#rai's three sentence fics

[gyubaseone]

kim gyuvin. true feelings

❛ i'll do anything, just don't ignore me anymore. ❜

pairing — kim gyuvin x f!reader

genre — fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers

synopsis — after his best friend starts ignoring him, gyuvin intends on finding out why.

warnings — none! third person pov, lowercase intended, not proofread thoroughly. mentions of dog union </3 i miss junhyeon

word count — 1,737

notes — starting off my blog with a gyuvin fic since he is my bias & is always. on my mind 😵‍💫 enjoy! i hope that there aren't that many mistakes..

★ ( please fill out this form to be on my taglist ) ❕

the past week had been weird ; y/n had been weird. if somebody were to ask what had happened to the once smiley girl who liked hanging out with her bestfriend, kim gyuvin wouldn't know the answer.

all he knew was that one day, y/n was his best friend but all of a sudden, she was avoiding him every time they were in the same proximity. in classrooms, hallways, even more, she could barely look him in the eyes now.

he could be clueless to how people may act sometimes, but y/n made it abundantly clear what her motives were the day she began avoiding him. maybe it was because he paid attention to her solely more than other people? he didn't know the answer.

"don't you think you're exaggerating it a bit? i'm sure it's nothing," kum junhyeon assured, putting his banana milk down on the table, "she's probably just busy. sounds to me like you miss her presence."

"no— i swear! i can handle when she's busy but she's been outright avoiding me for the past week and i have no idea why," gyuvin passionately expressed, stretching out his entire body on the chair he was sitting on, "she hasn't even spoken to me once yet!"

just as the two were speaking, park gunwook walked into the convenience store that the three agreed to meet at ; he was late. while gunwook scrambled around to find the snacks he had been craving all day, gyuvin started speaking again.

"gunwook, can you tell this guy that i'm not exaggerating? y/n really has been ignoring me!" gyuvin shouted out to the boy who seemed like he was in his own world by the ramyeon.

"sure— sure whatever you say..." gunwook yelled back, not paying any attention to whatever the two boys were speaking about as he headed toward the cash register to pay.

"okay, he's clearly not paying any attention," junhyeon shook his head, "but seriously... maybe it's just all in your head, y/n wouldn't ignore you."

"maybe she found out that you have feelings for her," gunwook proposed, walking by nonchalantly with the intent of cooking his ramyeon with the microwave next to the table they were sitting at.

"wait... maybe your right!" gyuvin started to panic, looking at junhyeon with a look as if he had just seen a ghost, "but how could she know? i've been so cool about it."

"cool? yeah, i wouldn't use that word for how you've been acting," junhyeon let out a gargle of laughs, "remember that time you gave her a bruise on her forehead after you got flustered by how close she was to you?"

"hey— you said you would never bring that up again!" gyuvin groaned, remembering the look on y/n's face when she saw the damage he had done, "if she knows, then i'm done for!"

"maybe this will give you a chance to confess to her," gunwook suggested, finally sitting down with the two as he took a bite out of his ramyeon.

"yeah, how can i do that if she can't even look me in the face anymore..." gyuvin grumbled, covering his face with his hands, "yesterday, i was 3 feet away from her and she almost ran into a wall."

"maybe she was just looking at your face and realized how—" junhyeon commented before being cut off by gyuvin.

"if you finish that sentence, i will hurt you," gyuvin sent a death glare in his direction, "i need to do something right? gunwook, help me out here!"

"han river!" gunwook choked out, his cheeks filled with ramyeon as he spoke up.

"han river? dude, you just got here and you want to go to han river?" junhyeon raised an eyebrow, looking at the younger boy weirdly.

"no— y/n is at han river right now!" gunwook said in a clearer tone after swallowing his ramyeon, "look, she just posted something on her story."

gunwook turned his phone to face the two boys after pressing on y/n's story again, showing the two boys as they scanned the photo carefully. the room fell into silence, the only sound being heard was the cash register and the freezers in the back.

during that moment of silence, they all exchanged looks with one another realizing the opportunity at hand. the room may have been quiet, but gyuvin's expressions were filled with panic and confusion about what to do next ; he looked at the two as if he was waiting for them to give him the answers.

"well, what are you waiting for? go and talk with her before she leaves!" junhyeon shouted at gyuvin, ushering him out of his seat to the point where he almost fell on the floor.

"by monday, she'll be ignoring you again— you gotta catch her off guard!" gunwook added to the panic the boy was going through, basically yelling at him until he ran out of the store.

"wow, we are such good friends," junhyeon nodded his head pleased, picking up his banana milk to take a sip.

"seriously, what would those two do without us?" gunwook agreed, letting out a laugh as he took another bite of his ramyeon.

"that ramyeon looks good, can i—"

"go buy your own," gunwook cut him off, looking at him with a serious face while he ate ramyeon.

the han river wasn't far from the convenience store that gyuvin was at, yet he still made sure to stride with the biggest steps his long legs could do. this was his only chance to talk to y/n, to find out why she was ignoring him.

gyuvin needed to know what he had possibly done to make her avoid him to such an extend. was it really because she found out he had a crush on her?

"gosh, how can i keep this up?" y/n let out an exasperated sigh, leaning over the railing of the river as she stared out into the distance.

"at this rate, i should just move schools to avoid him!" she exaggerated, "but... my mom would never let me move though.."

"ugh, why me!?" y/n groaned, throwing a rock into the river and watching it bounce a few times before sinking into the river.

just as she was in her thoughts, zoning out from anything that was happening in the real world; gyuvin appeared, standing right behind her while panting as he finally found her.

"y/n," gyuvin called out, his hands on his knees as he was panting from all the running.

after hearing her name be called, y/n turned around to find the brown-haired boy standing there. she was shocked to say the least, but it's not like she wasn't the one who posted on her instagram hoping he would come.

slowly, gyuvin gained his breath once again and walked up to the girl slowly before pulling her into a tight hug. his hand fell onto her head, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder.

y/n should've pushed him away, she knows she should've. but it had been a week and she missed her bestfriend. all his warm smiles, the way his eyes light up whenever she buys him snacks or his head falling onto her shoulder whenever they rode the bus together. she missed the boy she had fallen for so easily.

"why have you been ignoring me?" gyuvin asked after a moment of silence, his voice sounding like it was about to crack, "please, just talk to me."

"if i did something wrong, tell me— i'll... i'll fix it!" his voice pleaded and his grasp on y/n tightened, "i'll do anything, just don't ignore me anymore."

"is this because i like you? i can un-like you if you want!" gyuvin admitted, resting his head on y/n's head when she suddenly pushed him away for a moment after he spoke.

"wait— you like me?" y/n spoke in a whisper, not knowing how to respond to his words, "this whole time, you've liked me?"

"yes? wait... so you didn't know? why were you avoiding me then?" gyuvin questioned, sniffling his now red nose, "do you know how stressed i've been because of this?"

"okay... the truth is, i like you too," y/n confessed, letting out a sigh, "i didn't think you liked me so.. i tried to distance myself from you. it's stupid i know, i was just confused.. and scared."

"i didn't want to lose you as my friend, but i guess my idea wasn't the smartest way to go about it.." she admitted, giving a slight smile to gyuvin.

"you idiot.. how could i not like this face?" gyuvin muttered, cupping y/n's face while smiling, "there's not one day where i don't wake up and think of you, y/n. i really, really do like you."

"i like you too," y/n responded, pulling the boy in for another hug as she wrapped her arms around his waist, "and i really missed talking to you too. do you know how hard it is to not have anyone to talk to everyday?"

"atleast you didn't have to put up with junhyeon and gunwook," gyuvin poked fun at, hearing y/n's small giggles that were muffled.

"so what do we do now?" y/n asked, slowly releasing herself from gyuvin's grip although she didn't want to let go of his warm embrace.

"i don't know, how do people do this boyfriend-girlfriend thing?" gyuvin scratched the back of his neck, unsure of what to do next.

sure, their feelings were now 'figured out', but there was still one question. what was next? the two liked eachother, but what the heck were they supposed to know about relationships? they had no experience whatsoever. so what was next?

"well, let's start small then?" y/n initiated, putting her hand out in front of gyuvin, "would you.. like to go out with me sometime, kim gyuvin?"

"i thought you would never ask. i would love to do that, l/n y/n," gyuvin cheekily smiled, intertwining their hands as y/n slightly pulled him forward so that they could walk together.

maybe they didn't know what was next. but that was okay, because they could find out in their own — most likely weird — way. they were together now and that's all that mattered now.

© gyubaseone — please refrain from copying, translating, reposting, or claiming my work as your own.

[starryhutcherson]

clapton davis fic where hes just like, super flirty and its really cute and the reader is oblivious to this but eventually clapton is like "damn it why cant you get the hint" so he opens up to the reader?&;&:& tysmm

━━ UNSUBTLE SUBTILITY

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: clapton davis x reader warnings: swearing, brief depictions of blood word count: 2500+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

The presence of Spring in Grizzly Lake brought a lot of things; including sporadic bursts of heaven-yellow sunlight, greenery spiraled across branches of previously barren tree skeletons, and, most importantly for students of Grizzly Lake High School, the promise of the Spring Fling Formal that was set to occur in the midst of May. 

For Clapton, this prom meant one thing; achieving his goal that’s been looming over him since freshman year — ask you out. Theoretically it’s a simple process, but if it was truly as easy as it sounds it would have occurred the very moment his eyes landed on your figure that first day in beginner spanish. 

You were the embodiment of perfection, punctuated through your gleaming smile that enraptured anyone in a ten mile radius, and the way the sun seemed to spread across the expanse of your cheeks, soaking you in the rays of heaven itself. Clapton was about ready to propose that day, and he didn’t even know your name. 

Now, roughly two years later, he was still amidst the same dilemma, the one in which he actually had to do the asking-out part. He was sure by now you would have picked up on his inherently obvious attempts to entice you, but you remained oblivious, so he decided he’d have to fully commit if he wanted to capture your attention. The art of unsubtle subtility, if you will. 

And so, forty three minutes into the depths of an agonizingly dull pre-calculus lesson, he confidently taps your shoulder with a fractionally tense hand, and indulges the tug on his heartstrings when you turn around, framed by the delicate glow of mid-morning spring that he adores so much. 

“Something wrong, Clapton?” Your voice cleaves through the classroom ambience of idle chatter and textbook pages being flipped. He flashes a boyish smile in hopes to flutter your heart in the same way you flutter his. 

“Do you get any of these questions?” 

“Yeah, they’re not too bad,” you reply, offering an ephemeral that renders his throat tight. 

He glanced down momentarily at his worksheet, adorned in scrawls and scribbles, yet lacking a single legible answer. His vision trains up back to you though, as it always does. He thought you’d easily detect the unspoken question for your help, but you remained stationary in your seat, as if waiting for him to say it. He couldn’t tell if you were genuinely that heedless, or if you were toying with him. Cat and mouse. 

“Seriously? When did they even teach us all this?”

You shrug mindlessly, and a lock of hair shifts from its position on your shoulder. He’d give anything to rope his fingers through it. “A while back. Why, you need some help?” 

Yes. He’d like your help, your compassion, your hand in marriage…

“Wanna walk me through it?” He tosses you a hopeful expression, and you answer back with a simple nod, sliding your chair along the cheap linoleum floor with a scrape, until the pair of you are sharing his desk, impossibly close. 

Your velvet voice is stringing sentences right down the expanse of his spine, though your attempts to help him understand logarithmic differentiation were ultimately futile— how was he supposed to concentrate on anything when he could feel your words blooming on his skin? See every freckle and divot etched into your face? He could taste his own heartbeat as it melded against his throat.

“So, this helps to avoid complications like the product rule and the quotient rule when— Clapton?”

He cocks his head up, trying to ignore the swell in his stomach when he hears the way his name sounds braided between your sentences, it suits your voice so well.

“Yeah? What’s up?” 

“Are you even listening?”  

Shit, no he absolutely wasn’t. How could he? Your proximity allowed him to see you. Like, properly see you. 

“Yeah. Totally. Logaramic thingyation,” he murmurs with overt certainty, and a puppylike grin. 

You snicker. “Couldn’t even get the name right?” 

He’s internally collapsing, though he manages to force some words out of his struggling brain. 

“Hard to think when you’re here.” He doesn’t dare sever the eye contact between you, hoping to hone the tension as long as possible, until he shatters you. His lopsided grin shrinks in a moment of brevity; you’re so close and he can smell you and your very essence. He’s sure that his ulterior motive is conveyed, through the way his eyes explore the breadth of your figure, never leaving, never faltering— yet to his pure irritation, all he gets is a blank expression and a confused chuckle. 

“Why is that?” You ask, and he wants to grab you by your shoulders and shake you. Are you really that dense? Your face is about as expressive as a rock, and you seem not even partially affected by the flirty wink he sent your way moments prior. 

“You’re kidding, right? Come on.” He fires back, raising a brow with a daring smirk. He wants you to inquire. You don’t. He realizes that trying to get you to take a fucking hint was about as impossible as teaching him calculus. 

You force out an awkward laugh that makes his skin crawl with defeat, but he doesn’t back down. “Come on what?” 

He refrains from the urge to say “me”, and instead huffs a sharp exhale through his nose. He’s moments away from spouting some lame compliment when the shrill cry of the bell interrupts his train of thought, and a tide of students eject eagerly from their seats and spill out into the corridor for lunch. 

Your friend approaches the desk with a quirked brow, reaching for your arm and mumbling something into your ear that’s intelligible to Clapton, tugging on you to try and steer you away from the classroom. And from him. You nod in response to her comment, before momentarily glancing back over to Clapton.

“I gotta go, Clapton. See you soon though, see you in History!” You send him a parting wave with a gentle flick of your wrist, before turning off and disappearing down the long stretch of corridor beside the classroom. His eyes follow you for as long as possible before your figure is consumed by the wandering horde of students, and he lets a grumbly sigh escape his parted lips before he packs up his belongings. This was going to be harder than he anticipated. 

*:･.・゜゜・

Clapton’s second attempt at alluring you resulted in more or less the same outcome. He’d entered the cafeteria, instantly bathed in the overwhelming odor of lysol and lard. His prior plan was to grab a doctor pepper, maybe a sandwich, and head over to his typical table to talk a painfully uninterested Sander’s ear off about you, but he scrapped it upon spotting you waiting in the cafeteria line, immediately changing course and veering over in hopes of a successful conversation.

He cuts in front of an unsuspecting freshman, ignores the irritated “What’s your deal man?”, and ‘accidentally’ brushes up to you until your bodies knock, and you spin around in confusion. 

Your face mildly relaxes in recognition, and he takes this as progress.

 “Hey. Getting lunch?”

“What else would I be doing?” You ask. Swing and a miss. 

He clears his throat a fraction, not allowing this to throw him off his game. 

“I dunno, maybe you just really like standing in lines,” he teases, and you laugh back. 

“Especially if the line is for overpriced cafeteria food,” you add with a grin.

The pair of you share a laugh, and Clapton marvels at the fact that you can look so irresistible even in the harsh fluorescence of the cafeteria’s artificial lighting. The pair of you fall into a partially awkward silence, and he follows your line of vision, watching as you observe some students hanging a hand painted banner advertising prom for the entirety of the cafeteria to see. ‘Spring Fling Formal, get your tickets now!’ glistens in white gold lettering. He prays he can take the banner up on that offer. 

“Are you doing anything for it?” A bit of a jump from the casual conversation, but he was itching to entice you and couldn’t risk missing his chance. 

“Hm? For what?” His lips twitch into a gradually familiar downwards smile. “Prom,” he says, gesturing at the banner, obnoxiously pink in hue and decorated with scatterings of hastily painted daisies. 

“Oh. Maybe— I’m not sure, it’s kinda ages away.” Yup. An impossibly distant period of two weeks. Clapton’s jaw ticks uncomfortably at the prospect of the narrowing window of time. He can’t afford to screw this up.

“Right. Sure. Are you… interested in anyone in particular though?” He probes, hoping that you notice the searing spark of desperation that lingers in the loop of his irises.

“Eh. Not really. Are you?”

His ego suffers a blow at your total ignorance to his pining. He’s on the brink of combustion; unable to endure the cosmic irony of having you so close yet so far. He pictures you for the umpteenth time, glittering in a dress that matched your eyes and his tie. A slow dance to a Sting song, his eager hands situated either side of your waist. You’d stare up at him with a dazzled guise, illuminated by the scintillation of indigo disco lights, and his tongue would delve into yours as he soaked up the saccharine flavor of the fruit punch lingering on your lips. 

“Yeah.” He states bluntly, staring at you as if you hung each and every star. “Yeah, I’m interested in someone.” 

You raise a brow. “Oh yeah? Who?”

He clears his throat. “Someone special. Someone super special.”

“You should ask them!” “Easier said than done,” he chuckles humorlessly. 

Your lips part as you go to investigate further, but are interrupted by the scowl of the lunch lady barking at you for your order. He notes it, mac and cheese plus a diet sprite— you’re handed it moments later, and your vision is torn from him and towards your small circle of friends seated across the cafeteria, who are waving you down. You’re gonna leave again? 

“I better go sit down, but, uh, you should definitely ask that person to prom. Be upfront and everything. Y’know, you only live once, and all that, right?” 

He swears he’s going to implode at the unbridled irony of this entire situation. Be upfront. He’s been upfront! 

“You know it,” he quips weakly as you slink away. 

He’s been showering you in signals for months, and you’d always abandon them, his attempts for your acknowledgement left festering as sour memories in his head, things that made him roll over with shame in bed at night, and all for what?

He brainlessly orders his doctor pepper with a monotone grumble, feeling the frigid prick of the can’s condensation gather in his palm as he wonders what the hell it’s gonna take for you to take a damn hint. 

*:･.・゜゜・

After yet another failed interaction, Clapton had spent the span of the rest of the week stripping his words to the marrow. Every conversation he indulged in with you involved his inner thoughts spouted in their rawest form— cocky compliments, lingering touches, looks of intense pining and yet somehow you continued to miss them. Every. Last. One. 

He was nearing his wits end, teetering on the cliff of insanity and seconds away from taking the plunge. Maybe he was the one who needed to take a hint. Maybe you were trying to tell him that you weren’t interested and he wasn’t giving it up. It was a sickening notion, one that thrashes wildly in his stomach. He didn’t know much, but he did know that he’d never be satisfied until he knew your stance on him for certain.  

He was just gonna say it. 

In hindsight, it wasn’t Clapton’s smartest move to deliver the question in the midst of a dodgeball game, but his thoughts were warped and he decided now was as good as ever. His voice was barely even audible beside you over the screech of tennis sneakers scraping the gym floor and the continuous sound of rubber balls coming into contact with student flesh. 

“Hey!” He exclaims. 

“Hey?” You say back, turning to him momentarily. Yet again, he wonders how you do it. Hair blown back effortlessly, skin glistening with a fragile sheen of moisture that is hardly off-putting, if doing something it aids to soften your otherworldly glow. Meanwhile, he was panting like an old dog, hair matted to his forehead in sodden chunks beneath his obnoxious sweatband. 

“I needa ask you something!” It’s sink or swim. His teeth graze the inside of his cheek for a moment, his gaze varying between you and the opposing court, to prevent a dodgeball to the head. 

“Yeah?” Sink or swim sink or swim sink or swim. “What’s up?” He melts at the sight of your semi-breathless smile.

“Are you still dateless? Like, to prom?”

Your forehead creases, and you return the sideways glance. “Um, yeah. Why?”

With a delayed exhale that rings heavy in the pits of his lungs, he turns his entire body to face you, which in turn makes you face him as well. 

“Look, I’ve been trying to say this for months. Well, not months. Maybe weeks. Whatever– point is, it’s been a while. Like seriously, a long fucking time. And I swear I’ve been so obvious, but clearly not obvious enough because you’re still, like, totally unaware or whatever. But, like, basically, I was wondering— I’ve been wondering if—” “Clapton!” You exclaim hurriedly, splintering his stammered sentence in an instant. He barely has time to cast his visage front on, before a dodgeball with an extremely strayed trajectory soars gracefully through the current of the air and hits Clapton square in the face. Guess he wasn’t paying enough attention after all. 

An expletive leaves his lips, muffled by the wail of your gym teacher’s whistle. His head is temporarily a warped whirlwind resembling TV static, though the feeling fades fairly quickly.

You turn to him in a mild panic, noting the faint trickle of glossy crimson that has started to spill from his nose. “Holy shit! You’re bleeding! Lemme take you to the nurse.” 

He can’t help but twist his lips up to form a slight smirk as you place a worried hand on his bicep. The touch scars on his nerves, your fingers like an angel’s caress. 

In all honesty, he feels fine, but you offered to take him to the nurse— was he going to give up that delightful invitation? No. He was not. 

The pair of you are excused from the gym, trekking down the hallway in an atmosphere of silence so thick it’s practically tangible. Upon arrival at the nurse, Clapton’s seated in a shitty plastic chair, holding a paper towel held to his nose and tipping his head slightly backward. He couldn’t believe that his one chance of actually spitting his desperate question out was interrupted by a stray dodgeball. A goddamn stray dodgeball. 

You linger in the doorframe, taut as a coiled spring. The nurse, underpaid and painfully unsympathetic, leaves the pair of you once she deems Clapton to be ‘good enough’, in her exact words. 

You approach him, taking the scarlet-spotted tissue and holding it to his face for him, a gesture which turns his insides in on themselves. 

“Hey Clapton? What were you saying before?”

Shit. 

“What?” He croaks gutturally, trying and failing to play dumb. He knew damn well what he was saying. Prom with him. 

“You were asking me something. Before you got, y’know, obliterated by a flying dodgeball.”

He snickers feebly, even if for a moment. “Oh, yeah.”

You open your eyes wider as if to say, “Well?”

The climate in the room seems to sink heavier, cradling the scent of antiseptic and drying blood. Clapton’s words fizzle out on his tongue no matter which way he arranges them in his head, but he knows he just has to get it out—- rip off the band-aid, break the ice, all of that. 

His eyes, big and wide and drinking in your face so dangerously close to his, melt into an unmistakable question. He counts himself down in his head. Now or never. 

“Prom. I was asking if you wanna go to prom.” He takes a staggered breath. “With me, I mean.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

The genuine beam you erupt in subsequent to his words is enough to ease his nerves. It’s enough to make him soar, actually. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” That wasn’t a no. That wasn’t a no. His heart hurts with hope. 

“I tried to. You’re just… you kinda suck at taking hints.” He chuckles. 

You roll your eyes, picturing every moment leading up to this one that you spent with him. Upon further reflection—- yeah. Yeah, you clearly did. People don’t look at friends the way he looked at you.

“Shit, I kinda definitely do,” you murmur. 

He doesn’t let the quiet last long.

“So…?”

“Oh. Right, yeah. Clapton, I’d love to go to prom with you.”

The smile he wears is irresistibly contagious. Finally. Finally. Two long years of craving you; two years of memorizing every quirk and curve and contour. He knows it’s sort of ridiculous to get so elated about some forgettable high school dance, but the image he can see so vividly in his head; the lights and the dress and the swarm of butterflies that comes with your killer smile… it’s worth every awkward exchange, every word that’s fallen on deaf ears.

“Seriously?” He asks, reaching for your hand and wallowing in the way you so brainlessly accept the touch.

“Seriously.”

“Good. You won’t regret it.” 

And something inside you tells you that he’s absolutely right. 

reminder, my requests are always open

masterlist

✩‧₊˚

[liebgottsjumpwings]

AUGUST AFTERNOON | FAYE FISCHER | MASTERS OF THE AIR

Summary: Faye Fischer and her newly acquired friend Ken Lemmons spend a sunny afternoon at Thorpe Abbotts, Faye thinks about the past few years and is then (not so) rudely interrupted by a certain curly haired pilot. Who had managed to make her blush several times some days ago.

Warnings: general war violence, implied minor (and not canon) character death.

Word count: a bit over 2500

Note: this was meant to be a little less than 1k word blurb, turned into way more. I hope it isn't too boring as most of it delves into Faye's experiences before the mota canon. That is also because I use my ocs to study certain historical events, so this really is just self indulgence. Please pretty please let me know what you think of it! (This fic is also posted on AO3)

AUGUST 21, 1943, 16:32 

“What kind of name is ‘Just-a-Snappin’ even?” Faye Fischer wondered out loud, only half expecting an answer from the man in front of her as she came to sit up from her lying position in the grass. She squinted, just about able to make out the text on the B-17 Ken Lemmons was working on. Her squint disappeared as he came into her sight, blocking the warm ray of sunshine she had been enjoying moments prior, her eyebrows furrowed into a frown. “You’re gonna have to ask Blakely that one,” answered the curly haired man standing in her sun. Looking at him, she wondered why he would hide those curls under that beanie. Probably so all that working grease wouldn’t get into it. 

Faye shrugged, letting herself fall back into the grass. “Whenever I ask Blakely a question, the man answers with a goddamn riddle,” she let the end of her sentence continue into a sigh. Ken just laughed, his hands firm on his hips. The sun made the edge of his curls shine, almost like an aureole. Visually, him standing in her sun wasn’t so bad, it looked quite pretty. Her skin was starting to miss the warmth of the sun rays, though. Faye’s fingertips tapped on the cap of her camera lens, the Contax II had been laying on her stomach, under one of Ken’s work rags, to shield it from the sun. “Keep standing like that,” Faye ordered him as she removed the cap from the lens, turning on her camera. 

“Aren’t you only supposed to use that for… you know… work purposes?” she heard him ask as she fiddled with the exposure settings. A scoff escaped past her lips as she lined up the viewfinder with her left eye. “Shut up, they made me pay for my own film rolls when I arrived in England, so they’re mine technically anyway” Faye deadpanned in response, snapping a photo of Ken. “Besides,” she continued, putting her camera back under the rag again, letting her head fall back into the grass, “don’t you think the photo I just took wouldn’t go over well with all those war bond leaflets?” She held up her hands, reading an imaginary leaflet “Purchase a war bond so our curly haired cuties can maintain our bomber planes!” she sarcastically called out. It earned a belly-laugh from Ken, who then turned around, readying himself to get back to his maintenance work as he continued laughing, “I hope to God not.” Faye smiled in response, “Yeah, well, I’ve taken more leisure photos on this camera than the OSS would be comfortable knowing. It is only fair because nearly all film rolls were mine anyway,” she trailed off, closing her eyes again as the warm August sun blanketed her. 

The warmth took her back to August, nearly three years back, 1940. To the emerging hills behind Mulhouse, in the occupied region of the Alsace in France. Back then, she too had snapped a photo that the OSS would turn their noses up at. She couldn’t help it, though, the sleepy little cottage the, back then, above ground resistance she was attached to used as their base of operations was too pretty against the sunny hills. Plus, the whole rule against taking photos that do not directly aid the war effort was bullshit anyway. They increased her morale, no? Surely a heightened sense of morale would aid the war effort. Just like her friend, and resistance member Isidore was aiding the war effort by developing the photos Faye had taken recently. His girlfriend, Julienne, a distant cousin of Faye’s neighbors back in Louisiana, the Klotz family, laid next to her in the grass, yelling at her sweetheart to stop working so hard and join them in the warm sum. She still remembered the minty smell of the Ground Ivy that tickled against her cheeks in the field near the cottage as she watched Isidore exit the cottage, some of the successfully developed photos under his arm, he dropped them above the two women. The photographs whirled softly down onto them, like those propaganda leaflets that had recently been dropping from planes over the region. The association made her chuckle. She much preferred these photographs over those leaflets. 

Oh, how she longed back to be in that sleepy little field just behind Mulhouse. Unknowing and indifferent to what was about to wash over her. Over her dear friends. Over her distant relatives, up north in Sélestat.  How she wished to gain that sense of unknowing and indifference once more. The fleeting feeling of walking back home from the shul on those warm August evenings, taking the train from Mulhouse towards Sélestat, being greeted by her grandmother’s second brother, the one who stayed behind in Alsace. Being taken in to his family, learning about their extensive history and connection to this land. It made her feel proud, like her family here. All of that despite the impending feeling of calamity. That feeling grew more and more with each news item about the Germans inching closer. Forcing themselves back into the territory they’ve claimed as theirs for eras. This time, it came paired with a terrifying venom against a group of people so deeply rooted in this region. 

After the annexation of the Alsace into Nazi-Germany, the resistance group Faye had been attached to by the OSS was forced to go underground. Her work, instead of reporting back to the OSS on current events in the border region between France and Germany, became a high-risk operation that aided the Alsatian resistance in its activities against the Nazi occupier. When it happened, the OSS had forbidden her to associate publicly with her family and the community she had built up. They deemed it ‘too riskful’. And because Faye had no choice, she listened to those orders. And just like that, her growing connection with her ancestral home region, her family, the core of her very identity was snapped away. Just as quick as it had flourished. She watched the treatment of her people become more and more dire every day. She watched and she could do nothing but watch. Nothing outward anyway. In secret, she was doing more than she ever had done. Risking everything to make it harder for the Nazis to spread their hatred and evil. In return, she got the gnarly gift of having to distance herself from the recently cultivating bond with her family that lived halfway across the world from her. 

Yes, she still had Isidore, Julienne and the rest of their group. Though, as they were forced to become underground, a painful strain started to form on their friendship. Understandably so, tensions were high, risks were always there and the imminent feeling of doom never stopped looming over the group. 

Which ended up being for good reason. Come the early February days of 1943, Faye found herself with her left cheek pressed into the cold ground where the minty Ground Ivy once grew. The barrel of a Karabiner 98A straight against her right cheek. She still wasn’t sure who gave up their activities to the SS. She wasn’t sure if she cared enough by then either way. Or now, for that matter. In the two and a half years that spanned from that first summer in Alsace to February of 1943, Faye had grown disillusioned to the point that she wasn’t even sure if she cared about living, or dying. Maybe it was for the better that death seemed so close. That it came to her in the form of a German rifle. 

That was until she remembered why her family decided to migrate to the United States. Back in the late 19th century, the Jews of the Alsace were already facing hardships. And it was those hardships that made her grandparents decide that from there on out, their family line would not suffer under those hardships anymore. So they set sail to Louisiana, because their children, and their children, and their children (and so on), deserved a life of flourishing. So it was there, February 1943, with the cold barrel of a Karabiner 98A pressed to her face, that Faye decided that she would honor that wish. She would not die at the hands of those who wished her dead. 

She wasn’t sure how, but she ran, she ran until her feet gave out and Isidore made them duck into a dense shrub. His face stained with dirt, much like hers. And through the dirt on his face, tears traced their paths. Then it dawned on her that Julienne hadn’t made it out with them. Faye hoped with everything she had in her dear friend wasn’t left out, alone in that cold field. But there wasn’t much time for hoping. They had to make it to safety. To a place where they couldn’t be reached by those who were looking for them. 

Switzerland. Within a few days of frantic fleeing, both of them somehow made it to Basel, just over the border. Isidore’s previously tear-filled eyes had turned empty by then. And Faye feared for him. She feared for everyone they had to leave behind. The fear didn’t leave her when she walked away from the hospital she had helped Isidore to, so his wounds could be looked at. Not caring much for her own, and after the OSS had been made aware of her whereabouts, they had arranged a route to England for her. To ‘escape’ the risk she found herself in, according to the OSS. She still scoffs at the mention of ‘risk’, the OSS would never fully know. And so, after a goodbye ‘for now’ and a promise to keep in touch, she departed for the train station of Basel, on towards Bern, and from there, hopefully England. She watched the fields roll by, they were barren, empty of life. She tried to not let it remind her of Julienne too much. Hoping that her friend had somehow made it to safety, like her sweetheart and Faye.

Her memories were disturbed by the warm sun once again being taken away from her. This time, it wasn’t because a certain crew chief by the name of Ken Lemmons was standing in between her and her blanket of warmth, it was because Faye hadn’t noticed the time pass by and the sun having moved behind the officer’s buildings on the air base. She let out a groan at the feeling of her back cracking as she sat up, her camera falling into her lap. Slowly opening her eyes, to her surprise, ‘Just-a-Snappin’ had been exchanged for a different airplane. Though, her eyes were too blurry from the sun shining onto them, to make out the name. These damn pilots and their airplane names. 

What she did make out was Ken and what seemed to be a pilot, standing by the plane as Ken pointed out several things on the wing. The pilot nodding, seemingly intently listening to Ken. Faye, after rubbing her eyes intensely, was able to make out more of the scene in front of her. Her sight darted towards the plane again, reading. ‘Rosie's Riveters,’ she mouthed the words. Way better name for a plane than whatever Blakely was thinking with his one, Faye thought. Her gaze moved over to Ken and the still unknown pilot again. Squinting, she could make out the brown curls, kept small and neatly arranged on top of his head. The 100th and their tendency to hide their gorgeous curls irrationally annoyed Faye to no end. She eternally cursed Ken for hiding them behind his beanie, too. She looked back to the nose of the plane, ‘Rosie’s Riveters.’ Oh. Robert Rosenthal. The man that had made her blush the other night without even knowing he had. Robert Rosenthal had arrived at Thorpe Abbotts some two weeks after Faye herself did. She had been sitting with Helen and the other women as she watched him come into the officers’ club, his feet carrying him, dancing towards his crewmates. It was his little twist and the way his jacket moved in the air flow created by it; itt had been the first time she smiled that day. And Helen noticed. Sending Faye a teasing look as she dug the nose of her shoe into Faye’s shin. The action made Faye’s cheeks turn bright red, sinking deeper into her seat, disappearing into the shadow of the curved wall as she let out a soft, intoxicated giggle. 

It wasn’t much later, after Nash had successfully achieved a dance from Helen, that Rosenthal’s eyes locked with Faye’s. The same red from before creeping up from her throat to her cheeks as she gave him a shy smile. His returning smile was beaming, like a direct ray of sunlight across the room. She would receive a few more of such smiles from him throughout the night.

Now, with his pilot’s hat snug under his arm, Faye could see him smile at Ken, a thankful smile. And who wouldn’t be thankful for Ken Lemmons. The man worked tirelessly to send them up safely into the air. But, oh she was sure it was Robert Rosenthal standing there, alright. Yeah, that smile, of which she had been on the receiving end several times now, she recognized it. The familiar, uneasy yet welcomed feeling creeped up in her stomach again. She could feel the flush in her throat. Combined with the hours of direct sunlight she had received over the afternoon, remembering their shared looks made her slightly lightheaded as she rose to her feet. Hoping to quietly leave, as to not gain the perception of both men standing some feet away from her. 

Mission unsuccessful, though, damn it. “Fish!” she heard Ken call her. Her arms dropped beside her body as she turned around, her camera swinging with a little delay. She caught it, so it wouldn’t hit her on her stomach. For some stupid reason, her breathing increased in frequency as she watched the two men walk over to her. She had to consciously try to not take a step backward everytime they took one forward. She tried to keep her eyes strictly on Ken.“You think that is a better name for a plane?” he asked, pointing towards the B-17. Her eyes followed his pointing, reading the text on the nose of the plane for a third time. Before she realized, she already voiced her opinion. “I think naming anything but a pet or a human is a weird thing anyway,” she retorted, eyes dead set on Ken. Next to him, she heard a chuckle. “I’m actually quite proud of ‘Rosie’s Riveters’” she heard the curly haired brunette next to Ken say. There was no fighting it anymore, she had to actually look at him now. And she was sure you could compare the color of her cheeks to the apples they served in the breakfast hall, bright red. Still, like she always did, she came up with a retort; “Well, it’s better than Blakely’s, I guess,” she said, a sly, yet slightly shy smile appearing on her lips. The brunette in front of her let out a hearty laugh, his eyes crinkling. It tugged at Faye’s heartstrings, “Yeah, I’ll take that.” he said. And there it was again, that goddamned smile.

[claireunoia]

♡ㅤׄㅤִㅤ ୨୧ blonde!grunge!mike, gosh he is just so pretty. the prettiest boy you’ve ever met in the whole quiet town of hawkins. you’ve— nobody never ever expected mike wheeler to grow up and go into high school with a whole completely different style and taste in certain things than what he had in middle school.

mike never gave a fuck about “normalcy” or what the other kids in school were doing. he had found himself over the past year and he fucking loved it. everyone accepted his change though nancy teased him about it from time to time.

him, lucas, dustin and will were always the outcast. the group practically stood out to the rest as “losers” or “freaks” for their whole years of attending the evil world of hawkin’s schools. and when mike dyed his hair in the summer and started to wear more punk core clothes, the problems at school from other students became worse.

nothing major, just people who had a-lot to say about his transformation. but again, mike wheeler did not give a single fuck about others and lived his life how he wanted it to, with you and his group of friends by his side. and you? oh you absolutely loved your boyfriends style, how could you not? his pretty big brown eyes being a beautiful contrast to his loud hair which made the orbs shine more. the ray of rings that adored his slightly veiny hands. owning a wide collection from which he grew from receiving the pieces of jewelry as a gift from you whenever you can buy some. 

he was your perfect, snarky, but hilarious and loving boyfriend.

-ˏˋ ❀ ❀ ❀ ˊˎ-

“babe- cmon’, don’t leave” mike whines out from each kiss he placed upon your swollen lips. both of your guys lips red and puffy from the heavy making out you were both indulging in not even seconds ago.

and if you didn’t know, mike wheeler adored kisses. it seriously has to be one of the best things ever in life for him. he downright swore he could just sit and kiss you for hours and hours without stopping, he would never stop.

“babe, i’m sorry. but it’s almost my curfew, you know how my parents are!” pulling away from the boy to give him a dramatic but truly upset pout since you’ll have to be leaving and heading home, taking the time to take in his appearance.

mike’s orangish-blonde hair was ruffled on the top of his head in the most gorgeous way, pale skin slightly red from the heat building up in his body. his lanky but firm arms hanging out through the sleeves of the graphic tee he has on. he looked so pretty.

“no, stay just a while longer and hang out with me. please, baby”

“by ‘hanging out’ you mean, kissing and rubbing up on me until you get horny?” mike laughs at your sentence, a certain look in his brown doe eyes coming alight.

“and who says i’m not already horny?”

“micheal!-“ the wheeler boy chuckles as he rose up from his laying position, sitting up so he could place his lips back onto yours once more. kissing you, once.. twice, three times before pulling away from your sheepish face. his lips pulling into a small smirk as he eyed you.

“don’t you ‘micheal’ me, pretty”

-

*follow my library account @rileybinaalibrary & turn on notifications to know whenever i post a fic

[adventuringblind]

Mend Me

Lando Norris X Reader

Genre: Magical Realism via Superpowers (kind of), A mix of fluff and angst

Summary: After a long history of being running and hiding, she finds someone who isn't afraid of her. Enough to risk it all for him. Feat Oscar and Carlos being a chaotic duo for once.

Warnings: A tad dehumanizing (if you really squint), mentions of hospitals, mentions of blood/wounds/weapons/bruises, reader literally bring someone back to life,

Notes: This is incredibly experimental. I like these kinds of AU's that incorporate racing still. It's fun to see different concepts come to life in a normal world! I'm currently working on a few A/B/O fics and a few other experimental things :)

Side Note: and another request! I had so much fun writing these two and this story in general! I'm hoping to write more like this, or for these two specifically, in the future!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

This is not the life she envisioned for herself. The running, hiding, forging papers to try and keep herself safe.

Stupid unnatural abilities that she never asked for. A danger rating that started at three and moved up steadily as these abilities expanded. Classified within a unique group that tends to be more isolated due to their nature.

A healer is what her new papers say, a danger rating of five. Her armband required across the globe remains the same color. Unassuming and weak, which is how she needs to be perceived.

Powers, abilities, magic, auras, whatever you want to call them, manifest in different ways. Some are element based, some a material, some deal with things like the mind and soul. Smaller groups include shapeshifters, psychics and mediums, shadow work, and her own group.

Those who deal in life and death are not to be messed with. The healers and the reapers. Which, you would think wouldn't be dangerous. She was lucky enough to not be sentenced to a life in captivity. The reapers can decide who dies when, if they are strong enough. Usually prompted by the healers if they person is out of reach. It's a peaceful passing. Yet that doesn't stop people from fearing that kind of power and control.

No, she's a healer. Lower levels are kept as doctors and nurses. Knitting wounds together, feeling the pain of others, being able to x-ray a body without a machine, are all useful.

Raising people from the dead? yeah, that tends to freak people out.

Her wound transference started small. A scraped knee on a friend became her own, but without a mere itch. Soon it progressed into deep lacerations which bled less on her and healed faster. Then it was bigger injuries like broken bones and concussions.

Training was required for anyone with abilities. In order to see where they fall in rating, where they can be utilized, and make sure they have control over the chaos.

She spent ample time in the local hospital with the other healers. The paramedics had rushed inside. The body nearing death. They flatlined, mangled in different ways, yet she still managed at the age of sixteen to bring them back.

The amount of pain she was in was nearly unbearable. She'd almost killed herself in the process.

Her rating shot up to seven after that and she was whisked away to a facility for people like her. They moved her up to nine after another year. She'd managed to bring back someone who'd been dead at least a day.

She's a necromancer.

Whatever she is, they all knew they couldn't stay in that place. Inevitably escaping with their combined powers. She'd never run so fast. She was provided new classification papers and sent off to a different country.

Which is how she found herself here. Traveling and healing despite the prior adversity. She likes this job, specifically because she's strong enough to manage drivers and personnel in the paddock who hurt themselves with their own abilities, but not enough to look conspicuous. Which is a fine line she's toeing, but she makes it work.

She has regulars. Max Verstappen frequently asks her to come around. Metal tends to slice him when he's not grounded and specifically more agitated. Lando has a tendency to hit himself in the head with things when he's excited and the telekinesis decides he needs something right that second. Carlos shapeshifts into a bear, which comes with its own set of problems (she didn't know she'd have to be a vet, also). Then there is Alex, who always seems to be summoning feral street animals.

The year she started; she was nineteen. Lando and Carlos were teammates then. The Brit a in his sophomore year of the sport. The number of bruises on both drivers was ridiculous due to Lando randomly pushing and pulling random objects was ridiculous. Carlos even joked he might have been doing it on purpose at the time.

It was 2021, and the encouragement of Daniel, that got him to ask her out. An invitation she accepted. It was nice, but there was that lingering fear in the back of her mind that he would figure her out and turn her in.

A night out in 2022 is what changed everything for her. The ability to trust and a longing for connection driving her to spend the night with him.

Now, her suppressor band is strong enough that she's only supposed to wear it for twenty-four hours maximum. She'd put it on when she woke up the morning prior and hadn't taken it off sense. Lando had asked if she wanted to take it off, let their energies meld together. A privilege only people like them have. But she'd declined and he hadn't pushed.

She slept in. The best sleep she'd had in a while, mind you. Yet the pain firing through every nerve of her body had her crying. She hadn't cried in pain in so long. This was entirely new to her, and if she's honest with herself, terrifying to experience.

~~~~~

Lando stirs beside her. His hands cup her face and eyes scan her body as he attempts to understand what's wrong. She's unresponsive and he panics. Enough to call Carlos and ask if it's something to do with her classification of power. She could've overdone it, or it's the residue of a different injury she took on herself. Whatever the case, he needs help.

"Lando, mate, she's a five right?"

"Yeah? why?"

"Suppressor bands for five and up tend to be stronger than four and below."

Lando pauses for a second. "Aren't you a seven?"

"And I take mine off in intervals." Carlos' explanation makes sense. Enough for Lando to calm himself and locate the chain on her wrist. "Just take it off and see if it helps. It might not be immediate though so give it about ten minutes and then call me back."

"Thank you, Carlos."

"Not sure what we'd do without her. Maybe kill ourselves? So, you better keep her alive, mate!"

Lando ends the call. Her body seizing in his arms in a scary kind of way that makes him want to vomit.

The chain doesn't come off easily. The second he manages to unclasp it; she becomes deadweight in his arms. But he doesn't get the kind of relief he is hoping for from it.

The aura she has around her is strong and intense. The kind he's never felt before. It's not nauseating like when Carlos or Max is high on emotion, this is serene. Like he's never felt better in his entire life. Which is strange, considering how strong it is...

He calls Carlos back. This cannot be normal for a five. The fact he has it off, but she's sweating and gripping his hand like she's in turmoil makes him wonder.

"Did it work?"

"Uh - possibly?"

There is a brief pause. "What does that even mean?"

"Okay, so, energy of a five healer, is it supposed to be this intense? Cause I feel like I'm on cloud nine and she's still in pain." He wishes he could reverse it, just get her to settle and not look like she might die until he can help her.

"I'm coming over."

It takes Carlos too long to get to his room. His anxiety is getting worse by the second. She's finally exhausted herself enough to fall asleep, but her energy is still permeating the room in a way he can't describe.

Carlos nearly falls over when he steps inside the door. "You like this?!"

"I feel fantastic!"

"Well good, we know you have a soulbond now. We'll talk more about that later. I'm going to pass out if she doesn't have a suppressor on."

Lando whines, but he knows Carlos won't last like this. He just hopes something reset and bought them time to figure it out. He puts the chain back on her wrist and Carlos immediately looks better.

"Verdict?"

"She's not a five, that's for sure." He inspects the chain and her arm band. Carlos' own brown band is still around his bicep. The shapeshifter colors. Lando's is yellow for the energy category, Max's is red for the secondary elements, and Alex's is brown with a green stripe in the middle for the animal handlers. Her band is white with a black ring in the middle, the reapers are the opposite. The number attached to her band is a five. It's the same as a legal document.

Lando snatches the band off of where it lays next to his own. Sure enough, when he flips is around, A different number is crudely patched over enough that nobody could make it out unless staring for an obscene amount of time.

Lando hands the flipped band to Carlos. "She's a fucking ten."

Carlos hums and examines the elastic in his hands. He then fishes a suppressor ring out of his pocket and switches hers for the one he brought. The energy is still there, but the Spainard doesn't look like he's going to be sick anymore. Lando claims this as a win.

On the other hand, he can't fathom why she didn't trust him enough to tell him. "I don't understand-" The crack in his voice is embarrassing.

Carlos gets him to sit down next to him on the edge of the bed. He places Lando's hand on her shin and they watch the tension she was holding in her body disappear.

"Have you ever seen how the treat anyone six and above?"

"No... you never talk about it."

Carlos sighs. It's a pained one; eyes distant as he recalls memories. "Fives toe the line of being stronger than the people deem safe. These universal numbers used to classify us aren't just for the amount of energy we exert, it's what we can do as well. I shapeshift into a bear, which can be destructive, but I can also do it with fewer breaks and for longer stints."

"What does that have to do with any of this?" Frustration now evident.

"Relax, I'm getting there." Carlos gives him a pointed look and quiets himself. "Six and above tend to have more restrictions. They want to make sure we can't cause any chaos or start wars or something. Reapers are immediately labeled as tens. Healers start small but increase depending. I met a good few back in school that ended up being taken away for some unknown reason."

"So, she's a ten, meaning she can do what?"

"I'm not sure... but she is definitely at risk if anyone were to find out."

Carlos stays with him. Explains to him what is probably happening due to the extreme suppression of this kind of energy. He explains this soulbond thing. How their energies mesh well together which is what was giving him that euphoric feeling earlier. It's not rare, Lando is only a three himself, but for her it is because of the intensity.

It's around midnight when she wakes up, panting and drenched in sweat. Whatever these higher energies are, the seem to communicate for them. Carlos gets next to her and switches the suppressors again. He's giving her the familiarity in a stressful situation with no words.

"Fuck - Lan, I'm so sorry!" Her voice is hoarse and cracked. He wants to tell her that he's fine, that he understands, but words aren't there. Not when she looks this sick.

He opts for the physical contact route instead. The gentle kind, so he doesn't scare her. This hug feels different than any he's had before, but he assumes it's because his aura is actively seeking hers. "We have a soulbond. Our energies mesh together quite nicely."

"So, you know now? You're not going to turn me in?"

"Absolutely not! Carlos has been giving me a crash course and everything. I'm sorry that you are treated so horribly..."

She grips onto his shirt and sobs harder than she has in her entire life. It's broken, and Lando can't help but wonder when the last time somebody cared for her and her abilities alike is. "I'm not leaving you, okay? I might be a three, but I'll do my best to keep you safe." And he means it. He has every intention of keeping her out of the clutches of those who would see her locked away.

~~~~~

Lando convinces her to quite working under the FIA and let him take care of her instead. She still attends to the drivers since she can, because she wants to.

It's never a surpise when she receives a phone call from across the paddock asking for her assistance. It's more fun this way, not having the constant pressure of people watching her for any semblance of too much power.

Carlos keeps a close eye on her when she looks on the verge of overexerting her power or suppressing for too long. He had her and Lando set alarms for when to take it off and put it on again.

2023 comes around, and both her and Lando are more relaxed this year. Car wide, the Brit would rather die, but otherwise, he's fine.

Oscar is a rating six water manipulater. Carlos makes sure he knows where to find him if he ever needs anything. The FIA tends to get on the case of higher ratings.

It's because of that rating that Oscar manages to figure out she's not what she says she is. Lando gets wildly defensive when the Aussie brings it up. She just laughs when he threatens to throw his teammates dinner into his face.

They all get along nicely. Lando manages to not send random objects at Oscar despite various threats, and she still finds herself in every garage.

Then Vegas happens, and everything changes.

The crash replays on the screen, but she can't hear it over the sound of her heart. Their soulbond had only gotten stronger, she can feel his pain and discomfort now because of it.

As an established healer, Jon lets her tail him to where Lando is. The medical team only lets her go so far.

But it's worse than anyone is letting on. She can feel his heart slowing, the internal bleeding more than they originally thought.

He's still alive when the race ends, but he won't be for much longer. They won't let her inside. Oscar and Carlos can barely get past the front desk to where her and Jon are sitting outside the door. Doctors are still working away at a problem they haven't found yet.

"They won't let you in?" Carlos gives a look of utter confusion. "Wouldn't it be helpful to them?"

"Yes, but I'm too emotional to be in an operating room as a five."

Oscar's face lights up. "How far does your energy reach?"

"Decently, why?"

"If me and Carlos take our suppressors off, then we can blame the energy on that."

The three of them take off their suppressor in unison with Jon watching the end of the hall in case someone comes around the corner.

The wall makes it hard to navigate. But she knows Lando's aura like it's her own. She's mapped his entire body, healed him more times than she cares to remember.

The flatline of the moniter rings through her ears.

She finds his heart. Where he's bleeding out, where his ribs are cracked and splitting him open.

And she fixes it.

Lando sits up on the table, heat beating erratically, but he's alive. The doctors don't know what to do with themselves.

They open the door. The only one there is Jon, teary-eyed, but not from sadness despire what he says.

~~~~~

Lando is high on painkillers. Though he wishes his human healer were here to make it better. He just wants to meld with her, thank her without words.

Jon had filled him in on the details. It's not safe for her at the moment, but his teammate has her, and Carlos is on his way back to Lando after helping get her settled.

The Spainard drives him back. Even stopping for food on the way since none of them have eaten and Carlos has this perpetual need to store food for the winter. Lando always gets him honey as a joke.

"When you see her, don't panic. There's blood we have yet to clean up from the incisions they made. But it's mostly just pain and exhaustion."

Lando nods and opens the door. The sight is odd, more so than scary. She's on the bed, pale, and covered in different fluids. Her mouth is open, and Oscar is dripping tiny water droplets inside. Her supressor bracelet has been ditched, but her ring is on so the other two can be around her.

Her eyes drift towards him the closer he gets. "Lan!" She tries to sit up but fails after two seconds and yelps in pain.

"If you'd just take the water and stay put, then you might not be in as much pain." Oscar scolds her, but she just rolls her eyes.

Lando crawls onto the bed next to her. His hand drifts over where he heart is, and he places her hand over his. "I'm alive because of you. I can't - I just - I don't understand why they didn't let you in. You're not dangerous. You saved me."

"Lan, it's okay... I'm happy being considered dangerous as long as I have you around."

"Ay! What are me and Oscar then?!"

"Rivals, according to the media." Oscar muses and drops another bead of water into her mouth.

"That was planned and executed well, okay, we make great rivals." Carlos nearly jams some kind of pastry into Oscar's face, but he opens his mouth just in time. "What am I going to do with you three?"

Lando doesn't have the energy to ponder the question. Him and his lover end up falling asleep at some point. Both of them are still in pain and in desperate need of rest.

He wakes up to a call the next morning from Jon. His trainer is adamant about speaking to all four of them.

Yeah, they all get lectured about how he had to go get tested and was humiliated by the hospital staff when they laughed at Jon's own ability. "Aparently, making people sneeze isn't an ability. But I'm happy you're okay, Lando. I would've missed you, buddy."

"I second that!"

"And a third."

Everyone looks at her expectantly. Some kind of response swirls around in her head. Maybe witty or sarcastic with the way she's smiling to herself.

"If you died, Lan, I would've never forgiven myself." Her energy taps on his. It envelopes them, warm and comforting. Their bond still growing stronger as their souls dance together around them.

"Gross, you two should get a room."

"This is our room!"

"Your point?"

Carlos and Oscar can't stop their laughing fit. Delerious from the long night they had previously and little sleep then managed to get. Still, Lando goes back to being in his own world.

He's wrapped up in her, and she's wrapped up in him. Exactly as it was intended to be.

"Reckon you could make an undead army?"

"Osc - I swear to god-!"

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Eren Yeager x f!reader x Zeke Yeager [ SYNOPSIS ] Just a normal, romantic getaway with your husband, Eren… and his half-brother 🙄 [ WORD COUNT ] 4.2k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, alcohol, dubcon (Zeke’s definitely intoxicated while he watches you fuck Eren), sexual tension, voyeurism, exhibitionism, nipple play, fingering, masturbation (m), oral sex (f receiving), ass play is brought up but doesn’t happen (sorry), cum play, thick Yeager dick, creampie, Eren and Zeke are both sarcastic little shits, pet names (babe, princess), this fic is where plot comes to die, not beta’d so enjoy the mistakes.

You dug your toes into the sand while your lower body lay baking in the sun, the rest of you safe under a large, white umbrella. Your skin was smothered in sunscreen so you were in the midst of pristine relaxation. The rays weren’t harsh. They were kinder, softer, almost like each UV was a kiss rather than a death sentence. You wriggled a little, feeling the cool cotton of your beach blanket against your warm legs. You pointed your toes and stretched, letting out a pleased sigh.

“We needed this,” Eren piped up.

The two of you hadn’t been on any form of vacation since your honeymoon.

“You’re telling me,” you said, sitting up. “Where’s your brother?”

“Probably getting a third round of margaritas.”

You pulled your sunglasses off and squinted as your eyes adjusted to the brightness of the day. It was barely noon and Zeke was already drunk. He smelled like salt, lime, and cigarettes. And his cheeks were a faded pink, the remnants of a terrible sunburn he was cursed with on the first day. You and Eren on the other hand were well acquainted with sunscreen.

“We didn’t even have breakfast. He’s going to be a disaster in a few hours.”

Eren brushed you off. “It’s fine. Let him have fun. I rarely see him let go like this.”

“He gets so clingy though.”

Eren got up out of his beach chair and snuggled up next to you. You ran your fingers through his sun warmed hair.

“You should be honored,” he laughed. “He’s only like that with me usually.”

It wasn’t the answer you wanted. You were hoping your husband too felt that his brother was being rather friendly with you. Eren’s distaste was supposed to fuel your own, kill the little part of you that lived for Zeke’s attention. He was always purring bawdy compliments, buying you everything you wanted, and finding ways to put his hands on you. You doubted that Eren experienced any of those acts.

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

He took off his tortoiseshell Wayfarers and gave you a concerned look.

“Uh, should I?”

You went to speak but got interrupted by the drunkard himself.

“Shit, sorry, kiddo,” Zeke slurred as he trampled a child’s sand castle. “Tha—the pleasure you felt from building that was fleeting, it wasn’t gonna last. I did you a favor.”

“Nice job,” Eren called out.

Zeke cautiously made his way over, juggling three margaritas.

“Here!” He said a little too loudly, handing off one of the drinks to his brother. “Ah, and here’s your pretentious one with mezcal and key lime.”

You snatched the drink out of his hand and took a quick sip. It tasted perfect, absolutely divine.

“Does it even taste any different or are you just difficult? I don’t care either way,” he said, mumbling the second sentence.

“Try it,” you said, handing it back to him.

Zeke took it and ended up gulping the rest of it down. The only thing you could do was roll your eyes.

“That was terrible,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nauseating even.”

“Then why did you drink the whole thing?” Eren asked.

Zeke turned his attention towards his brother.

“Do I look like a man with answers?”

Eren gave his brother an exasperated sigh and stood up, patting himself down in search of his wallet.

“I’ll go get you a new one, babe,” he said before setting off to the bar.

“You want this one?”

Zeke held out what was supposed to be his drink.

“Fuck it,” you said, accepting his peace offering.

He collapsed down next to you where Eren had once been. He rested his head on your shoulder and let out a deep sigh. His hair was even more tousled than usual from the sea salt. Zeke spent every morning languishing in the ocean, convinced it helped with his hangovers.

“You mind if I—”

“Go ahead.”

Zeke felt around for his cigarette case which had since been buried in the sand. He brushed it off and flipped it open, pulling out one of his expensive cigarettes. He placed it between his lips and lit it, taking a deep puff. He held the smoke in his lungs before it trailed out of his mouth.

“So, you guys fuck yet?” He said, enveloping you both in an earthy cloud of smoke.

“Zeke!”

“What? Am I not privy to that information?”

“Yeah! It’s none of your business.”

“You haven’t, have you? We’ve been here for five days and he hasn’t buried his face in your pussy?”

“Zeke!!”

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire. You couldn’t lie; you were slightly disappointed you and Eren had yet to fuck. But Zeke didn’t need to be the person to point it out. Especially in such a vulgar way. You studied his drunken visage, pained to see he still managed to be handsome while embodying the definition of a hot mess. You wanted to know what his beard would feel like tickling your thighs, how it would feel up against your clit.

“If I were him,” he said, ashing his cigarettes. “I wouldn’t even be at the beach. I’d have you back at the suite, ass up.”

“Ass up, huh?”

He let out a drunken giggle. “Ha. Yeah. Does Eren ever eat your ass?”

“No, but it’s not like I’ve ever asked him to.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know that,” you said, nudging him with your elbow.

“He wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Lemme guess. You would though, right? You’re the tsar of ass eating?”

His hand found its way to your thigh and gave it a little squeeze.

“I’m honored you think I’d be an expert. And you’re not exactly wrong.” He dug his fingers into the flesh of your thigh. “But you wouldn’t be able to handle me. I’d ruin you. I’d take everything from you and leave you a cum covered slu—”

“I’m back!” Eren shouted, holding your freshly made margarita.

You swatted away Zeke’s hand before plastering a hideous grin on your face for your husband. Eren looked mildly disturbed by your unhinged attempt at maintaining composure. You couldn’t utter a single word, frozen with anxious guilt.

“Here you go, babe.”

You took the drink from him and nervously took a sip. Both of you turned your attention to Zeke who was paying absolutely no attention.

“Hungry,” he muttered absentmindedly, his eyes hidden behind a pair of prescription sunglasses.

“We should probably eat,” you said, sipping your margarita.

The smokiness of the mezcal calmed your nerves, speaking was no trouble now.

“What’re you thinking?” Eren asked.

“What if we g—”

Zeke interrupted you with a half-hearted utterance of “taco.”

“Taco?”

Zeke snickered. “Yeah, just one.”

Eren ruffled his brother’s hair. “You need to go dry out.”

“Oh c’mon. I’ll be good.”

“Zeke,” he rebuked.

“Who knows what trouble I’ll get into by my lonesome?”

Eren rolled his eyes and he asked you to assist him in carting his towheaded brother back to the hotel. It was harder than you could have imagined. Zeke was like a limp noodle, a cascade of long, unruly limbs.  It wasn’t a far walk by any means, but walking in the sand with a cumbersome man made it feel like a perilous journey into the unknown.

Once Zeke was settled in his room, tucking him in the bed like he was a little boy at his request, you and Eren had a relaxing lunch on your room’s balcony. The view of the crystalline sea was breathtaking, the water a brilliant shade of turquoise.

“How long you think he’ll be down for?” You pondered, pushing your empty plate to the side.

“Hours hopefully. It’ll give us time to, you know… Because we haven’t yet.”

“You can just say it,” you laughed, resting your feet on the railing of the balcony. “We haven’t fucked yet. It’s about time.”

Eren groaned and tossed a grape tomato in his mouth. “It’s so hard to find the right moment,” he garbled before swallowing. “And I’d feel like an asshole if I told him to go away. He doesn’t have anyone else to be around.”

“I honestly didn’t think he’d come after he broke up with Levi considering it’s a couples trip.”

“Me too. But there’s no way I could have told him he couldn’t come. Not after he got cheated on,” he replied, spearing a few melon balls with his fork.

Eren had a point. Excluding Zeke would have been needlessly cruel. He didn’t deserve that; it’d be the equivalent of punting a puppy off a cliff. You kicked Eren’s shin under the table.

“Shall we make use of this alone time?”

“No, let’s waste it,” he replied, voice dripping with succulent sarcasm.

He stood up and plucked you out of your chair and led you through the patio door. He slid the door open with a level of sexiness you honestly didn’t think was possible for such a benign act. You couldn’t wait to get him in bed, to feel the warmth of his Herculean body against yours. You craved his touch, longing for his nimble fingers and heavy palms. Eren turned to face you and beckoned you with his embrace. Into his arms you went without a second thought. He placed his hands on the small of your back and held you close, pressing his erection up against you. His green eyes were exuding lust, like the darkest depths of an evergreen forest.

“Can’t wait to fuck that tight pussy,” he murmured before kissing you.

As his soft lips brushed up against yours you felt yourself melting in his arms. Your knees couldn’t have been weaker, more useless. Luckily Eren’s muscled arms were enough to keep you upright. He slid his tongue into your mouth and you tasted a lingering hint of honeydew. His kiss ripe with hunger, a desperate need to devour you, to keep you all to himself. You cradled his face in your hands, rubbing your thumb along jaw. Little hairs pricked your fingers. You had forgotten his vow to not shave while on vacation.

Eren carried you to the bed, gently laying you down. He got on top of you and began to grope you. His hands wandered under your shirt and he pinched your nipples. A weakened whine emanated from your throat as he resumed kissing you. Eren couldn’t help but smile. You were so cute. His hand wandered under your shorts and dragged his fingers against your clit over your cotton panties.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he said, breath hot against your ear.

He applied more pressure to your clothed clit and caught your ear lobe between his teeth.

“Is my pretty girl ready for me?”

“Ye—”

Before you could give Eren an enthusiastic yes Zeke burst through the door. Eren quickly rolled off of you onto the floor, leaving you completely defenseless. You thanked your lucky stars you hadn’t taken off any of your clothes.

“Am I interrupting something?” He yawned.

“Yes,” Eren said, standing up.

Eren took a seat on the bed and rubbed his knee. The two of you glared at Zeke. His glasses were crooked; you suspected he napped with them on. His hair had managed to part itself on the side which you had to admit wasn’t exactly a bad look.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you… gonna leave?” Eren asked expectantly.

Zeke hung his head and sighed heavily. “I’m bored. Can’t I stay?”

“I’m trying to fuck my wife.”

“I’ll just watch! I won’t even say anything. I’ll be silent.”

Eren groaned. “No. That would be even worse than you giving color commentary.”

“Fine. I’ll be quiet, but not too quiet! Maybe I’ll make a little noise, but keep it at a dull roar.”

“Zeke, get out,” Eren said, pointing at the ajar door.

Zeke walked towards it and shut it with little grace or tact. Eren let out another dramatic groan. The blonde turned his attention towards you.

“You wouldn’t mind, right?” He asked. “I know you have a little crush on me.”

“I do not!”

“Yeah, you do,” Eren laughed.

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire. You wanted to crash through the patio door and dive into the ocean, never to be seen again. Eren nudged you with his elbow.

“It’s fine. I think it’s kinda cute in a weird way.”

“So can I watch or what?”

“Zeke!” You and Eren hissed in unison.

“Someone told me that being open about your intentions fosters a greater sense of familial bonding.”

“Who told you that?” You asked with genuine interest.

Eren sighed. “No one told him that. That barely even made sense.”

“I wanna know,” you said under your breath. “Zeke, who told you that?”

“I did.”

You groaned. Eren served you a smug smile.

“Told ya.”

“Okay, okay. Regardless of who did or didn’t tell me something I made up… Can I watch? Please?”

Eren lifted your chin, forcing you to look at him. You could tell he had some interest in letting his brother watch the two of you fuck like animals.

“You down?”

“Are you?” You replied.

“I am, if you are.”

You and Eren stared at each other in nervous silence. It was as if you were playing a game of chicken. You wanted to believe he’d break first and express his enthusiasm for Zeke’s suggestion.

“Okay it sounds like you’re both down. Now let’s get down to business.” Zeke said, voice dripping with impatience.

“Are you still drunk?” Eren asked as he pulled off his shirt.

Zeke grabbed one of the plush chairs and dragged it beside the bed.

“Maybe,” he said, taking a seat. “It’s not as if we were apart very long.”

He had a point. It had only been an hour since you tucked the big, blonde baby in.

“If it’ll put you both at ease, I am not as drunk as I was previously.”

“Good enough for me,” Eren said, shrugging.

Zeke beamed.

The blonde looked you dead in the eye. “Alright, take your clothes off.”

Eren was already nude, his clothing a heap on the floor. Both of them had their eyes glued to you. You could tell they wanted to tear you apart, show you no mercy. Your breath hitched at the mere thought. Zeke pulled on the length of his cock as it fought against his impossibly tight, black swim briefs. Eren pulled at the straps of your tank top, pressing his lips to your lower neck. He pawed at your breast, flicking your nipple through the thin fabric that covered them.

“Eren…” You protested in a tiny voice.

“C’mon, babe. Don’t act like you’re not into having that freak—”

“Hey,” Zeke interrupted, the word drenched in dejection.

Eren ignored his brother’s saddened expulsion and lifted your tank top over your head, revealing your breasts. He bit your nipple, gently applying pressure. You winced and choked back a pathetic yelp.

“On your back,” he said, breath hot against your breast.

You leaned back and waited patiently as Eren pulled your shorts down. He palmed your cunt feeling the wetness that had seeped through your underwear.

“Is she wet?” Zeke slurred as he pulled his cock out.

Eren turned his head towards his brother and served him a perturbed look.

“No, she’s dry.”

“Like a desert,” you tacked on.

“Oh, fuck you guys,” Zeke said, slumping deeper into the chair.

You ran your fingers over the shaved part of Eren’s undercut. His eyes shut and he hummed happily. You could have sworn he was purring.

“You gonna get me naked or what?” You teased.

Eren smiled and peeled off your soaked underwear.

“Gimme,” Zeke said, holding his hand out.

Eren rolled his eyes and handed your underwear to him. He wrapped them around his hand and began to stroke his cock. It was a simple gesture, but Zeke managed to make it unbelievably depraved. You gazed at his cock and let your eyes linger on his glistening tip. He caught you staring and snickered.

“Pay attention to your husband.”

“I am!”

Eren parted your folds and slid his middle and index fingers inside you. He had your full attention now. Your breath hitched as he curled them upward, pressing up against your walls.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet,” Eren growled, stating the absolute obvious.

He pulled his fingers out of you and sucked the fluids off of them. He guided his cock into your cunt, teasingly and slowly. He prodded it with his cocktip, slick with precum.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

Zeke’s voice cut through the room. “Then get to it!”

You stared up at Eren, doe-eyed and pathetic. You needed his cock inside you, to feel it throb as it filled you with cum.

“Eren,” you whined. “I need it.”

“Aw, did you hear her? She needs it.”

“Of course I heard her! I’m literally on top of her!”

Zeke frowned and resumed jerking off with your underwear. You grabbed Eren’s ass and pulled him closer to your body. His cock slid further in you, stretching your cunt. You gritted your teeth and held back a pained groan. Eren stroked your face with the tips of his fingers.

“You’re a big girl, aren’t you? I know you can take it,” he cooed.

“Shit. How big is your cock? Maybe you should be more gentle,” Zeke suggested.

Eren shut his eyes tight, nostrils flared.

“Did I ask for your advice?”

“... No. But look at her.”

“I am lookin’ at her!”

Zeke lowered his glasses with his free hand. “Bu—but are you really looking at her?”

You giggled. You didn’t think Eren would bicker with his brother while he was fucking you. And you didn’t think Zeke’s brain would stop functioning as his cock leaked a steady drip of precum. You knew the blonde was a bit of a disaster after several margaritas. You had witnessed him spend most of the trip laughing loudly at vaguely humorous jokes, binge drinking, flirting, and petting every stray cat that crossed his path.

 “So dumb,” you murmured in Eren’s ear.

“He’s not dumb,” Eren replied audibly as he began to thrust.

“Did you call me dumb?”

“N—no,” you lied through your teeth. “I’d never say something like th—that.”

Eren moaned as he drove his cock further inside you. He held you down by the neck and his green gaze penetrated your doe-eyed expression. He licked lips, looking at you as if you were prey. He forced the full length of his cock in you, the tip just barely grazing your cervix. It was enough to elicit a subdued “ow”. Eren pulled out, teasing your folds with his tip, before slamming it back into you. His balls slapped up against you as he bottomed out.

“C’mon on, princess. I know you and your pretty pussy can take it.”

His words were so sweet but his actions were anything but. You turned your attention to Zeke who was palming the tip of his cock. His hand was still wrapped up in your underwear.

“Is she tight?” Zeke rasped.

“Oh f—fuuuuck yeah,” he moaned as he thrusted his throbbing cock into your weeping cunt.

Your fluids had dripped down your folds and started to collect near your ass. Your slick covered every inch.

“Not to be vulgar, but I want to tonguefuck her ass so bad.”

“Maybe if you're lucky y—yo—fuck!–your brother will let you cl–clean me up,” you said as Eren fucked your body into the mattress.

“If he knows what’s good for him, he will. I know where the embarrassing baby pictures are stowed away.”

Eren didn’t seem to register Zeke’s petty threat, or perhaps he didn’t care at all. He was too caught up in how tight your precious cunt felt around his engorged cock. With his hand still on your neck, he used his free one to pay attention to your throbbing clit. One swift flick of his thumb was enough to make you whimper pathetically. He encircled it and used your slick to glide around your clit.

“You want more?”

You barely nodded in response to Eren’s before he began to pick up the pace, rutting against you with an animalistic fervor. You managed to hear Zeke mutter “holy shit” as Eren fucked you like a dog. You looked over at the blonde. He was watching you two intently, one hand gripping his cock and the other stroking his chest. His cheeks were flushed and his eyebrows knitted in ecstatic agony. He caught you staring and gave you a boyish grin. It gave you butterflies. You nearly drooled at the sight of Zeke’s pearlescent cum spurt from his engorged cock, the tip pink with pleasure.

Eren quickly grabbed your face and squeezed your cheeks. “Stop watching him.”

“Don’t be mean,” Zeke chastised. “Look at me; can you blame her?”

Eren ignored his brother.

“You’re not looking at me, Eren.”

“I’m close,” Eren choked out. “I don’t wanna see your stupid, bearded face when I come.”

Zeke laughed. “Coward.”

Eren clenched his jaw and bucked his hips as his cock shot a steady stream of cum into your cunt. Even in the throes of pleasure, Eren never once stopped rubbing your clit. If anything he did so with more intent, more enthusiasm. Your body went limp. You felt like you were sinking into the mattress which likely had to do with the fact your husband was essentially fucking you into it. Warmth crawled up your thighs gradually flooding your core. You could have sworn you were seeing stars or maybe even god.

“That’s it, princess. Come all over my cock,” Eren beckoned.

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as your orgasm overwhelmed you. Every nerve ending in your body was singing, crying out in a rhapsody of pleasure. You couldn’t even speak, though it’s not as if words could accurately embody the ecstasy that barrelled through you. All you could do was choke out breathy moans and the occasional pitchy whine. Eren’s thrusts weakened. He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, lightly sucking on your bottom lip.

“Shit,” you murmured.

Eren rubbed his nose against yours.

“Did you like that?” He asked knowing full well you did.

You smiled and nodded. “As always.”

“You guys are gross.”

You and Eren turned to glare at Zeke.

“You realize you can leave at any time,” Eren growled.

“But I wanted to see how much of a mess you made.”

Eren slid his cock out of you. Zeke got up and they both admired your glistening cunt, slick with cum.

“Good job,” the blonde said, patting Eren on the shoulder.

“Please tell me that’s not the hand you jerked off with.”

“It is, but I had it wrapped in underwear so… It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Eren silently seethed and stood up, walking into the bathroom. Zeke sat down on the bed and ruffled your hair. You were impressed with how casual he was behaving under such circumstances. It was as if you weren’t lying on the bed naked as the day you were born.

“You seemed to enjoy that,” you teased.

“I actually hated every moment of it. You’re both sick,” he replied, smiling. He sighed and eyed your cunt. “You think he’d actually let me clean you up.”

Zeke’s hand found its way to your thigh. Just as his fingers went to stroke the inside of it you crossed your legs, denying him the opportunity.

“No, no. Not before you ask your brother for permission.”

“He won’t mind.”

“What is it they say about assuming? Something about making an ass out of you and me?”

He rolled his eyes and got off the mattress, heading towards the bathroom. He pathetically pawed at the door.

“Ereeeen, can I—”

“No.”

“I just wa—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Can I finish my s—”

“Why would I let you do that?”

“All I want to do is suck cum out of your wife!” Zeke said quickly.

There was a pregnant pause. It was broken by Eren slowly opening the door.

“Fine,” Eren relented as he stepped out.

The brother joined you on the bed. Eren curled up next to you, resting his head on your chest. Zeke parted your legs and stuck his head between them. His beard tickled the tender skin of your thighs. Zeke ran his tongue along your folds, parting them with the tip of it. It slid in between your labia and lapped up your and Eren’s cum.

“So eager,” you groaned, running your fingers through the blonde’s soft hair.

“Desperate,” Eren scoffed.

Zeke happily hummed, seemingly unaware of Eren’s playful derision. The vulgar sounds of him slurping at your cunt filled the room. You watched as Zeke rutted against the mattress. His nose grazed your clit, sending a brief jolt of bliss to your core.

“Can you not rub your dick all over the sheets?”

“Let him be,” you sighed as you were blessed with a second, more subdued orgasm.

Once your cunt was thoroughly cleaned Zeke curled up next to your unoccupied side. He took off his glasses and set them on the nightstand. He let out a hearty yawn before falling asleep with his head on your breast. His breathing tickled your nipple.

“I think he has the right idea,” Eren said, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

“Seriously? I’m not even sleepy. Can I at least get up while you babies have nap time?”

You waited for a response from Eren but it never came.

[blueberry-obsessed]

Growth

The Lestappen Song of Achilles inspired drabble based on this wonderful anon over at @f1writingbyme's blog!! Dear anon, I hope you find this somehow, I'll upload it on AO3 at some point (just not now, it's just too short to deal with right now).

Also!! @iamred-iamyellow mentioned that they wanted to be tagged so here you go!! Special thanks to @marieshyperf1xations for putting up with me

This is essentially a rewrite of the first scene in Chapter Ten (10) in the original book! I might make this a series of drabbles if anyone is interested

Word Count: 855 words (I tried to keep it short and sweet!!)

Fic is under the cut!!

They turned fifteen just before winter came, their world frozen in time in anticipation of winter’s icy hold yet kept alive by the faint rays of the sun. Summer had lasted longer than usual, kept them nice and warm under its yellow beams and fresh blue skies—Charles had been incredibly grateful for all of it.

Now, he’s covered in a fluffy fur cloak—one that is, admittedly, a tad large on him—and has been sentenced to chilly winds and quick washes in hollowed-out rocks by the Gods themselves. Despite the weather, Max chooses to take a stroll outside, beneath the frozen sun.

“It is too cold, Max,” Charles had chastised.

“We have spent too long indoors,” Max had pouted, pink lip jutting out against skin too fair given the climate they resided in. “My muscles are stiff. I will be useless at practice with Chiron if I do not stretch.” He had already made his path halfway outside, there was certainly no stopping him. Charles could not let him leave alone, surely. 

They did not do much. They stuck to walking through the forest, playing a chasing game until they came across a river. It was partially crystallised—almost mirror-like—and they spotted a few pieces of stone nearby. The rest of it is fairly obvious.

 °°°°

Max throws another pebble in. It ripples against the river water three, four, five times and lands further than Charles’ last one had. The river is clear—clearer than it has ever been, but Charles doesn’t track the movement on it. He watches Max, instead—watches him pick up another stone, watches the movement of the slight muscle in his limbs.

There are no mirrors here, and the surface of the river, unsteady. So, Charles has only ever been able to measure his growth by the changes in Max. Max’s limbs are slender, despite the muscle Chiron has worked into him—it is to be expected, they are still young. Charles imagines he is much the same. Although Max’s chest is broader, his shoulders are square, and his face firm around the edges—he, somehow, still looks soft.

“You have grown,” he mutters, chucking another rock. It is too heavy—bounces once, twice, thrice and unceremoniously sinks into the depths of the river. In their swishing reflection, he can see Max’s raised brow. “You look older,” he tacks on. 

Max turns to him, fully now. The pebbles slip from his hand and crush the fiery leaves as they fall to the earth.

“I do?”

“Yes.” It is said with a finality and he has to play with the cold soil beneath him to avoid his companion's gaze.

“Wait, turn here.” And, well, Charles has no choice but to force his hands by his sides and turn.

Max’s hands find purchase on the sides of his face immediately. He moves Charles’ head around as if he is inspecting him for any injuries. He’s a bit ashamed to admit to himself, but it’s not an unfamiliar feeling.

“You are different as well.” Max’s eyes shine with something Charles does not quite know, and he notes that Max’s hair is longer too.

“Different how?” his voice is quiet, and all his energy is focused on willing his hands to stay by his side—lest he do something unwanted, like brushing droplets of splashed water away from blond hair. Max regards him for a moment too long.

“Your face, mainly.” Max traces his fingertips along his jaw. The attention makes Charles feel warmer than the fur cloak ever did. “You are sharper here.”

“A lot?” He brings his own hand up, the touch of his flesh is cold. He does not find anything new, however—he still feels the same, flesh and bone. 

Max takes his hand. His grip is apprehensive at first, yet growingly confident as he drags it further down. Despite the training Chiron has put him through, Max’s hand remains soft as it meets Charles’ collarbone.

“Sharper here too,” he comments, intertwining their fingers and sliding them back up. He gently pokes at the newly emerged Adam’s apple on his throat. He swallows under the weight of Max’s finger just because he can and wants to—wants to feel Max’s skin move along his. “But here. You are soft, yet still sharp.”

That does not make any sense, Charles wants to say, but he finds himself unable to speak. 

Max does not mind his silence and instead drags their palms further down.

“That’s enough.” It is more abrupt than intended, yet Charles’ face is unusually warm given the weather and Max looks flushed from the cold. “We should head inside,” he offers, softer this time. Diligently, Max nods, still slightly avoidant, though. Thankfully, he helps Charles clamber onto his feet regardless—their hands intertwined once again.

“You would not be displeased,” Max shrugs, his hand in Charles’, “with how you look now.” His face grows warm again, and he can not help himself anymore—he brushes a stray leaf out of Max’s hair. His hand lingers for a second too long and he prays to the Gods that Max misses the action entirely.

“Neither would you.”

They speak no more of it.

[ghostofskywalker]

Heist of the Year

Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader

Words: 2,487

Summary: Bucky's infatuated with you, but he has no idea how to make a move. Because of that, some of the other members of the team have a little fun when giving him advice.

or alternatively: why it's probably a good practice to make sure any recent stingray acquisitions in the compound have been done legally before freaking out about it.

Flower and Meaning: gladiolus || infatuation

Note: my february work for the @yearofcreation2023 !! this fic idea has been in my head for ages, and it's a litte silly but i love it so much. i've also been dedicating fics to my mutuals recently, so this fic is for the wonderful zoe (@sunflowergirl522) because she and i both love rays (and bucky) 💕💕

Year of Flowers Masterlist • Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Steve’s voice pulled Bucky out of his head and back to the real world. “You’re staring at her again.”

“I was not!” Bucky’s voice was defensive, and he knew that he was lying through his teeth. He had in fact been staring at you, and he was getting a little tired of everyone always mentioning it.

“Are you sure about that?” Sam cut into the conversation. “Because if you weren’t looking over at Y/N, maybe we need to get your eyes checked.”

You were currently standing in the kitchen of the compound, well out of earshot of Steve, Bucky, and Sam sitting on the couch in the lounge. Technically there was no wall to separate the two rooms, but there was so much space that there was no way you could have heard anything they said as you waited for your morning coffee to pour out of the fancy machine Tony had just bought for the compound.

Yes, Bucky had been staring at you. And yes, he had a crush on you, but he was getting really annoyed at the way the others kept talking to him about it. When he was ready to make a move he would, but right now he had to deal with the fact that he didn’t really know you too well. You were a newer member of the team, and he had a reputation for being a bit of a shut-in, so other than the required team meetings and the occasional friendly smile as you passed each other in the halls of the compound, he hadn’t spoken to you all that much.

It didn’t help that he was a little bit intimidated by you. A mutant that could manipulate the elements, you were incredibly powerful, and sometimes he didn’t know how to talk to you because of it. It was unfortunate that his friends had picked up on his little glances and lovesick expressions, because now he had to listen to them try and convince him to just walk up to you and confess his attraction, a situation in which Bucky saw only the negative potential outcomes to. He never admitted out loud how he felt, but he also knew that he couldn’t hide it for long.

“You have to admit that you like her though,” Sam said. “With heart eyes like that, there’s no way you can deny it.”

“Fine,” Bucky scowled. It was only a matter of time before this happened anyway. He looked over at the kitchen to see that you had disappeared, so he took a deep breath and continued his sentence. “I do like her.”

“Finally!” Sam said with a smile.

“Barnes admitted that he has the hots for Elemental over there?” Tony’s voice joined the conversation, and the three men looked up to see the billionaire step into the lounge and take a seat across from the couch where Bucky and Steve were sitting. “It’s about time.”

“Shh!” Bucky said. “What if she hears you?”

“Then you’d be one step closer to admitting how you feel to her, something at which you are currently not doing.”

“I just-” Bucky stopped, he didn’t know what to say. “I just don’t know how to walk up to someone that I’m not close with and tell them something like that.”

“Dude, it doesn’t have to be that deep,” Tony said. “Or it can, you could let a grand gesture communicate how you feel so your words don’t have to do all the heavy lifting.”

“That might be a good idea for him,” Sam cut in, and the two shared a small laugh.

“What exactly qualifies as a ‘grand gesture?’” Bucky asked, raising his eyebrows. He highly doubted that he would ever take Tony’s advice, but it wouldn’t really hurt to hear him out (especially because Bucky was at a bit of a loss right now).

“You know, something big,” Tony said. “A gift or something that shows you really care, but it has to be personal. Not just flowers or chocolates or whatever. What does Y/N like?”

Bucky paused, thinking back to the few conversations that he’d had with you. “She likes the aquarium,” he said. “She talked about going there a few times a year to pet the stingrays.”

“Great!” Tony said. “I’ll set it up, we’ll get her a stingray.”

“Woah, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Bucky said. “I’m sure they require some form of proper care and-”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “You act like we don’t have the money or space around here to install some kind of giant aquatic tank Barnes, I’m a little offended. And besides, Wilson thinks it’s a good idea, right?”

“I was going to suggest a big stuffed animal, but I think this could work too,” Sam said, a smile on his face that sometimes meant he was up to no good. “If this is something the two of you talked about, I see how it could work, at least get the conversation going.”

“But where on earth are we going to get a stingray in the middle of New York State?” Bucky asked. He had a myriad of other questions as well, but this one was the most relevant at this point. “Do you know how to catch one?”

“Easy, we just steal one from the aquarium,” Tony said. “I think there’s one on Coney Island, but if they don’t have stingrays we can always head down to the Jersey Shore and get one of the ones from Jenkinson’s. It’ll be easy.”

“Tony, I’m not going to steal a stingray from the aquarium to show my love and affection.”

“Not with that kind of attitude you won’t!”

A little lost for words, Bucky turned to his oldest friend. “Come on, you can’t possibly think this is a good idea, right?”

Steve was silent for a moment, but he eventually shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the worst crime any of us has ever committed, and I’m sure there’s legal ways to procure one as well.”

“See?” Sam said. “This is so much better than a plush one from the gift shop, it’s going to show that you really care!”

“What if I scare her away?”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “She already lives in a building full of weirdos. If she isn’t scared off by the fact that you and Capsicle should technically be wearing dentures and getting senior discounts at the local diner, then I highly doubt this would really be an issue.”

Steve nodded, then realized what Tony had said. “Hey!”

“Oh relax, you know it’s true. You’re both what, over 100? I was being generous there.”

“Could we get back to the point at hand here?” Bucky asked.

“Look, if you want a stingray, just say the word and I’ll start working on a habitat for it. Who knows, maybe if it all works out we can get a whole bunch of them.”

“No, I’ll figure something out,” Bucky said. “But I am in no way getting involved in anything like that.”

With that he got up and left the room, mind racing as wondered what he could possibly do to tell you how he felt without absolutely ruining it.

***

Time went on in the compound, and Bucky continued to chicken out of every chance he gets to say something to you. He got a little better at speaking without stuttering though, which he counted as a win. He likes talking to you, and he likes the fact that now he can talk to you without silently freaking out for the duration of the conversation. It has only confirmed the way Bucky feels about you, and as he planned out how he might finally admit his feelings, that strange conversation he had with Steve, Sam, and Tony had practically slipped his mind.

Almost.

About five weeks later, Bucky stepped out into the kitchen one morning to pour himself a cup of coffee when he heard a loud truck pull up to the compound and voices start to buzz, as if they were getting a delivery of some kind. When he walked outside, there was a huge truck sitting in the driveway of the compound, and Sam and Tony just hopped out of the passenger and driver’s seats respectively. “Oh Barnes, you’re here!” Tony said. “Look what Sam and I brought home!”

Sam smiled. “Yeah, we can show you the new addition to the compound!”

Heart sinking, Bucky just stared at the two of them. “You didn’t.”

Instead of an answer, Tony just opened the back of the large truck. It had apparently been turned into some kind of tank, triple lined with glass, and he could see through the glass that there were two brown rays swimming around.

“I told you guys I didn’t want to do this!” Bucky said. “And how did you even get them here?”

“Who says they’re for you?” Tony asked. “What if I just wanted to add an aquarium to the compound?”

“Where the hell are they going to live?” Bucky asked, ignoring the previous question.

“Easy,” the billionaire responded. “I’ve been remodeling the room that previously held the indoor swimming pool in the East Wing to now be able to accommodate our floppy new friends. It was just finished last week.”

Bucky was dumbfounded. He never had any reason to go to that area of the compound, and he definitely believed Tony, but it still dumbfounded him that he would actually go through with it. “Wha- When-?”

“Oh the crew has been very quiet,” Tony said. “And it’s more than suitable for two manta rays like these ones, I even had a scientist come in here and check it. I got proper food and marine plants, they have enough room to swim around, and she also left tips on how to care for them.”

“And did you acquire them…legally?” Bucky asked quietly.

Silence.

“Guys?”

More silence. “I swear if you two are going to tell me you’re wanted for grand theft stingray I am going to lose it.”

“Well, we’re not wanted.” Sam said. “So technically, you don’t have to worry.”

“And if my secretary sees a Point Pleasant area code on the caller ID, she knows enough not to answer it,” Tony said.

Bucky was absolutely lost for words, so he just turned around and headed inside. This was absolutely ridiculous, how on earth could his life have come to this? All he did was have a crush and now he’s a potential accessory to marine life crime. This was definitely not how he pictured going back to jail.

Muttering to himself something about those two idiots, he didn’t even see you moving towards him in the hall, and he almost walked right into you. “I’m sorry!” he said quickly as you stepped out of the way.

“It’s fine,” you responded. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I-”

“Bucky, it’s fine, I promise,” you said. “Are you okay? It seems like something is bothering you.”

He started to shake his head, but then stopped. “No one ever listens to me,” he said. “Tony and Sam have stolen two manta rays from a New Jersey aquarium, and it’s all because they want me to talk to you, but I told them maybe that’s not the best idea, and-” Bucky stopped talking when he noticed you, nearly doubled over in laughter at this point. “What? What’s so funny?”

It took a while for you to recover enough from your laughter to even form coherent words. “You really think- they would steal-”

“There are two brown rays outside the compound at this very moment,” Bucky said, eyebrows raised. “And given the fact that it takes over four hours to get down there, and it’s currently half past eight in the morning, I can assume this was a clandestine ray heist - why are you still laughing?”

He just watched in confusion as you stood there, clutching your stomach, but eventually you were able to look him in the eye. “The delivery just came an hour ago,” you said. “Tony and Sam are messing with you.”

“So we’re not getting stingrays?”

You shook your head. “No, we are. Tony approached me ages ago and asked if this was even feasible, and I told him that just because I can control water it doesn't mean I know everything about marine life. He then contacted a scientist and was able to purchase some rescues that are completely healed but could never be released into the ocean due to their previous injuries, completely legally and humanely I may add.”

Bucky just sighed. They were pulling his leg, and he should have seen this coming. “Of course,” he said, turning away from you and starting to walk back the way he came. He knew another way to his bedroom, and he didn’t want to be around anyone else right now.

But he had barely taken two steps before he heard your voice again. “Bucky? Correct me if I’m wrong, but did you say that you thought Tony and Sam did this to get you to talk to me? What does that mean?”

This was not what he wanted to explain to you, but your voice was so genuine as you spoke that he couldn’t just ignore you. “I like you,” he said plainly, looking down at the ground. “And I was trying to figure out how to say something, and Tony suggested a large gesture of affection. I vehemently vetoed the idea to steal a stingray by the way, so you can see why I thought they did this in a less-than-legal fashion when I realized what was happening this morning.”

There was complete silence in the hallway as he continued to look down at the ground. “Bucky?” you eventually said.

“I get it if you don’t feel the same way,” he said. “I know-”

“I like you too,” you said, cutting him off. You were suddenly a lot closer to him, and you reached out to take his hand. “I was also trying to figure out how to say something.”

“Really?” He sounded like a too-eager teenager, but he didn’t care.

“Really.”

Suddenly you were on your tiptoes and he was leaning down. But right before the moment he’d been waiting for since you met, right before his lips landed on yours, there was a commotion in the hallway and he heard Sam’s voice. “Hey, come here! Looks like the lovebirds are finally figuring it out!”

Before Tony could appear and make fun of him further, Bucky grabbed your hand. “Want to go somewhere a little more private?”

You just nodded, and soon you were walking through the compound hand in hand. Bucky would never admit it, but he did owe some thanks to the two idiots back there. He just wouldn’t tell them that, because he’d never hear the end of it if he did.

 - the end -

[glitterrosesnzz]

Swirl

after. MONTHS. i have finally completed this Wanderer fic everybody clap

word count: 5k

Of all the people that Aether had been expecting to see as a participant at the Interdarshan Championship, the Wanderer was not one of them. 

The Hat Guy name was completely unexpected as well, and it had honestly taken everything in Aether’s power to not burst out laughing the instant that the other was introduced on stage by that name. The fact nobody else seemed to think of it as strange made Aether outright think he was hallucinating for a moment, but a simple glance at Paimon’s equally as confuzzled expression dismissed that idea. 

After briefly talking to the other contestants, Aether tracked down the Wanderer to the side of the stage- 

Turning the corner, he caught sight of the Wanderer ducking his head into his hand, once- twice- three times, his hat giving off a faint jingling sound with each movement. Aether raised an eyebrow, but was cut off by Paimon before he could even begin to form a sentence. He remained in silence, watching as Paimon and the Wanderer snarked at each other, taking his time to analyze the Wanderer’s appearance. 

Nothing seemed… obviously wrong, but Aether just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was just ever so slightly… off. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He… somehow looked slightly paler, maybe? Or maybe not, he was a puppet after all- could his skin even get paler? 

Aether probably shouldn’t ask him that. 

Learning that Nahida was the reason the Wanderer was in the Akademia, and was going by Hat Guy no less, wasn’t much of a surprise. Still, Aether took the small lull in conversation that followed to ask his more pressing question. 

“Are… you doing alright?” He asked, slowly, rolling his eyes when, as expected, the Wanderer glared at him. 

“Tsk, I’m doing fine. There’s no need to concern yourself over me- hey- hey! What are you doing!?!” The Wanderer hissed as he attempted to back up as Aether strode forwards, only for his back to end up hitting the boxes behind him, practically trapping him as Aether tilted his hat back slightly, and leaned down to lightly press their foreheads together. Aether hummed as the Wanderer went completely still- staring at the Traveler with something in between confusion and anger. Even Paimon was floating off to the side, silent in shock at Aether’s seemingly spontaneous movement. 

“Checking you for a fever.” Aether quietly explained, as it was, Aether didn’t feel any heat- in fact, if he had to guess, he’d say that the Wanderer was running slightly colder than most people. “Something just felt… off. Figured you might be sick.” 

“I don’t get sick.” The Wanderer huffed, “I’m not some kind of weak mortal, remember? Now get off me.” 

The Wanderer forcibly shoved Aether back, Aether stumbling slightly with the motion, bumping his head against the Wanderer’s hat, knocking it further askew. With Aether out of the way, and his hat no longer shading his face, the Wanderer ended up getting hit in the eyes with a stray ray of sunshine. He let out a high pitched gasp- and Aether watched with slight concern as he turned to the side, stifling four sneezes into complete silence. 

“Bless you.” 

“Snf, unnecessary…” The Wanderer muttered under his breath, readjusting his hat so that the sunshine could no longer hit his face as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand- which had Paimon grimacing in disgust. Aether tilted his head to the side. 

“Unnecessary since you were nearly a god, and are as close to blessed as can be, or…?” He trailed off, smirking a bit as the Wanderer re-centered his glare on him. “Either way, you might want to take things easy-” 

“Enough idle chit-chat- you’re better off wasting your time with the other contestants.” The Wanderer interrupted, crossing his arms. He maintained his glare for a minute, before his expression shifted to a small, slightly evil looking smirk. “Someone’s about to get very unlucky, can you guess who?” 

“Ugh, how is anyone meant to relax with you around?!” Paimon groaned, floating along beside Aether as he turned and walked away. “We’re going to need to keep an eye on this one…” 

Aether couldn’t help but to agree, albeit, it was for a slightly different reason than Paimon thought. He still couldn’t help but feel like something was up with the Wanderer, and given that little�� display he had given, Aether wasn’t going to drop this subject so soon- he hated to say it, but he genuinely was concerned for the other. There was a point to the fact that the Wanderer couldn’t get sick, he was a puppet afterall, he likely wasn’t susceptible to the same things that people were. But still, there was something off, and if it wasn’t a normal illness, then, well, what was it? 

Past-enemy that he was, Aether still didn’t want the guy to end up passing out in the middle of a competition because of some mystery condition. 

There was going to be a lot to keep an eye on during this competition, but it shouldn’t be too hard to pay a little bit extra attention to the Wanderer’s actions, would it? 

-

Aether was just about ready to strangle the Wanderer. 

He was astoundingly hard to keep track of. It had only been 20 minutes since the first round of the competition had started, and he had already lost track of the Wanderer’s position no less than 3 times. His only saving grace had been the trackers given to each participant to trace their movements during the game- and even then, it had taken him five minutes to find the Wanderer’s exact location again. 

Mainly because he hadn’t expected the Wanderer to be sitting at a table in the corner of a cafe’s terrace. 

Aether walked over to him with as much false-calm as he could muster. He’d left Paimon behind to keep an eye on the other contestants- someone needed to record the rest of the competition while Aether investigated the one participant who was not participating. 

“What. Are you doing.” Aether deadpanned, coming to a stop in front of the table as the Wanderer lifted his head to acknowledge his presence. 

“What does it look like?” He said, lifting his cup of tea to his lips to take a small sip. “You were the one who said something about me ‘taking it easy’, right? I’m just taking your advice. Not that it’s necessary, but it sure beats running around like a clown in a circus. I’m no clown.” 

Aether let out a tired sigh, pulling out a chair to sit down across from him. 

“Says the one going by the name ‘Hat Guy’. Why are you drinking tea anyways? It’s like, a million degrees outside right now- wouldn’t you be better off drinking something cold? They do make cold teas, you know.” Aether watched as the Wanderer stiffened almost imperceptibly at his question, something he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking for anything to give an indication of what was up with the Wanderer. “Is your throat-” 

“I’m fine.” The Wanderer hissed, setting his cup down on the table with an audible clack- Aether was concerned for a moment that the cup would actually crack from the force of it, but it thankfully seemed to be undamaged. The Wanderer leaned forwards, resting his elbow on the table, holding up his face with one hand. “Really, I don’t understand what in the world has you so concerned anyways-” 

Aether reached across the table, and snapped his fingers in front of the Wanderer’s face, summoning a small flash of light with the motion. It wasn’t an ability he used often, his few remaining powers from before landing in Teyvat reduced to nothing more than small, harmless sparkles and flashes, but in this case it served it’s needed purpose. 

The Wanderer’s face twisted in a way that Aether was starting to rather easily recognize, as he leaned back and away from the table. 

“Oh- fu-hH... fuck y-hIHH-” The Wanderer’s head snapped forwards into three completely silent stifled sneezes, followed by another short, hitching gasp, the final stifle escaping his forced silence into something more vocal. “Hh’nNxti!” 

“That, is why I’m concerned.” Aether said, “I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen you sneeze before.” 

“What, so I’m not allowed to sneeze now?” The Wanderer leaned forwards again, gripping the edge of his hat with his hand- possibly to be ready to shade his eyes from any future flashes of light. “I didn’t take you to be so controlling, Traveler.” 

“No, no, it’s not that.” Aether rolled his eyes. “Of course you can sneeze, you’re clearly photic after all-” 

“I am not-” The Wanderer paused- practically biting his own tongue as Aether held his hand out again, fingers poised to snap. He tugged the edge of his hat further down. “...So what?” 

“I’m just saying, being photic doesn’t explain why you were sneezing even before me and Paimon started talking to you-” 

“Paimon and I.” 

“You have no right to try and ‘proper-grammar’ me right now. I expect that kind of stuff from Nahida, not you.” 

The Wanderer’s only response to that was a cocky smirk as he picked his tea up again. Aether sighed. 

“Don’t think you can distract me that easily. I know there is something up with you today.” He said, maintaining pointed eye-contact with the Wanderer. 

“And I think that you’ve finally gone paranoid. Tell me, do I really frighten you that much?” The Wanderer said, laughing a little- cutting himself off with a barely restrained series of coughs that had Aether’s face switching from irritated back to concerned in an instant. 

“I knew it. You’re sick.” 

“I am not- Like I said earlier, I can’t get sick. …The tea just went down the wrong way.” The Wanderer avoided eye-contact, staring off to the side. They were both well aware that that excuse was complete bullshit- despite having picked his cup back up, the Wanderer had yet to sip any of his tea again, there had been no tea in his mouth to have gone the wrong way. Aether was about to call him out on it- 

His communicator went off. 

“Aether, you need to come see this!” Paimon’s voice rang out, and Aether let out a sigh. 

“I’ll be right there.” He said, waiting for the click indicating that Paimon had hung up, pulling out the device to check the other contestant’s locations as he stood up before glancing back at the Wanderer. “Don’t think I’m going to drop this. We will be talking about this later. I’m not afraid to drag Nahida into this if I must.” 

The Wanderer scoffed. 

“Be my guest.” 

-

It was only after the first round of the competition had wrapped up, that Aether realized that, with all the contestants' trackers turned off for the day, he no longer had any way of finding the Wanderer. He searched around the main stage- not surprised to find absolutely nothing, not even the slightest trace of the other. 

The only other place he could think of to check was the Sanctuary, which meant, of course, getting Nahida involved. To be completely honest, Aether hadn’t truly planned to bring Nahida into this so early, he was kinda hoping that the Wanderer would cave in first, but there was no chance of that happening if he couldn’t even find him. 

“...Nahida?” Aether called out, letting the doors of the Sanctuary softly close behind him. He stepped in, glancing around. There was nobody in the main room, which meant that Nahida- and the Wanderer, if he was here, were off in one of the side rooms. Sighing, Aether decided that he would check the library first- outside of the small garden that had been installed, the mini-library was the most common place where Nahida could be found. 

He gently knocked on the door before entering, letting out a small sigh of relief upon hearing Nahida’s voice call out “Come in!”. Aether stepped into the room, taking a moment to take in the room before focusing on where Nahida was seated on top of a chair covered in pillows, multiple books open on the table in front of her. 

“Oh- Traveler! I hadn’t been expecting you!” Nahida hopped down out of her chair, walking over to greet him. “I’d been kinda hoping that you were the Wanderer- he hasn’t come home yet.” 

“He hasn’t?” Well, that got rid of the possibility of finding him here. “Do you… have any idea of where he could be?” 

“Hmm…Nope! I can tell he’s in Sumeru, but his exact location is beyond me. …Why? Did something happen?” 

“Well… There’s something just, a little off about him?” Aether tilted his head to the side, wondering how best to explain the vague feeling he had, before deciding to just settle on presenting his main theory to her. “I think he might have come down with something- like a cold.” 

“That…shouldn’t be possible.” Nahida’s brows furrowed as she thought. “Being a puppet, he shouldn’t be able to get sick.” 

“That’s what he said too…” 

“But-” Nahida glanced up, like some kind of realization had just struck her. “I did think there was something a little off about him too, the last time I saw him. I just thought that I was imagining things.” 

“Considering that I’m also sensing something off? Unless two people can have the same hallucination, something is definitely up.” Aether said, “When was the last time you saw him, by the way?” 

“...About 2 days ago, actually.” Nahida hummed, glancing off to the side. “I didn’t think much of it- he’s spent a week in the forest without coming back before, but now that you also think there’s something up… Hm. Maybe I should try and find some way to check in on him…” 

“I mean, he’ll… probably show up for tomorrow’s round of the competition, right?” Aether asked, “You could always come to see-” 

“Ah- no. Unfortunately, I can’t go, there are some… other things I must take care of.” Nahida let out a forlorn sigh. “But… you’ll be there, won’t you, since you’re a commentator and all? You’ll continue to keep a close eye on him, right?” 

“...Well, he can be rather hard to find sometimes, but… I’ll do my best, Nahida.” 

-

Aether couldn’t help but feel worried when he couldn’t immediately spot the Wanderer at the competition’s main venue in the desert. What if something had happened to him- what if he’d passed out in the woods somewhere? 

He had informed Paimon of his suspicions about the Wanderer’s condition last night, so he wasn’t all that surprised when she shot up into the air to get a better vantage point to look around, only to sink back down to float beside him with a small shake of her head. No luck on that front then. 

There was a small beep from their devices as the second round of the competition began, and Aether quickly flipped to the section displaying the trackers on the participants. 

The Wanderer’s title of “Hat Guy” flickered on the screen. 

Huh. So he was in the desert- within the competition grounds even, just like everyone else. 

Why hadn’t he been at the venue, then? 

Highly suspicious (and also worried), Aether decided to check in on him, first. 

…Only to be severely side-tracked by stumbling upon a half-passed out Tighnari. 

He’d been just about to run back to the main venue, for both water and possibly a medic team- when he very nearly ran into the guy he had been initially searching for. The Wanderer looked no different than he had the day prior, but something was setting off even more alarm bells in the Traveler’s mind then there’d been yesterday. 

“Here- give him this.” The Wanderer held out a completely full water bottle- but that was not the first thing that Aether took note of. 

“Your voice is… a lot rougher today.” He noted, “Is your throat okay?” 

“I’m fine.” Somehow, this sentence sounded weaker than it had the day before. “My voice is the same as always, the stress of the competition is just making your poor little mortal body hear things. That’s not important though- just give him this.” 

The water bottle was practically shoved into Aether’s hands. Paimon clicked her tongue. 

“Are you sure it’s okay to give Tighnari this? What if you’re contagious?” She asked. Aether had to admit, it was a good point. Whatever was up with the Wanderer, he didn’t want to be giving it to Tighnari. The Wanderer tsked. 

“I’m not contagious, I don’t even get si-....sick…” He trailed off, a dazed expression on his face- and Aether knew instantly what was about to happen. There was a brief silence- the Wanderer’s face twisting as he seemed to be trying to resist the inevitable, before his eyes fluttered shut with a hitching breath. “Hihh…hIH- hEH’xNtiu! Hh- hH’nxt! HN’xTii! Heh- hiH’IsHKiu!” 

It seemed he wasn’t capable of stifling into silence anymore- not to mention the one that had completely gotten away from him at the end, complete with a small gust of anemo that surged forth- shockingly cold, for a desert wind. Aether barely suppressed a shiver. 

The Wanderer, for his part, recovered fast, straightening himself back up and readjusting his hat as he sniffled. 

“Not sick, huh?” Paimon said, prompting a glare. 

“...I just got some sand up my nose, that’s all.” Okay, his voice definitely sounded a bit hoarser than before, there was no way the Traveler was imagining that. “...I didn’t even drink out of the bottle though, if you’re going to be that paranoid about it. Barely even touched it outside of handing it to you just now.” 

Aether… supposed he could believe that- not the sand part, there was no way that was true, but the water bottle being fine was probably true- and speaking of which, how on Teyvat had he completely forgotten about the half-passed out person behind him- 

He only took his gaze off of the Wanderer for a mere second, but by the time Cyno arrived, and the Traveler finally felt like he had a moment to turn around… He was gone. Again. 

As Cyno helped Tighnari to his feet, Aether flicked open his device- thankfully, it seemed like the Wanderer hadn’t left the area, as his name was still flickering on the screen. Still though- possibly sick-and-in-denial puppet or not, Tighnari currently took priority- Aether could only hope that the Wanderer didn’t vanish into nowhere again while he was helping Tighnari back to the venue. 

…Except he did. 

Sure enough, after making sure Tighnari was safe and sound, Aether opened his device again- only to find that ‘Hat Guy’ had seemingly vanished. A brief round of asking around revealed that he had also withdrawn from today’s competition- but that didn’t ease Aether’s worries in the slightest. 

The Wanderer could’ve gone anywhere. He could be fighting in the forest, or walking through the desert- and he could collapse out there, and no-one would be any the wiser. 

-

Hearing that the Wanderer had fought some guys, before vanishing again, was at the same time both relieving and concerning. At the very least, whatever was going on with him, he didn’t end up passing out mid-battle. 

Kaveh took up most of Aether’s attention shortly after, however- he did make note that the Wanderer seemed a lot more quiet than usual. 

This was doubly affirmed when Nahida showed up- the Wanderer in tow… and every single response the Wanderer gave was in nothing but a whisper. 

It seemed like, for some reason, he expected that none of them would notice. 

One shared look with Nahida and Paimon confirmed that all three of them did, in fact, notice. 

“Alright, Mister.” Nahida put her hands on her hips, looking up at the Wanderer with a serious expression on her face. “Now that all the other stuff is out of the way- what’s up with you? And don’t think you’re going to get out of this by just vanishing like you did last night.” 

Nahida had found the Wanderer last night? Huh. Looks like there’d been some interactions Aether had missed out on. 

“Heh, and what do you plan on doing about it?” Wanderer whispered- leaning down slightly with a smirk on his face- how he could act so confident when something was clearly wrong, Aether had no idea. “You can’t keep me here.” 

Nahida’s eyes flashed with green light. 

Without any other pre-warning, vines sprung out of the ground, wrapping tightly around the Wanderer’s ankles. The Wanderer let out a curse- his voice breaking halfway through in a way that sounded outright painful, as he immediately tried to fly up out of the vine’s grip. 

Only to be pulled right back down to the ground- with enough force to make his hat fall off. Aether reached out and caught it before it could hit the ground, but- 

“HN’xTii!” There was no pre-warning as the Wanderer snapped forwards with a sneeze, only just barely stifling it into his hand. Aether had only a second to realize that it must’ve been in response to the sun, before the Wanderer was sneezing again, thrown into a small fit. “HH-hH’nXtiu! hEH’xNtiu!! HihH-hH’NXt!!” 

“You know stifling isn’t good for you, right?” Nahida commented, even as a stray gust of cold wind made her shiver. Aether had to agree- those stifles had sounded desperate and almost painful. The Wanderer didn’t respond, one hand hovering over his nose, as though he wasn’t sure whether or not he was going to sneeze again, while his other hand went up to shield his eyes from the sun by covering them entirely. 

“...Give me my hat back.” He eventually sniffled, and he sounded so terrible that Aether genuinely considered giving in for a second. 

But only for a second. 

“No. Not until you tell us what’s going on.” Aether said, crossing his arms, the hat in his grip jingling as he did so. “Nahida confirmed that you shouldn’t be able to get sick, so don’t even try that argument again, we’ve already been over it. But, there’s clearly something wrong, and we’re not going to let you leave until you tell us what it is.” 

The Wanderer, still gave no response, instead standing there silently, vines wrapped around his ankles and hand over his eyes. 

After another minute of a silent stand off, Nahida gave a tired sigh. 

“Well… we did give you ample time…” She muttered, “Paimon, could you come here for a moment? I need your help with something.” 

Wanderer’s whisper of “what do you think you’re planning?” was outright ignored by all three of them, as Nahida brought her hands together, summoning a small flower- considering Aether couldn’t immediately recognize it, it was likely one native to Sumeru. Nahida carefully crushed it up, until it was nothing more than petals and pollen in her hands. 

With nothing more than a short and simple telepathic message, she dumped the pile into Paimon’s waiting hands, and Paimon was off on her little mission. Slowly, being careful not to make any sound, she floated up, until she was above the Wanderer’s head- 

And then she dropped the pile of petals directly on top of him. 

“Wha-” The Wanderer’s breathy exclamation of confusion was cut off as his breath instantly caught on a hitch. “Hehh-hiIH- hiH’IsHKiu!!! Hh’shKiu! Hih-heH’inKshiu!!” 

The sudden gust of ice cold wind blew the petals and pollen away, and both Paimon and Nahida found themselves fleeing to hide behind Aether’s back to escape the biting cold that came with it. Aether noted, faintly, that the lines on the Wanderer’s body were glowing an icy blue, instead of their usual anemo teal- and that, when the Wanderer’s eyes cracked open with small tears, they were glowing the same colour. 

“B-Bu’er, wh-hh…why would y-you…Hh…” The sunlight landed directly in the Wanderer’s eyes, and he ducked his head, clearly fighting against another fit, if the tense way he was holding his shoulders was any indication. Was he holding his breath? Aether was pretty sure he was. 

Finally taking slight pity on him, Aether walked forwards and gently placed the Wanderer’s hat back onto his head. The Wanderer’s hands immediately went up to pull the brim of the hat down, shielding his face from any more beams of light. 

“Uh, where did the ice come from?” Paimon questioned, and Aether turned to look at her in confusion, before following her eyes down and- yep, sure enough, that was ice on the ground. In the desert. In the middle of the day. Yeah. Okay. 

“Wanderer?” Nahida slowly moved forwards, still shivering a little, clearly unused to being exposed to any kind of colder temperature. “This is extremely abnormal. You have to tell us what’s going on.” 

The Wanderer shook his head, still looking down, shoulders tense. Aether leaned down to Nahida and whispered to her conspiratorially; 

“I think he’s holding his breath so that he doesn’t sneeze again.” Considering for a moment, he then added on, “Probably embarrassed by the fact he sounds like a kitten-” 

“I do no-hH-hIH’ksh!! H’nXti!! Hh’NxTiu!!! N’xTt!! Heh-hHiKshiu!!!” The Wanderer’s protest was cut off by yet another kittenish fit- as well as another gust of ice cold air, his hat getting knocked slightly askew. Aether watched in slight fascination as the patch of ice on the desert floor grew slightly wider. Fit finished, the Wanderer gasped slightly for breath. Nahida, despite shivering, walked forwards, grabbing one of his hands and pulling him down slightly so that she could fix him fully with her expression of concern. 

“Wanderer. Please.” She said, “Tell us what’s wrong.” 

Silence. 

And then the Wanderer tsked, pulling his hands out of Nahida’s grip, readjusting his hat again. 

“You’re all worried over nothing.” He hissed, “I just… got hit by a Fatui member's attack. Ice shot, y’know.” 

“That’s not nothing!” Nahida gasped, “Are you hurt?!”

“Of course not!” The Wanderer’s voice broke again, and he coughed, before continuing. “I’m fine. It’s just… a little elemental residue. It’ll go away in a bit.” 

“It doesn’t seem to be going away.” Aether noted, ignoring the glare the Wanderer shot at him. “In fact, you’ve seemed to be getting worse.” 

Nahida snapped her fingers, before pointing at the Wanderer accusingly. 

“I told you stifling was bad for you!” She said, “You’re just keeping the remaining elemental energy inside of you!” 

The Wanderer tsked again- not confirming but also very obviously not denying her observation. Nahida put her hands on her hips, staring up at the Wanderer with an unimpressed expression. 

“So, then… how do we fix this?” Paimon asked. Nahida’s expression did a complete 180 as she turned to smile at Paimon. 

“It’s simple, really, he just needs to kitten-sneeze it out!” 

“Not a kitten sneeze.” Wanderer muttered, but was steadfastly ignored, even as he continued. “I can’t just turn Sumeru into a winter wonderland. Besides, it’s not like I can just sneeze on command-” 

The vines that had been gripping his ankles let go, only to move shoot upwards to wrap around his wrists instead. 

“What are you-” 

“So that you don’t stifle!” Nahida explained, simply; “And besides, we can always get rid of the ice afterwards. Now, Traveler?” 

Both Nahida and Paimon moved to hide behind Aether once more, and the Wanderer didn’t even have a second to protest this development before Aether was snapping his fingers in front of his face, summoning a bright flash of light. 

The Wanderer’s breath hitched immediately, unable to get out a single complaint before he was pitching forwards into another fit of kittenish sneezes, his hat falling off from the force of them. 

“HhiH’IsHKiu!! Heh’Shkii!!! HahH…heH’ishiu!!! ‘Kshi!! H’inKshiiu!!” The swirling burst of anemo and cyro was almost enough to make Aether stumble back as he summoned a geo shield to protect both him, Nahida, and Paimon. The ice spread across the ground, steadily increasing and covering an eight foot radius. A few snowflakes appeared, and the Wanderer’s next hitching breath was visible in the cold air. “HiihH- Ishhiu!! HihH’inkshii!! H’eshii!! ‘Kshiu! Hh’iKShiu!!!” 

The Wanderer gasped for breath, and it was only after a minute passed with no further sneezes and accompanying burst of freezing anemo that Aether slowly lowered the geo shield. Carefully, to avoid slipping on the sudden layer of ice surrounding them, Aether strode forwards, picking the Wanderer’s hat up off the ground and placing it back on the others head for him, yet again. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, slightly adjusting the hat as the Wanderer’s hands were still tied. The Wanderer’s eyes blinked open, hazy with tears, and Aether noted that the fading glow was back to it’s usual teal. 

“Was th-” The Wanderer’s voice, which quite frankly sounded painful, gave out on him. Aether figured that, with how vocal his little fit had been, that only made sense. 

“Here, here, let Paimon say it for you!!” Paimon floated up beside him, slipping into her ‘best’ impression of him. “‘Was that really necessary?’ That’s what you were gonna say, right?” 

Based on the Wanderer’s pissed off scowl, yes, that was exactly what he had been going to say. 

“It was very necessary, in fact.” Nahida shivered, and Aether reached down and picked her up so that her bare feet weren’t touching the cool ice. “It would’ve taken a week at the rate you were going, and you would’ve only gotten worse over that time.” 

She snapped her fingers, the vines disappearing, and the Wanderer instantly crossed his arms, looking away from them. 

Nahida let out a sigh. Aether, after a brief moment, sighed as well. 

“C’mon.” He said, adjusting Nahida slightly and turning around. “Lets head back to the Sanctuary and get the both of you warmed up- I’ll even make that bitter tea that you like so much. At the very least, drinking something hot will help your throat.” 

A small, cool breeze hit the back of Aether’s neck, and he just barely kept himself from yelping, turning slightly to see the evil smirk on the Wanderer’s face. 

Aether’s only response was to roll his eyes.

[inexplicablymine]

Some Sentences Sunday

(Okay this is actually exactly seven sentences I am a little proud of myself. This is a short excerpt from Not So Silent Night my advent calendar fic comes out on Dec 21st.)

Sure, he can admit, in the deepest recesses of his mind, at two in the morning, when the Liszt is playing forlornly like some kind of bugle call for grief, that whoever the fuck lives next to him is on another level with the keys.  It is a little hard to feel warm and fuzzy about the world class concert he has been on the receiving end of, on a near nightly basis, when it is coming at a time when Alex should be asleep. No. Should denotes that it is okay that he spends hours every night staring at the wall like he is going to magically gain some kind of x-ray vision that will both allow him to see what is going on next door, and somehow through radioactive osmosis, stop the damn piano player from keeping him up.  Maybe when he was in undergrad he wouldn’t have minded. Maybe in law school he would have been up anyways, and the music might have been a nice touch. But now?

Thank you to all of the amazing people who tagged me (I did not think I was going to post today but y'all put on the PRESSURE so here I am lol) so to @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @happiness-of-the-pursuit @14carrotghoul @anincompletelist @suseagull04 @notspecialbabe @orchidscript @kiwiana-writes @firenati0n this abomination is all your fault

tagging some lovelies because it is still technically Sunday for me so it is for you too ;)) @welcometololaland @xthelastknownsurvivorx @historicallysam @cheesecurdsgravyandfries @clottedcreamfudge @everwitch-magiks @indomitable-love @read-and-write- @affectionatelyrs @kill8a @saintlynomenclature @gay-flyboys @dumbpeachjuice @daisymae-12 @smc-27 @three-drink-amy @tintagel-or-cockleshells @thinkof-england

[potofstewie]

Deja Vu

The low down: History is repeating itself and for once, Kyojuro is tired.

The things to know: Reader uses she/her pronouns, Absolute angst (I kind of got teary eyed while writing this), mentions of blood, character death, this mostly takes place before mugen train , ooc shinjuro but he's a nice guy promise, Venting, sobbing kyojuro, like literally this ray of sunshine is BROKEN, a peaceful and sober Shinjuro, Y/N is literally a bg character lmao sorry, daddy issues

Pairing: Kyojuro x Reader

W/C: A WHOPPING 3.8K WORDS, MY BIGGEST ONE YET!

Words/phrases to know:

Monstuki Haori Hakama: Traditional formal garment that would be worn as simplified attire by people in the Samurai Society (during the Edo Period)

A/N: Hey you guys, I'll come clean. This one is a doozy not necessarily in length but in the emotions I tried my best to display in this one. It's true, reader is nothing but a background character and I kinda apologize for that. I really wanted to write a fic that portrays a new leaf in Kyojuro and Shinjuro's relationship and what better way than with sacrificing Y/N? Anyway, I finally made a pinned post linking my masterlist and other stuff for my mobile users. I plan on posting this and my other stuff on AO3 probably tmr as well. I hope you guys enjoyed and DO TELL ME YOUR FAVORITE PART

It was happening again. 

Kyojuro laid wide awake within his futon, puffy and reddened eyes burning the ceiling with his intense gaze. The calming silence of the night was occasionally interrupted with your pained coughs erupting from the other room. Kyojuro ran a tired hand through his disheveled mane, completely fed up with it all.

The coughing, the wheezing, the piles upon piles of tissues that were stained with spots of blood and phlegm. The never ending servings of soup, the countless doctor visits that always ended on the same confusing and irritating note. 

“It’s only a matter of time.”

Kyojuro didn’t hate a lot of things in the world, but that sentence he hated the most. “It’s only a matter of time.”

A matter of time until what? Until she gets better? Until she becomes the second one to leave them? What the hell did it mean? The situation weighed heavily on the Rengoku males, tension forever present within the household. At the beginning, all three of them would listen intensely to whatever orders and updates the doctors gave. They would each take turns administering medicine and delivering soup, massaging sore muscles that grew tired of being idle under a futon. Now, however, it was only Senjuro who listened. Kyojuro, as well as his father, continued to serve your every need despite giving up on worshiping the vague and aggravating words of the doctors.  

Your lover tried to keep his cheerful façade on display as usual, but as the days went on and the coughing grew louder and longer, his smile would falter and heavy sighs would take the place of his boisterous laughter. The bubbling fear and anger within him replaced his ever so optimistic and happy demeanor. There was no doubt that his family took notice of his change no matter how hard he tried to hide it, you included. Any time he would be with you, you would always ask the same things:

“How have you been, honestly?”

“Have you been eating?”

“Are you taking care of yourself while you’re away?”

“Something is on your mind, my love. What’s upsetting you?” 

You were easily satisfied with the simple “I’m alright, don’t worry about me.”, “yes” or “nothing is wrong my dear, honest.” You’d always give him that smile which he loved dearly before turning your back to him, returning to the warm embrace of slumber. Kyojuro’s beaming smile would always dissipate immediately when your eyes were no longer on him, fatigue tugging at his spirit. Of course something was bothering him; you were crumbling away right in front of him and he was absolutely powerless to do anything. 

On the days he would be free from pillar duties, all he could do was roam the house aimlessly like a ghost who couldn’t pass on properly. Even at night when sleep couldn’t find him, he would wander the halls. His frame would always buckle and slide against the walls, silent tears covered his cheeks every time as he curled in on himself. This all felt like Deja Vu to the flame hashira, every second he experienced was just another second he had already gone through. However this time he would be the grieving partner. He was grateful, though, that instead of turning to alcohol like his father did once upon a time, he stuck to wandering like a stray dog. 

Kyojuro grew to envy his father when your illness took a turn for the worst. He took notice of the lack of sake present in the house and the ever growing moments he and Senjuro would catch their father outside his room. He took note of how attentive his father was to your every beck and call, even to those that didn’t require him or ask of him in the first place. Even without being told he would do his damndest to ensure his would be daughter-in-law is alright. Opening the Shoji to let the sunlight flood into the room, cooking hot meals for the house and giving you the largest servings, taking up extra chores so Senjuro could keep you company. All these things Kyojuro wished he had the enthusiasm for. He loved helping you, truly, but his determination had depleted almost completely. 

Rubbing his eyes, Kyojuro sat up, a heavy sigh leaving his dusted red nose. The corners of his mouth twitched, heavy with sadness as a revelation dawned upon him. His father was probably doing this out of habit, out of fear. He faintly remembered what it was like when his mother was sick, his father doing everything he could when he had the time to be at home. He supposed that maybe doing all of these things and more was a way for his father to cope with the haunting truth that another person he cared about would die due to unchangeable circumstances. Maybe, just maybe, his father hoped that things would get better and that he wouldn’t have to relive the same pain he had once experienced; even if it wasn’t him who would take it the hardest. 

A single tear escaped Kyojuro’s fiery eyes, his hand quickly erasing it as he sniffled softly. No, the one to bear the pain the most would be him. It was his turn now, and no amount of soup and small conversations his father offered to the family’s source of light would change that. Getting up from his futon, Kyojuro wondered if there had been a curse placed upon his family. It couldn’t be a coincidence that this same situation would happen twice. Did a demon from his father’s past place a curse on the bloodline as it died to his blade? Damning every Rengoku to suffer absolute heartbreak?

Entering the dark hallway, Kyojuro silently stalked his way to the entrance, mind lost in sorrow. Staying in bed couldn’t help him and wandering the halls wasn’t something he was up for. Instead, he aimed for the fresh, crisp night air to fill his lungs and clear his mind. Oh, how he wanted so badly to purge the sickness in you and toss it to the farthest reaches of the earth. He wished to take you out to all your favorite restaurants again, to go on a picnic with you again, to bear witness to you playing with Senjuro under the cherry blossom trees again. He missed being able to kiss you during the cold winter nights that only a lover’s embrace could heat up. He could no longer give you the sweet kisses you had once pleaded for, your illness putting a stop to most intimate tokens of affection you were both accustomed to. 

As a heavy sigh left his lips, Kyojuro opened the shoji and blinked in surprise. His father, broad back facing the house and his eyes focused on the sky above, was sitting on the engawa. Legs hung over the edge, a half empty cup sitting next to its owner. Shinjuro turned around slightly, acknowledging his son.

“I couldn’t sleep.” He explained softly, turning his attention back to the dark sky, the bright moon the only thing decorating the endless dark abyss. Kyojuro closed the shoji behind him and took a seat next to his father, burning eyes gazing at the cup in suspicion before looking at his father in silent question. Shinjuro picked the cup up and slightly turned it. “It’s just water.” He said simply, resting the cup on the other side of him before resting his hands in his lap. 

“I..couldn’t sleep either.” Kyojuro said softly, hesitation ladened in his sleep-deprived voice. Although things within the house had gotten better since you entered his life and the lives of his family, Kyojuro still had a slight problem conversing with his father. You managed to change his father for the better, instead of heaps of sake littering the house only one or two bottles were kept in the kitchen before his father made the decision to get rid of it entirely once you fell ill. He started to eat with the family, although he barely spoke, only talking when answering a question or giving Senjuro or you his praises for the meal. He started training Senjuro in simple hand to hand combat, leaving the sword work to Kyojuro. He even had daily, lengthy conversations with you about an array of things; from what Ruka was like to how happy the birds seemed to be that day. 

It wasn’t easy but progress was slightly made between the father and son. His father started returning any greetings he was given, he waited alongside you and Senjuro when Kyojuro finally arrived home from a grueling mission and even confessed to him that he was proud of him being a hashira but still preferred it if he turned away for his own safety. But, all of that still didn’t quite quell the nervousness Kyojuro had when it came to him. 

“I know. That’s why you’re here, Kyojuro.” He remarked quietly, taking a sip of his drink. If he focused hard enough, he could’ve sworn that there was a twinge of tease hidden in his father’s voice.

“R-right.” He replied, voice barely above a whisper. For a few pensive moments, there was a cold silence between them. Kyojuro furrowed his wild eyebrows slightly, oh how awkward this all was! He didn’t know what to say to his father, even if he did he still wasn’t sure if he should voice it. He was in an intense battle with himself and by the looks of it, it was going to end in a draw.

One part of him wanted to vent to his father, to tell him all of his frustrations and woes about the depressing situation all of them were currently in. He wanted to bawl and curl up by his father, have his hot tears soak through the clothing on his father’s shoulder. He wished to be a little boy again, to trip and scrape his knee and have his father pick him up like he used to and comfort him. To hear him say: “It’s alright little one, you don’t need to cry anymore. I’ll patch you up, good as new.” like he used to. To plant a loving kiss on the top of his head and rock him in his arms. To call him a big boy when he was finally at ease and say how proud he was for being brave. All that he wished to have again.

The other part of Kyojuro, however, wanted to keep the peaceful silence between them. To just gaze up at the moon with his father and bottle up his emotions; to burn through it all passionately as he usually would. But even Kyojuro knew that would end in failure. He wanted to be as strong as he could, to bear it all on his tired and weakened shoulders. To give hope to his father -and to himself- that things would be alright and that you would bounce back better than ever. That you would play with Senjuro again, that you would do morning stretches with his father again in the garden, that you would plant millions of loving and passionate kisses all over Kyojuro’s face. 

As the young man sat in silence, mind ravaging with his thoughts, Shinjuro broke the silence with the clearing of his throat. “I..think it would be best for the two of you to get married as soon as possible.” Kyojuro turned his head to his father, his puffy eyes blown wide as his father continued to stare at the sky. “It..would be best for all of us if there was one last good memory to hold onto.” With that, he finally gazed at him, tired eyes drinking in the clear signs that his son was crying earlier.

“Oh, um, yes. You have a point…I’ll bring it up with Y/N tomorrow morning.” Kyojuro muttered, calloused hands slightly gripping his yukata. Kyojuro’s gaze lowered to his lap as he tried to figure out how to pose his question. “Um, father?” He called out. Shinjuro answered with a gruff hum, taking another sip of water.

“Father, Y/N..isn’t going to get better, is she?” Kyojuro could feel his ears heat slightly at his question. He sounded like a small child that couldn’t grasp the concept of someone he cared about dying. He reminded him of himself once upon a time. Shinjuro grunted again, looking at Kyojuro.

“She won’t, Kyojuro.” He answered simply, flaming eyes once more concentrating on the moon. Kyojuro’s bottom lip twitched at the obvious confirmation, a painful lump slowly forming in his throat.

“Father?” He started again, picking at the hangnail that resided on his pointer finger. Shinjuro sighed softly and leaned back on his palms. 

“Yes, Kyojuro?” He answered patiently, completely understanding the heavy task he was assigned once Kyojuro sat next to him. He knew how fragile his son currently was and he knew just how painful it was. Nobody was by his side when Ruka fell ill but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t be the lighthouse for the ship his son sailed on, horrible waves from the daunting storm threatening to capsize him. 

“It’s all useless, isn’t it? The doctor visits and the soup.” He started, worry taking the reins and causing him to talk faster. “A-As well as the medication and the massages and-”

“Kyojuro.” Shinjuro interrupted sternly, shocking the young man and causing him to look at his father with worry plastered on his face. An iron gaze was focused on the young man’s sorrowful features. A sigh flew from the older man’s lips as Kyojuro looked back down at his fingers, eyes covered in a sheen film. “It may all seem useless, hell, it might actually be. But those things..bring her ease. It brings Senjuro ease. It gives them hope and it would be cruel to just stop it and force them to face the grave truth.” 

“Right, I apologize.” Kyojuro said meekly, lolling his head back to keep from sniffling. A tender yet battle-worn hand rested on the top of Kyojuro’s head, giving him a slight pat before leaving his messy hair. 

“It’s alright, Kyo.” Shinjuro reassured softly, sitting up straight again. He dithered, unsure of how to say his next words. If one thing Shinjuro wasn't good at, it was being reassuring. But, his son needed him and he truly didn't want to let him down this time. Never again, he silently vowed to himself as he took a deep breath, lips parting slightly.

“It’s okay to feel this way. I don’t have to tell you how hard this all is and how awful everything feels. But just know that I won’t leave your side for any of it. I’ll be there to hold your hand through it all and I’ll make sure that you don’t end up like I did. I promise you, Kyojuro.” He finished, a small yet reassuring smile resting on his lips. Kyojuro looked at his father in both bewilderment and comfort. For the first time in a while, Kyojuro was finally receiving the love and care that he had longed for from his father for a long time. With a slight nod, Kyojuro once more looked down in his lap, fingers tightly woven. A single tear finally broke through, leaving a small dot on his clothing.

“Father, I..I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know if I can keep being cheerful anymore. I’m so tired, father. I feel like I'm lying to her, lying to myself. And I can't stand it, I just-” And with the last word to leave his trembling lips, a struggling wail escaped Kyojuro’s throat. Rapid streams of tears left his screwed shut eyes as his shoulders convulsed, rough hands frantically trying to wipe away the stains on his crimson cheeks however they just kept coming even stronger than before. Large hands grabbed the side of Kyojuro’s head and shoulder, pushing him into a tight hug. Soft hushes filled the heavy night air as Kyojuro’s wails grew louder and became filled with incoherent babbling. 

“I don’t wan’ to lose her, I hate it. I hate it all! I-I wanna save her but- but I can’t!” Kyojuro spoke through an agape frown, drool beginning to leave his mouth while his hands gripped the back of his father’s yukata tightly as Shinjuro’s hand rubbed his back. “P-please, Papa, help me, Please!” He pleaded, voice muffled as he buried his head further into his father’s embrace. Shinjuro’s lower lip twitched slightly before burying it on the top of his son’s head, placing a soft kiss in the blond tresses. 

“I know, Kyo, I know. I’ll help you out, don’t worry. It’s okay, my son...I promise.” Shinjuro whispered as the gut wrenching sobs left his son’s lips. Shinjuro hated it all too. He hated seeing the memories of Ruka’s final moments every time he visited you. He hated seeing Kyojuro slowly turn into a shell of his former self, he hated looking into the mirror that was his son. He hated seeing younger Kyojuro within Senjuro, always trying his hardest to raise everyone’s hopes and quietly asking him if Y/N will for sure get better; always being met with vague answers. It was all Deja Vu to the older man, as if he was watching the past play out right in front of him but ten times worse. They hadn’t even gotten married yet, let alone have one or two children. Shinjuro could feel nothing but the sorrow and anguish within his battered heart beating loudly in his ears as Kyojuro finally succumbed to his emotions. 

Shinjuro started to slightly rock his son side to side as burning tears soaked through his clothes. He didn’t mind not one bit. He would have all of his clothes drenched in the salty tears of his children if that is what they needed. He would rock them and comfort them as many times as they requested, no matter how big the issue was or how old the children were. It was his responsibility as their father to do so, as well as something he owed to them for all the years of negligence. 

Kyojuro’s wails died down to occasional sniffles and heavy breathing. His grip on his father slightly loosened as he partially uncovered his bloodshot eyes, gaze resting on nothing in particular. “What..am I going to do? I love her so much, it hurts. It hurts so bad. I feel like I can’t breathe, my lungs are burning. I-I’m so tired, Papa.” Kyojuro mumbled, no longer caring about how childish he seemed calling his father “Papa”. That’s what he was after all, Papa. Papa the Brave that chases the demons away every night before bed and when he’s away from home. Papa the Strong that can carry both his children and his wife on his body, carrying them throughout the house as tiny, sweet giggles filled the air. Proud Papa that teaches his sons how to hold a sword and praises them when they beat the air with wooden swords. Loving Papa that coats Mama in sweet kisses when he comes back home. Helpful Papa that saves little boys with snakes from sorrowful places and wipes his children’s faces every meal time. His Papa. 

Shinjuro sighed softly, rugged hand traveling in his son’s hair. “I’m sorry, Kyojuro. There isn’t much you can do but be there for her. Love her as much as possible no matter what. Try to make her happy every day, even if you feel like giving up. And when you do feel like giving up, find me. And I’ll carry you.” 

Kyojuro sniffled as his body felt the brunt force of fatigue. His wild eyebrows furrowed as he began to succumb to the sweet luls of slumber. “Okay, Papa..” Softly leaving his lips as he finally slept, Shinjuro kept his steady rhythm of rocking until the morning sun crested the horizon, birds singing their wake-up songs to the once still Earth.

A warm, gentle breeze traveled throughout the lively forest as boisterous laughter filled the air. Shinjuro chuckled softly as he watched his two sons walk briskly ahead of them, jokes and funny stories exchanging between the two. Kyojuro laughed loudly again as Senjuro entertained him with a funny face in the middle of his story, swinging the picnic basket in his hand.

“Kyojuro!” Shinjuro called out, his sons giving him their attention. “Try not to laugh too hard, remember? You’re still healing.” He reminded the young man, gesturing to the bandages that were wrapped around his torso, hidden underneath his Monstuki Haori Hakama. Kyojuro gently rubbed the eyepatch that rested on his face, a habit he started to pick up when in thought, a beaming smile shining at his father.

“Don’t worry, I feel good enough to laugh. It doesn’t hurt, promise!” He assured before joining his little brother that was already ahead of the both of them and underneath the tree. Heaps of food sprawled out on the red blanket once Shinjuro finally caught up to his children, a bento and chopsticks already out for him. He sat down carefully next to Senjuro, content eyes soaking in the picturesque view that laid before him. Many trees danced with the gentle summer wind, birds swooping and diving into the canopy for their lunch. A nearby stream sang its song elegantly as the two sons conversed with each other. Shinjuro took a deep breath in, the sweet scent of the manju and flowers filling his nose. 

“She would’ve liked this place, right Aniue?” Senjuro said softly, snapping his father from his silent appreciation of nature. Kyojuro lowered his chopsticks, a small smile plastered on his face. He rubbed his stomach gingerly, before turning his attention to his little brother. 

“She would have. Both of them would, I reckon. However, they’d probably yell at us for being late.” He chuckled, producing a large smile from Senjuro, a smaller one from his father. “Not to mention, we didn’t make Y/N favorite food to bring with us.” He finished, laughing loudly as Shinjuro released a soft snort. 

“She’d be mad at you, not me and Sen. I told you we should’ve made some but you insisted on rushing.” He retorted, Senjuro giggling softly at his father’s remark. Kyojuro chuckled sheepishly as he rubbed his neck. His father was right, of course. But you would forgive him, Kyojuro knew you would. 

“Then let’s make some when we get home and give it to her. Now hurry up and eat before I end up taking everything.” Senjuro warned before quickly snatching up a mitarashi dango, eliciting a shocked and hurried response from his brother as well as a scoff from his father, joining in the competition. 

Things hadn’t been fair to the Rengoku family and although things would forever change for them, one thing was for sure; no sorrowful bouts of Deja Vu would visit them. And if they did, Papa the Brave would be there.

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ʙɪɴᴅ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴛᴏꜰꜱᴛᴇᴡɪᴇ™ 2022

[stardustbarbarians]

Even Sinners Drink the Wine

A Too Pretty For War prologue

Part One

A Samuel Kiszka / Daniel Wagner fic

Summary: Years before he became the king of Athens, Prince Samuel risked his life in order to save his best friend's.

Tags: Prince!Sam, Court Member!Daniel, war, life or death situations, Savior Sammy, Sam-centric

Trigger Warnings: graphically depicted violence, blood, nightmares, discussion of death and dying (if I miss any please let me know!)

Words: 6.9 k

A/N: An entire year later (to the day), I finally got around to posting that Sanny chapter of this series I promised. I didn't intend to have multiple parts of this fic, but considering the word count came to 17,000+ words, I did not want to subject you all to that. If you've seen the BBC show Merlin at all, this fic might be familiar to you as I was inspired by the episode "The Poisoned Chalice". Also, I tagged this as Danny/Sammy, but we all know what happened in TPFW, so take that how you will. Now, I would be remiss to not dedicate this fic to @t00turnttrauma as I'm convinced she's the biggest fan of this whole universe. I would also love to shout out @ofthecaravel for being a tremendous help and a good sport as I sent her snippets of this as I was writing. And lastly, thank you @safety-sam for giving me the idea for this whole universe a year ago. I feel this is most likely unnecessary, but the title is taken from Greta Van Fleet's Stardust Chords. As always, enjoy <3.

+++

The war had been raging for six years. Six years of bloodshed and violence for a boy that never would have wanted such a thing in all his days. 

Josh had passed six years ago and Sam was reminded of that simple fact every time the sun poked over his beloved sea. 

However, this particular morning was one of the few where the young prince awoke with sorrow absent from his heart. For the first time in three years, Samuel was finally seeing his older brother. 

Jacob was returning home from the battlefield. 

As soon as the sun’s rays began to weakly stream into the prince’s room, he sprang up out of his bed and called his servant into the room in order to be dressed. Samuel was buzzing with excitement as he was wrapped in his silk chiton, hardly able to stay static. 

“Your highness, you must remain still if you do not wish for me to draw your blood,” Pythius warned, ceasing all action for dressing the prince. He held the chiton in place with one hand and a broach in the other hand. 

Sam knew he’d been acting difficult this morning, but he just couldn’t help it. Today was a very special day for him. It was not every day that he saw Jake. How could he contain himself? 

“Apologies, Phythius.” Sam then made a conscious effort to stay as still as the statutes lining the halls of his palace. Though, he could not cease his hands from fidgeting with the ends of his garment. 

After what felt like an eternity, Pythius finally finished dressing the young prince. 

“All done, your grace-” 

Before he had even finished his sentence, Samuel was bolting out the door and yelling his thanks behind him as he did so. Pythius grunted as he made to chase after him, stopping in the doorway. “Prince Samuel!! Your sandals!!” 

It was no use and the manservant knew this. Samuel was forever “forgetting” his footwear, and to attempt to force him into them was a Herculean feat. Leaning against the doorframe, he tossed the sandals onto the floor of Samuel’s chambers as he watched the youngest royal tramp down the hallway that led to the ward’s chambers. 

Samuel scrambled down the halls, the sandstone cold against his bare feet. He could not wipe the beaming grin off his face as the wind ran its fingers through his hair. He skid around the final corner and reached his destination. He barely gave the courtesy of a knock before barging inside the door. 

“Jacob is coming home today!” Samuel’s tone was so chipper, he sounded like one of the birds his mother kept as a pet. 

The ward glanced at his best friend through the mirror he sat before as his dark curls were being manipulated into place by his manservant. He seemed to have caught Sam’s contagious grin, the corners of his petal pink lips curving upwards at the sight of his best friend. 

“Good morning, my darling Samuel,” Daniel greeted, not at all fazed by the royal’s enthusiasm. He’d been dealing with Sam’s overly excited nature for going on a week now. He was used to it at this point. 

“Jacob is coming home today,” the prince repeated, seeming to ignore Daniel’s greeting. He was grinning so wide, he was sure all of his teeth were on display. His hands were balled into fists in front of him, shaking them up and down as he bounced on the balls of his feet. 

With a final word with his servant, Daniel got up from his seat once his hair was deemed finished. It had been pulled back into a bun that was wrapped in a gold string, two perfect curls framing his brilliant face. There was also a gold headband wrapping around the circumference of his head, matching the gold piping accents of his off-white chiton. 

“Yes, so you have said,” Daniel responded. It was said without a hint of exhaustion; if anything, it seemed to make his smile brighten. He outstretched a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Samuel’s ear, something glittering in his eyes that Sam completely missed in his enthusiasm. 

“When do you believe he will arrive?” He searched the ward’s face vehemently, hopeful for an answer that he agreed with. 

With a sigh bordering on wistful, Daniel dropped his hand and turned back towards where he was just seated. That was when Samuel noticed the long cape that flowed from the straps of Daniel’s chiton, the fabric leaving his upper back exposed. When he turned back to face the royal, Sam noticed he had slipped on golden bracelets forged to resemble vines wrapping gracefully around his wrists. 

It was… a different look for Daniel. Usually, he opted for a simple silk fabric and that was the end of it. It was a flattering look for the ward, even if it more closely resembled a woman’s dress. It was upon that realization that a warm flush flooded his cheeks with near violent speed. However, his moment of being flummoxed was quickly overtaken with his elation when Daniel answered his question. 

“Most likely by the evening, if not by mid-day,” he responded, that soft smile returning to his brilliant features. 

Sam all but cheered, jumping up as the thrill of seeing his long missed brother mounted into something that was hardly contained. The ward watched on in amusement as a child-like enthusiasm overtook the prince. 

“I was dearly hoping you would speak something like that,” Sam finally commented after being able to partially put a lid on his emotions. 

His smile turning into a full smile, Daniel turned away from his friend and made for the door. 

“Alright, your highness. Let us get some food in you before you faint or forget,” Daniel urged, opening up the doorway of his chambers into the corridor now lit with the strong rays of dawn. 

Sam, knowing that his best friend was right, walked through the door. The two sauntered down towards the dining area, Sam making conversation that was mostly one-sided. He kept buzzing about all the things he had wanted to do with his older brother upon his return, his passion never-ending. Daniel listened to the prince’s chatter, his patience never-ending. He was always this gentle when Sam got into one of his moods; he had seen one too many times where Samuel’s excitement was unjustly turned down or interrupted due to the listener not caring about his soliloquy. Daniel never was one of those shades, and Samuel was forever grateful for that. 

“Apologies for interrupting. But Samuel, you must not allow yourself to get your hopes too high. Jacob… Well, he might not be as you remember him to be,” Daniel carefully explained, turning his body to fully face the royal. He even placed a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder, his eyes searching for Sam’s own. 

“Whatever do you mean, Daniel?” 

A look flashed across his face momentarily that almost seemed to pain the ward. As though he pitied the youngest royal. But, just like a flash of lightning, it was gone from his features within the blink of an eye. But Sam caught it. 

“Just…” 

Whatever Daniel had wanted to say died on his tongue like an animal who had had its heart pierced by an arrow. 

“He has been away for a long time. He may not be the same Jacob from your memories,” Daniel finally elaborated. Samuel knew that was not what his friend had originally wanted to say. But, he did not have the time to pry out of him whatever the ward had meant before the two were spotted by Samuel’s older sister. 

“Ah, I thought I would find you two lurking about,” Veronica playfully called, making her way over to the pair. Her silk gown billowed out behind her as she approached, similar to how Daniel’s garments had as he strolled down the hallway with Samuel. 

Once again, it had given the young prince a moment of pause, causing his cheeks to flame like the burning sunrise over his beloved sea. 

“They are waiting for you out on the patio. Your chiton is lovely, Daniel.” The princess spoke the last line over her shoulder, guiding the pair towards the patio in question. 

Samuel dutifully followed. Though, as his sister and his best friend made conversation, Samuel tuned them out. Unintentionally, of course. But, his mind was soaring into the clouds as he attempted to parse out what it was about Daniel that day made him so flustered. 

+++

Breakfast came and went with minimal incident. Of course, there was the instance of the king snapping at his youngest for talking incessantly about his brother’s return, but that was hardly a rare occurrence. His mother had placed a comforting hand atop her son’s after he had retreated inwardly at his father’s anger, calming the turmoil roiling beneath his breast. He placed a loving kiss onto the back of her hand before taking his leave. 

Samuel spent the rest of his morning honing his archery skills. He attempted horseback archery, something he had only previously done once before. Despite his nerves, he was able to do a good job at hitting the targets. 

“Althea, you have yet to disappoint me,” Samuel cooed to his horse, patting her dapple gray neck lovingly after he dismounted. She stomped her large hooves appreciatively into the dirt beneath her, her long black tail flicking at the affection. 

The prince clicked his tongue as he held her reins in his hand, his signal for her to follow him. She did so loyally, matching his pace as the two made their way over to where Daniel was lounged under a tree. 

“Are you diligently at work, or simply presenting to seem that way?” Samuel jested as he approached, flashing a brilliantly charming smile towards his best friend. 

“I know you are unfamiliar with the concept of work, so I shall not fault you for not knowing what that looks like,” Daniel shot right back, only briefly glancing away from the scroll he was pouring over to look at Samuel. 

With a good natured laugh emitting from both parties, Samuel turned to Althea to remove her saddle, grunting as he lifted the heavy wood and leather off the animal. She shook after having the weight removed, throwing her head up and down as if stretching. After setting the saddle under the tree on the opposite side of Daniel’s position, he turned back towards his horse. 

“Go and frolic as you wish, girl. You earned it,” he told her before untying her reins from the branch of the tree. With little hesitation, she wandered off into the field that stretched out before them. 

With a fond smile adorning his face, the prince pivoted on his heel and made for the spot the ward lounged. 

“What subject matter are you cramming into that thick skull of yours?” Sam teased as he laid down perpendicular to Daniel, resting his head onto the man’s lap. If he squinted and strained his eyes just right, he could just barely make out the writing on the parchment. 

“Diplomacy,” he quickly answered before pulling the scroll out of the way to gaze at Samuel directly in the eye, “not that you have any inclination as to what that word suggests.” 

There was a devious glint in his eye after he spoke that matched the smirk on his lips. 

“Aye! You cur! Retract that statement at once!” Sam’s demand was accentuated by his finger pointing in the ward’s face. 

Daniel simply chuckled warmly before pushing his best friend’s hand out of his face and sliding the parchment back into his line of sight. “Your demand achieves nothing, save prove my point.” 

The prince crossed his arms over his chest in a petulant act. He had hoped to provoke Daniel into a bit of a tiff for his amusement, but it seemed that he would not rise to the bait. Instead, he preoccupied his time by watching the sunlight dance across the yellowed scroll above his eyes as the wind rustled the leaves with its gentle and warm breath. 

Without even realizing, the man had dozed off. It seems the comfort of being swaddled in his best friend’s scent and warmth as well as having his skin warmed by the afternoon sun were the perfect amalgamation of factors to send him off peacefully towards his dreams. 

However, peaceful they did not stay. 

Samuel found himself shoved into a dark cave, black cloaking his vision so successfully he could not see his hand directly in front of him. With a whimper of fear that he attempted to suppress poorly, he stumbled forward in a direction he could only hope led towards the mouth of it. He dared not make any noise in fear of what beasts call that musty and decrepit cavern home. 

Turning what he hoped was a corner, Samuel felt relief flood his veins as he spotted a far away stream of light that led towards the exit. Only then did he hear a scream that made every drop of his blood turn to ice. 

“DANIEL!!”

With no hesitation, the prince turned away from the cave exit and back down to the bowels of the cavern where the scream originated. He stumbled hastily downwards as the tormented screams of his best friend became more pained. 

When Samuel finally reached him, he was greeted with the most awful sight of Daniel bound to a boulder with iron chains clamped around his hands. His arms were forcibly stretched out above his head, the strained muscles on his chest on full display due to his lack of clothing. And perched atop his ribs was an eagle, its talons digging so deep into his flesh that they seemed to coil around the bones of his ribs. Its head was bowed, its beak violently tearing into the skin right beneath Daniel’s right pectoral. A sickening amount of blood spilled out from Daniel, some of it even dried on his sweat-slicked sinews. 

His face was screwed up in unbearable pain, his teeth gritted against the agony of having his liver scavenged from beneath his still beating heart. Each movement of the eagle made the man cry out in pure arduous torment. Tears even flowed down the sides of his face. 

Samuel’s knees buckled beneath him. He crashed into the cold stone of the ground, horror freezing him in place. There was nothing he could attempt in order to save Daniel. He had been sentenced to this torture under divine order. There was simply no escaping your fate once the Gods had condemned you. 

Knowing that he had limited options, Samuel went with the only one he knew to be possible. He crawled along the floor of the cave, reaching out for his best friend. When he reached Daniel, the royal simply smoothed the curls on the crown of his head. The tortured man’s sobs became stronger as he experienced his first comfort in Gods knew how long, leaning his head into the touch of Sam’s caress that traveled down to his cheek. 

Samuel felt a tear of his own trickle down his cheek as he pressed his forehead into Daniel’s. “I am so sorry.” 

“Sammy!” 

The prince jolted awake at the calling of his name. Blearily, he rubbed at his eyes before searching around to check that he was not still trapped in that awful nightmare. Instead of the oppressive darkness of that cursed cave, he was greeted by the warm embrace of the late afternoon sun. With a sigh of relief, all of his fear seeped out of his bones in his exhale. He glanced upwards, Daniel gazing down at him with a look of carefully masked concern on his face. 

“What is it?” The prince’s voice sounded as though he had swallowed sand. He lifted one of his hands to his forehead, rubbing at his temples that were beginning to throb.  

“Were you having a nightmare?” Daniel inquired, his brow knitting as he closely examined his companion. 

Yes

“No. You needn’t worry,” Sam quickly reassured, waving his hand in a dismissal of his best friend’s concern. 

Samuel watched as the ward regarded him. He was aware Daniel knew he was lying, it was now simply a matter of whether or not he would call Sam out on this. 

After shaking his head, the ward came to his decision. 

“Pythius just came by to offer up the news. Jacob has returned to the palace.” 

Samuel, still reeling from his nightmare, forced himself to react with the same enthusiasm he had emanated for the past week in regards to his brother. Cosmetically, he knew he had managed to muster the appropriate response; his lips parting into a blinding smile as he shot up from his position, forcing his skin to buzz with excitement. But, just beneath was a darkness that was sapping away his true elation and replacing it with an encompassing sense of dread. 

He had dreamt of Daniel as Prometheus, the Gods ultimate scapegoat. And as he bounded off towards the sandstone structure he had called home for the past eighteen years, he could not rid himself of the sinking feeling deep within his stomach that his nightmare mirrored that of his prophetic dreams. 

+++

There was a haunted look beneath Jacob’s otherwise warm disposition. Samuel noticed it right away, though he dared not point it out. For the time being, until the moment presented itself, the youngest prince played along with the facade the warrior had worn. 

“Jacob, it is so good to see you,” Samuel greeted, pulling his older brother into an embrace. The moment he had his brother in his arms again, Samuel felt that affection and enthusiasm surge up in his chest and beat away that dread that had sewn itself into him. 

“Samuel,” Jacob breathed, his arms tightening around Sam before releasing him and holding the youngest at arm’s length. He took in his little brother’s appearance, his eyes scanning him from head to toe. 

“You’ve grown.” There was a melancholy intertwined with the words. 

Sam felt his lips curl up at the corners. “So have you.” 

It was true. Since the last time he had seen his older brother, Jake had grown. Not in height - Samuel still towered over him - but in build. No longer were his limbs thin, but piled with muscles that come with being a soldier fighting for three years straight. He was still in his armor, the bronze chestplate reflecting the light of the late afternoon sun. He even rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. 

With a smile that finally reached his eyes, Jacob removed the hand he had rested on Samuel’s shoulder only to tangle it in his hair and ruffle it. They both laughed, Sam slapping Jake’s arm away. 

“Cease, you two. I do not want this to turn into a real squabble,” their mother interjected. 

The brothers both spared her a glance before looking back at one another. With a nod of his head towards the hall, Jacob led the way towards his chambers. Samuel scrambled to match pace with his brother before falling into step with him. 

“So, do not misinterpret my intentions behind this question, but why have you returned? When I inquired about this with others, no one would answer me.” 

Jacob paused in his steps, the metal of his armor clattering together at the halting of his momentum. He regarded his little brother with a look that Samuel could not place. 

“They would not answer you?” he repeated. 

Samuel shook his head, some of his hair getting caught in the corner of his lips. He reached up a hand to wipe it away and tuck the loose strand behind his ear. 

There was another beat where it appeared that Jacob was making a decision. With something flashing quickly behind his eyes, the crowned prince clapped a hand upon his brother’s shoulder before offering a charming smile. 

“I missed you. That is all.” With one more pat to Sam’s shoulder, his brother turned away and made for his chambers. 

Samuel stayed in his position, watching on as Jacob trekked down the sandstone floor. He felt conflicting emotions coil up into his chest as he observed Jacob; pain at knowing he was being lied to and pride at realizing that these halls were meant for him. He was the next true ruler of this kingdom and it was evident. 

Sam would never be as fit for ruling as Jacob. But, that was not something Samuel would ever need to fret about. 

+++

As the sun slipped below the horizon, the whole of the castle had gathered in the great hall for a celebratory feast. Each lady was dressed in her finest, the gentlemen wearing the decorative armor. Daniel had abandoned his long silk gown in favor of his finest armor. His curls had been left to fall down to his shoulders, his gold headband replaced by a silver crown piece wrapped around his forehead with a pearl dangling down from the center.

Samuel and Jacob both wore their respective crowns of their own. However, as one would imagine, the one worn by the crowned prince was much more elaborate than Samuel’s simple golden vines. While they were similar in shape, Jacob’s silver vines were encrusted with sparkling jewels that twinkled like the stars of the night sky. They were seated on either side of their parents, the crowned prince on the side of their father and Samuel next to his mother; Veronica was next to Jacob. On Samuel’s right was none other than his best friend.

The two of them had passed the time of the night with endless conversation, never seeming to run out of topics to discuss. More often than not, one of them would become too enraptured in their own corner of the world and forget about the presence of the others in the hall, boisterously erupting in laughter or the like, earning more than a few pointed looks from the queen. 

As the night reached its natural mid-point, the king called for everyone’s attention by tapping his fork along the side of his goblet. When the clamor of the room died down at the noise and all eyes shifted their focus towards the front of the room, the king stood from his throne at the very center of the high table. 

“Gentleman and Ladies of the court, if I may have your attention,” the king asked, his arms raised in an almost placating manner. As much as Samuel hated to admit it, he could not deny that his father knew how to command a room. 

When the din ceased and all eyes were properly fixed onto the most powerful man in the room, he continued with his speaking. 

“I thank you all for joining us, first and foremost. Most notably my son, Jacob, who has traveled from the front lines of war where he fends off those beastly savages, the Spartans. Truly, a hero amongst us men.” The king placed a firm hand on Jacob’s shoulder, a look of pride swelling onto his features in the manifestation of a smile. 

Samuel, having to divert his gaze from the display, felt the claws of jealousy sink into his heart while the ropes of sadness coiled inside of his gut like a snake. His father had never gazed upon him in such a manner and most likely never would. 

“But, this night is not about him. As you are all aware, with the recent passing of our dear Lord Lógios, the crown is in need of a new court advisor. And when it came time for me to name such a man to fill his position, I could think of no one better than that of my ward, Daniel-” 

“This is why Jacob has returned?” Samuel hissed quietly at his mother in order to refrain from putting attention onto himself. 

The queen leaned over towards her son just enough so that he might be able to hear her response. “We kept this from you in fear of you slipping up and ruining tonight’s grand reveal. Apologies, my dear, but it had to be done.” 

Without allowing for any further probing, Sam’s mother returned her attention towards her husband. 

“-you could join me in raising your goblets,” the king held his own in hand before lifting it higher towards the ceiling, everyone in the court following suit, “to Daniel, for that he may guide my son on the right path in the way I trust that he will.” 

“To Daniel!” the room chorused together as they mimicked their king’s gesture. Just as Sam was about to take a drink of his wine, he heard a loud thud to his right. Snapping his head in the direction of the sound, he was greeted by the awful visual of his best friend laying on the floor, his spilled goblet next to him as the remaining wine seeped out across the sandstone. 

“DANIEL!!” Samuel cried, all but tossing his own goblet away in his haste to rush to the man’s side. He was not responding to Sam’s voice nor his touch, causing a spike of fear to lance its way through the prince’s heart. 

Suddenly, there was someone at his side, but Samuel could not tell who it was. All he had the focus for was the fact that he was not certain if the ward was breathing. Someone was speaking to him, a man, but he could not say what was being spoken. There was only one thought repeating in a mantra within his head: He’s not breathing. And that was the most terrifying thought anyone could possibly conjure up. Even in his worst night terrors, Morpheus dared not present Sam with this possibility, for even he understood that was taking it a step too far. 

“Samuel!” 

Jake had taken him by the shoulders and shook him. Finally, Sam was snapped out of his downward spiral and back to the present matter. Stealing one last glance in his best friend’s direction, he spared his undivided attention towards his older brother. 

“Sammy, I need you to stay with me. Daniel is in danger, but being stuck in a panic is not the way of assisting him. Do you hear me?” When Sam tried to look back towards Daniel, he placed both hands on the young prince’s cheeks and forced Sam to look him in the eye. 

With a shaking breath, Sam nodded his head. Right, he was simply wasting time by allowing his anxiety to sink its claws into him. 

“Good. Now, we need to take him to the physician immediately,” Jacob ordered, letting his hands fall from Sammy’s face. 

The prince was so thankful for his brother grounding him in that moment. He would not realize it until after, but Sam realized he had witnessed General Jacob in action in that moment. 

Bracing himself, Samuel slid his arms underneath Daniel’s prone form, carrying him as if he were his new bride. There was a moment where the muscles in his legs protested at the extra weight being added to his ascent to his upright position, but he ignored them as he ran away from the uproarious commotion that had erupted in the hall at the newly appointed advisor’s fainting. Jake was in tow, the goblet Daniel had drank from in his hands. Another person in their wake following them down the corridors of the palace was Giatrós, the court physician. 

“Lay him down on the bed,” Giatrós ordered as they burst through the doors of his chambers. Samuel obeyed without qualm, gently resting his best friend down onto the soft bedding of the healing ward. 

Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be pulled away from Daniel by Jacob to allow for Giatrós to have the space to work. However, he did not let himself be pulled far, insisting on keeping his hand in Daniel’s on the opposite side of where the physician worked. 

“He’s burning up,” the healer muttered under his breath after placing a hand onto the ward’s forehead, “Prince Jacob, would you please fetch me that pail of water and the cloth next to it?” 

The hand on Sam’s shoulder left, Jake following the request of the physician. Samuel watched on as he busily worked up his patient, his face pinching together in a frown that Samuel did not care for as he checked Daniel’s pulse. 

Sam, who at this point had begun to chew on his lip and nails interchangeably, took in the visage of his best friend. He had gotten so pale so quickly, all of the color draining from his sinews. A sheen of sweat had accumulated across his visible flesh, his body wracking in small convulsions as he fought off the chill brought on by his fever. Daniel had rapidly flexed and unflexed his fingers around Sam’s hand, each little grip squeezing his heart as if that was what Daniel was holding in its stead. 

“It will be alright, Daniel, I promise,” Samuel had whispered into the man’s ear, using his free hand to smooth the curls on the crown of his head. He had taken to gently removing Daniel’s diadem when he saw his brother return with the cloth and bucket. All too suddenly, Samuel was struck with the similarities of this to his nightmare he’d experienced just that afternoon. 

“Sam, please,” Jake gently asked, the hand not holding the now wet cloth pulling on his shoulder once more. 

With one last caress of his hand, Sam pulled away once more to allow Jacob to do as he was tasked. 

“Giatrós, please, tell me you can heal him,” Sam desperately asked, all of the emotions saturating his tone causing his words to crack under the weight of them. 

The physician glanced up from his work to look the young prince in the eye. When he hesitated, Samuel realized that the man was becoming blurrier with each passing second. 

“Without knowing exactly what he has fallen ill from, I am afraid there is not much I can do other than treat his symptoms,” Giatrós answered honestly. 

Hot tears cascaded down Sam’s cheeks at the gravity of his situation. Daniel - his best friend and the person he was closest with and whom he had wished to spend the rest of his days with - was about to be torn away from him. He felt as if he was about to fall over, all of the blood in his veins turning to ice. His vision was charring around the edges, that darkness encroaching onto him with every heartbeat. 

Sam began swaying on his feet, his extremities turning fuzzy. Just when it seemed that he was about to lose consciousness, Jake swooped in and caught his baby brother within his arms. 

“Keep your head, Samuel,” Jacob softly ordered, gently propping Sam back up onto his feet. 

Giatrós was still fluttering around his chambers wildly, grabbing vials and small bottles off of shelves only to place them back in their positions. He eventually returned with a mortar and pestle made from a dark stone in his hands, grinding herbs as he approached with his brow knit in concentration. There was a pungent smell wafting out of the mortar as he approached. 

Sam watched him scoop the herbal mixture into a small muslin cloth and then dip it in water before taking the now soaking cloth and squeezing it into an empty vial. He repeated the process about three times until the vial was about a quarter full. 

“Pinch his nose closed for me,” the physician requested, looking Sam dead in the eyes. With a weak nod, Sam did as he was told. Giatrós pried open the ward’s mouth before pouring the contents of the vial into it, clamping a hand over his lips so that he had to ingest the mixture. 

“There, that should assist in keeping the fever at bay for now.” Giatrós removed his hand, Sam following his lead and doing the same. Daniel gulped for air now that the pathways were unblocked, but he still would not open his eyes. It was frightening, it was maddening, and Samuel had to sit by and watch. As the healer said, there was nothing they could do without knowledge of what caused Daniel to have this reaction. 

Samuel took the small strides necessary to place himself onto Daniel’s bedside, sitting down next to the man’s waist as the bed dipped with his added weight. He never released Daniel’s hand, their fingers managing to become entwined without Sam conscious of it happening. He went back to smoothing his best friend’s raven curls with his hand, the silken strands damp with his sweat and clinging to Sam’s fingers. 

“Please, fight this. I beg of you,” Samuel whispered desperately before resting his forehead against Daniel’s. 

One thing that did fan the embers of hope burning inside his chest was that Daniel’s body no longer seemed to convulse with chills. Giatrós’s tincture had worked; the ward’s skin no longer blazed beneath Sam’s touch. 

“Now that he has become more stable, I shall take a closer look at the goblet he drank from,” the physician informed, picking up the ornate silver drinking vessel and staring into it with a critical eye, “perhaps it will provide the answers we seek.” 

“What of the guests at the banquet tonight? Perhaps they witnessed or heard something,” Sam suggested, swiveling his head back and forth between the two men stationed on either side of him. 

“I shall look into that,” Jacob offered, his arms folding over his chest as he spoke. “I severely doubt you will abandon Daniel’s bedside anytime in the near future.” 

Sam felt his face grow warm in embarrassment, his hand tightening within his best friend’s grip. He could not refute Jacob’s claim, as it were. 

“I-” 

“Yell for me if his condition worsens. I shall be in my study,” Giatrós informed before sweeping out of the sick area and through a door that Sam had never been behind. 

“Do not neglect yourself and tend to your own needs as necessary,” Jacob firmly ordered before placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder and looking him intently in the eye. 

Before Sam could respond to such a statement, the crowned prince headed out the door. For the first time that night, Samuel was left alone with Daniel. He felt suddenly as if a massive boulder had just plummeted onto his shoulders, his entire body sagging with the weight of it. 

“You will make it through this,” Samuel’s voice wavered, wrapping his other hand around Daniel’s that he was already holding, Samuel bringing it up to his lips, “I promise.” 

+++

Countless restless hours had passed, many of them spent watching Danny like a hawk. When it had reached the earliest hours of morning, the jaws of sleep had finally snapped themselves fully into Sam, pulling him down into their clutches. However, that rest would not last long. 

A knock on the door to the infirmary roused Sam from his sleep. He lifted his head up from his crossed arms on Daniel’s cot, shaking his hands against the pins and needles buzzing within them. 

“Come in,” he blearily commanded, thinking it to be Jake. Though, after he had finished rubbing his eyes with his hand, he was surprised to see a serving girl standing before him. 

She was clearly very nervous, her hands wringing together as she made herself very small in stature. She also refused to meet his gaze, nervously glancing around the floor as if she expected a nest of vipers to writhe their way out of it spontaneously. 

“What brings you here?” Sam cringed at how supercilious he sounded, intending to come across as soothing. He had never been good at connecting with people, that was more of the twin’s ability. 

“I apologize for disturbing you, Prince Samuel, I did not mean to cause any strife,” the woman rushed out, still keeping her eyes pointed downwards, “but I have some information regarding… well, regarding Lord Daniel.” She cast her eyes over towards his prone form quickly before forcing them back downwards. 

“You do?? By all means, do tell me.” He had managed to make his tone smoother, keeping his volume down in order to keep from disturbing Daniel. 

That seemed to be the wrong response, however. As soon as the sentence left Sam’s lips, the servant’s body began to tremble wholly. Samuel instantly felt his body turn as rigid as a wood plank at the display. And when he realized that the shallow breaths she was intaking were her sobs, his entire body turned frigid. 

“My lord, please do not spill my blood for this. I know it does not justify my role, but I was under threat of death as well as my family,” she sobbed, her voice just above a whisper. Her entire body shook with the force of her tears, finally locking her glassy eyes onto Sam’s. They were so filled with fear… Sam had no choice but to believe that this was how soldiers looked right before being run though by a blade. 

“Please, try to breathe,” the prince uselessly muttered, kneeling down in front of her to try and seem less imposing, his hands resting gently on her arms, “how about you start by telling me your name?” 

The serving girl swallowed hard, closing her eyes and breathing as she was instructed. “Alcmene.” 

“Alcmene, good. Now, start at the beginning.” 

Taking a deep breath, Alcmene launched into her narrative. 

“It was I who laced the poison into Lord Daniel’s wine. But not I the one who conjured up the plan. I was forced to by Lord Aetós,” she explained, her voice dripping with hysteria as she went. Samuel could feel her tremble beneath his hands. 

Lord Aetós. He should have known he would be the one to devise such a sinister plan. The man had been after the position of court advisor for nearing decades now. Only problem with this being the man had no wisdom to speak of. The thought that he would end Daniel’s life in order to try and take his position caused an unfettered rage to burn fiercely inside Sam’s blood. 

“Please, spare me,” Alcmene desperately pleaded. 

Right as the young royal opened his mouth to assure her no such fate would befall her, she spoke again. 

“If you do deem it necessary to execute me, I have just one request. I have a boy of only three, I simply beg of you to ensure his safety.” Her voice trembled with every word. 

“What of his father?” Sam hesitated to ask, afraid he already knew the answer. 

“He perished in the war,” the woman struggled to say, her voice cracking beneath the weight of her emotions. 

Her words plunged deep beneath his skin like a dagger to the chest. She had been forsaken so egregiously by the court and those she served and here she was, standing before the prince fully anticipating he call for her head for committing an act she had no say in doing; and her only thought was that of her boy’s safety. She was the bravest person Sam had ever encountered. 

Dropping his hands from her arms, Samuel removed the golden bracelets he had wrapped around his wrists and handed them over to her. The look of complete shock on her features did nothing to help ease the guilt thrumming behind his ribs. 

“Your highness…” 

“You have done a great service for us today. You may have just saved Daniel’s life, and for that I am forever in your debt. And as a tiny act of gratitude, please take these. Once this is over, I shall arrange that you be paid handsomely in gold for the rest of your days and never have to worry about you or your son’s safety.” 

She stared down at his offering, her mouth hanging open as she digested his words. “I… I cannot accept…” 

The prince used his free hand to gently grab Alcmene’s, opening her palm and closing her fingers around the jewelry. 

“You are the bravest person I have ever come across. Daniel means more to me than… more to me than words can describe and you just risked your life in order to save his. You deserve this. Now, go and be with… what is your son’s name?” 

“Ganymede,” Alcmene answered, a smile finally breaking through her fear. 

“Right. Go and be with Ganymede. My one contingency of this offering is that you must use this money to purchase him a pet of his choosing,” he playfully instructed her, a smile of his own breaking out across his lips as the woman emitted a watery laugh. 

“I shall find him a guard dog; name him Samuel and tell Ganymede about the wonderful prince who will watch over him for the rest of his life,” she laughed, a meaningful look in her eye as she locked gazes with the royal, “thank you, your highness.” 

“No. Thank you,” he emphasized before sending her off to be with her son. With Alcmene gone, he finally was able to focus fully on the blinding rage boiling just beneath his skin. It was a titan in and of itself, his fury. One that even the Goddess Lyssa would pale at. 

Taking Daniel’s pale hand in his, he placed a lingering kiss on the back of it, forcing himself not to notice how chilled his skin was. Gently resting Daniel’s hand back onto the bed, Samuel swiftly made for the exit. 

“Aetós. You shall pay for this with your blood.”

+++

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[mushiewrites]

Roped In

halfway through lee!George week! I'm so excited with all the lil fics and ficlets and drabbles I've seen so far 🥺 I wrote this completely out of nowhere last night into today and I kind of love it??? I hope you enjoy! (shout out to @cayjno for basically writing the ending sentence bc I Could Not think 😇)

day 4 - a challenge / prompts found here!

(lee!George / ler!Dream / ler!Sapnap : 2.6K words)

“This is seriously all I have to do…?” George asked hesitantly, looking around while allowing Dream to adjust the leash to the birch tree branch above him. Sapnap yanked at the rope once the blonde took a step back, smiling with satisfaction when it didn’t budge an inch.

George stood almost on his tip toes, his right arm stretched above his head with his wrist attached to the short leash while his left arm crossed over his chest, hand curling around his upper ribs in order to have some kind of protection from the vulnerable position he was placed into. 

“That’s it! Just stay like this for ten minutes and you win!” Dream nodded his head in confirmation, taking a step back and admiring the tie he used to keep the smaller boy in place. He too reached forward to pull on the rope, just to double check that George wasn’t going to escape any time soon. 

The three were standing in a clearing of a mixed wood forest, surrounded by a handful of birch, oak, and dark oak trees. There was a slight breeze that passed every so often through the openings between the trees, causing goosebumps to rise along George’s skin, watching as they appeared quickly on the exposed arms. Though the sun was high in the sky, the trees created a blanket of shade, blocking the comforting heat from the sun’s rays from warming him up. He shivered slightly as he watched Sapnap let go of the rope, taking a step back to stand in line with Dream a few feet away. 

“Win what though? This is dumb!” The elder watched as the two younger boy’s exchanged glances, small smiles plastered on their faces as they turned their attention back to him. 

“Bragging rights?” Sapnap shrugged, giggling when Dream snorted at the reply. George rolled his eyes at that, adjusting his footing to stand more comfortably as he ran a hand through his hair with an exaggerated sigh. 

“Bragging rights?! This is so stupid!” 

“Okay, how about…Sapnap and I will do whatever you want for the rest of the day?” Dream squeaked when the youngest brunette elbowed him in the ribs at the suggestion, clearly not happy with the compromise but keeping his mouth shut anyway.

“...Fine. But, why do I have to be tied? Can’t I just hold my own arm up? You can just untie me, I’ll stay here!” 

“No can do, Georgie! Besides, I don’t think you’d be able to keep your arm how we want it.” Dream stretched an arm out to poke at George’s very exposed right side, causing the elder to yelp and jump back as far as he could away from the offending hand. His eyes grew wide as he slowly understood the real reason for the challenge, quickly shaking his head and holding out his free arm in front of him. 

“No! Noho no no, absolutely not. You’re nohohot doing this!” He felt the warmth from his cheeks spread to the tip of his nose as Dream and Sapnap began to giggle at the boy’s sudden realization, watching in horror as they both pulled out a vial of purple liquid from their pockets. 

“Like we said, if you can last for ten minutes, then you win!” Sapnap reminded him, throwing a playful smirk at Dream before downing the contents of the bottle in his hand. A few seconds later, the youngest boy was nowhere to be seen. George felt his stomach drop as he realized the two had invisibility potions, only further confirming what the two had in store for him. 

“How do I even lose?!” George questioned, switching his attention to the only one he could see. 

“You block your spots with your free hand.” He spoke simply, as if it was the easiest task for George to complete in the world.

“D-Dream, come on. You can’t dohoho this!” George looked at Dream with his best puppy dog eyes, hoping to melt the blonde before he too drank the potion and temporarily disappeared. However, the attempt was useless, and Dream flashed him a bright smile before following in Sapnap’s footsteps and downing the potion in seconds. 

“Nohoho! Come ohohon!” The older boy whined with a panicked giggle as he watched Dream wave to him before disappearing completely, making him twist and thrash and pull on the rope as much as he could. But much to his dismay, he wasn’t going anywhere. 

George stood with his eyes squeezed shut and body tensed with anticipation, nervous giggles flying out of him every few seconds when he so much as felt the breeze of the wind. Everything had him on edge, and though at least two or three minutes had passed, nothing had happened. He was starting to believe the two had actually just played a prank on him and left when he felt a light jab on the left side of his neck, making him shriek and bring his shoulder up to cover the sensitive area. 

“Stohohop!” George jumped away from the touch, only to jump right into a pair of waiting hands, feeling them dig into the ribs on his right side. He screamed out, leaning to the left, and finding himself in the same exact situation - waiting hands squeezed up and down the left of his torso, digging into his most sensitive ribs with precision. “Nohoho plehehease! This isn’t fahahair!” 

“I think it’s plenty fair, actually.” Sapnap’s voice came from the right, feeling the fingers walk up under his arm and making him shoot his free hand to cover the spot. It was stopped by who he assumed was Dream, grabbing his left wrist and holding it up in the air as he too joined in on the assault on his very sensitive underarms. 

“NAHAHAHA NO! NOHOHOT THEHEHERE NOT THERE!” George was screaming now, his laughter coming out high pitched and raspy, almost similar to Sapnap’s when he was held down and tickled silly. George was jumping in place, trying to move any way he could to escape the tickling hands but failing. No matter where he twisted, turned or stepped, the invisible hands never left his most ticklish spots. 

“Not here? Not on your tickly little underarms, Georgie?” He felt Dream’s words pressed up against the shell of his ear, feeling the stubble tickle the sensitive skin there and falling into another fit of giggles. Sapnap had abandoned his place under George’s right arm to tickle along his tricep, making George yank hard at the rope and fight Dream’s grip on his left arm. 

“S-SAHAHA- SAHAPNAP!” The brunette could feel tears pooling at the corner of his eyes as he continued to laugh and squirm between his two best friends. Dream moved his hand from under George’s arm down to his lower tummy, letting his hand slip under his shirt to trace his nails along the warm skin there. Sapnap continued to tickle over George’s triceps, now using a hand on each tricep with the help of Dream still holding his left arm in the air. 

“THIHIS IS CHEHEHEATING!” George squealed out as Dream’s hand wandered down over his left hip bone, squeezing and digging into the dip there with his thumb like his life depended on it. George opened his eyes for the first time to blink away the tears that were welling up, expecting to see four hands torturing the life out of him but finding only bright green grass and hundreds of trees surrounding him. 

“Alright, you have a point there, baby boy. Dream, drop his hand.” Sapnap was the one to speak, surprising George at the sudden kindness the younger boy was showing him. He took in a deep gasp of air as the two let up, Dream listening and letting go of George’s left hand. The two continued to giggle as they watched George frantically rub at the spots over his body that they had just tormented, trying desperately to rub away the ghost tickles through his wild laughter. 

“Sohoho cruel!” George whined, feeling his face heat up before abandoning his attempts at getting rid of the tingles and opting to cover his face instead. 

“We still have a minute left, kitten, you think you can do it?” Dream’s voice came from the left but lower than before, seemingly closer to the ground rather than towering over him like usual. The thought was quickly disbursed before he could think too much of it, hearing Sapnap chime in as well. 

“Or do you wanna give up? Hm?”  

“No! Nohoho way, I just gohohot tortured for like, nine minutes or whatever! Just…keep gohohoing! I’m winning thihis!” 

He heard quiet giggles from the two boys, Sapnap’s voice now also sounding closer to the ground than before but not putting together what exactly was going on. All was revealed soon enough though, and he suddenly felt four hands digging into his overly sensitive thighs, ripping a scream from his throat before falling into hysterics. 

“FUHUHUCK! N-NAHAHAHA PL-PLEHEHE-” 

“Geez, Georgie, I always forget how bad your thighs are.” He barely heard Sapnap’s comment through his own laughter, highly aware that anyone within a hundred mile radius could probably hear his cackles with how loud they were.

“I know, truly one of the best spots on him. Right, baby?”

“STAHAHAHAP!” 

To his surprise, the two did stop, changing their squeezing fingers into calming rubs with their palms on his thighs to help calm the ticklish electricity he was still feeling. George felt a hand wrap around his waist and recognized it as Dream’s, softly holding him up as he had gone limp just moments before due to the intensity of the tickling. Sapnap continued to rub the tingles out of his thighs while Dream worked on untying George’s wrist, still holding him up and speaking quietly about how great he had done handling the tickles.

His eyes were still closed when he heard the clinking of glass, cracking an eye open slowly to see the two boys slowly reappearing, seeming to have consumed a potion to wear off the invisibility potion quicker than it normally would have lasted. George stretched his arms out as he rubbed his own hand around his right wrist, feeling the rope marks on his skin and feeling his cheeks grow hotter at the memories from minutes ago. 

“How are you doing, George?” Dream was the first to speak, gaining the attention from the elder and watching as he looked up at him with a dazed look on his face, clearly still recovering from the tickles. “Did we go too far?”

“Noho, but you’re both idiots.” George spoke quietly, fighting the smile that was quickly forming on his face but failing miserably. The three broke out into giggles at the ridiculousness of the situation, the younger two laughing harder when George leaned forward and shoved both of them hard in the shoulder, making them both stumble back slightly. 

George’s giggles quickly turned to something sinister when his gaze landed on the rope in Dream’s hand, tapping it to get the other two to look at it and raising his eyebrows to signal what he wanted. He suddenly had a clear plan of what he wanted out of his end of the deal.  

Sapnap looked up at Dream in confusion before staring down at the rope in the blonde’s hand, noticing that Dream’s face had turned a light shade of pink while he too stared at the object in his grasp. 

“Well, go on then.” The two looked up at the elder as he spoke, both giving different reactions to the statement. Dream was biting his lip and visibly shifting his weight between his legs while Sapnap furrowed his brows together at the command from George.

“Go on what?!” Sapnap spat out, his scowl only growing as George began to laugh at the expressions of the two boys standing before him.

“You said you two have to do whatever I want if I win. And I did!” George smirked, taking a few steps forward and grabbing an end of the rope that was dangling from Dream’s hands, lifting it to slowly brush along the blonde’s chin to make him squeal and flinch back. “So, this is what I want. Get to tying, would you, Dreamie?” 

“Wh-“ 

“NO?!” 

The two let out protests of confusion and terror, only sending George further into his laughing fit. 

“I’d do what I was told if I were you, Dream.” George leaned forward and stood on his tip toes, mumbling against Dream’s ear and making him giggle out a high pitched squeak. The brunette took a step back and watched as Dream slowly turned towards Sapnap, mumbling a tiny “I’m sorry, Sap!” before grabbing onto his wrist and pulling him to his chest. 

“Good boy, Dreamie.” The elder commented, stepping forward and running his fingers through the blonde waves before taking the rope from Dream’s free hand and beginning to tie Sapnap’s wrists together with it. Dream let out a quiet whine and allowed his eyes to shut at the motion, feeling butterflies rising in his tummy as his cheeks grew an even brighter pink at the praise.

“H-Hehehey! We didn’t tie both of your wrists, we only tied one!” Sapnap cried out in panic, trying but failing to pull his arms from Dream and George’s hold. George just giggled at the complaint, shrugging his shoulders as he pulled the knot tight, making sure Sapnap was truly trapped in the ties. 

“Okay, and? You both agreed to do whatever I want. And I decided I want both wrists tied. Sorry, Sappy!” George moved his right hand from Sapnap’s wrist to ruffle his hair, similar to how he had pet Dream just moments ago but getting an angered reaction instead of a melty one. 

“But I- MMM?!” Sapnap was ready to let out another round of complaints when he felt a small hand slap over his mouth, stopping the words and making him growl instead at George’s quick thinking. 

“Dream, you know what to do.” Though the sentence was aimed at Dream, George didn’t break eye contact with the squirmy boy in Dream’s arms, giggling when Sapnap squealed as Dream raised his arms as high as they would go. Sapnap looked down at the ground, seeing himself teetering on his tiptoes, just as they’d made George do earlier in their little challenge. His gaze met George’s once again, eyes widening when the Brit held up his free hand and menacingly wiggled his fingers in front of his face. 

“Any last words?” George giggled, removing the hand from over Sapnap’s lips and laughing harder when he immediately growled in response.

“Fuck you!”

“Wrong answer.” George stated simply, smirking at the smaller boy before reaching forward and digging into Sapnap’s upper ribs.

Sapnap’s raspy laughter bounced off the trees as George tickled him silly, not stopping until the younger boy apologized for everything and anything George saw fit. He complained, thrashed and fought as much as he could, but his strength was nothing against the devastatingly ticklish attack his two best friends made him endure. And considering the fact that Sapnap had a lot to answer for, he had to endure the torture for much longer than he anticipated.

It was only after he collapsed in Dream’s arms, giggling breathlessly and apologizing over and over again (for what, he wasn’t sure anymore) that the two finally showed him mercy.

[imgoingtofreakoutnow]

Jealous, much? (not me, never me)

Summary: During the recruitment for the Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeepers Association monthly meeting, Crowley catches the eye of someone. Aziraphale doesn't like that...

A/n: this is a very chill fic inspired by a prompt by our amazing @here-there-everyfuckenwhere also known as Ray. I hope you like it <3

Tags: @lavender-scented-soft-softgirl @yellownavystar (spero che non vi dispiaccia se vi ho taggato. In caso contrario, ignorate pure il post ahahah <3)

\_/

The recruitment for the Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeepers Association monthly meeting was going strangely smoothly.

He was halfway through the list and Aziraphale had managed to only give away three priceless books. He checked once again the list, tapping the fountain pen on his lower lip.

"Very well," he said, crossing over the previous shop name. "The next stop is Emma's grocery store but I do believe it will be a very easy and quick-"

He raised his head and stopped mid-sentence when his gaze couldn't find Crowley anywhere near him.

After looking around for a bit, he finally spotted him and his scarlet hair... talking to someone else across the street.

To be more precise, the someone else was talking to him while Crowley was simply looking and tapping something on his phone. The things however seemed to be related, given that the stranger kept poiting at the screen and leaning in to show him something and Crowley nodded, a crease of concentration separating his eyebrows.

They were standing side by side, their shoulders casually touching. Aziraphale frowned at that: it seemed quite improper to him, they didn't even know each other! Or at least, that's what he gathered since he had never seen that person around before.

Yet Crowley didn't seem to care about it, nor he looked at all fazed when the attractive human at his side deliberately touched his arm and "accidentaly" brushed their fingers on his.

Aziraphale felt something building inside of him. He couldn't quite tell what it was, but it left a sour taste in his mouth, as if his insides had started burning with the fires of Hell.

He straightened up and fixed his worn-out waistcoat before putting a smile on —one that, he could feel it, wasn't entirely on the wavelength as the mix of emotions he was feeling inside— and heading towards the two of them.

He cleared his voice when he was closer, receiving a confused look by Crowley's new acquaintance.

Now that he was closer, Aziraphale realised that they weren't as young as they seemed from the opposite side of the road, but their pleasant features were hard to ignore. They almost seemed sculpted by Michelangelo.

"Hello, is everything alright here?"

Crowley's face immediately shot up when he heard him, moving away from the wall he was leaning against to get to Aziraphale's side.

"Angel, did you know you could order food through your phone and then have it delivered to your door?"

"I had no idea."

Even though the mere idea did stir his stomach to more pleasant feelings, Aziraphale barely glanced at the screen Crowley was still looking at and kept all of his attention on the new smiling face in front of him.

"It's a pretty common thing to do nowadays," they explained with a shrug. "I'm really surprised you and your partner both didn't know about it."

"He's not my..." Aziraphale started at the same time as Crowley quickly muttered: "We're friends."

"Oh." Their face seemed to suddenly lit up, making the angel's visibly frown, as they tentatively turned their gaze back to Crowley. "Then perhaps I could give you my number?"

"I think you seem a bit lost, child." With the corners of his lips pulled painfully upwards and annoyance in his eyes, Aziraphale moved quickly his hand in the air. "You should head back home."

The stranger widened their eyes before quickly checking the time on their phone and then excusing themselves as they quickly walked down the street.

As he saw them disappear into the wave of the crowd, the relief that washed over him was much bigger then the little guilt whispering in the back of his mind. The knot in Aziraphale's stomach disappeared, as if it had never been there in the first place.

"Did you really miracle 'em away, angel?"

As he looked at Crowley, whose sunglasses had slid down his nose, enough for his yellow eyes to poke through, the angel felt another knot forming in his chest. A warmer one, a pleasant one.

"I'm sure they had other things to do anyway. I just..." Aziraphale moved his hands in the air, "pushed them in the right direction."

Crowley raised his eyebrows but didn't question him more on that. He pushed his sunglasses back on his eyes, keeping once again Aziraphale from that beautiful sight.

"Right. At least they finished explaining to me how this thing works."

Aziraphale smiled, and this time his eyes wrinkled in joy.

"Why don't you explain it to me while we walk to the grocery store," he offered as he placed a hand on Crowley's back, gently guiding him in the right direction before letting his hand fall back to his side.

Aziraphale didn't notice how Crowley tensed under his touch, nor how his Adam's apple moved as he gulped down the breath stuck in his throat.

As always, he never noticed.

[rosedavid]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Tagged by @jesuisici33 @rmd-writes @three-drink-amy @inflarescent @alrightbuckaroo @strandnreyes @carlos-in-glasses thank you so much!! Here are the first seven sentences of this little fluffy fic I'm hoping to post soon!

Carlos loves waking up first.

Because when he wakes up first, he gets to see TK dozing away next to him. TK, hair fluffed and matted to one side, rays of light bathing him in a soft, golden glow. There are lines across his entire face from the way he smushes it so fully into the pillow, mouth open slightly with soft snores—although TK would thoroughly deny that.

He needs to get up. They both do. Their alarms were supposed to go off five minutes ago, but Carlos silenced them, wanting a few extra minutes treasuring the fact that he gets to wake up with this beautiful, wonderful man for the rest of his life.

Tagging: @stereopticons @lemonlyman-dotcom @welcometololaland @freneticfloetry @catanisspicy @sanjuwrites @chaotictarlos @liminalmemories21 @mammameesh @detective-giggles and anyone else who wants to share!! :)

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 5 - FLUFF

SERIES: The Last to Know by galwednesday

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 18,156 Tags: Frenemies to Lovers, Oblivious Stony, Avengers Family

Summary: Tony and Steve's ongoing adventures in romantic obliviousness, dramatic grand gestures, and Mr. Darcy cosplay. Jokes and goofiness with occasional outbreaks of Feelings.

Reasons why I love it: Who doesn't love Steve and Tony more or less accidentally stumbling into a relationship and being completely oblivious about it? Especially when the rest of the Avengers can clearly see what's happening? This series makes me so happy, not just because of the fantastic Stony, but because it gives me all those early 2012 found family feelings. If you haven't already, you absolutely have to read it!

This series consists of:

Method Refinements (subtype C, designation Capsicle)

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 2,262 Tags: Frenemies to Lovers, Humor, Porn with Feelings

Summary: "It's not hate sex," Steve objected. "I don't hate you." That actually made Tony feel a little warm and fuzzy inside, which he knew was pathetic. He talked louder and faster to cover it. "Angry sex, then, whatever. I should just walk up to you and say 'Hey, Rogers, I was looking to blow off some steam, wanna have loud, animalistic sex all over the Tower?' That's what does it for you?" A flush was creeping up his neck--God, Tony loved Steve's blushes, the Victorian-maiden-modesty veneer over the built-like-a-brick-shithouse physique drove him wild--but Steve's eyes were steady on his. "Try it and see."

Reasons why I love it: Steve being more emotionally intelligent than Tony is such an amazing trope, and this fic does it perfectly. The smut is hot as hell, and I love how Steve gets Tony to turn their 'hate sex' into something softer without any visible effort. Also, bullying Tony into cuddles should be mandatory, because it's adorable. This fic is wonderful, and I hope you give it a shot!

Subtle Clues and Context Cues

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 9,173 Tags: Not Actually Secret Relationship, Cosplay, Deferred Shovel Talks

Summary: “Cosplay,” Sam repeated. He and Steve were jogging through Central Park. Steve had just lapped him for a fourth time before slowing to match his pace, and the bastard didn’t even have the decency to sound winded. “As what?” “You ever see the Pride and Prejudice movie, the really long one?” “Dude. I have three sisters. It was required viewing.” “I need a Mr. Darcy outfit.” Sam slowed to a walk, holding one hand up in a time-out gesture until he caught his breath enough to form full sentences. “You’re going to cosplay as Mr. Darcy? The Colin Firth, look-how-wet-and-clinging-my-shirt-is Mr. Darcy?” Steve looked down and shuffled his feet. It was amazing to watch over six feet of pure muscle somehow telegraph bashful. “Yeah. Tony’s birthday is coming up, and, well. It’s sort of an inside joke.” (Five times everyone but Tony knew he was dating Steve, and one time Tony figured it out.)

Reasons why I love it: There are so many things I love about this fic, but the one that takes the cake is the bit with Bruce, Steve's pictures and Tony's little lab accident. It makes me 'aww' out loud every single time I read it. The whole team so sweet in how they react to Steve and Tony's relationship-to-be, so if you like Avengers family feels, you definitely have to give this one a go!

'Cause It's a Beautiful Night

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 6,721 Tags: Surprise Proposal, Wedding Plans, Humor

Summary: “Holy shit,” Clint’s eyes were huge and round. “Did you get Steve pregnant?” Tony choked on his coffee. “What? How--why--what? How would that even happen?” “Hey, you’re the one planning to ambush him with a shotgun wedding.” Clint moved his bowl of Lucky Charms out of the range of Tony’s coffee spray. “It’s a reasonable question.” “Steve’s not pregnant!” Tony shouted. Was he? He couldn’t be. They hadn’t been gender-swapped lately. What about that alien fertility ray? No, that had been at least seven months ago. Steve wasn’t pregnant. Probably. “I’m not ready to be a father,” Tony blurted, clutching his hair with both hands. “I’m not drunk enough for this conversation.” Clint opened the liquor cabinet and examined its contents with a critical eye. “What kind of booze goes best with marshmallows?” (Tony plans a wedding. The wedding is in ten hours and he hasn’t exactly proposed yet, but he’s used to compressed project cycles. What could possibly go wrong?)

Reasons why I love it: This fic does everything – it makes me laugh, it makes me swoon, it makes me cry. It's so goddamn lovely. Everything about the wedding planning process puts the stupidest smile on my face. And of course, Tony WOULD be a complete goober about his own wedding, nobody is surprised. It's incredibly sweet and the perfect ending to this amazing series. Please go ahead and read it, I promise you'll love it!