with that because of the heteronormativity in our society and the compulsory heterosexuality that many of us in the LGBTQ+ community have to work through.” He smiled back at her, projecting as much innocence as he could as he derailed her interview.

“Ah. Congratulations on finding yourself, then,” the host grinned. Tim saw the panic in her eyes. Her interview with the young, eligible CEO had gone in an unexpected direction and she had no idea what to do.

Meanwhile, he was having the time of his life, and he was fairly sure Jason would be howling when he watched it. If Tim had to suffer through pretending to date Jason, he was going to enjoy any suffering others went through along the way. This woman was the first.

Tim sure as hell wasn’t going to regret coming out very publicly and speaking out about some of the problems in their society. He wasn’t even worried that much about how this would affect Wayne Enterprises – Bruce would back him up. He’d probably even be proud of Tim.

The rest of the show went very smoothly. All personal questions disappeared completely as the host stuck to discussing the various community projects that Wayne Enterprises had. It was rather frustrating that it took a fake-boyfriend and shocking the host of a morning talk show to actually be asked about his work, though.

- - - - -

His phone was blowing up with notifications by the time he was free from the cameras. Oh the joys of a live show and a family that either really supported him or wanted to find something to taunt him about – it was difficult to tell. All he knew was that Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Stephanie, and Cass usually tried to watch any time he appeared on TV. Which meant they all heard that he had a boyfriend, and he was about to be pestered to the ends of the earth.

He sighed but accepted the call coming in. “Hey Dick,” he greeted, projecting as much innocence as he could into his voice. It worked a lot better when he was younger and happier. Now he was a bit too tired and jaded to sell it.

“Timmy! I just wanted to check in,” Dick said pointedly. “You know, see if there’s anything new in your life. Maybe something you neglected to tell me?”

Humming, Tim pretended to think it over. “Nope, can’t think of anything,” he said finally as he continued to his car and climbed in.

On the other end of the line there was a quiet squawk and a scuffling sound, then a click. “Tim,” Bruce cut in and oh, he was definitely on speaker now. That meant they were ganging up on him, instead of letting him deal with them one by one. “You have a boyfriend.”

Tim didn’t answer – it hadn’t been a question, after all.

“Master Timothy, I do believe all of us feel hurt that you neglected to inform us of this development,” Alfred reprimanded.

Oh shit, now Alfred was in on this. Dammit, he really preferred dealing with them one at a time. “Alfred, it’s… complicated, but I promise that it’s a very new development! I haven’t been hiding it for days or anything, I swear. How about I come to the manor for lunch today and I’ll explain?”

“Very good Master Timothy,” Alfred sniffed. “I shall set out a place setting for you.”

Alfred hung up the phone, cutting off Dick and Bruce’s protesting.

Tim stared at his phone for a second and then hurried home. He needed to talk to Jason. He also needed to grab something for the inevitable headache. Any lunch with the whole family resulted in a headache, but at least this one might prove somewhat entertaining as well.

Tim collapsed carelessly across his couch, and dug his phone out of his pocket. With a resigned sigh, he dialed Jason.

When he picked up, Tim didn’t bother offering or waiting for a greeting. “You have to come to the manor for lunch.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Then, Jason asked, “Why the hell should I do that?”

Tim groaned and sunk deeper into his couch. “Bruce, Dick, and Alfred watched the talk show this morning—” Tim waited for Jason to stop snickering. So he did watch it then. At least he enjoyed it, apparently. “Yeah. They weren’t happy that they hadn’t been informed. It was fine when it was just Bruce and Dick, but then Alfred spoke up. Jay, he used the Disappointed In You voice. I had to say something!”

“Yeah,” Jason sighed, “that would do it. So, what did you say? That it’s fake or that we’re dating? Or both.”

“I said it was complicated and very recent.” Tim smirked and added, “I also said I would go to the manor for lunch and explain. If you come with me, you can see Dick and Bruce’s reactions first-hand and we can troll them a little more. Alfred will get the truth out of us pretty quick, but we can have some fun with this before he does.”

“You sneaky bastard.” He knew Jason well enough that he could almost feel Jason’s glare. “Alright fine, you little shit. I’ll be there for lunch so we can mess with those fuckers.”

Tim refrained from cheering – that would only make Jason change his mind. Well, he didn’t cheer out loud. Cheering internally was perfectly acceptable. Though this was going to be his first test at acting like Jason’s boyfriend for a little while. Why did Tim keep putting himself in these situations?

“Alright, see you there,” he said before hanging up. Tim hauled himself off the couch and headed for the kitchen. Coffee was imperative and he still needed to grab some medicine. After today, he’d know for sure whether fake-dating Jason would be amazing or painful.

An hour later, Jason was just climbing off his motorcycle when Tim pulled up to the manor. He waited for Tim to climb off his own bike and then murmured, “How do we want to do this?”

Tim paused. “What are you comfortable with?”

“I can put my arm around your shoulders, if you’re cool with that?” he offered. “Feel free to wrap your arm around my waist.”

Snickering, Tim walked over close enough for Jason to get his arm around him, and Jason pulled him into his side. He tried not to lean into the warmth, but if Jason did notice, hopefully Tim could pass it off as his usual touch-starvation.

Trolling Dick and Bruce was going to be hilarious.

Dick threw open the door just as they were walking up. When he did, his hands were on his hips and he looked ready to scold Tim for all his secret-keeping – something that never went over well in a family of detectives. Then it registered what he was seeing and the only way Tim could describe it was that Dick blue-screened. His face went blank and Tim could almost see an error message pop up.

Dick.exe has stopped working.

“Hey Dick,” Tim said casually, jumping right into it, “Jason’s my boyfriend.” As soon as he said it, he wondered if this was really the best plan. Jason was definitely on better terms with the family now, but there was still a chance that they’d react badly, and that might hurt Jason because as much as he tried to hide it, he still wanted their approval at times and oh god—

Dick grinned, and just – what? Yeah, Tim was glad that this was apparently being received well, but that… wasn’t the response he was expecting. At all. He was expecting shock, stuttering and stumbling and confusion ! Not… this.

“Finally!” Dick burst out. “Oh my god, we’ve all been waiting for you two to get together for ages! I guess this means Bruce wins the bet, then.” He mock-scowled at them. “Really, you two? You couldn’t have waited until one of you was in danger and then confessed? Or is that what happened? Oh my god, if that happened and none of us heard about one of you being in serious danger then the lecture on keeping secrets is going to be so much worse.”

“What.” Jason said.

Tim, however, was well on his way to panicking and fleeing Gotham entirely. Apparently, everyone else had picked up on his crush. Okay, sure, he wasn’t really surprised Dick knew after all the times he gushed about Jason to Dick, but enough people for a betting pool? How did everyone else find out? He’d been subtle! Of all the possible ways this could end terribly that had run through his head, he never thought Jason would find out because Dick couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

Dick shrugged, “Yeah, we were betting on you two. I’m not sure why you’re so surprised. I mean, really, after all the other bets we make? I’m just glad you two finally got your shit together.”

He huffed, looking reproachfully at Jason. “Little Wing, I love you, but if I had to listen to one more phone call about how much you wish you had never attacked Tim because he’s wonderful and amazing and he didn’t deserve what you did to him – I was going to scream. And Tim, Baby Bird…” Dick looked at him, raising an eyebrow, “I really don’t need to listen to another twenty minute rant about how incredible Jay is and how you’re so happy he’s doing better now. I mean, you two were ridiculous. Bruce had to listen to me whine about it.”

Tim.exe has stopped working, Tim thought, trying to process all of that with his brain moving at a snail’s pace. Because it sounded like Jason liked him too, but that – that couldn’t possibly be right. There was absolutely no way his feelings were reciprocated. Tim risked a glance at Jason, half-terrified of what he’d see, but Jason didn’t seem confused or disgusted or anything like that. No, he was just as utterly gobsmacked as Tim was, but that didn’t mean he felt the same.

“Man, you have no idea how heartbroken I was when I thought you had started dating someone else,” Dick continued, oblivious to their reactions. “I knew you thought Jason probably thought you were an annoying pest at best, so I thought you’d given up and started dating someone new. Meanwhile, Jason was absolutely convinced that you couldn’t like him after the whole Pit Madness thing. But I am so glad you two worked it all out!”

“We’re fake-dating to get the press off my back,” Tim blurted.

Jason’s head snapped to look at Tim. “You think that I think you’re an annoying pest?”

“Okay , so uh,” Dick rocked back on his heels, “it looks like you two have some things to discuss. I’m just… going to go inside now. Lunch will be ready in ten minutes, so try to have it sorted by then? Come in once you do. Uh. Good luck?” He slipped inside and closed the door.

Tim stared at the closed door, trying not to stare at his… at Jason. Oh god. What even were they now? He was still pressed up against Jason’s side. Why was he pressed up against Jason’s side? He really should not be—

As Tim tried to slide his hand away, the arm wrapped around his shoulders tightened, holding him in place. Then, Jason was in front of him, tucking Tim’s face into his chest and resting his chin on top of Tim’s head. Tim would forever deny that he squeaked.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re an annoying pest at all. The Demon Brat, sure, but I think you’re actually pretty fucking incredible,” Jason said.

“Oh,” Tim whispered. “I think you’re really awesome too. And I forgave you a while ago for what happened while you were still dealing with the Pit Madness. I promise I don’t hold it against you.”

“I don’t deserve that, Baby Bird. I tried to kill you, multiple times. I know for a fact that you’ve got scars from my attempts, so why would you—”

“That wasn’t you,” Tim cut in firmly, dislodging Jason to glare up at him. “That wasn’t you acting as yourself. I mean, it was the Pit influencing you and twisting things. Then on top of that, you were dealing with the trauma of dying and digging yourself out of your grave! It wasn’t you, Jay, and you’re not like that anymore. You’re so much better now, and I’m so glad because you’re happier. I just like seeing you happy.” Tim’s cheeks burned as he realized what he said. He groaned, hiding his face back against Jason’s chest.

Tim felt Jason’s chuckle. “Shut up,” he muttered.

“I like seeing you happy too,” Jason admitted. “Since Dick spilled everything already, I’ll go ahead and say that I like you, Tim. It’s why I agreed to be your fake-boyfriend. I wasn’t sure whether I was dreading or looking forward to the next couple of months. How would you feel about dating for real?”

Tim pulled away, eyes wide. “Yes, please, oh my god I was so not looking forward to the staged break-up. I was going to actually cry without needing to pretend at all.”

Jason laughed louder that time. “I would have probably held it together until I got back to my apartment. I already decided that I was going to be eating a lot more ice cream.” Tim tried to bury his grin in Jason’s chest, but Jason huffed and pulled back. “As fucking adorable as that is, didn’t I just say that I liked seeing you happy? Come on, don’t hide that pretty smile from me.”

“Oh my god, stop. We’re about to have lunch with our entire family, can you please not make me look like a tomato,” he groaned.

“Alright, alright, I’ll lay off for now. Let’s get inside, Baby Bird.”

“How much do you want to bet that they’ve been watching us through the windows?” Tim grumbled.

Jason shook his head as he started leading him towards the door. “I’m sure as fuck not taking that bet.”

[andaleduardo]

How to Break Your Heart and Make Sure It Stays Broken

2. Send them your favorite songs through Bluetooth    

- Read on ao3

Summary:  12:28 a.m.

Spaghetti: It’s not gonna be weird today

Richie: absolutely

Spaghetti: We’re not gonna make it awkward

Richie: definitely not

Spaghetti: Yeah we got this

Everything is just fucking fine.

7th January 2011, Friday

10:30 a.m.

“Congratulations, you just called the best family in town. What can I help you with?”

“Hu-hey Richie.”

“Billy boy! Happy birthday, man!”

The sound of Bill’s chuckles turn into wind over the phone. “Thanks.”

“So, what’s up?”

“I wanted to check if you’re s-ss-still coming today?”

“Course I am, what time do you want me there?”

“Come around 3. It’s t-too cold to go out so we’re just guh-gonna stay in the attic.”

“Well alright, chap. I’ll be there.”

“And don’t forget my dad’s driving everyone home.”

Richie did, in fact, forget about that.

“Oh yeah, right.”

There’s a second of silence before Bill speaks again. “Are you okay? You huh-haven’t been online lately.”

“Just peachy. You know how it gets, holiday season, kinda busy ‘round here.”

Although Bill knows Richie usually spends the holidays with just his parents (small family’s downside) he doesn’t say anything.

“We’ll have s-some fun today, don’t worry.”

“Indeed we will. See you at 3, birthday boy.”

“See you, Rich.”

And he hangs up.

  12:28 a.m.

Spaghetti: It’s not gonna be weird today

Richie: absolutely

Spaghetti: We’re not gonna make it awkward

Richie: definitely not

Spaghetti: Yeah we got this

  Richie is absolutely exhausted.

The entire week was a failed attempt at learning how to deal with the situation.

Sleep is an utter joke with a mind that runs as if it’s training for a marathon. Looking at food makes him nauseous, not eating food makes him nauseous, but eating it makes it worse.

Perhaps it would help if he could untie the knot in his throat, but then again he can’t cry properly when his parents are always around and poking a head through his bedroom door.

He wants school to start, he doesn’t want school to start. He wants them to go back to work, he doesn’t want to be left alone with his feelings.

And on top of it all he knows he’s overreacting. Absolutely over-the-top reacting. He’s fifteen. It’s not like he knows love.

But doesn’t he?

It hurts and it’s love. It burns as it makes its way up his throat and it’s love. It was amazing while he kept his mouth shut and now everything seems to be falling on him and his chest is heavy and caving and hungrier than his stomach and he caused it and it’s love.

Unrequited love, if you will. A fancy word for a fucked up thing.

To top it off, Eddie doesn’t stop.

 January 1st, 3:45 p.m.

Spaghetti: I hate you

Spaghetti: No wait I don’t hate hate you

Spaghetti: But

Spaghetti: Ugh

Spaghetti: I’m gonna be thinking about this now!

Spaghetti: And I don’t want us to change

Spaghetti: Like, I said “I hate you” and I would never second guess that before but now I feel like I need to tell you “I don’t actually hate you” because

Spaghetti: Well

Spaghetti: I don’t know why

Richie: sorry

Spaghetti: !

Spaghetti: Stop apologizing

Richie: … i really wanna say sorry again

Spaghetti: I don’t blame you

Spaghetti: It’s not like we control our feelings

 Damn right, they don’t. Richie isn’t sure how to answer that, so he doesn’t. But Eddie brings it up again one day later.

 January 2nd, 9:10 p.m.

Spaghetti: I think I kinda knew

Richie: ??? are u serious

Spaghetti: Well yeah

Richie: am I that predictable?

Spaghetti: You’re the least predictable person in the whole world Richie

Spaghetti: Except with the mom jokes

Spaghetti: I can always see those coming

Richie: yet you walk right onto them every time

Spaghetti: Fuck you.

Spaghetti: It’s just that the others aren’t that subtle

Richie: the losers?

Spaghetti: Yeah they try too hard

Spaghetti: Tease us a lot for being close and saying things and leaving us alone everywhere

Spaghetti: Guess I kinda wondered why they did that if they didn’t know something I didn’t

Richie: uh, they kinda don’t tho

Richie: at least I never told them

Spaghetti: Wait really?

Richie: maybe they’re just bored?

Spaghetti: Oh

Spaghetti: Maybe

 It’s only been a week so far (the longest week of Richie’s life) and Eddie texts him every day with the same topic. This, as predicted, isn’t helping the situation much.

It’s Tuesday. There’s Richie, staring at his cereal while Maggie studies him from the other side of the table and surprise, a brand new text from Eddie.

It’s Wednesday. There’s Richie, staring at the news channel because he forgot to press the button on the tv remote when he sat down on the couch 6 minutes ago. And then there’s his dad, looking at him from his vintage recliner and coming up with ten different ways to start a conversation without actually starting one. The phone’s screen lights up with against his leg with a new notification. Yes, from Eddie.

Finally, it’s Friday. Out of habit, Richie leaves the phone on the bathroom countertop as he showers. It takes a lot of self-control not to pull all his hair out while washing it when the phone vibrates against the counter. Once, then twice, then thrice. And so on to make up the total of 9 new messages.

Thank God he doesn’t walk out of the shower right then to check them out of curiosity, because 10 minutes later he’s sitting on the toilet seat and staring at “I hate you” for so long his mom actually knocks on the door and asks if he died in there.

He didn’t die in there, he’s just crying. Buy hey, mom, that’s the dream!

All the messages fall in the same lines. Eddie doesn’t want this to be awkward. He doesn’t want this to be weird. He doesn’t want anything to change.

Logically, Richie draws conclusions. He fucked up big, ruined them forever and now everything is inconvenient for Eddie. It’s not that hard to get it after six variations of:

 ‘You’re not gonna be different around me now right?’

 How can he not be different around Eddie now?

What if their knees touch and Eddie thinks it’s on purpose? What if Richie smiles in his direction and Eddie takes it as flirting? Christ. Richie doesn’t even know how to flirt! Should he sit far away from him now? Should he sit by his side like always and have Eddie think he’s doing it out of interest?

Richie didn’t just make everything inconvenient for Eddie, he made everything inconvenient for himself, too.

However, it’s Bill’s birthday, and that’s more important than a broken heart.

  5:48 p.m.

 “You’re cheating!” Everyone jumps on their seats when Stan shouts and slams his hand on the coffee table. It sends all the plastic houses on the monopoly board in different directions.

“What? No I’m not!” Bev defends herself.

“Nah.” Mike crosses his arms. “I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t believe she’s cheating?” Stan angrily inquires.

“I don’t believe she’s not cheating.” Says Mike.

“I am not fucking cheating, you guys are just awful at managing money.”

Stan’s chin drops in her direction. “You- I manage money wonderfully, thank you very much-”

While the arguing continues, Ben takes his time putting all the houses back on their places. Bill tries to make them stop fighting while Mike destroys all those attempts by teaming up with Bev and Stan alternately. Eddie furiously counts and recounts his money, being the one closest to bankrupt. And Richie silently organizes the contents of the bank. He doesn’t like monopoly that much.

“Maybe our bank over there has something to do with this?” Richie feels everyone’s eyes on him so he looks up at Mike from above his glasses.

“How could you ever think such things about me, Mikey?” He dramatically puts down the stack of property cards he had been sorting. “I do nothing but humble work for this community and this is how I’m treated. Unbelievable.”

“Richie, I swear.” Stan glares at him. “You won’t make me lose, even if you cheat.”

“How can I be cheating? I’m not even playing.”

“You’re passing Bev extra money!”

“Geez.” Eddie moans in annoyance. “We forgot Stan gets off on Monopoly.”

At that, Richie barks out a laugh, unable to keep it in but still trying to by slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Okay, fine.” Stan crosses his arms. “I wasn’t even the one suggesting this game, I voted for scrabble.”

“Oh, so the only other game you get off on?” Surprisingly, it slips from Richie’s mouth. He wasn’t at all expecting jokes to be coming from him today.

It’s just wonderfully entertaining to piss off Stan. At this point, the boy’s gotten himself so worked up that his whole face is pink.

“I’m going to shove birthday cake up your a-”

“-Wow! Okay let’s all chill.” Ben kindly tries to stop them.

Richie lifts up a hand full of fake-cash and makes a jerking off motion with the other, which finally triggers Stan into motion. He manages to jump away from the table on the exact moment Stan reaches over to try and jam his hand on his weakest spot, the armpits. But in the process, his knees collide with the bottom of the coffee table and all the board pieces end up flying everywhere. Again.

Ben throws his hands up. “Thank you so very much for that.”

“We will never f-ffinish a monopoly game…”

  6:23 p.m.

“How about Uno?” Ben suggests. “You can’t cheat at Uno, right?”

After being chased by Stan around the attic everyone ended up scattered around, staring at the ceiling and discussing which game to play next. So far it’s been twenty minutes of quiet chatting.

“You can grab three cards when you get a plus four.” Richie offers. “You can also slide in a six while playing some nines, might get lucky.”

There’s a brief second of silence and contemplation.

“How you can turn Uno into a sex joke still amazes me.” Eddie frowns at the ceiling.

Richie shrugs. “I’m pretty amazing overall.” Sweat pools up on the back of his neck with the effort of trying to sound so nonchalant. Richie wants to scream at the normality of his afternoon. Why does life keep going when you’re dealing with heartache? Isn’t the world supposed to stop spinning after you get friendzoned? Show a little compassion, earth.

“I still can’t believe your mom let you keep the phone.”

At Mike’s words, Eddie flops around on his bean bag, looking like a hanged potato sack. “Right? Didn’t see that coming, either.”

“Does she really go through it, though?”

Recently, Eddie’s contact list was updated to include everyone. His mom complained that he didn’t need to be in contact with “those friends” of his any more than he already does. She’s obviously wrong.

Eddie groans in agreement. “She keeps finding the lamest excuses until I give it to her. Then she checks whatever it is she wants and gives it back.”

A wave of fear passes through Richie. Almost on cue, Eddie steals a glance at him and adds. “But I archive the stuff she doesn’t need to read. And I keep Facebook as a hidden app.” Proud of his schemes, he smirks to himself.

Richie sinks back on his bean bag, slightly relieved. The past week of awful sleep is weighting him down, tying him to his worst and holding him back from pretending to be okay a little better. With time, he hopes to learn how to put this behind his back, but right now, Eddie is right in front of him.

“Hey, by the way. Can any of you tell me how to download songs?” The boy at matter asks.

“You know thu-that’s illegal, r-right?”

“Oh.” For a moment, he stares at Bill with a conflicted expression. “Well, I still want my music.”

“Richie, don’t you have a fuck ton of songs downloaded?”

“Yup. Illegal downloads are my number one occupation, Marsh.” Then, he gets it. “Oh, you’re right. Eds, turn Bluetooth on.”

He regrets saying ‘Eds’ oh so quickly, overly nervous that he isn’t allowed to say it anymore. Not that he was ever allowed to say it before, if the way Eddie complains about it 90% of the time means anything. Quickly, Richie spirals into thoughts of their bickering coming to an end, or even worse, becoming one sided and sad if one of them doesn’t feed into it. That would leave the other one hanging, and Richie was already left hanging, Richie is still hanging and he will be hanging on these feelings, on this rejection, for life. That’s what he has to accept, that he loves the only person in the world he could ever love and they don’t love him back. That his future seems sad from the present. That Eddie might drift away when he realizes they can’t mess around like best friends anymore, even if he had said he wouldn’t do that and it wouldn’t happen. But what if he does? What if it happens? Where does that leave him? What is he supposed to-

“Don’t call me that, asshole. And how the fuck do I do that?”

Oh.

The way Eddie speaks drips of familiarity. Just the way it always was with them, just the way it will always be. Richie can’t decide if that’s good or bad, but it pulls him together enough to talk.

“See that weird looking B icon up there?” He waits for Eddie’s answer but the other boy is looking at his phone as if he could catch it on fire with just his eyes.

Richie bites the inside of his cheek, breathes in some bravery and pushes himself up from the bean bag.

“Here,” he walks over and crouches down at Eddie’s side, quickly opening the Bluetooth settings and pairing up their phones while paying too much attention to the space between their hands. Just to make sure they don’t touch. “Do you wanna pick out the songs you want?” He starts giving his phone to Eddie but gets a headshake in return.

“Uh no, that’s fine.” Eddie says, turning his head and therefore putting their faces incredibly close. Richie barely catches himself from falling on his butt right there, and Eddie leans away quickly, obviously not meaning to cause any of this. “I- uh, just chose the ones you think I’d like.”

Richie nods stupidly and rushes back to his seat. While he goes through his music library and picks off songs, all he can think about is ‘This is so hard, too hard, way more difficult than I could possibly imagine and I don’t know if I can go about my life pretending everything is fine when it all feels anything but that.’

“How about Ludo? There’s no way you can cheat at that…”

Simply as if a switch was flipped, Richie multitasks and answers Ben by listing off all the possible ways to cheat at Ludo.

And to the outsider eyes, everything is just fine.

Everything is fine as they order pizza and Richie and Eddie have to ask each other if they can still share their regular favorite, olive and pepperoni. Everything is fine while conversation flows at dinner, except Richie puts his half of the pizza on a plate instead of sharing the box between their laps, and Eddie doesn’t question it. Everything is fine as everyone watches a movie after, and there’s no one to lean his head on Richie’s shoulder, or jab an elbow in his arm when they itch to comment certain scenes.

Then Bill’s dad comes upstairs to remind them it’s time to drive everyone home. And for the first time in his life, Richie is thrilled to hear those words.

On their way home, Eddie sits in the back, earphones plugging his ears deaf to his surroundings. Richie wonders if he should have left out all the love songs, now it’s too late for that. But it’s fine, right?

Everything is just fucking fine.

 perma taglist: @constantreaderfool   @mrs-vh  @eds-trashmouth @girasol-eddie  @reddieforlove @madi-personal  @cheekaspbrak

[ladyalice101]

jonsa fic recs

alright, i’ve had a couple requests for recs, so here is my list. these are all fairly recent fics, all written this year i think. all of them are from my bookmarks on ao3, but i picked the recent ones which are my god-tier recs, my oh-my-god-i-love-this-so-much-i-think-i’m-going-to-die, the ones i reread. they have very little in common, but if you don’t find anything on here that tickles your fancy, then feel free to check out my bookmarks. i have just over 100 on there, and every single one on there are fics that i think are absolutely phenomenal.

for @abi117 @why-cant-i-be-careless and @orangeflavoryawp

canon divergent

Victory by moutainsbeyondmountains. one-shot, 5489k.

“You won already, Your Grace,” Tyrion said mournfully. “Enjoy your victory. There are no lands left to conquer. And there are no more dragons.”

if you read no other fic on this list, read this one. seriously. it’s d.ny pov, and glorious. genuinely, i couldn’t give this high enough praise. i reread this A LOT. like, a lot a lot. i could probably quote this fic.

I Want Something so Impure by @asilentfrenzy. one-shot, 10166k.

“You have caused this, you and your queen. You allowed her to speak to me that way, allowed her to order my obedience in my own home as if I’m to be her new dog to train. I am the Lady of Winterfell, and your inbred aunt has no right to-”

“Aye, you are the Lady of Winterfell,” he growled, his eyes flashing with an added flame of fury at the mention of the woman’s newly found relations to him. “The same Lady of Winterfell who not too long ago advised me to be smart, yet it seems that you can’t follow your own advice.”

“Be smart,” she repeated, filling her face with a look of mocking humor. “By kneeling? By allowing her to seize my title and command my people? Perhaps I should offer her these chambers as well. Better, I’ll just offer them to you again, seeing as I’m sure you’ll be sharing a bed. Shall I fuck her as well? As I want to be just as smart as you, Jon.”

so if you couldn’t tell from the summary, this one is sassy af. it features darkish/dominant!jon, which is my jam, and is pretty much just 10k of smut, which is also my jam.

it’s a small crime, and i’ve got no excuse by mxash. 5/5, 8214k.

“did you see her?” sansa snarled, a hand come to pull at his collar, pulling his mouth down only hairs from her own. “your targaryen queen has dressed as though she was a whore to catch your eye.” jon smirked as she bit his lip. what was this? dany had almost recoiled in her disgust and shock, but she hadn’t been able to pull herself away from the horrific sight. my lover and his own sister.

this one serves some dark!jonsa realness, and it deserves more comments/kudos. it is written entirely in lowercase, but don’t let that distract you. the characters are dark, and devoted, and who doesn’t love d.ny catching jon and sansa fucking? seriously, this one is a must-read.

Dark in Bloom by @orangeflavoryawp​. oneshot, 8304k.

"His gravity wavers, the axis of his world tilted to the measure of her lips." - Jon and Sansa. The stain of desire bleeds slowly between them.

yeah orange, i’m reccing one of your own fics to you. seriously though, this is just like ... mindblowing. i cannot overstate how much i love this one. i literally will just randomly remember it sometimes, when i’m just going about my daily business, and i’m like “shit, that fic by orange was a masterpiece. love it.” so, yeah, if that doesn’t tell you how much i love it, then idk what will.

what i’m asking by @amymel86​. oneshot, 1173k.

"I'm not here to talk about that," Theon says, setting off another, thankfully smaller coughing fit. "I'm here to talk about Sansa."

Jon can feel the blood drain from his face. "Is she ill?"

Theon shakes his head, lifting his eyes to Jon as he coughs into his fist. "No," he finally says, his lungs giving him a small reprieve. "The Queen is in her prime. Which is why you are needed."

okay, ya’ll obvi know of amy. she writes so much fantastic fic. but i feel like this one kind of flew under the radar? which is a CRIME tbh. this fic was so ... it was so heartbreaking, but in the best way. it’s not that divergent from canon, bc the main thing that is truly different is that theon lives. seriously love this fic.

A Toss of the Coin by Paige242. one-shot, 3793.

Years after the war, the Queen in the North and the pardoned Queenslayer welcome their first child. Old traits emerge, and Jon worries about this Dragon in a den of Wolves.

ok, so this is a future fic where jon and sansa married. i don’t even know how to describe this one. it isn’t jonsa focused, but that doesn’t make it any less brilliant. it is so unique, and i’m yet to read another fic that explores the idea of one of jonsa’s kids inheriting some targaryen madness. there IS a part two, which was just as amazing. pls do yourself a favour and read this!

Choose by @esther-dot​. oneshot, 5630k

“I know the cost of our loves. I know too well how they fall on the scale, one outweighing the other. I know what you tried to tell me. I know.” She was looking at him now, and he was afraid, but he would say the words that he had been unable to silence. “I never had the chance to choose you, but I would. I would choose you every time.”

THE DIALOGUE IN THIS IS INCREDIBLE. i just reread this to try and find my fave quote, but i actually can’t even pick. there are just so many amazing conversations, between sansa and jon, sansa and d.ny, arya and jon .. ugh, the list goes on. love this, please read.

Wink Wink, Nudge Nudge by alltheshinywords. one-shot, 3187k.

Post 8x03, slightly AU. Tormund and Jaime inexplicably find themselves becoming matchmakers when they notice a certain chemistry between Jon Snow and Sansa Stark. Extreme fluff and silliness.

this one is the least angsty on the list, and honestly it’s just such a good time. i remember reading this while s8 was airing, and honestly it was just so light hearted that i laughed out loud several times, despite being heartbroken over what happening in the show.

canon, but alternative universe

leave behind a love story by aetherae. one-shot, 9562k.

Maybe if things had been different, they wouldn't be like this. They would be worse.

ok, so, despite the summary, i naively went into this expecting a happy ending. yeah, so, no. however, this was one of the most interesting fics i’ve read in a while, because each universe it explored was so different to the ones i usually see floating around. and the writing was SUPERB.

i fell in love with a war (and nobody told me it ended) by mountainsbeyondmountains. one-shot, 18752k.

In which the North and the South have been at war for years, and Sansa unexpectedly finds herself on the run with a certain Targaryen bastard.

this is an avatar/bender au, and it is GLORIOUS. after i read this, i promptly devoured every other fic this author has written bc i loved it so much. the bending is just a backdrop to the amazing enemies-lovers this fic delivers.

modern au

Fuel and Fire by @zarahjoyce​. currently 4608k, 4/?, WIP.

"You see?" Sansa says, smiling now. "If you really have to have a room far away from me, seems like you need to move into a different hotel." As an afterthought she adds, "Or to another planet."

"Bet you'd just love that, wouldn't you?" Jon asks her.

"Loads," she snarls.

He takes a deep breath, all the while just looking at her.

Truth be told Jon will give anything in the world to be able to just-- just--

-

Jon and Sansa, and all the tropes applicable to them.

All. The. Tropes.

ok so zarah in general writes AMAZING fic, they’re always so creative and inventive and i’m always genuinely shook by the fic they write. but like, this one is the god tier one BC TROPES.

when we kiss: mmmm, fire by @dancemajicdance​. 8/8, 39705k.

Sansa might be seeing someone casually, but thanks to Arya, Robb, and Theon, it’s Jon who’s got the inside track on how to get Sansa to take him seriously.

aka: the one where jon finds out that sansa has a daddy kink, and he uses it to seduce her away from the dating scene and into his arms, heeeey-oh!

yes yes, it’s a daddy kink fic, and it’s fucking glorious alright. if that’s not your thing though (even though i’m pretty sure this fic is EVERYONE’S thing) then please, for the love of god, check out the rest of their stuff on ao3. you won’t regret it. even though they don’t write much jonsa anymore, the prolific contributions they HAVE made will go down in history as some of the best jonsa ever written imo.

As Long As We're Going Down by @alienor-woods​. 9/12, currently 42228k, WIP.

Four years after Stannis Baratheon wins the Battle of the Blackwater, Sansa Stark finds herself summoned back to King's Landing to serve as a bridesmaid at Crown Princess Shireen's wedding. When King Stannis tries to marry Sansa off to his illegitimate nephew, Edric, she thinks quick and tells him she's already married--

--to her bodyguard, Jon Snow.

i actually don’t know how to explain how much i love this. it’s written so beautifully, and it’s so realistic and just ugh. read it. the adaption to modern royalty is the best i’ve ever read, and the characters are very raw, and very realistic. (also, yes, the characters have gotten together at this point in the story, in case you were scared of committing to a wip without the satisfaction of some hot and heavy scenes).