#peak crossposting laziness

[ryusaidate]

[dapandapod]

Hope Hurts

Here is another entry (yes, another. I wrote five things....) Bog Fluff Battle piece! I am slowly crossposting from the collection, and now here comes the one that I like the most hehe.

On Ao3 here   and the rest of the cross posts here

Please enjoy <3

39. Sharing a bed/snoring 9. Forehead kisses

Jaskier is comfortable. The wind is howling outside, rain smattering against the window and the air chill with the telltale signs of fall.

Jaskier is snuggled down under thick blankets. He is barely awake, warm and cozy in contrast to the air around him. The dreams are doing that lazy thing where they linger, not ready to let go. Images and thoughts swirl in colorful patterns and repeat his favorite part of the dream. Mainly the one where he finds himself wrapped in a warm embrace, soft words mumbled into his hair, gentle kisses at his temple.

It’s a soft dream. One of his favorites, though it has a tang of sadness to it when he wakes up. Longing, that gentle squeeze around his heart that bids him to find someone.

This morning too has this tang of sadness to it, because as he slowly becomes aware of his body again, settling into it, he almost feels like someone is close. Like there is a chin resting on top of his head, a warm presence just in front of him, making the mattress dip, so close that he is resting his forehead against it.

It’s probably just pillows he managed to fluff up and cuddle to death during the night. But they feel warm and solid, and he so very much wishes they were real. Were him.

Jaskier scrunches up his forehead and squeezes his eyes tighter shut. No, he is not ready to let go of this dream. He burrows closer to that warmth, breathing in the soft smell of sleep and clean sheets. He lets out a sigh when his cold nose connects with something soft and warm, reaching his arms out to sooth that longing. Tricking his body or something, giving the lingering dream something to work with.

But it isn’t a soft pillow, he realises. His hands find something big, solid, hot. He frowns again but lets his hands keep exploring. That feels… that feels like a chest? He can’t really remember yesterday yet, but he doesn’t recall bringing a stranger to bed? But that is absolutely a chest, a wide muscular one leaning on the side.

There is a hum above him, a deep voice vibrating in the throat that Jaskier now realizes he has his face pressed against. The chin on top of his head is moving, gently back and forth, and then there is a nose pressed against his hair. His stomach flips, happy flutters breaking through his chest when he recognizes the voice and feels an arm tighten around him, pulling him flush to that wide chest.

Suddenly, Jaskier is very awake and full of wonder. He is very aware that his nose is pressed just under Geralt's Adam's apple. That he can feel every intake of breath, Geralt’s chest expanding under his hands and against his chest, his breath coming out against his hair.

Oh, that’s right.

They came very late to the inn last night, the only place within miles and filled to the brim with travelers hiding from the weather. The only private room left was the size of a cupboard, a bed filling the most of it. Geralt is not a big fan of those open sleeping rooms, and so he and Jaskier squeezed in there and fell asleep as soon as their heads touched the pillows.

Sharing a bed in itself isn’t rare.

What is rare, however, is Geralt sleeping so soundly. Even if it is a locked door between them and the rest of the world, he is usually the first one up. Jaskier doesn’t blame him for sleeping in, not one bit, but he doesn’t get to see the witcher actually asleep much. There is something intimate about that, trusting someone this close.

Jaskier is torn. He so badly wants to lean back an inch, to watch that ever frowning face smoothed out. On occasion Jaskier watched Geralt across the fire, meditating or getting the odd hour or two of real, deep sleep. But he doesn’t want to let go. He wants to stay in this warm hold, enjoy the snuffling snores in his hair, breathe in their warmth, count every breath. In this cocoon of safety from the storm and the outside world.

And so he does. He is not sure if Geralt is awake, he doubts it very much, but he relaxes back into the embrace. Jaskier wonders if he can get away with pressing a kiss to that pale neck. He is already so close, and if Geralt is awake, he could blame it on mere movement. His heartbeat picks up a little at the thought. He wonders if it is as soft as it looks.

Jaskier caves. He leans forward, just an inch, angling his head upwards to snuggle closer under Geralt's chin, and lets his lips drag very deliberately over soft skin. The arm around him tightens again, and he feels a sigh. Jaskier smiles, lips still gently connected to Geralt's neck, and dares to tighten his grip too.

He can feel himself drift away again, the smattering rain and howling wind singing him back to sleep. He thinks he hears Geralt say his name as he drifts off.

When next he comes to, the wind is quieter. There is a murmur of sound from downstairs, people awake and ordering breakfast before they brave the outside. Jaskier realises they have shifted, their legs now tangled, and Jaskier has sunken down so his forehead rests against Geralt's chest bone

An arm is resting against Jaskiers shoulder, a hand tracing small patterns on his cheek and his ear. That is… new. Very new. Unless someone crept into bed while Jaskier slept somehow and replaced Geralt. Is that possible? Maybe?

He looks up, stretching his neck awkwardly to sneak a peak on the possible offender. But white hair is there, amber eyes looking down at him. Jaskier is not sure how to describe the way Geralt looks at him right now. Open? Gentle? Like he is trying to put something together?

It hurts to think about, the hope he feels when Geralt gazes down at him.

“Morning,” he croaks, and Geralt's mouth does something wonderful. It breaks into a small, crooked smile as he pushes an unruly lock of hair behind Jaskier's ear.

“Hi,” he says back, resting his fingers against Jaskier's jaw and letting his thumb run back and forth over his cheekbone. It is a little tickly.

“Sleep well?” Jaskier asks, finding it so, so hard to break that gaze. The wonder he feels at this moment, the way Geralt is still touching him.

“Best in ages,” Geralt says, still with that infuriating little smile. “You kept snoring though.”

“I don’t snore,” Jaskier protests, mock offended.

“You do,” Geralt says, lifting his hand to boop Jaskier's nose. “And you talk.”

“I don’t.”

“All. The. Time. Even when you sleep. It is a bit frightening,” Geralt teases, playful in a way Jaskier is not used to. His fingers now pinches Jaskiers chin, and his heart is betraying him, galloping hard inside his chest. 

Hope hurts. Nobody told him that.

“And you kissed my neck,” Geralt says, getting serious again, his eyes dropping to Jaskier's lips. Again, Geralt's thumb searches for contact, caressing Jaskier's bottom lip ever so lightly.

Jaskier blinks, but decides silence is the best reply. Just watching Geralt watching him, touching him. For a few, wild heart beats, that is all they do. Then Geralt leans down, and Jaskier's fingers clench the blanket, eyes following his every movement.

Geralt presses a kiss to Jaskier's forehead, lips lingering, and then Jaskier is pulled against Geralt's chest again. Jaskier barely dares to breathe. To be hugged, deliberately, to be kissed so softly. He is dizzy with it, words on the tip of his tongue. Like Geralt said, it’s frightening.

It is his dream, breaking out of his head and settling into reality. His longing, his everything, begging to be seen. Maybe he has been seen at last. Maybe Geralt will stay.

Jaskier burrows closer again, holding on to this waking dream with all of his might. Holding it close, as the rain has softened and the wind has stopped its howling. Holding Geralt.

Hoping hurts, yes. But loving feels good.

[tercxra]

plunge

crossposted from my ao3! 

leviathan/gender neutral reader ; mature ; 2.7k words

---

“can you pass me the next volume?” 

leviathan gives no indication of having heard your request, still staring intently at his d.d.d’s screen, tapping at the notes on some rhythm game he’d downloaded earlier this week. you realize he would be unable to hand you the manga in question for at least another two minutes and sigh, deciding to wait the song out, far too lazy to simply walk to the other side of the bed to grab it. instead you turn your focus to leviathan himself, studying him as he struggles to maintain his combo. 

with all lights but a small, dim lamp in the corner of your room off, the d.d.d screen casts a pretty highlight to his features, the game’s bright colors faintly evident in his narrowed eyes. for a demon so self-conscious, he’s incredibly attractive. sure, he generally looks about six months behind on rest, you’ll admit that, but even with the dark circles his poor sleep schedule has created there’s a beauty to his features that can’t be overshadowed. you wish he could see it for himself; it’s obvious to near everyone but him that he has his own admirers within r.a.d, curious and shy demons who cast longing gazes when they see him attend in-person classes once in a blue moon. the same way you look at him in moments such as this, when you know he won’t have the chance to notice.

caught up in admiring him as you lay against your pillow, you don’t notice that leviathan has finished his song until he breaks the silence with an enthusiastic ‘yes!’ and heaves a great sigh.

“i finally beat every song in master mode! honestly i’m surprised at how fast i got through all of them, especially since the streamer that recommended this game was having problems with a couple of the master songs,” he exits the app to check the streamer in question’s devilgram page, likely checking for updates on said difficulties. 

“all your sleepless nights have paid off. you’ve peaked. the mastery of a free-to-play mobile idol game is the pinnacle of your gaming career,” you tease lightly, sitting up fully, breathing out a small laugh as he flushes.

“shut up! a normie like you wouldn’t understand anyway, but this game is notoriously difficult even for some of the most experienced rhythm game players. deviltube barely has any videos of completed master songs because almost no one can beat them,” his defense is half-hearted and you hum in humoring acknowledgement. 

“well now that you’ve surpassed every rhythm gamer out there, can you please hand me the next volume of this? i wanna finish it before i head to bed,” you wave the volume you just completed a bit and he frowns.

“you couldn’t have just grabbed it yourself?” 

“i mean i could’ve, yeah, but why would i do that when you’re right next to it and can just hand it to me?” you raise an eyebrow, and feign a look of contemplation. “i guess i could just climb over you to get it if that’s easier.”

leviathan turns even more red and makes a faint choking noise, jerkily turning to his left to search for the requested book. you chuckle and move closer regardless, sitting on your knees directly next to him. 

“i can’t-- is it even in here?” he huffs, sifting through a substantial stack of various books, magazines, and manga. you take in his still flustered expression and inhale deeply before deciding to do something incredibly stupid. 

shifting your body so that one of your legs is in between his, an awkward half straddle, you use your left hand to balance yourself with his shoulder, leaning over and prodding at the stack yourself. you feel leviathan go more still than he’s even been around you, and rather than face him you stare resolutely at the bedside table, not even registering which books you’re looking at. 

“i definitely saw it in here the other day,” you force out, doing your best to ignore the fluttering in your stomach when you hear leviathan start to protest against your position.

“h-hey--! what are-- y-you can’t just--” the poor demon seems near about to explode from embarrassment and you grip his shoulder tighter, feeling yourself start to blush at your own actions. still avoiding his gaze, you pause for a second. you can either back off and apologize for invading his space like this, play it off as a joke--he might be a little weird about it for a couple days but you know he’ll eventually forget about it--or you can dive headfirst into this grave you’ve dug for yourself. the warm feeling in your chest pushes you toward the latter, and you swallow before thinking ‘fuck it’ and plopping yourself fully in his lap. well, halfly, you suppose, given only one leg is straddled. 

“why are you--...” leviathan seems to stop functioning altogether, opting to stare intently just over your shoulder, too shocked to make eye contact. you spend just a moment studying him before hooking your arms around his neck. 

“levi,” there’s a quiet plea in your voice for him to look at you, and you continue when a while passes with no response from him. “please look at me?” 

his eyes flicker to yours a couple times, but it seems he’s unable to maintain the connection and you sigh, gently bringing his head down to rest on your shoulder while you embrace him. 

“levi...i really…” you exhale, hoping he doesn’t notice the trembling your own body is undergoing. you feel the rush of confidence leave you and find yourself unable to continue with your confession. making to pull back, you start a bit when leviathan suddenly wraps his arms around your waist, pushing his head into you just a tad more. 

“you…” his murmur is near inaudible and the muffled effect speaking into your skin causes doesn’t help any; the movement of his lips tickles and you shiver slightly. “you’re so unfair… you can’t just…” 

breath catching, you squeeze onto him harder before letting out a shuddering sigh. he shifts off of you somewhat, and eventually pulls back completely to finally look you in the eye; the stare is so intense you nearly miss the fact that he’s let go of the spell hiding his demon form, but when you realize your mouth drops open just a bit, in awe once more at just how unreal he can look sometimes. reaching up slowly so he can see what you’re doing, you run your fingers along the base of his horns, gently stroking upwards along the branching paths, and he closes his eyes, shuddering and pulling you closer to his body. 

“that’s-- if you keep--” he cuts off, instead shifting in place; the abrupt movements cause a gentle friction where you’re seated, and a sharp gasp seems to freeze time in the room. you flush even more red than before, ashamed of the noise that filled the space between you, but are helpless to do anything but sit and stare as he returns his attention to you. his orange eyes nearly glow in the faint lighting of the room, and in them you see a hunger you’ve never been on the receiving end of before. when his tail suddenly comes to wrap around your waist, you move to hold it closer to you, tender in your exploration of the scales, and he lets out a quiet sigh before shifting you once more, even closer than he had previously. this time you’re unable to hold back the small sound of satisfaction as you try to look at him, feeling a bit hazy. a whisper of your name has you humming absently, unable to focus on anything but the areas you’re making contact. 

leviathan seems to take it upon himself to act, hesitating for only a moment, then purposefully dragging you along the length of his thigh, making sure to press you down into the muscle for more pressure. 

“ah!” the reaction is instantaneous; your hands fly up to cover your mouth, shocked at the soft cry that left you, but leviathan wastes no time in gripping you even harder, repeating the motion, again and again until you’re gasping out a steady litany of muted moans and broken whispers of his name. his tail and hands keep you steady as he guides you in your movements, and soon you’re caught up enough in the pleasure that you grind into him on your own, focused on chasing the pleasure he’s allowing you to take from him. 

“come on,” his voice is much steadier than it has any right to be given the circumstances, and you grasp onto his arms to ground yourself as you near what’s shaping up to be the best orgasm of your life so far. “you’re close, right?” 

you don’t have the brain power to respond properly, just whimpering and squeezing so hard you have to be hurting him, but he doesn’t complain, only ducks his head to where it was resting so innocently earlier, placing gentle kisses in a path to the junction of your neck and shoulder. 

“come for me, please,” he gives no warning before biting harshly, hard enough that you’re sure his fangs have broken the skin, but it’s this sharp pain coupled with a final rough grind that tips you over the edge, and you let out a whimper that you worry will attract the other brothers’ attention with its volume. your orgasm hits just as hard as you were anticipating, and you spend the aftershocks slumped into leviathan’s chest, body trembling and reveling in his warmth and soft touches. after a few moments of rest, you pry yourself up to look at him, shocked by the lust directed at you in his expression. 

“levi…” you begin, fingers brushing through the back of his hair, “what do you want me to do for you?”

the confidence he’d worn throughout guiding your pleasure seems to crack a bit when he notices the small bite wound he’d created, the lust watered down with a splash of shame, and you quickly move in to give him a peck on the lips. 

“hey, don’t worry. i liked it, honestly. i-i don’t think i’d mind more…” you trail off, trying to ignore the heat in your face. “i want you to feel good too. just tell me what you want.”

leviathan wordlessly shifts you both around, and for a moment you think maybe he might actually leave, but soon he’s hovering over you, your back pressed to the mattress. 

“just...just stay there,” he mumbles, pressing close against you. it’s then that you notice how hard he is, now pressed against your thigh, the roles reversed. the pants he wears for pajamas tonight aren’t doing anything to hide it, and you’re briefly confused at how you were so caught up in your own arousal you didn’t even notice his. you try not to gawk at his cock pressing against the fabric, so beyond taking brief note of how it seems to be more than honestly expected, you focus your attention on leviathan’s face. he looks beyond embarrassed now that it’s his turn to get off, and you smile gently, reaching to pull him down for another kiss, this one longer than the previous but still fairly chaste. with a tiny nip to his bottom lip you wiggle to get more comfortable and rest your arms around his shoulders once more. 

“go ahead. i want you to.” you raise your thigh against where he’s straining against his pants, letting your voice drop to a sultrier tone than it’s been all night. “use me to get yourself off, leviathan.” 

this seems to snap him into action, and he surges forward to press his cock harder into your leg, settling into a near frantic pace. you assume having been hard the entire time you were grinding against him got him closer to coming than he’d like to admit, but you don’t mind, letting him go at the speed he pleases. 

small huffs of breath and held back whines are all that fill the air between you two as he visibly approaches his own orgasm. his face is mostly hidden by this point, as close to you as he can get without accidentally hitting you with his horns, but the flush and closed-eyed expression of bliss you catch a peek of has you biting your lip, wondering if it’d be worth it to go one more round. 

you decide to help him along when it seems he’s just about ready to let go, and slide your arm down his back, your hand reaching to caress the base of his tail; your other hand you use to angle yourself up just the tiniest amount, and when you find the same area he bit you latch on, gifting him a matching mark. he comes against you with no warning, only a choked off moan and the stilling of his movements. he flops onto the bed next to you, panting heavily, hiding his face entirely with a pillow. 

“levi.” you try, reaching over to poke his arm. there’s no movement. 

“leviii…” it’s a whine now, and you push up right against his side, trying to gain his attention. 

“w-what?” the grumble barely makes it to human levels of volume. despite his face being hidden, you can still see the intense redness of his ears and the nervous coil of his tail. 

“look at me.”

silence once more.

“please look at me, levi.” you try to hold back the tinge of frustration, but it’s clear he picks up on it from the tensing of his body. it works, however, and soon you’re faced with the flustered mess of a demon you’ve had on your mind for months. you find yourself grinning, your mind finally accepting the reality of what just happened. a giggle breaks free, and before leviathan can misinterpret it, you’re covering half of him in a tight hug, burrowing as close to him as possible. 

“leviathan...i like you. i like you so much. i didn’t mean for this to happen but i’m so happy it did because i got to show you how much i care about you.” if you hold him any tighter he’s probably going to complain, but you can’t hold back anymore. “you’re so special to me and i just wanna-- i want…-- i’d do anything for you.”

you falter in your confession, overwhelmed by everything, and wait for any kind of response from him. moments that feel like hours pass, and before you’re fully aware of it you’re held flush against his chest. 

“i can’t believe you went and said something so embarrassing…” he whines. “why would you even like me…? i’m not--”

“stop right there.” you cut him off quickly, jerking back to glare at him. “i don’t know what you’re about to say but i know it can’t be good. i don’t care if you think you’re lame or gross or any other excuse you wanna throw out. i like you for you, levi, games and anime and shut-in tendencies and awkwardness and all. if you can’t accept why i’d like you yet, fine, but don’t expect me to back off just because you think i should. i’ll only leave you alone if you don’t like me too.” 

he stares at you with wide eyes, shocked into silence, and your glare falters a bit the longer his response takes. 

“i-i mean...do you…? if you don’t, i...that’s fi--mmpf!” you’re cut off abruptly by leviathan surging against you, lips pressing desperately against yours. he leaves no room for protest, licking greedily into your mouth and coaxing you to meet his intensity until the small gasps between kisses are no longer enough and you pull back to inhale properly. 

“i didn’t say that, normie,” he can’t meet your eyes again, looking disgruntled, but the present redness ruins what would otherwise be pure displeasure. “you know you’re my player two...you better not think otherwise,” 

it’s not a full admission, but you can work on drawing that out later, you think. you settle in and wait when he says he’s going to his room to change. by the time he crawls back into bed with you you’re half asleep, exhausted by the physical and emotional toll of the night’s events. when he doesn’t come over to your side of the bed to cuddle, you give a small hmph and wriggle closer to him, nuzzling against his side. it takes him a few minutes to relax again, but once he does, you smile, finally letting sleep stake its claim upon you. 

[dearyams]

wanted to send you a prompt i was gonna do but i am too lazy prompt: mike and will have been dating but havent said i love you, mike is going on some trip for a week where cell phones dont work (obv future fic) and so Byeler is having a phone convo before mike arrives at his destination and they wont be able to talk to each other a week and will says tells mike he loves him but before mike can respond the phone disconnects as Mike arrives at the destinationn

[ crossposted on AO3 ]

“Finished packing yet?”

Mike turns from his suitcase and the clothes piles spread about the floor in his room and grins when he spots Will leaning on the doorframe a few feet away. He’s got two iced coffee cups in hand, indicative of finishing his part-time hours at the local coffee shop a few blocks north from the Byers residence. Mike wonders if Will biked his way over or took a lift with his brother to come visit before the Wheelers make their way on an impromptu trip to upstate New York at a cabin his dad had recently inherited.

The kneeling boy waves his hands at the disorderly state surrounding him and shrugs. “I’m trying and failing at packing the right clothes for this venture, I’ll say that.”

Will chuckles and walks fully into the room. He passes along Mike’s coffee, shoving around haphazardly folded pants to find a seat on the floor beside the other boy. Mike watches him grab a sweater and toss it aside. “It’s summer so you don’t need to pack heavy. Just grab some t-shirts and jeans; that should do. Shorts too if you’d like.”

“Sure,” sighs Mike before sipping from his cup. “I don’t want to make the visit miserable if I’m wearing the wrong clothes. Wrong for the weather and wrong for looking tolerable in the photos I know Mom is gonna force on me.”

Will laughs, a gentle breeze in the summer’s heat. “You’ll look good in whatever you put on.”

“As my boyfriend, you’re kind of obligated to say that.”

“Not really.” the brunette leans in to kiss Mike’s cheek. “I’ll let you know when you look bad if only for the sake of my own eyes.”

“And when you won’t be next to me, how will you judge my outfits properly?”

Will checks his watch and hums. “When’s your departure? If you have time, you can try out some of the outfits and I’ll let you know what works.”

Mike grins as he reaches over Will’s lap and snags a band t-shirt. “Sneaky aren’t you; tryna get me undressed.”

“I’ll cover my eyes.” Will places his unoccupied hand over his eyes but spreads his fingers between his middle and ring fingers to peek through the opening. Mike scoffs, tossing a stray pair of shorts at his face which makes the brunette laugh heartily. Mike already misses Will, the knowledge that they’ll be separated for a week squeezing his heart dry with romantic despair. He wishes Will could come with but the trip was pretty unplanned and though Mike's “job” as a blog writer and editor doesn’t require a remote location, Will’s job doesn’t allow the same ease when taking off work.

(Though Mike thinks he’ll probably still be working offline on an article if his mom doesn’t steal his laptop for “family bonding in the forest” time.)

Mike’s sudden fashion show lasts for about an hour and while Will does offer good input, most of that hour is spent playing around and Mike sneaking in as many kisses as they can get away with whenever Mike peels off a shirt and struggles to get his head through the tight collar of another. Afterwards, Will helps finish packing and when completed, they lounge about on Mike’s bed as Will discusses the customers he met earlier in the day.

Though he knows packing just mere hours before departure isn’t a habit he should develop, especially when the plans for his career require frequent traveling, he spent the night before editing a movie review scheduled for posting during the drive. Mike doesn’t regret his momentary time mismanagement if it means he spends more time with Will before the trip. The article can wait—he’s posting it early anyway—but time spent with his boyfriend is always coveted.

When Mike’s mom knocks on the door, Will pulls away from Mike’s chest where he rested his head as they page through Mike’s hard copy of The Golden Compass which he wanted to review in line with the show’s release. Shaking his head and straightening his hair as best as possible, Mike struts to his door and opens it with raised eyebrows. His mom looks up from checking her phone and offers Mike a tight smile before looking past him to wave at Will.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you two,” she starts warmly, “but Mike, we have to get going soon. The traffic through the city is getting dense thanks to an accident on the 70.”

“Got it,” replies Mike as he turns back to Will, who walks to his side with both their empty cups in hand. “I’ll see you in a few days, Byers.”

“‘Course.” Will grins and leans up to press a gentle kiss to Mike’s cheek. “Call me when you’re getting close to your destination.”

“Sure, worrywart,” he teases but turns his face to kiss Will’s lips one last time before he has to depart. He watches Will nod bashfully at his mom and give her a short goodbye before making his way downstairs. Mike doesn’t look away until he hears the front door closing and then he casts his gaze on his mom. “Are Dad, Nancy, and Holly waiting outside?”

“Yes,” she nods toward the front of the house. “We’ll all just waiting on you now.”

It doesn’t take long for Mike to join his family at the car, and as his dad pulls out the driveway, Mike turns in the direction of the Byers and smiles when he sees Will on his bike a little ways down the road watching. He sticks his hand out the window, his wave only growing more frantic when Will waves back. Holly giggles and Nancy makes a side comment about love sick teenagers as if she wasn’t one herself during her escapades with Steve, Jonathan, and now Robin. The first hour and a half fills with Holly saying “moo” every time they pass a cow on the way to the interstate and Mike feels like smashing his head against his window when they pass a farm and Holly moos until she nearly passes out. Pulling out his phone, Mike shoots Will a selfie of himself despondently looking out the window and groans when his cell service takes its sweet time sending the message along. Mike gets a reply a reply twenty minutes later: Will laughing at his misery with a short additional, “you’ll be there before you know it,” and a bunch of kiss emojis.

The next hour passes with Mike flipping through his ever growing Will gallery, a digital photo album filled with selfies and candid shots of Will, both solo and with Mike. He’s not one for being in photos himself but Will manages to drag him into a few selfies here and there. He doesn’t mind snapping a selfie either by himself or together—cheeks squished as they both attempt to fit in the frame as Mike holds the phone up and out—because Will always asks him to send the photo along and then makes it his lock screen until the next time he convinces Mike it’s photo time.

After settling on a candid shot Mike snapped when he and Will visited Lovers’ Lake and the sun framed Will like a bright halo of fire, Mike settles on playing a mobile game for about another two hours before staring out the window until the trees blend together and his eyes find themselves sliding shut. He wakes up a few times here and there when the family stops at gas stations and picks up snacks—he definitely remembers his mom arguing with his dad about stopping at a hotel which they ultimately don’t do—but he wakes up for the final time to his phone buzzing in his lap, startling him out of a dream he quickly forgets upon waking. Caller ID tags the number as Will and he immediately answers as he scrambles for his headphones in his pocket.

“Hey,” he begins, shoving the headphone plug into the slot at the bottom of the device, “Is everything okay back home?”

“Everything’s great,” Will’s voice crackles on the line and Mike peaks outside in the darkness to notice the forest surrounding him. They must be close to the cabin destination already. He didn’t think he had slept for that long. “Just checking in since it’s about time you’ve arrived if your dad didn’t take a rest.”

Mike laughs. “You’re cute, you know, checking up on me like this.” He hears Nancy snorting and reaches over Holly to pinch her bare arm. She glares at him and covers Holly’s eyes to flip him off. “Nancy says hello by the way.”

“Hello back to her.” Mike can hear Will’s grin and his heart clenches in sorrow at the current distance between them. “Are you doing okay there?”

“Yeah, peachy.” Mike yawns and covers his mouth. “Is it too cheesy to say I already miss you?”

“Maybe, but I miss you, too, so you don’t have to be embarrassed about it.”

A sleepy smile curls itself on Mike’s lips. “One week, Byers; one week and then I’m back.”

“Yeah, but don’t spend your time counting down the days, alright? I’ll do that for us both; you just have a great time at the cabin.”

Mike would kiss him if he could. “I’ll try my best but you know how my brain works.”

“Are you telling me it actually does work?”

“I’m breaking up with you.” Will laughs heartily. “Why are you laughing; I’m serious this time.”

“Sure, Wheeler.” Mike frowns as the last bit of his name gets caught in static. “Hey, I know this is probably something that should wait until you’re back but this separation made me realize I should tell you either way.”

“This sounds pretty important.”

“Yeah. I, uh, you probably already know this though but,” and Will takes a deep breath and releases it, though Mike hears it in short, split crackles. “Mike, I love you.”

The clarity in those four words stuns Mike into speechlessness and his mouth dries as his heart thumps speedily in his chest. Will is right, Mike already knows Will loves him, but this is the first time Will has ever said the fact out loud. I love you echoes in Mike’s head at the reverb levels of a rock guitarist. It takes far too long for his brain to come back online, but by the time it does, the car speeds past a brush of trees and the call suddenly drops. Mike looks down at his phone screen as the loud call dropped tone passes through his headphones. His home screen—a playfully disgruntled selfie as Will kisses his cheek—stares him back in the face as Will’s voice continues to bounce about in his head.

Mike, I love you.

Mike quickly calls back but his phone spits back the message that he has no service. “Nancy,” he hisses even though the entire car heard his part of his conversation with Will anyway, “do you have any service on your phone? I need to call Will back and my phone is being homophobic.”

Nancy raises her eyebrows but checks phone and shakes her head. “Looks like you’re straight out of luck.”

“Ha; you’re quite the comedian, aren’t you.” Mike reaches forward to tap his mom’s arm. “Mom, can I borrow your phone to finish a call?”

“Sorry, sweetie, I’ve lost service, too. I don’t think any of us can use internet on our phones.”

“Does the cabin at least have wifi?”

“Nope,” snorts Mike’s dad as he drives the car down a dirt road further into the forest. “You kids these days need to learn what life is like without cell phones anyway.”

Mike rolls his eyes and mumbles under his breath, “Okay, boomer.”

“What was that, young man?”

“Okay, bummer.” Nancy bites on her bottom lip and Mike sends her a grin before settling in his seat.

Their mom reaches a hand back to rest on Mike’s knee. “It’s only 7 days, Michael. I’m sure both you and Will can last that long without contact.”

He told me he loves me, Mom, he wants to explain but Will’s words are too fresh and far too private to blurt out in front of the whole family. He crosses his arms silently and turns to stare out the window, hoping that Will can wait out these next few days and hoping he doesn’t think Mike hung up on him after such an important conversation. I love you, too, he thinks to himself, smiling as he presses his hand against the chilly window and imagines Will on the other side as if the car window is the window in Will’s room and Will’s inside watching Mike with that ever so lovestruck grin filled with appreciation that Mike came over despite the cold night to comfort Will from the nightmares that occasionally plague him to this day.

I love you, Will, he repeats inwardly, wait for me.

[enbycupcake]

bingliushen au w/ no system. crossposting from my twitter

luo binghe & ming fan due to both ning yingying & shen qingqiu's freer range of affection without the system became friends. for Plot Reasons ning yingying drags them out on an adventure. ning yingying and ming fan tease luo binghe about doing something impressive so when they come back shizun won't see him as his tiny disciple anymore

while they’re gone, shen qingqiu feels a little lonely. his disciples are gone! he bugs liu qingge more often at his peak for tea & liu qingge enjoys his company. they bond & liu qingge starts Falling for him. shen qingqiu is his oblivious self. but Everyone can see it

luo binghe, ning yingying, & ming fan come back. they are just :0 when they see their shizun & liu qingge; that's unexpected. so ning yingying & ming fan come up with elaborate ways for luo binghe to impress shen qingqiu who goes to liu qingge to complain bc he doesn't understand what his disciples are doing. they think bc they're adults now they can mess around? they can, he supposes, but please spare this old man!

liu qingge is like “why do i like him he's so stupid”. anyway ming fan & ning yingying arrange a date for luo binghe & shen qingqiu but liu qingge is at the location. and honestly? luo binghe might pout, but watching his friends see liu qingge is good to their shizun. shizun is really lazy; two men would be better. so ming fan and ning yingying mutiny and work to get sqq with both

[viitria-blog]

CASTLE.

chapter 2 / ? ao3 crosspost first | last | next

SANS.

He hates his throne.

It’s not even his, a thing built for those of stature, of grace and nobility, of worth and the ability to lead. Not for a broken, tired creature like him, with bones that creak under the stress of a decision he made far too quickly. But does that mean he regrets it? No, not most nights.

But it’s in those few nights between that he spends here, in a garden of flowers he tends to like a promise, that he hates it, just so. His back bows, his phalanges crack, his smile slack. This is not where he belongs, and he knows it, having left that decrepit crown he stole sit on the arm of that mighty seat, wanting nothing more than to let it rot.

Or for familiar hands, large and furred, to reach and take it, settling it between curling, ivory horns.

… Wishful thinking. It’ll get him nowhere.

He's been told it fits him, but he'd damn near beg to differ.

Sans does his best to focus on other things, instead.

The watering can in his hands is a thin metal that could bend so easily under his touch, a can the late king once held, and he more watches than waters, droplets shaking from petals to the ground below. Watching, waiting - getting lost in his thoughts.

The earth is soaked, the smell reminding him of a place far on the other end of this kingdom of his. It always surprises him, the way sunlight can stretch through the barrier like a tender touch, creeping through the long hall between him and the world outside.

There are few, precious hours in which these flowers get light. Sunrise to just past noon, where the sun reaches past the peak far above and makes the rest of its trip, leaving the throne room in shadow.

And yet, they grow beautifully all the same, reaching upwards, as if they care not for the temptation. Resilient blossoms, a look alike to the poisonous buttercups that grow in swathes elsewhere.

He hates it.

Sometimes he expects to see Asgore standing there tending to the flowers beside him, picking out the snails that threaten their care, to hear his voice chiding how the jokester is overwatering his plants, but never with malice. To be fair, he can hardly recall the amount of times he's been here, cup after cup of tea.

Rumbling laughter at his jokes, a guiding paw to his shoulder blades when they sag, a gentle word to his addled mind.

Sans falters.

Would Asgore have wanted this?

Would he have approved of the way Sans had done what he thought best? Or was he no better from the grieving king, misjudged and misguided, letting his fear and anger guide him?

Did he scream the way sans had, when he lost it all?

Did he find no solace in these flowers, despite how desperately he tried?

What would he do if he were here, and not dead by his own hand?

The sound of shrieking metal stops him.

Blinking, Sans finds the metal handle of the watering can bent and being ripped under his phalanges, his teeth baring into a frustrated smile. Then, a low sigh, and he eases his grip, standing straight.

Wishful thinking.

It breaks things, monsters and others alike.

It doesn't matter if Asgore could have seen this coming or not, a broken judge turned executioner in his place, jokes robbed and left with nothing but a kingdom at his back. He’s dead, and all that remains are the pieces he left behind to be picked up one by one.

He makes for the throne and sets the watering can at the foot of such an ornate thing, phalanges trailing, hesitating. It takes a moment, two, before he finally touches that cold crown, frozen upon his skull. He has no warmth, no fur, to keep it any other way.

The jewels glisten menacingly as he picks it up, light in his hands. Bendable, breakable, just like the watering can.

It fits, but sans hates it.

He's not sure he can sleep now, but he'll never get anything done with these bags under his eyes, deepening by the day. Someone will get him a new watering can, or they won't.

He hopes they won't.

 The next day is a harrowing affair.

He has far too many meetings he doesn't care for first thing in the morning, far too many disputes to settle, and more than enough urgent reports that turn out to be nothing more than the “kingdom crisis” equivalent of a stubbed toe.

He's really over this king thing.

It's after those slew of meetings he's offered something to eat, but more often than not he doesn't have the appetite nor focus to even keep sipping at a bottle of ketchup as he works over paper after paper just begging for his signature or approval.

And while sans is exhausted, and the once self-proclaimed lazybones everyone had once known, he does not skirt his work. Not this, not when one misread or skimmed paper drafted by his advisors would mean less food supply over power, or vice versa.

He has to be careful, and he weighs everything he's given as a judge should.

Fairly.

Most of his early afternoons are spent this way, but it's thankfully the evenings that belong more or less to himself. He's only recently gotten those pesky guards of his to stop following him, loyalists beyond all else. It’s fair to say with the death of Asgore the public had concerns, worries, and more than enough contentions to abide the matter. And while Sans is grateful for their worry of losing yet another, he’s more than capable, and yet it took a demonstration just to be sure he wouldn’t have to worry about a panic whenever he snuck off.

He can’t blame them. As far as the Underground knows, Asgore disappeared, and it’s more than widely accepted it was the human who killed him.

Sans has done nothing to help these rumors. And why should he?

It’s another day he finds himself disappearing the moment his detail’s back is turned, from one archway to the next, stepping through the world from place to place. Seamless, the transition from stone walls and stained glass lit by artificial sunlight, to a world of ice and snow.

It may not be New Home, but it’s his home.

His feet crunch through the snow, and while he feels the cold against his bare tarsals, it doesn’t upset him. Sans can feel the temperature, but isn’t miffed by it, making slow headway past a sentry station that’s been re-polished and now homes a gently snoozing Doggo. Normally, Sans would say something.

But he only steps through the world again, and finds himself yards away, beyond a familiar, broken bridge.

It’s snowing as it always is. Gentle, lazy snowfall that never ceases to make him feel at ease, even if just so. It’s the place he grew up, had a family, a home. The once-prankster can’t even help the way his teeth curve, a smile on that skull of his.

It isn’t long until he sees the door.

The Delta Rune that’s become his life is stamped on the masonry, carved in as permanently as it’s stitched on his clothes. Idly, he wonders if she’ll answer. Sans also wonders if she’s dead, too, if her silence means anything.

Maybe she thinks he’s dead, for all his silence means anything.

And yet he can’t help himself. When he finds himself before those stone doors, he reaches out a hand, as he’s done, day by day, for weeks, months. But he doesn’t rap his knuckles, no. Instead the flat of his palm finds the stone, strangely warm in this cold, freezing world, and he sighs, a sound whittled between his smiling teeth.

Not today.

He’ll find himself laying with his back against the door soon enough, waiting. Listening.

Not a sound.

 Eventually, he’ll have to go back. Dinner, and then another restless night pacing the halls.

It blurs together, one day after the next, and Sans has to wonder if this is any better a Hell then the one before.