#sitting in an atypical way is the best way to sit in a chair

[saltbind]

lets hear about ur omegaverse spn fic! -hellhoundlair

yeyeye! so my take on omegaverse is based mostly on the idea of john as a beta and mary as an alpha who rejected most of her alpha traits when she rejected hunting. john was raised before mandatory sex education on alpha and omega traits was introduced so his only experience with A/Os is his wife, who was very atypical. and this is a huge reason for the friction between him and his sons. their lifestyle is really, really ill-suited for raising kids who are alphas or omegas - they have no 'territory''. but john thinks he knows best, just like in canon.

dean's an omega and sam is an alpha. john's military tone mimics an alpha's enough that dean feels like john's his pseudo-alpha, and sam starts Not Coping well with that as soon as he hits puberty. mates can't recognise each other until they both reach maturity...but sam can tell dean's his mate as soon as dean reaches maturity, and that's why he leaves. not because it's wrong, necessarily, but because dean's going to go through over a dozen heats in the interim before sam matures and sam can't handle that.

here is a lil snippet:

The full extent of the problem only gets clearer when Dean goes into heat for the first time in Billings, and when Sam calls John he gets told to stay in the room and make sure Dean’s safe. He tries to explain all the reasons that’s a bad idea - for one thing, even if his scent isn’t all the way mature he’s still an alpha and Dean would probably fuck a zucchini if it stayed still long enough for him to get on - but he gets told off and then hung up on.

He sits on the ground outside the door to their motel room and waits.

Eventually the night receptionist comes over. She’s pretty. Blonde hair, brown eyes, a tangy omega scent that’s a little bit like juneberries.

“Are you locked out?” she asks, then she seems to scent the air and her eyes widen.

“Nah. My brother’s in heat. Dad’s a beta and he doesn’t get why we shouldn’t be sharing a room right now.”

She makes a sympathetic noise, wincing.

“Is it his first one?”

He nods. “Should be over fast at least.”

He just has to ignore how good Dean smells, even through a locked door. Has to ignore how hard he is in his jeans. How tight the base of his dick feels, like even a brush will set his knot to expanding.

“Look, I’ll bring you over a chair, alright? So you don’t have to sit on the cement. And if you need someone to check on him let me know.”

He smiles up at her. Dimples up properly and is amazed to see that she blushes, even though she’s gotta be at least six years older than him.

When she brings the chair over she gives him a kiss on the cheek before heading back to her desk, and the pleased feeling that gives him is almost enough to make the night bearable. 

Almost.

Still. By the time the sun rises he knows he’s going to have to get out for at least a few years. He can’t do this every time Dean has a heat, especially since only the first one is this quick.

[kenobion]

Andrew Garfield on The Ellen Show (2012)

[animeomegas]

Omega!Naruto getting married

Anon: Omg omg bro I just saw the amazing and wonderful art of naruto in a white dress and it just got me thinking. Could you do naruto and his alpha getting married pllleeeaaassssee🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺I also wanna show you the picture soo badd he's so beautifullllllll

(Omg tag me in this 🥺I want to see!!! Naruto is so so beautiful you’re absolutely right and I love him and this was so far down my writing list but I just really wanted to write it anyway. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. <3)

I wrote for a Western wedding because I have no idea how Japanese weddings work (although I’m taking a degree in Japanese rip)

Warnings: Alcohol mention.

This boy will never admit it, but he always dreamt of getting married when he was a child.

When he was really young, he asked the Sandaime why people get married and the Hokage told him that marriage is what two people did when they loved each other more than anyone else.

Naruto always wanted someone to love him and so he clung to this in a similar (but less extreme) way, to how he clung to his dream of becoming Hokage. 

He always imagined his future self as the most badass ninja/Hokage with  a beautiful mate/spouse and some little prankster pups who would love him and who he would love unconditionally in return. 

And so when his alpha finally proposes to him.

This man goes a bit crazy.

As soon as the shock wears off, you suddenly get bombarded with him shouting about a thousand different things he wants at the wedding, and what food there should be, and “Do you think they sell orange wedding cakes?”.

He wants an insanely big and extravagant wedding.

It’s probably best to just humour him.

Proposal:

You were already mated to Naruto when you proposed.

Naruto lowkey believes in soulmates and when you had been courting for about a year he knew you were his. 

His very next heat came around, and boom, you were mated. 

You proposed about a year and a half after that, spurred on by Naruto’s less than subtle hints about it.

Naruto loved being around his friends and he also loved positive attention, so the idea for your proposal came naturally. 

You threw a get together for him and his closest friends. Good food, plenty of drinks and board games.

Naruto was laughing and smiling all night. He teamed up with you for the games, sitting on your lap the entire time. 

He used this vantage point to demand congratulatory and commiserative  kisses everytime something happened in the game. You could feel him smiling into the kiss each time.

The plan was working perfectly so far. 

As the evening began to wind down, you stood up, immediately garnering the attention of everyone in the room.

You cleared your throat awkwardly as all the eyes in the room settled on you. Sakura gave you a thumbs up behind Naruto’s shoulder.

‘You got this!’ She mouthed, eyes twinkling with excitement. With her encouragement in mind, you took one final deep breath before beginning.

“Sorry to interrupt you all, but there’s one more thing I have to do before everyone goes home.” You started, successfully avoiding any unfortunate stutters or out of control nervous scents.

Naruto furrowed his brows at you, confused. You only smiled, silently telling him to wait. 

“I have an... announcement of sorts to make.” 

“Then get on with it.” Drawled Shikamaru, smirking at you from the corner. You glared at him for teasing you, but he was too busy dodging a ‘shut up’ punch from Sakura to notice.

“As you all know, I’ve had the honour of being mated for Naruto for almost two years now,” You focused your gaze onto your mate, watching him perk up at the mention of his name. “and I have been madly in love for every minute of it.” You paused thoughtfully. “Even the minute when he drank out of date milk and threw up all over my bed.” 

Naruto went red as his friends giggled at him. He let out an embarrassed whine as you joined in the laughter. 

“You didn’t have to tell them that!” He groaned, voice muffled from the cushion he had temporarily buried his face in. 

“What I’m trying to say, is that when I met Naruto my life changed forever, for the better. I can no longer fathom a life where I could live without him.”

You turned to address Naruto directly. He was watching you closely. Maybe he was starting to guess where this was going.

“When I wake up next to you, when we invent terrible ramen flavours together, when I bandage you after training because you tried to show off and hurt yourself,” You laughed breathily. “Those are the moments when I am the happiest. The common denominator is you, Naruto, my beloved mate.”

No one else in the room mattered now apart from you and Naruto. You took one final breath to steel yourself, before dropping on one knee. Naruto gasped, his hands coming up to cover his mouth. 

“Which is why I want to be with you for the rest of our lives.” You pulled the ring box out of your pocket, opening it to reveal a simple golden band. 

“Will you marry me, Naruto?”

Naruto nodded furiously, his bottom lip wobbling as his eyes filled up with tears.

“YES! YES! YES! A thousand times yes!!” 

Naruto threw himself into your arms as his friends applauded and whooped in the background. You caught him with a happy laugh, leaning to kiss him. Naruto reciprocated enthusiastically, earning a few wolf whistles from his friends.

Naruto’s scent was that of pure sugar and you revelled in it, certain that your own was the same. Eventually you pulled away from the kiss, wiping a tear from Naruto’s eye, cradling his face gently in your hands.

“A toast,” Chouji’s voice called out, interrupting your thoughts. “To the newly engaged couple!” 

All your friends cheered, raising their glasses in a toast to your engagement. 

“May their love last forever!”

You laughed gleefully. Forever indeed.

Planning:

Naruto has a lot of ideas and a lot of passion, but not so much in the planning skills department. 

I hate to say it, but Naruto is a little bit of a Bridezilla type. A cute one though, so that’s better?

He really really wants a lot of random specific stuff that he dreamt about as a child, but he’s not good at organising it so you get a lot of:

“Alphaaaaa, can you book [insert incredibly specific wedding thing]?”

“Alpha, alpha, alpha, can you find a [insert incredibly specific wedding thing] for me, please???”

Here is a list of some, not all, of the things Naruto wants for his wedding. Bolded are ‘no compromises allowed’.

A traditional, white wedding dress (He knows he can wear whatever he wants, but his life has only ever been atypical and he just really wants a traditional white male omega wedding dress.)

An orange wedding cake (Naruto wants an orange wedding cake, but he can be persuaded to settle for orange detailing instead of the solid orange monstrosity he originally wants.)

A ramen course ( he wants one of the courses to be ramen of course! The idea of a really expensive, fancy ramen course just makes him melt with excitement. Nobody is surprised when they see ramen on the menu.)

A big wedding (He will invite the whole village if you allow him to. Ultimately though, as long as there’s room for every friend he’s ever had, he’s happy.)

Double barrelling your surnames (He really wants to take your name. Now that you’re married and mated, you’re a team for life and he wants that reflected in your names, but he also spent most of his life without family, and his name is one of the only connections he has to his mother. As such, he would never be able to lose it completely.)

A stag do/bachelor party (He just thinks it would be fun to get together with his other omega friends. He wants to hang out with his friends and wedding party for a night without anyone being away on missions for once.)

A honeymoon in Konoha (Naruto doesn’t want to travel for his honeymoon. Konoha is his home and his favourite place to be, so he wants to be there. If you desperately want to travel, you could probably organise a half-and-half style honeymoon. Half in Konoha, half wherever you want.)

Two empty chairs for his parents during the service (He has lost so many people, he could never leave empty chairs for them all. He keeps everyone he’s lost in his mind on his wedding day, but his parents are the ones he misses the most on his special day. When he looks at the empty chairs, he likes to think that they would be proud watching him get married.

The Wedding:

Naruto is fully bouncing off the walls.

He’s so excited. And nervous. But excited.

He gets ready and when he gazes at himself in the mirror, he feels amazing. As a child, he always thought he would cover his whiskers with make up, thinking they were on of the reasons people treated him differently. But now, as he stares at his reflection, he wears his whisker marks proudly.

Everyone pitched in to make the wedding perfect. Ino with the flowers, Chouji with the food, etc.

The wedding was kind of a bizarre mix. Some parts were strictly traditional and other parts were... orange. 

Naruto had plenty of fireworks set up to go off in the evening, and this ended up being one of his favourite parts of the day.

Naruto asked Iruka to walk him down the aisle about a month befpre the wedding. Iruka 100% cried when that happened. And then Naruto cried because Iruka was crying, it was an adorable mess. 

You got married outside. The sun was so bright, and the weather was warm but with a slight breeze. 

Naruto and Iruka wait just out of everyone’s view. When they send the signal, everybody stands.

You watched in awe as your mate turned the corner, grasping tightly at Iruka sensei’s arm.

He was stunning.

The sunlight reflected off his blond hair like light off of water, his white dress adding to the blinding effect. Naruto had refused to tell you what he would be wearing today, but this was more beautiful than you could have ever imagined. 

As he reached the end of the aisle, your mate gave up on being graceful, running the last few steps and throwing himself into your embrace. You caught him easily, twirling him around. Laughter rang through the hall.

“You look stunning.” You whispered in his ear, gently stroking up and down his arms.

“So do you.” He grinned in return.

The ceremony flew by. You had tried your hardest to listen, but you couldn’t stop staring at your mate instead. His eyes were always one of your favourite of his physical features, but they had looked especially magical today. 

Before you knew it, it was time for your first dance.

You hadn’t planned anything and you certainly didn’t take any lessons, so it was just you and him, in each others’ arms, swaying together to the music. 

Naruto felt warm in your arms as you swayed. You took a moment to nuzzle your face into his scent glands, pressing a firm kiss to his mating mark while you were there. Naruto hummed in delight, holding onto you even tighter.

“My omega. My mate. My husband.” You breathed into his ear, knowing how much he loved his new title.

Naruto shivered and purred in response. “I love the sound of that, you know.”

“I’m aware.” You laughed, using the distraction to twirl him. Naruto completed his twirl before trying to twirl you as well. 

Other couples soon began to join you on the dance floor, but you and Naruto only had eyes for each other. 

“I love you, more than anything else in this world Naruto, never forget that.”

“I love you, too. Forever, I promise.”

“Do you love me more than ramen?”

“What? Can’t you just be happy with second place?”

“Narutoooo.”

“Fine... Joint first.”

“I hate you.”

Naruto barked out a laugh at the look on your face.

“No, you don’t.”

[leogichidaa]

Psychoanalysis Sunday #7

Non-magical AU where Regulus is put in therapy with a psychoanalyst

Part 1 | Previous | Next

Regulus walks into the office and looks around, perplexed. Then he breaks into an uncharacteristic smile. Next to the chaise lounge he had been accustomed to laying on was an upholstered chair. "You redecorated," he says.

"There are several reasons for the sofa," the analyst replies. "None of which are to make you uncomfortable. If you truly hate the sofa, you needn't use it."

"Thank you," Regulus says, sitting down on the chair. He is practically swallowed by it, but he is still smiling.

"You are pleased by this."

Regulus nods. "Yes. You listened to me. Hardly anyone ever listens to me."

"That is what I am here for, Regulus. To listen to you. Have you not found that to be the case?"

Regulus furrows his brow. "But you also did what I wanted. You changed something especially for me. That hardly ever happens either."

"I see," the analyst says. "This simple convenience sends a message to you that you are valued and cared for."

"I suppose."

"You are valued and cared for, Regulus."

Regulus squirms, suddenly uncomfortable. "If you say so," he mutters.

"Why does it unsettle you to hear it said outright?"

"I don't know. It feels...wrong."

"Hmm," the analyst says, writing something on his notepad. "Let us shift gears slightly. I want to return to the incident last week, where your mother left you in the bookstore."

Regulus makes a face. "Must we?"

"I am afraid we must."

Regulus sighs. "What about it?

"You confessed that you enjoyed those hours alone in the bookstore. I have to admit that reaction surprised me."

"It surprised me too," Regulus says.

"And you were ashamed of your reaction."

"Yes. Being away from my family should not make me happy. Being left alone for hours should be distressing, right? You even said it was atypical."

"You are correct, it is unusual. And yes, most children your age would find a separation like that distressing. I think it is a mistake to assume that the fault lies in you, however. Most mothers do not forget about their children for hours at a time."

"It is not her fault!" Regulus says defensively. "It—she is overwhelmed. Sirius is always upsetting her. Anyone would be a bit—"

The analyst holds up a hand. "I did not intend to imply that the fault lies solely in your mother, either. I am merely illustrating that the dynamic in your family is not typical. Therefore, an atypical response from you is, in the context of your family, a natural response."

Regulus sets his jaw. "My family is not typical because we are exceptional. We are better than common folk."

"Do you truly believe that?"

"Yes!"

"You believe that it is a sign that you are exceptional to be abandoned by your mother for half a day?"

Regulus hesitates. "Yes. Perhaps you just cannot understand the way our family operates because you are too common."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps I am better equipped to understand your family objectively because I am not a part of it."

"No. What you think about my family is wrong. They are good people, the best people."

"Why, then, were the best six hours of your life the hours that you spent alone and away from your family?"

Regulus' face is hot with anger and, despite his best efforts, tears are streaming down his face. He does not have an answer for this question. "I love my family," he chokes out finally.

"I know you do," the analyst says softly. "It is possible to love a thing and recognize its imperfections, though. Every family has areas for improvement, no matter how exceptional."

Regulus wipes away his tears, but they keep spilling out. "I love my family," he repeats. He can think of nothing else to say.

[lovelylogans]

the himbo chronicles

part i | part ii

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: kissing, underage drinking, kissing with consent while under the influence, please let me know if i’ve missed anything else!

pairings: roman/logan, offscreen patton/virgil

word count: 8,877

notes: i simply could not resist writing about these good good boys for a moment longer. i love them. this work takes place in the late summer/early fall between logan’s freshman and sophomore year of college, or almost four years after the main storyline. if you need a quick rundown of the characters (i know seven new characters might be a lot to digest!) here’s a quick guide to each of the boys. please enjoy! 

⁂

one had a certain expectation when it came to many college-aged boys living in the same house together. partying. general revelry. chaos. messy surroundings. the loud blaring of video games. more than just a touch of hedonism, certainly. 

logan sanders is a rather atypical college-aged boy. in his past reveries when considering college, he'd thought of the libraries he'd spend hours in, the books he'd pore over, the professors that would come to mentor him. perhaps the occasional errant thought of a party he'd be dragged to, but then his brain had moved to college newspapers and their framing on pieces when it came to excessive drinking and how to interview fraternity presidents concerning their unsettling hazing rituals. 

during his senior year, a fair amount of his fretting had transitioned into how to handle the distance from his father, patton, and pseudo-father, virgil, back home in sideshire, which proved itself solved quite handily; yale is close enough that it's not even a notably long drive. the other worrisome part, though, were how to visit his long-term boyfriend, roman, who was no longer even in the same state. but they'd made it work, over the past year, and logan is currently sitting in an armchair he'd dragged over to the front window of the house, trying and miserably failing to pay attention to some of his class reading.

once he'd gotten to college, though, those social expectations for the rest of his peers had certainly been proven, if simply by virtue of examining the rest of his classmates. his life, however, seems ill-contented to have left it at that; he can safely say that his social circle is not entirely like he'd expected his college friends to be.

for instance, as he hears the creaking of the old wood floors behind him—

"if you start making fun of me for waiting by the window for roman again i will take points from your good noodle chart," logan threatens, and adam scampers off with barely-contained snickering.

he had not expected to have to say that sentence during his college years at all.

there's a hastily-stifled laugh, and logan swivels around to see jordan, who is certainly paying very studious attention to his own class reading.

logan's eyes narrow at him. 

"you usually study in the kitchen," logan says, just barely keeping an accusing tone out of his voice.

"more natural light in here," jordan says, nodding to the window, his lip caught between his teeth.

logan scowls.

"...okay," jordan relents, "and—"

"i knew it."

"c'mon, none of us have met him before!" jordan protests, even as logan is calculating the chances of being able to kick jordan out of here. they are not particularly good; he can hear andrew, derek, and edward loudly talking about their SQUH-SQUH-SQUH SQUAT CHALLEEEEEENGE! in the living room, which is open to the kitchen. the counting of the squats they can do is very noisy, not even factoring in the trash-talk.

"privacy would be appreciated," logan says.

"in this house?" jordan says skeptically, which is a fair point; there are nine of them crammed into five rooms. logan's room is technically a single only by virtue of it being an attic that can barely fit a lofted bed with a desk and a dresser warring for space underneath. logan is fairly certain that janus's shared room with matthew in the basement was never intended for long-term human habitation, either.

"i knew i should have met him at the station," logan says, ruffling the pages of his book. 

"is logan talking about us?" matthew shouts from the living room. his feet pound against the hardwood as he poked his red head around the corner, his eyes going as teasingly pleading as jordan's. "you're not gonna make us miss meeting our step-daddy, are you, mom?"

the "mom" thing is somewhat new, too, and also an aspect of college life that logan had not foreseen. perhaps logan should have seen it coming when he started instituting a chore chart and a chart for good behavior with plastic dinosaur toys as rewards. for reasons that elude him, the boys named it the "good noodle" chart.

he had mostly started the chart after what might have been a joke from janus, in retrospect, but he certainly isn't going to stop now, not when it's been proven to be so effective. 

what he says instead of respond to matthew's question is "have you finished the dishes?"

matthew hesitates, looking back over his shoulder to the countertops.

"...yyeesss...?"

logan arches an eyebrow at him. "if i walk in there, will there be dishes in the sink?"

matthew attempts to model his eyes after jordan, widening them and trying to look innocent. he isn't as gifted at it.

"it would be a shame if you had to be demoted on the good noodle chart because you didn't finish your chores and—" he glances at a notecard— "chirped me about roman."

a pause.

"was that accurate?" logan says. "is it 'chirped?'"

"cory!" matthew bellows over his shoulder.

"yeah?" cory shouts back. 

"hockey trash-talk is chirping, right?"

"yeah!"

"thank you!" matthew shouts back and turns to face logan. "yeah, it's chirping."

"hockey," logan mutters, scrawling this onto the notecard. the influx of sports-related slang to his notecards is another unforeseen aspect of college life. "it's hockey-specific, that's what i was missing."

a beat.

"the sooner you can get them done you can pass it to the next person on the chart. do the dishes," logan adds severely, and matthew stumps off to the kitchen, grumbling something under his breath that sounds a lot like “ugh, mom.”

say what one will about the good noodle chart—it certainly is a successful motivator.

perhaps the plastic bag full of dozens of mini bubble-wands that the boys saw logan receive in the mail this week is doing more of the persuasion rather than the necessity of the chores, or logan himself, but it works.

“logan?”

“hmm?” logan says, distracted by wondering if derek vacuumed the living room or if he dragged around a dining chair make lines in the carpet again.

jordan, grinning, nods to the window, and logan whips his head around just in time to see a taxi pull into the driveway.

the sudden surge of excitement and happiness and eagerness is enough to make him stand up, because roman is right there, logan can distantly see him in a red shirt in the back of the taxi. logan hastily tosses his book onto the nearest table and goes for the front door as quickly as he can without running outright.

by the time he is near enough to roman to see the details of how he’s styled his hair that day, a piece of lint on his shoulder, the way he’s slung his bag on his shoulder, he’s paying the taxi driver. 

he turns around to face logan, and logan loses his breath.

god he’s so handsome.

logan doesn’t know if it’s a month’s absence, or if roman has indeed grown more beautiful by the day, but roman is so lovely. his skin glows in the late summer sun, grinning at logan wide and bright, and logan can’t stand there and drink in the sight of him, chronicling every single miniscule difference that he can, because roman grabs logan in a hug, pulling him close.

logan wraps his arms around roman as tight as he can, burying his face into roman’s shoulder and inhaling; the familiar scent of his cologne, his floral body wash, the gel he uses in his hair.

“i missed you,” roman whispers, breath warm against logan’s ear.

“me too,” logan mumbles, squeezing him tighter. usually, roman hugs him even tighter back, but today, he falters.

“um.”

logan pulls back enough to see the quizzical look on roman’s face. roman nods at something behind him.

“i think we have a bit of an audience.”

logan glances back over his shoulder in time to see all seven of the boys—plus a peek of janus in the back, surely egging on the chaos—jostling for the best view at the window where logan had just been keeping vigil.

“it’s not too late to call the taxi back and go somewhere private,” logan says, turning to face roman again. “i could show you the library.”

roman grins at him. “are you kidding? i’ve wanted to see if you were exaggerating about them for ages.”

logan scoffs. “as if i’m the one prone to exaggeration in this relationship.”

roman’s grin widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “fuck, i’ve missed you so bad.”

what else can logan do but pull roman in by the waist and kiss him?

even muffled by the closed door and the thick glass of the window, logan can hear the boys hooting and hollering and yelling “GET IT, MOM!!!” and “ow OW!” and roman laughs against logan’s lips.

logan smiles into the kiss, and he thinks that roman’s weekend visit probably couldn’t have gotten off to a better start if he’d tried.

⁂

the first thing that someone says when logan and roman walk into the front door is “what the FUCK, mom, you didn’t tell us he was HOT!”

roman swivels to face logan, offended.

“of course i think he’s hot,” logan says, bemused. “i’m dating him. he’s obviously my type.”

“yeah, but,” adam says, and he gestures to roman’s body at whole. “he’s fucking hot, though.”

there’s a rumbling of agreement from the other boys—sans janus, who has obviously met roman before—and roman immediately preens at the attention.

because roman is undoubtedly hot. his brown skin is glowing—logan has seen him wearing facemasks on their video calls enough times that he knows it’s not incidentally clear, perfect skin—and he’s maybe not quite as bulkily built as, say, derek, who can pick up logan and janus simultaneously without breaking a sweat, but roman is strong by virtue of his profession and it shows. 

“thanks,” roman says, grinning.

“i mean,” adam adds hastily, “all respect to you and logan, i mean this in, like, the bros-appreciating-bros way, not the i’m trying to steal your man way.”

“i figured,” logan says dryly, considering that adam, notably lacking in a sense of impulse control, has never offered any romantic inclination towards men before.

“well, roman, this is—everyone,” logan says, and points at each housemate as he says their name.

“adam rothschild—”

“hi,” adam adds belatedly. 

“—matthew van doren—”

“'sup,” matthew says, with an upward nod of his red head.

“—cory hollingsworth—”

cory flashes a peace sign from where he stands beside janus.

“—jordan arlington—”

“nice to meet you, man, logan’s been looking forward to this for fuckin’ ever,” jordan says.

logan, refusing to blush, continues with, “edward morton—”

“shalom, bro,” he says.

“—andrew de loughrey—”

“hey, dude.”

“—derek carmichael, and you remember janus, of course.”

“nice to finally meet you all,” roman says, an arm wrapped comfortably around logan’s waist.

“you’re fucking yoked, bro,” derek says, appreciative. “what does your leg day look like? your quads are insane.”

“thanks, man,” roman says, extending a denim-clad leg with all of his typical grace. his legs are insane, to be fair. “part of the job—has logan mentioned i’m a ballet dancer?”

there’s a chorus of agreement, and so as they relocate, unspoken, to the living room. all of the other boys listen to some of the exercises roman discusses, and roman offers demonstrations of barre warm-ups upon request, his hand on the kitchen island, to great enthusiasm.

logan probably should have guessed that hearing about the workout regimen of a ballet dancer would go a long way in convincing this house full of “jocks” that roman was worthy of their adoptive, same-age mother. he’s pleased that by the time this line of conversation is winding down, it has been proven to be a very effective icebreaker.

even if he is a little grumpy to lose the warmth of roman’s hand where it had been resting on his knee.

however, once that conversation does trail off, logan gets to his feet.

“how about i take you on a tour of the house? i can show you my room.”

“ooh, mom, get it,” andrew says, to great whooping and a wolf-whistle which elicits more laughter from the other boys.

“remember, house rule, sock on the doorknob!” says someone who can surely only be adam.

“i’m making a bad noodle chart now,” logan says, attempting to fight the blush that’s surely creeping onto his face, “all of you have been demoted to the bad noodle chart.”

roman reaches out and takes logan’s hand. “you actually have a noodle chart? i thought you were kidding.”

“i am not kidding,” logan says sourly, directing a glare toward the boys.

jordan, mercifully, provides a very handy distraction by order of shouting out “MARIO KART TOURNAMENT I CALL ROSALINA,” which immediately descends into chaos as the boys fight over who gets peach, or yoshi, or else fighting over their “lucky” switch controllers.

janus meets eyes with logan, rolls his eyes, and promptly siddles his way into one of the four coveted spots to play as wario. somehow janus never has to engage in this arguing, even though logan, the house mother, has to fight with the boys to get to play with isabelle—

whatever. it’s fine. as adam launches himself at jordan to literally wrestle him to the ground for the honor of playing as rosalina, logan takes advantage of this to slip further into the kitchen with roman.

“we could probably make a getaway attempt now, it would be an ideal time,” logan says, a touch anxious; this is roman’s first time meeting the boys, and logan knows better than most people that being in the (boys-and-janus-dubbed) himbo house can be overwhelming. 

“no way,” roman says warmly, squeezing logan’s hand, and logan’s heart flutters in its chest. “show me the rest of the house, c’mon.”

logan shows roman the good noodle chart in its place of pride in the kitchen, taking a moment to detract a gold star sticker from adam for tackling jordan, writing unnecessary violence (mario kart) on the line beneath specifically meant for the reason for the latest detraction in red dry-erase marker. 

he adds a star for jordan without writing exactly why.

roman takes a moment to survey the chart and immediately barks with laughter at the bottom line.

“don’t,” logan grumbles.

“but c’mon!” roman says, delightedly pointing at the section of the chart that has special microscope stickers instead of gold stars.

it says logan workaholism 

and then, in different handwriting and a different colored marker, (and drunk shenanigans). 

“yes, well, you’ve seen the chart now,” logan says evasively, tugging roman along, and roman follows with a smile on his face that’s a bit too big for logan’s liking.

logan hadn’t even been on the chart. but no, he listened to adam’s recommendation for a drink one time (he should have realized that would turn out to be a horrible idea) and now he was on the good noodle chart, specifically so they could detract a sticker. he shouldn’t be on the chart, he runs it!

he still has the most stickers of anyone, though, so there.

logan shows roman their kitchen, which is more well-stocked than one would expect a stereotypical a college kitchen to be. there’s two mini-fridges so that edward can keep kosher. within the normal fridge, and in the cabinets, there’s an overwhelming supply of protein bars, shakes, and powders, in addition to plenty of fruits and vegetables. 

he slips with roman up the stairs, unnoticed by everyone screaming at the four lucky players of the first leg of the mario kart tournament. from a glance at their ridiculously oversized flat screen, janus seems to be swiftly overtaking the lead due to taking advantage of a secret passage.

logan gestures vaguely to the rooms leading off the landing, telling roman who occupied which, as well as the communal bathrooms, but as there are no common spaces on either of the floors that roman has not already seen, he essentially leads roman straight up to the attic.

his room.

he tentatively opens the door for roman to look in and behold it, which roman immediately does.

logan’s lofted bed is crammed against the wall that divides the attic at the apex of the roof, as the opposite wall slants with the angle of the roof. everything is lit by the window opposite the door; logan debates flicking on the overhead light, and decides against it. the afternoon sun does just fine.

logan’s bed is made, his indigo duvet tucked neatly over his white sheets. his desk is pushed beneath the bed, with his laptop, a notebook, and a mug from remy’s café full of pens resting on it, the shelves above the desk that the boys had helped logan install nearly toppling under the weight of all their books. logan’s backpack sits in his desk chair, logan’s dresser shut. the rest of the floorspace is overtaken by a comfy rug and a pitiful excuse for a beanbag chair, which roman promptly sits on, wiggling to get comfortable.

“i like it,” he proclaims. “it’s cozy.”

logan tries to smile at him. the room is cramped and logan knows it.

all the other occupants of the house come from, to put it in plain terms, the same world of wealth and status that his grandparents occupy. as a matter of fact, his grandparents had been incredibly pleased that logan’s roommates had been “up to snuff,” a roundabout way of saying they’re of an appropriate caliber for our ivy-leaguer grandson.

logan knows that it was no coincidence that his roommates offered him his “cozy” room and therefore a lower amount for rent, all of them reasoning that as he had the smallest and least convenient room and if he was not there to supervise the house would surely explode, as part of this offer was surely due to the fact that they knew that his budget did not stretch as far as theirs did. 

for one, he is the only roommate with a job. for another, he is the only one who knows how to budget. 

well, janus would likely be able to figure it out, but he’s never needed to, which is the point.

derek hadn’t even recognized what “those little slips of paper” in logan’s hands were when logan attempted to discreetly coupon during a grocery outing.

educating them on what coupons were was... an experience, to be sure.

logan’s musings are interrupted when roman takes hold of his hand and gently tugs at logan. logan obligingly sinks onto the ground to join him, settling practically on roman’s lap.

“hey,” roman says, voice husky.

“hi,” logan says, in a tone that strikes him as strangely shy.

roman reaches out and makes a grabby hand, to which logan rolls his eyes and settles more decisively on roman’s lap, unable to keep the smile off his face, which roman can surely see, given the way that logan is now directly facing him.

“better?”

“much, thank you,” roman says graciously, settling his hands at logan’s waist and gently squeezing. 

“i must agree,” logan says, resting his hands on roman’s shoulders and squeezing back. roman offers him a slanted smile.

“love, what a long way, to arrive at a kiss,” roman says, pausing to pick logan’s hand off his shoulder and press a kiss to his palm, achingly soft, “what loneliness-in-motion, toward your company!”

“you can’t just quote neruda off the bat, it isn’t fair,” logan complains, despite the fact that his heart has been sent aflutter, but he is cut off when roman’s lips meet his.

oh, how logan’s missed this. he’s familiar with the pressure of roman’s lips against his, the warmth and breadth of roman’s hands wrapping around him, the way logan’s hands fit perfectly on roman’s shoulders, and missing it has been like an ache.

languid, unhurried afternoons in the summers by the town’s lake; inexperienced hands slipping up shirts in their childhood bedrooms; illicit kisses in the gazebo when they were both meant to be at home; his memories seemed to pale in comparison to having the real thing, right now. roman’s heartbeat and the rush of logan’s pulse in his own ears and the sweet, perfect slide of their mouths. they break to breathe, staying forehead-to-forehead.

“but you and i, love,” logan murmurs, “we are together, from our clothes down to our roots: in the autumn, in water, in hips, until we are together—only you, only me.”

“you skipped a few lines,” roman teases.

“i editorialized,” logan says. “taltal is not particularly applicable to our situation, is it?”

“and i suppose it isn’t raining,” roman says, mock-thoughtfully. logan smiles and leans in for more.

roman responds, sliding his hands down logan’s back and eventually coming to grip at logan’s thighs, and logan arches into the touch—

—"ow!”

—and logan leans back, careful to avoid the slant of the roof he’d just hit his head against, putting a hand on where his head throbs in complaint.

“oh, i’m sorry!” roman says frantically. “i’m so sorry, c’mere, c’mere, let me look—”

“it was just a bump, it’s not so bad,” logan says, but he squirms and twists so that roman can see the point of impact.

roman cautiously runs his fingers through logan’s hair, paying close attention, and gently presses his fingers down. logan winces.

“tender?”

“a bit.”

“i’m sorry,” roman repeats, now running his fingers through logan’s hair, careful to keep his touch light.

“i hit my head getting out of bed and getting up from my desk for a full week before i got used to the angle,” logan says with a shrug. “kissing you is the most pleasurable way this could have happened.”

“well, now, still don’t like that clever little brain of yours getting bumped around,” roman says, frowning. 

logan points to where, at this angle, roman can see the protective pool noodle secured to protect himself from hitting his head against his bed while standing up from the bed. janus had cut it for him with an exacto knife. logan is unsure where janus keeps this exacto knife. he hopes it’s hidden somewhere safe; sharp implements were just asking for trouble in this household.

“better now,” logan says, then, when roman’s still frowning, “i’m used to it, really. and besides, i’m the second-shortest in the house; no one else would take this room. well, janus would be the only other person who wouldn’t be constantly hitting his head, but i think he prefers the basement.”

“like an evil lair,” roman grumbles.

“precisely what he said,” logan says dryly. “can you imagine derek in here?”

they both take a moment to imagine derek, who stands at six feet and seven inches tall, slouched over at most points of the room.

“yeah, that’d be a bit of a tight squeeze,” roman acknowledges. 

“besides,” logan says. “there are plenty of ways to be comfortable.”

he adjusts to sit on the comfy, fluffy rug—bought specifically for floor-sitting in mind—and pulls roman along. roman, getting the idea, moves the beanbag to use as a pillow, and lies back against it. logan curls up on the ground with him, resting his head over roman’s heart.

roman takes a moment to switch to scratching his fingernails against logan’s scalp, and logan tries not to shudder with pleasure too obviously.

“i like it in here,” logan says. “i like that i can go out of the window to sit on the roof, if i wanted. i like that i have the clearest view of the night sky. i like that i have a single room. and—”

he points to the side of the rafters that would not be visible to someone standing in the doorway of the room; only from within it are the stick-on, glow-in-the-dark stars surrounding the photographs of logan’s loved ones are visible. the one most visible from here is himself and roman eating lucy’s at the winterfest where they had their first kiss. 

“—i like that there are unique decorating ideas i could only put into function in this room.”

roman kisses logan’s head, and, with that, curled up together on logan’s bedroom floor, they start talking about everything and nothing at all, and logan’s heart feels full and fit to burst with happiness.

⁂

look. matt’s fully aware that he’s cynical about love. it’s a bit hard not to when, growing up, his primary example of love was his dad and his revolving door of brides. 

he’s pretty sure he’s on stepmom number eight, by now, he isn’t really sure, he hasn’t met the latest one. 

(dad scheduled the wedding during peak crew season and matt’s dad, a yale alum himself, is all proud about him being on the team of the first rowing club formed at an american college. so matt didn’t go and his dad might have just assumed he had a regatta then. whatever. matt isn’t too fussed about it, seriously. he thinks her name might be tina? tara? fuck, he should probably work that out before thanksgiving break, shouldn’t he.)

(wait. goddammit. the last girlfriend was trisha. did he end up marrying trisha? he thought his dad dumped trisha because trisha got pissed at him for doing something in a dream of hers. fuck he seriously needs to do some googling before thanksgiving break.)

(wait. shit. it was tori who did the dream thing, because she was super into the astrology-dream-palm reading deal and she’d tried to figure out matt’s birth chart, so now he can flex that he knows he’s a leo sun taurus moon sagittarius rising to the girls he tries to pick up. that happened years ago, god damn it, who the fuck is his dad married to right now?!)

ANYWAYS. he doesn’t really have an optimistic view of love, especially at their age. so back when he’d first been getting to know logan, he’d been pretty surprised to hear that logan had a long-term boyfriend. logan didn’t really seem like the stereotypical college kid clinging to their high school sweetheart, like, at all. 

there had been a girl on his floor freshman year who woke up half the dorm during her kicking-and-screaming fight with her high school boyfriend that she’d tried to long-distance with and ended up dumping after a month. he’d kind of been expecting to hear that logan was going to break up with his boyfriend, because, like, how many childhood sweethearts actually make it?

but no, no screaming fights for logan—honestly, matt’s pretty sure if he heard logan actually yell it would be the scariest thing ever—and now the boyfriend is here.

who is, like, not exactly what matt had expected? he’d thought roman would maybe be a copy of logan, someone else crazy smart and crazy dedicated to school, and, in the kindest way possible, a major nerd. 

roman seems... cool.

like, first of all, he’d immediately understood and talked training routines with the rest of the house, which, like, respect to logan, who goes on runs and keeps his shit pretty tight, but he isn’t exactly the most gym-rat kind of dude. 

roman’s routine sounded really interesting. matt’s got pretty good legs himself—you kind of have to, to be on the rowing team—but roman’s calves and quads and glutes look unreal. man could probably beat them all in a squat challenge tournament without breaking a sweat. 

also, logan keeps himself looking like a eighteen-year-old tax accountant, with his polo and tie, but roman is dressed, like, suave. casual enough, sure,but his short-sleeved button down shirt looked like it was made of silk or satin or some fancy shit like that. it’s unbuttoned to show off the gold necklace he’s wearing. he’s wearing dark jeans at the exact right place on his waist.

logan has not exactly stepped into “going out” clothes, except for like combing his hair and wearing blue jeans. they’re going the pub that logan invariably picks on the rare nights he goes out with the rest of them—a coffee shop by day, a bar by night, and very unfancy.

logan is absently fixing roman’s collar so it sits straight as roman examines himself in his phone’s camera to check out his reflection. he flashes a smile toward logan in thanks. 

logan smiles at him, something in his eyes going soft that matt’s never seen him do before, and—

and, okay, if anyone he knows is smart enough to figure out how love works this early on, it would probably be logan.

⁂

"you sure, bro?” andrew says, leaning against the open car door, not yet sliding into edward’s bmw. “’cause i can dd this time, i think it’s my turn anyway—”

edward’s already shaking his head. “shabbat’s tomorrow, dude. gotta get up early to go to temple anyway, gramps would derail the whole service if i turned up hungover.”

andrew shrugs. “if you’re sure,” he says, and at last he slides into the car that is absolutely filled up with people over the legal capacity. 

usually, logan picks a fit about this, talking about things like seatbelts, but right now he’s perched on his boyfriend’s lap and doesn’t seem to mind at all.

janus, sitting beside them in the very back, is eyeing them like he’s ready to start elbowing them if they get too lovey. which like. logan, getting lovey? unlikely.

(however, the seven of them have made a pact to be as obnoxious as possible if the boyfriend gets too lovey. they didn’t include janus on this, because apparently janus and roman had a brief rivalry Thing in high school and it would probably piss logan off if they started fighting, but anyways. bros take care of bros.)

“are ya ready, kids?” edward asks as he starts the car.

“aye aye, captain!” the other six of his bros and, a little surprisingly, roman, call back. logan looks confused at this, as he usually does, and janus rolls his eyes, as he usually does.

“to the pub!” edward declares, and so they’re off as cory and jordan frantically play rock-paper-scissors to see who gets the aux cord.

jordan wins and as such immediately puts on his playlist, a few of the boys starting to sing along to nicki minaj—oh, sick, it’s the pump-up playlist. hell yeah, that means that beyoncé is coming up. edward fucking loves beyoncé.

edward peeks into the rearview mirror, and he sees roman pressing his face into logan’s shoulder, like he’s hugging him, and logan smiles, looking very pleased.

and as edward drives on, everyone joining in when “love on top” comes on, even over the raucous performance of ther rest of his bros, he could swear he hears roman’s voice, floating up to the driver’s seat even from where he’s singing in logan’s ear.

“baby it’s you, you’re the one i love, you’re the one i need...”

damn, edward thinks to himself, impressed. he’s got a good voice.

logan’s cheeks go a little bit pink, and he smiles, ducking his chin; roman takes a moment from singing into his ear to kiss him on the cheek.

also, that’s cute as fuck.

⁂

“shots?” cory demands. “shots, shots, shots?”

“we just got here,” logan says, usually the sole voice of reason and also being boring, but he doesn’t seem to be standing as firm as usual. that might have something to do with his boyfriend, who has an arm going over his shoulder, saying “hell yeah, dude!”

“getting shots my treat!” cory says, and he rushes into the scrum in front of the bar before logan can protest and try to pay for himself.

janus catches his elbow and allows himself to be pulled along with him, which is cool. janus is probably cory’s closest non-sports friend ever, because he and jan are, one, roommates, but two, kids adopted from other countries as symbols of their white parents’ supposed generosity (he’s chinese, janus is haitian, they handshake meme over white people misunderstanding the culture and history of their countries of origin) so they tend to get each other’s deal more often than other people in the house.

they’re already planning their “oh so sorry we’re busyyy” excuse and activities so they don’t have to go home over thanksgiving break. 

cory leans down to talk into janus’ ear—it’s a friday night, so it’s as busy as it gets here—and practically shouts, “how long have they been dating again?”

“four years,” janus says back; cory has no idea how, but janus can always be heard in any crowd, he never has to shout. 

“are they, like,” cory says. “i mean. are they like. i dunno what i’m even asking. is their relationship, like, nice, i guess?”

janus arches an eyebrow back. “do you happen to remember my previous relationship?”

mm, yeah. asher fleming, resoundingly shady, but very willing to dole out the cash whenever janus so much as pouted at him. which janus seemed to like, so good for him, cory guesses, even though asher fleming was sketchy as fuck, in his opinion. dude could rest in fucking pieces.

“what about that makes you think i am a good person to ask.”

cory opens his mouth, closes it. opens it again.

“hey, what can i get started for you?”

oh thank god. “uhh, nine—wait, ten—ten shots of vodka? boyd and blair, if you’ve got it. and open a tab,” cory adds, forking over his card.

“you got it,” the bartender says, taking it, and then pauses, taking a moment to take stock of cory.

cory flashes a smile at her. she smiles back, and turns for the bar, going to hunt down ten shot glasses and a tray, her brunette ponytail bouncing as she goes.

janus nods after her. “she’s cute.”

“yeah, but she’s working,” cory says, turning to lean back against the bar and scan the pub to see where the rest of his dudes have gone. “i’m like ninety percent sure not asking out a girl when she’s trapped at work is part of bro code.”

janus follows his lead, leaning against the bar.

“they’re adorable,” he says abrubtly, his eyes fixed on the table that the rest of their roommates have claimed, jostling each other for space.

“huh?”

“logan, when he’s with roman. they’re adorable. it’s disgusting. he gets all,” janus’ mouth twists. “sappy.”

“really?!” cory says, stunned. logan, sappy? the closest they’ve ever gotten to sappy logan is after running the full gamut of logan’s stages of drunkness.

“bet you fifty bucks logan initiates pda within ten minutes,” janus says.

“i’ll take that bet,” cory says immediately.

as he approaches the table with the tray of shots, logan reaches over to squeeze roman’s hand and then just hold it on the table. he realizes what he’s started to realize every time he makes a bet against janus, which is that he probably shouldn’t have made a bet against janus. cory literally never wins.

⁂

"hey, man, they made this wrong,” andrew lies cheerfully, setting the glass in front of logan. “you like peach schnapps, right?”

this is a thing he and the other dudes like to do, and logan gets into a snit when they do, but c’mon. andrew has literally unlimited access to cash, why shouldn’t he use it to spoil his friends?

and then logan usually says something about taking care of himself, but like, it’s covering your drinks, dude, it’s not a big deal.

logan gives him a look, a i know what you’re doing here look, a i am about to throw a fit because you paid for me look, but before he can say anything roman breaks into the conversation.

“oh, damn, i was gonna pay for logan’s next drink,” he says, sounding a little disappointed that he couldn’t treat logan to his drink of choice. “how much was that? i’ll cover it and you can get my next one, l, like we’re on a date.”

andrew, skeptical, waits, because this kind of tactic doesn’t work with logan, but—

logan relaxes back into the seat, turning his eyes to andrew.

“oh,” andrew says, and turns to crane at the menu. “uh, since it’s wells night, five or six bucks should cover it.”

“nice,” roman says peaceably, and forks over a ten. “just to cover my bases for my next drink on the tab—hey, who opened that, anyway, and what’s their venmo? i wanna be sure i have it so i can pay my share in the morning.”

“cory did—i’ll pull it up,” logan says, taking roman’s phone from his hand and searching for cory’s venmo profile.

huh. crisis averted.

andrew gives roman a thumbs-up over logan’s head, and roman grins back at him.

⁂

look. there are certain stages of drunkenness, right.

derek could be called a party—what was that word janus said? cone-is-sour?—connoisseur. like, he knows these things, okay. he knows that people have certain telltale signs of what they do when they start getting drunker.

for him, he gets all overheated and red-cheeked first, then he kind of stops having the concept of volume control, then everything sounds like the funniest thing in the world, there’s a bit about hugging his bros and singing along to whatever song the bar’s playing super loudly thrown in there most nights, and then he gets really sleepy, and after that his memory gets blurry. easy, simple way to tell how drunk he’s getting.

logan’s stages of drunkness are... pretty wild. like, holy hell is logan a lightweight. he got, like, very past tipsy after drinking two wine coolers once. they’ve all kind of taken it upon themselves to improve his drinking tolerance, gradually.

anyways. derek thinks he’s got logan’s stages figured out by now, along with the rest of the dudes, and the stages are as follows:

rambling when he talks

Science!

I Love My Friends

wandering off, most likely to fall asleep in a weirdass location

it turns out there might be a stage 1.5, but this stage might only be unlocked when his boyfriend is here.

stage 1.5 of logan drunkness is cuddly.

they’ve been playing the “who can pay for the most drinks for everyone but mostly for logan” game, which means that they’ve been mixing their alcohol (careful to steer clear of beer, though, ‘cause that could turn to beer before liquor during the next round, beer before liquor, never been sicker; liquor before beer, you’re in the clear, derek knows his fuckin’ booze) and trying drinks of what everyone else is trying, seeing if they can come up with a new favorite drinks combo before the night ends.

with one hand, logan’s currently stirring his plastic straw in a cocktail called a bramble. with the other, he’s got his arm flung across roman’s shoulders, occasionally adjusting his stance, and any time he catches anyone’s eyes during a conversation he beams, like, this is my boyfriend, isn’t this so great?!

and, like, look. he knows it’s basically dude code to kind of haze each other a little bit, whenever a new significant other comes around, just to make sure they’re up to snuff, but c’mon.

their uptight, workaholic house mom, drinking on a friday night like he doesn’t have a care in the world? practically unheard of.

derek’s pretty sure he can pin the sudden lack of tension in logan’s shoulders and jaw on the man that logan is currently staring at. roman is telling a story about a drag show he and his girl friends went to see in new york, and logan’s looking at him like roman hung all the stars in the sky, grinning whenever roman looks over at him.

like. come on. how is derek meant to haze that. it’s too fuckin’ cute.

⁂

logan is putting in an order for waters at the bar because while the boys are good at remembering to hydrate for sports reasons, no one ever remembers to hydrate for drinking reasons. a hand gently touches his waist, and, with a whiff of familiar cologne, roman slides in next to him at the bar.

“hey,” logan says, a little too aware that this is the closest they’ll get to a private conversation for the rest of the night.

“hey,” roman echoes, loose and easy with alcohol. something low in logan’s belly thrums pleasantly at the sound.

“check-in?” logan requests. “i know that this can be a—a lot.”

to put it delicately.

roman grins at him. “your friends are cool, this bar is cool. you’re cool. i love you so much.”

logan, who would later put this decision down to being plied with alcohol, pulls roman in by the collar and kisses him hard.

roman seems surprised, just for a moment, before he responds in kind, pulling logan in at the waist and kissing him back, equally enthusiastic.

his boyfriend is visiting, he’s making out with him in a bar like a normal college kid would make out with a significant other, and everything seems wonderful.

roman, looking thoroughly kissed, handles the ribbing and joking the boys start as soon as they get back to the table with good humor, grinning at logan like it’s a private joke between the two of them.

god, logan’s so in love with him.

⁂

"hey, babe?” roman says.

logan hums around his straw, looking at roman with half-lidded eyes. fuck he’s so hot.

roman shakes himself a little, trying to focus, before he asks, “on a scale of one to ten, how chill would the guys be if i suggested we go somewhere we can dance?”

logan swallows, and roman’s eyes follow the of his bobbing adam’s apple.

“probably very chill about it,” he says dryly. 

roman smiles. “and how would you feel about going somewhere to dance with me?”

logan bites his lip, but still smiling.

“probably very enthusiastic about it,” logan says quietly.

roman grins at him. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

with a swiftness that probably belies how eager roman is at the very concept of holding logan close in his arms, roman calls out to derek, “hey, dude, is there a good club around here? i kinda wanna see y’all dance.”

derek puffs out his chest. 

“oh, bro, you are not ready,” he says gleefully. 

adam leans across the table.

“hey, wait, you’re, like, a professional dancer, right? maybe you can teach us a routine!”

oh, now roman has the perfect routine in mind.

⁂

adam has been known to get down at a party, okay. he’s a pretty decent dancer. his party trick is being able to swing around on poles installed into frat basements for “structural integrity.”

but, like, adam also knows that a literal professional probably has some tips, so he’d asked, right, which has now turned into—

“okay, again, from the start, ready?” roman asks, standing at the front of the group. janus and logan are at the edge of the room. adam’s pretty sure janus is recording this on his phone.

they’re also, like, in the center of most of the club’s attention, but roman seems very cool with it. which, likes, makes sense; dancing professionally, crowds come with the territory. the other six of his roommates are standing in loose lines, spaced out so they don’t kick each other in the heads.

“five, six, seven, eight,” roman starts, then, over the sound of six dudes who are all over six feet tall jump-kick then drop rapidly into what roman called a grand plié, which you would probably do slower for a stretch but this is CHOREO, sings, “now from the top, make it drop—”

⁂

logan, after trying so hard not to laugh at the sight of his boyfriend teaching tiktok dance choreography to what, ostensibly, looked like a group of typical frat boys, is attempting to catch his breath and hydrate at the bar. 

well. dehydrate, technically. a vodka soda is certainly working to dehydrate him.

“hey,” roman pants, appearing from the crowd, flushed, with at least two more buttons popped than he’d had when they entered. “hot over there—can i—?”

before he can ask, logan offers his vodka soda, and roman says “thanks” before he gulps down a good portion of it, fanning himself.

“i love dancing,” he says happily.

“i know, dearest,” logan says, perhaps not as dryly as he would if they were not both intoxicated.

“oh! and i love this song!” roman says brightly, as the dj transitions into a new song. 

logan smiles at him; the song is not a recent release, and logan thinks he might be able to place it.

“dance with me?” roman says, his eyes pleading. logan finds himself helpless to resist, and so he drains the rest of his drink.

roman smirks at him and takes hold of logan’s tie, gently leading him to a corner of the dance floor, rather than in the midst of the scrum of it, which logan appreciates; while he is perfectly willing to dance with roman, he is not so adept as to not make a fool of himself in the case of any impromptu dance circles.

there is, logan realizes once he listens to the lyrics, perhaps another motive of roman’s for dragging them into a less populated corner.

i’m telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe, but you keep frontin’, say what you’re gonna do to me, but i ain’t see nothing...

roman’s hands slide from logan’s tie to wrapping around logan’s shoulders, pulling logan so that they’re pressed up against each other, and logan grips roman’s hips, which are shifting sinuously to the beat.

“couldn’t dance like this at the chilton winter formal, could we?” roman says lowly into logan’s ear, and logan snickers.

“not unless we wanted to be lectured by mr. gardiner, no.”

“ugh, he was a fucker, i still haven’t forgiven him for being so strict about your math quizzes,” roman says, scowling. then, with a laugh, “no drawing lots to see who gets breathalyzed, no snooty rich kids to judge us—”

“i’m still surrounded by rich kids.”

“yeah, but your rich kids seem nice,” roman says thoughtfully. “‘cept for janus.”

“he’d take that as a compliment.”

“why did i bring up janus when i’m trying to grind on you,” roman mutters to no one in particular, and he then proceeds to handily distract logan by pressing impossibly closer. 

roman’s hands slide up logan’s shoulders to briefly cup logan’s face, then slide back down to squeeze his shoulders, using the movement to roll his hips against him, and logan’s world narrows down to the heat of roman’s body, the scent of roman’s sweat and cologne, the beat of the song thrumming through to his very bones.

roman twists in his hands, leaning forward, then standing back upright to lean against logan, swaying his hips all the whlie. he reaches a hand lazily back, dragging it down logan’s face before cradling logan’s jaw.

logan twirls roman back to face him again, his grip on roman’s hips tight and possessive, and logan leans in to devour roman in a kiss. he can feel the pounding of hearts against his chest, and they’re so close he’s uncertain whose pulse is whose.

⁂

“—I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHO TALK BEHIND MY BACK ‘CUZ A BITCH KNEW BETTER THAN TO LET ME HEAR!” jordan screams at the top of his lungs, along with the rest of his bros. all ten of them have piled back into edward’s car, and roman has taken over the aux, which is actually a phenomenal move, he has put on banger after banger. 

edward—the sole sober one in the car—is grinning to himself even as he turns into his parking spot near their house.

they all groan when he turns off the car, and therefore turns off the music.

“yeah, yeah,” edward says, good-natured. “everyone out, i wanna go to bed!”

everyone pours from the car, logan stumbling slightly when he jumps down from the suv.

“i’ve got you, my love,” roman says grandly, and squats before logan. logan snorts, slightly, but then proceeds to clamber onto roman’s back, accepting his piggy-back ride.

“onward!” roman declares, and jordan grins a bit, shaking his head, before he jogs ahead so he can open the front door for them. he watches logan giggle and mash his face into the side of roman’s neck, and he watches roman’s face glow.

the rest of the dudes kind of split off, from there. edward, true to his word, goes to bed; adam, derek, cory, and and andrew sit in front of the tv to start up a drunken game of mario kart; matt pours himself a glass of water and starts chugging it; jordan goes to grab his own water bottle from his room, because he has dish duty next and he doesn’t want to give himself too much trouble.

by the time he’s changed into more comfortable clothes and gotten his water, he runs into roman on the stairs.

“oh! hey, dude,” he says. 

“hey,” roman says. “uh, hey, do you guys have spare blankets and pillows and stuff, and where do you keep them? i figured i’d probably crash on the floor or the couch or something.”

jordan surveys him.

“yeah?” he says, in a tone that’s carefully neutral. they continue down the stairs together.

“yeah,” roman says casually. “uh—i know he’d wanna cuddle, but we’re both a bit drunk, so. got him some water, got him into bed, he fell asleep pretty quick.” 

jordan knows it’s the bare fucking minimum to take care of your drunk significant other, but he feels his respect for roman rise, even just a little bit. that’s a bro move.

“yeah, man,” jordan says. “uh—we’ve got blankets down in the living room, but some of the dudes are playing mario kart, so you might have a while to wait to free up the couch.”

roman brightens.

“oh, sick. does anyone play peach?”

jordan snorts. “you’re gonna have to fight someone for it.”

“bring it on,” roman says.

⁂

roman hums to himself, quietly, as he ascends the stairs. he has to take a couple minutes to juggle the plates in his hands to be able to open the door, but he succeeds eventually.

“rise and shine, nerdo,” roman sings, careful not to be too loud.

he sees logan stir, and, before roman can say anything in warning—

thump.

“fuck!” logan snarls, flopping back in bed with a hand to his forehead, glaring up at the ceiling that has grievously injured him.

“oh, baby,” roman says, setting down his plate on logan’s desk before he rises on tip-toes so he can see logan’s face. “lemme see.”

logan groans and pulls his pillow over his head.

“still a morning person, i see,” roman teases, before he nudges a plastic water bottle into the bed. “drink that, baby, it’ll make you feel better.”

“nerdo isn’t your best work,” logan grumbles, muffled by the pillow.

“yeah, well, i stayed up until three with the dudes playing mario kart,” roman says dryly. “birdo, nerdo?”

logan peeks out in time to grab the water bottle, squirm as upright as he can, and proceed to chug it as mechanically as possible.

“how’d you sleep?” logan says, once he’s drained about half of it.

“eh, fine,” roman says. “the couch is pretty comfy.”

logan frowns.

“it was couch or floor,” roman says, before logan can say anything. “i think we could maybe squeeze to fit up there, and considering we were, y’know—”

“i get it,” logan says.

“i was gonna make you a big breakfast, but,” roman says and hands over a plate with two pieces of toast sliced into triangles and slathered with crofter’s. “figured you’d like this better.”

logan smiles, taking the plate, and then leans wildly out of his bed in order to cup roman’s face and kiss him good morning.

the kiss is good. it’s very good. but—

“your breath stinks,” roman says, and logan chucks a pillow at him.

“you aren’t exactly a morning rose, either,” logan grumbles, and roman snorts, taking a bite of his own crofter’s with great fervor.

over their breakfast—logan in the bed, roman on the beanbag—they talk about their plans for the rest of the weekend; going on a walk around campus, going to see logan’s favorite spot in the library, getting tacos from the best little spot in town for lunch.

“granted,” logan says thoughtfully, “i have these ideas in place today, but we’ll see how the boys interfere with it.”

“i’d be fine if they did,” roman says.

“yeah?” logan says.

“yeah,” roman says. he grins up at logan. “wanna explain why they kept calling me step-daddy when i was making us toast?”

logan flops back on the bed with a groan, and, even with all of his theatrics, roman can tell logan’s very pleased that his boyfriend and his friends get along.

(they absolutely get along. roman has already promised to record a dance tutorial for them to “dancing queen” next.)

⁂

notes: major thank yous to @teacupfulofstarshine and @airiervessel for helping me flesh out the boys! songs in the order they’re mentioned: “love on top” by beyoncé, “wap” by cardi b. ft. megan thee stallion, “buttons” by the pussycat dolls, “thot shit” by megan thee stallion, “dancing queen” by abba.

[mrob-dream]

Lucky Charm - Sam Drake x F! reader - Part 2

Part 1

A/N: I decided to write another part of this one-shot (maybe I could do a third if I still have inspiration haha) And thank you for your feedback last time, it was very kind!

Word count:  1171

─────────

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I got this?” Sam asked you.

Sitting on the edge of the infirmary seat, Sam had the underside of his right eye beginning to turn slightly into a black eye and a bloody cut on his upper cheek. But he didn’t seem at all bothered by this, on the contrary.

“Ah because you didn’t do it on purpose to come here?” you answered sarcastically with a soft laugh as you sat on a chair next to him, pouring alcohol on a cotton ball.

You knew it was because of the recent fight in the yard. This wasn’t the first prisoner you’d seen come through today since the morning. Sam had been involved in the mess without really seeing it coming this time, but he only had a superficial injury compared to others. He was the last one to visit you.

“I could have, but I didn’t. Not this time,” he added with his charming voice and his grin that let you understand perfectly what he meant.

Sam wasn’t crazy enough to voluntarily injure himself to come and see you in the infirmary. But he didn’t hide the fact that he was particularly satisfied when he had to go there, most often because of a simple fight, which frequently took place in this prison. Moreover, thanks to his important torso wound, he had to be followed for a while until everything was alright.

“So you like feeling…this?” you say while placing the product on his wound.

Instinctively, Sam let out a slight hiss at the stinging sensation of the disinfectant.

“Hum, not really.”

He laughed and you did the same, while finishing to treat him carefully.

You had been working in that prison for three months now and Sam almost forgot his condition and his new life when he was with you. You gave him a bit of comfort and entertainment. And the idea that he would at least see you once a week made him happier. For your part, you enjoyed his presence more and more, especially talking and laughing with him. He was an atypical patient, respectful, kind, charming, although he flirted a lot with you, but that amused you.

And deep down you knew you were starting to get more attached to him than you should have, but something was still holding you back, knowing that it was probably not a good idea to go any further in this doctor-patient relationship you had started.

The time passed but ironically Sam still didn’t know your first name. He had only heard your last name and your age, so he kept calling you his lucky charm. And you still weren’t going to tell him, he had to guess. It had become a kind of game between you two.

And on the other hand you still had no idea what he was really doing in that prison in the beginning. One day he told you that he would reveal it to you, but he hadn’t done it yet. He had only described his younger brother and you could see that he cared a lot about him. So you didn’t dare ask him, afraid of awakening bad things. You gave him time to decide when he wants to do it.

“And voila! You’re almost as good as new,” you exclaimed with a smile.

“Already?” Sam answered with a small grimace as he touched his bandage on his cheek.

He had adopted a sad expression that showed that he did n’t want to leave right away. Every moment together was too short for him. And you didn’t want to leave him so soon either.

“Maybe I can do another quick checkup,” you decided to say.

It was the only way to get a little more time. And the guards outside were busy at the moment. You exchanged a smile of complicity with him.

────

A month passed but this time Sam’s visit was bittersweet after what you had just learned. Indeed, in a few weeks, you were going to have to leave this prison, having been reassigned to another place in your native country. And there was no way you could fight this decision.

Still in his usual place, Sam was animatedly reporting on the various gossip from the prison. Usually you listened carefully and reacted, but this time you paid less attention. You were just looking at him, lost in your own thoughts

The more you looked at him the more you felt your heart tightening painfully. You didn’t know if it was madness, desperation or the fact that this was the one and only time you were going to be able to do this, but you leaned your face towards him. You cut him off in the middle of his speech, placing your lips on his. It was a quick, brief kiss, but it was enough to make Sam open his eyes with shock when he realized what was happening. When you became aware of your act, you stepped back, your cheeks turning a bit red.

“I must say that this is the best method of healing,” Sam finally said with humor, even though he really meant it.

For him too, it was something he had always desired, but he had held back for a long time because of the condition he was in and he never wanted to ruin things between the two of you by going too far.

But the slightly goofy smile that had appeared on his face faded when he saw your expression. Your eyes were shining due to the sudden tears that had risen and you had lowered your head.

“What’s going on my lucky charm?” Sam asked with a soft voice but full of concern. “Was it that bad?”

He raised his uncuffed hand to rest it against your left cheek. His hazel eyes tried to meet your gaze but you avoided him. It was obvious that something was wrong and it was something else than the kiss, who had been perfect. You used to be cheerful, always with a sweet smile, but today you looked sad. Sam thought he should have paid more attention to this.

“[Y/N],” you suddenly decided to say. “My name is [Y/N].”

Sam was surprised again for a few seconds, then he looked delighted. His lips stretched again and his hand hadn’t left your skin.

“It’s a beautiful name,” he whispered.

You finally looked up at him and you couldn’t help but smile, although sadly.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Sam asked again.

“Yes, excuse me, I’m a little tired today,” you answered.

You were unable to tell him the truth right now. You felt horrible for that but you hated goodbyes. Revealing your name to him was a small compensation, but it was the only thing you could do for the moment.

You were hoping to have one last chance to see him before you left. But mostly what you would have wanted is to have met him in another life.

[humanitysstrongestmidget]

You couldn’t be more wrong, brat.

Summary - who would have thought that you being close to death, would make a specific captain realise his feelings and need to confess before losing you?

Pairings - Levi Ackerman x F!Reader

Warnings - a little bit of angst, some mentions of almost death and bandages on body, a little bit of sexual tension.

Request are open! :-) 

________________________________________________________________

It was a cold autumn day.

Grey clouds littered the usually oh-so-blue sky, drowning out the sun's rays. The result was a harsh, cold day, one that you could only experience with peace when you were inside, tucked away within a blanket and a hot, steaming cup in hand.

Rain shattered down unforgivingly upon the earth, yet it was welcomed all the same. The water from the clouds drenched the drought that had come this year, blessing the crops with new life.

On days like these, the members of the Survey Corps stayed within their dorms in Headquarters, although it wouldn't be atypical to find a soldier or two taking a late evening stroll throughout the town.

As for you, well... you were residing within the comfort of your dorm room, one that you shared with Krista. Krista was one of those soldiers who enjoyed a good, long walk along the trail in nature, and so you didn't expect her to come back before at least a few hours more had gone by.

Besides, she's with Ymir. The mere thought of what they were up to made a smirk bloom on your lips. It was no secret how much they each adored each other, as it was plain as day for everyone in the 104th Training Corps.

The weather was much too wet for your liking. So instead of accepting Krista's offer, you decided to take advantage of the situation and curl up within your dorm with your favorite blanket, black tea in one hand while your favorite book was in the other.

You were so engrossed within your book that you didn't hear the voices outside your door passing by, though that probably wasn't weird. Once you stuck your nose into a novel, nothing could take you out.

Outside your door, a 160-cm Windex Fairy floated by, followed by an over-hyper scientist that could rival Frankenstein's madness.

They were having an interesting conversation.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Why?!" Hanji hollered but was quickly silenced by a forceful kick to the shin. She shot the dwarf a look, a look that was meant to be sneering but ended up as a weird, disfigured smirk. "Oh, I get it. Shorty is afraid of girls."

At that moment, Levi spun around so quickly that he was merely a blur and yanked the scientist's collar down with brute force until they were face-to-face. A smirking face met with a stern, unamused one.

"Hanji, one more word, and I will personally see it that you won't be permitted to capture any titans on the expedition tomorrow."

"You can't do that!" Hanji yelled, obviously distraught at the thought of not being allowed to have a titan pet, "That's unfair and you know it!"

"Care to put me to the test?"

"No," Hanji made a mock sad face, "But I don't understand why you can't just march in, tell her how you feel, and be done with it. We both know that no one would reject humanities' strongest soldier."

"Hanji," Levi snapped, not noticing the approaching paddle of soft steps, "I will not. It was a mistake to let you know about this in the first place. Now shut up before I slaughter the titans you do have."

Hanji pursed her lips in a very immature pout, trying out her best doggy-face on Levi. Truth be told, it was ugly as hell and made him roll his eyes.

"End of discussion," Levi huffed, letting go of Hanji's collar so she could stand up once more. Levi watched as she slowly stretched and closed her eyes, only to smirk wickedly once she opened them again.

Confused, and a little panicked, Levi whipped around in one fluid motion. He had to fight to keep the undignified gasp from leaving his lips, instead opting to press his lips together tightly and dig into the floor with his heels with a lot more force.

"Uh," you stuttered, feeling like you'd just stumbled upon something you weren't meant to see, "G-good afternoon, Corporal, Squad Leader."

You put your right, closed fist over your heart and your left arm behind you, praying that Corporal Levi wouldn't notice the empty cup you held within your right hand.

Of course, the Gods wouldn't answer your prayer.

"Cadet," Levi said, voice calm and collected as usual. His eyes slowly ventured from your face down your body. Hanji took over the conversation as his eyes freely roamed your slender, smooth neck, imagining how your warm skin would feel against his lips.

They drifted lower to your collarbone, which merely peeked from behind your oversized, white shirt, almost as if you were intentionally teasing him.

Both your voice and Hanji's were dulled by a sudden ache to reach out and wrap his arms around you. And just as his eyes ventured even lower, almost to a point of no return for even the stoic Corporal, he stopped. For something had captured his interest far more now than what he was about to see.

A cup?

No, not just any cup.

His cup.

And what was that? Tea?

Levi took a delicate whiff of the air.

His black tea.

"Brat," Levi bit out, shutting both you and Hanji up. No, he wasn't angry. He wasn't even irritated, but something about you drinking from the cup that he had drunk from, and drinking a tea that was almost a part of his identity, did things to him that he would rather not display in front of anyone.

"Yes?" you all but yelped out. An involuntary squeak rose from your throat as Levi wrapped his fingers around your right wrist, bringing your thieving hand closer to his face. You looked to Hanji with eyes that screamed 'HELP!'.

And that fucker only grinned widely and shrugged, before skipping down the hall to her own chambers.

Thoughts of what you would do to Hanji for her betrayal was drowned out when Levi yanked your wrist, causing you to take a small step towards him in the process. The white, gold-rimmed cup within your hands rose to his nose, and he took a small sniff once again.

This is it, you thought, horrified when Levi's eyes snapped open to gaze into yours, this is how I die.

All you wanted was to wash off the cup in the kitchen and put it back before Levi would take notice, but just with your luck, you ended up right in front of him instead.

In an attempt to keep your life, you made the most sheepish and polite grin you could muster at the moment, shivering ever so slightly when rough fingers teasingly slipped from your wrist down your hand.

You fully expected stable-duty or castle-cleaning for the rest of your life, for your audacity at daring to touch Levi's special, hand-made cup.

Instead, you were thoroughly surprised when Levi gently took the cup from your hand with a; "I'll take this for you."

Stunned, you couldn't do anything other than fumble for an excuse for why you had taken his cup. You ended up with something the lines of; "Cup, kitchen, no more cups, Sir! Craving tea and, well, only yours remained."

Levi almost, almost broke into maniacal laughter right then and there. This was why the stoic Corporal had fallen for you. Not because of your skills as a soldier, or your titan-kills, or anything else that tied you as a cadet.

No, it was the ability to make him feel things he had forgotten about. The 'heartless' Corporal, Humanities Strongest Soldier, had simply found a person that was the epitome of 'happiness'.

Empathetic, funny, and very, very kind.

And he absolutely vowed to protect you. You had brought so much relief into his broken life, he craved you like a drug.

"Well, Sir, I gotta- uhm, well, I think I'll just head on in, I got a novel to finish, so," you stumbled over your words, making Levi's lips twitch upwards in the faintest second. Gods, you were too adorable for your own good.

"Goodnight!" you yelped, saluting clumsily while you sped-walked through your door, slamming it shut gently.

Well, Levi thought, relaxing his facial muscles to allow an automatic smile, that went well.

-

"You almost lost her."

The statement hit him like a thousand bricks. It washed over him, and he compared it to the feeling of being throw into ice-cold water.

With each thud of his heart, it increased to twice the speed.

He had almost lost you?

"Explain."

A sigh filled the quiet room, "It's exactly what I said, Levi. Had Armin not pushed her out of the way from that abnormal, she would have lost a lot more than a few inches of skin and her consciousness. She was half a second away from death."

His lips parted.

"How is she?"

Hanji's shoulders slumped. She knew that Levi swallowed the truth in one go, and was having a hard time processing it. Her dear friend had lost too much for any man to be able to handle, and he was at his limit.

If he had lost you... well, she didn't want to think about what would happen.

The cold wind from outside flowed within Levi's office, chilling the people down to the bone. But it was a good wake-up call and was therefore welcome.

"Not too bad," she shrugged, "a few bruises, some large cuts, a bad headache, and a slight concussion. Nothing overly serious, she'll be fine."

"Take her to me."

At that, Hanji snapped her gaze at the strongest soldier, confused. "You want her here? Why?"

The chair squeaked underneath Levi as he leaned backward, crossing his arms behind his head while he allowed the tiniest glint of amusement in his eyes. "Isn't it obvious?"

Hanji made an 'o'-shape with her lips before it melted into a wicked grin. "She might not be too mobile right now, but I guess that only adds to your advantage, huh?"

Levi didn't answer; instead, he nodded at his door, urging Hanji to go get you. She didn't need to be told twice.

As she trotted towards the infirmary across Headquartest, the scientist couldn't help but think back to the day she came to notice Levi's infatuation with you.

The Squad Leaders and Erwin were sitting at the Superior's Mess Hall Table, consuming their breakfast. Petra was asking questions about the upcoming expedition outside the walls, while Erwin and Mike calmly answered her. Erd and Gunther were conversing, and occasionally, Oruo would join in. Hanji was scribbling notes from her titan experiments, while Levi remained silent and observing.

The new cadets of the Survey Corps were inside the mess hall again. This time, they were not members of the Training Corps, but of the Survey Corps. It brought a small smile to Hanji's face.

A smooth and gentle voice came from the cadets' table, stirring her from her titan-occupied thoughts.

"Of course we'll live," someone said, voice hard and convincing, "this is not a win or lose life; it's a life that requires you to win through hardships. Someday, I swear, I will go even beyond the fucking ocean itself."

Hanji tore her eyes away from her notebook, then gazed upon the table not far away. A girl was standing up, her palms steady on the table, her chin tilted up. Her aura was pulsing with confidence, even though she was being stared at by her comrades.

"That's wishful thinking," someone hissed. A boy with light brown hair.

"Maybe for your small head," the girl hissed back with a smirk, "at least I have the guts to go bigger."

The statement caught everyone off guard, and the mess hall stilled. Even the quiet murmuring from the Superiors' table quieted down. Erwin's hands folded in front of his lips, blue eyes staring into the daring girl on the other side of the mess hall.

The girl didn't seem to mind; in fact, she whirled around to stare directly at the Superiors' table, a daring and big grin on her lips.

And that was when Hanji saw it.

Levi's eyes were shining. Nothing in his face betrayed his usual stoic and disinterested expression; except to those that really, and I mean really, knew him. Hanji saw it clearly.

Admiration. Interest. Fondness.

Hanji shook her head. It was no longer 'infatuation' that attached Levi to yourself. It was devotion and, by extension, love.

Knock knock

"Come in."

Hanji grinned and opened the door quickly, almost slamming it into the wall behind and making a dent. A startled girl jumped up from her position.

"Fuck, Hanji!" your heart almost beat up your throat. You swallowed thickly to relieve the lump.

"Y/N, my dearest cadet," Hanji purred, dragging out your name. Then, out of nowhere, she hoisted you bridal-style into her arms and bolted from the infirmary, out into the open.

"What the fuck!" you yelled, immediately clawing at the cackling woman's jacket, "Hanji! Set me down!"

"No!" she yelled back, a grin on her face so wicked that it sent a small shiver down your spine, "Shorty wants to see you in his office. Pronto."

Your eyes widened in pure fear. Oh no, you pray that he hadn't changed his mind about the cup-thing. What if he found a crack or a dent and wants to punish you?

Then again... what kind of punishment?

No, stop your dirty thoughts!

"Hanji!" you cried out, clasping firmly onto her forearms. Oh god, oh god, you had to think quickly, the main entrance to HQ was coming in sight. "I will give you my dinner for a week if you set me down!"

"Nope." Oh gosh, you were passing windows now- anytime now, the Corporal could pop out unexpectedly.

"Hanji, please!" you desperately tried to get her to slow down, but she simply wouldn't. Desperate times call for desperate measures. "Pleeeeaase! Save me, don't leave me alone with the Corporal, I'll do ANYTHING!"

"Nope," Hanji happily skipped on her way with you.

"He'll punish me with duties!" you cried out once again, now desperately tugging on her collar. You shrieked with all of your might when Hanji opened the door and disappeared through it... with you as a prisoner.

Unbeknownst to you, the Corporal had heard every little thing from his window on the middle floor. He still hadn't closed it, and he had been quite enjoying your struggle against the mad, and even more madly bulky, scientist.

And as your last words rang through his head like an echo, Levi let a bone-chilling smirk take over his features. Punishment? Linked with duties?

"You couldn't be more wrong, brat."

-

Levi met Hanji halfway.

The sight of you, bandaged in both legs and arms, made him frown. Obviously, your injured legs and concussion hindered you from walking. But despite that, the sight of you clad in only an oversized shirt and baggy shorts helped his case.

He'd had to take that advantage as well.

"I got your package, shorty!" Hanji cackled madly, stopping directly in front of Levi. You looked down nervously into your stomach, hands still fisted in Hanji's jacket with a death grip.

You didn't see Levi holding out his arms to accept you from Hanji, nor the way that Hanji made a motion with her hand.

In less than a second, you had been passed from being carried bridal-style by Hanji to being slung over Levi's firm shoulder, his right arm around your waist while his left arm wrapped around your upper-thighs.

"Squad Leader Hanji!" you cried, furious at your leader for handing you over so easily to your doom. When Levi tried to take a step forwards towards his office, another pair of boots followed his footsteps.

"Y/N, let go!" Hanji laughed. Apparently, you still had a fistful of Hanji's jacket, and even if she wanted to, she couldn't wriggle out of it.

"No! You're a traitor, if I'm going down, you're going down with me!"

A loud smack echoed in the empty halls.

Your ass hurt.

Levi had smacked your ass.

In your bewilderment, Hanji was easily able to wiggle free from your grasp with a laugh. Only when she turned the corner did you realize that your hands were empty of Hanji.

And then the hall became smaller and smaller in your vision. Levi was carrying you through the hall towards, no doubt, his office.

You heard a door open, and then he turned. You were staring into his office.

Shit.

"So," Levi's deep, velvety voice began. You gulped as he closed the door and locked it, effectively caging you in with him.

He turned again and walked a few steps, and then you were sat down gently onto something soft. You took a peek.

You were on Lance-Corporal Levi's couch.

The couch dipped beside you, and you looked quickly to see Levi spreading his arms on the armrest, crossing his legs while he looked intensely into your eyes.

"How're your wounds?" he asked.

You gulped and looked to your hand, flexing it ever so slightly.

"They're fine. They burn and are uncomfortable to have, but it's nothing I haven't tried before." That was a lie. You haven't ever had such severe wounds, and if not for the quick thinking of Hannes with his alcohol, you would definitely have gotten an infection.

Almost as if sensing this, Levi moved a bit closer to you, followed up by another question, "What happened?"

You gave him a confused look but brushed it off as just him being uncharacteristically curious, "The formation broke, and I was forced into unknown territory without my squad. I took to my 3DMG gear once we were inside the forest, and I guess I didn't look around properly. An abnormal jumped from below and almost took my leg with it."

"And Arlert saved you?"

"Yeah. Armin spotted it before I did, and he collided with me in time to push me out of its way."

Levi hummed. He had scooted closer for every second that ticked by while you talked, and his chest was almost pressed firmly against your shoulder.

The vibration from his hum suddenly stirred something within you, and you jumped from being startled, only to gaze up at Levi's face. You cursed your habit of sloppy leaning right then and there.

Out of nowhere, Levi's rough palm pressed gently into your left cheek, gently guiding you to fully face him.

The pure emotion in his face shocked you, to say the least.

Relief, contentment, and a small smile all displayed proudly on Levi's face. He bore everything, no facade to break and no wall to crush. He was being purely genuine.

"I heard that you almost died," he sighed, giving your slump body an up-and-down, "and I realized that I almost lost my chance."

"Chance?"

Levi then suddenly leaned in close. The tip of his nose brushed with yours, and you could do nothing but stared wide-eyed at the man who had somehow wormed his way into your heart.

Both of his hands cupped your cheeks, his thumbs stroking your upper cheeks. Intense steel eyes gazed right into your timid ones.

"I love you."

Levi gently put his lips on yours. You could tell that he was eagerly waiting for your response, and thank the gods that he had the patience of a saint, for it took you long, long seconds to finally respond.

The kiss was nothing heated, but that didn't mean that it did not contain passion. Levi poured everything into that one gentle and firm kiss. And you? Well... you couldn't help but be swayed along, pressing your lips firmly to his in response.

He broke it off, leaning his forehead against yours, both of your eyes closed.

"I love you too," you replied shyly. Levi Ackerman had taken your heart a long time ago already.

His hands slipped from your cheeks down your shoulders and to your sides, palming your figure appreciatively before he grabbed under your thighs, yanking you into his lap with a squeak of surprise from you.

His arms immediately snaked around your waist, while your thighs straddled his abdomen. You rested your head on Levi's shoulder, silently kneading his shoulder blades with your fingertips.

A slight nip on your earlobe made you pause, just enough time for Levi to grab onto your ass and stand up, taking you with him.

"Let me show you," he whispered into your ear, taking quick strides to the door you could only assume led to his bedroom, "how much I love you."

You nodded.

[happyandticklish]

Strange Feelings

Caleb is used to reading his boyfriend’s emotions, but when he encounters a series of strange ones he is forced to do some inner speculation and in the process discovers a secret Adam had been trying his best to keep hidden forever. 

They were messing around on Adam’s bed when Caleb first felt it.

Caleb was curved around Adam, pressing tight against his boyfriend as they kissed, something Caleb was delighted to see had become a constant part of their hangouts now that they were more comfortable with the whole dating thing. Caleb was running his hands up Adam’s sides, his fingers lifting the edge of his sweatshirt and brushing against bare skin. Adam shivered, grinning against his mouth.

“Your hands are cold,” he complained, shifting on the bed.

“Are not,” Caleb protested, squeezing the hand that rested against the other boy’s hip in retaliation for the slight. He wasn’t prepared for the way Adam jumped, his hand shooting down to block Caleb’s, and the nervous grin that now wobbled on his lips.

Caleb raised an eyebrow, sitting up and disentangling them. “What was that?”

Adam shrugged nonchalantly, staring determinedly out the window. Narrowing his eyes, Caleb reached forward speculatively, pinching his hip again. Adam squeaked, shoving his hand away. Slowly, Caleb began to smile teasingly.

“You’re ticklish,” he accused, delighted by this newfound knowledge. “You’re ticklish and you never told me.”

“No I’m not,” Adam denied immediately, and that was when Caleb felt it. That small mixture of panic and embarrassment and something else that Caleb wasn’t sure how to identify. It almost felt like… excitement? Adam locked eyes with him and for a moment nobody moved, unsure how to proceed from that moment. In the end Caleb was overwhelmed with the nerves radiating off his boyfriend and backed off, taking his hand instead.

“Alright,” he said, pulling him close once more. “I believe you.”

But even as the bubbly happiness returned, there was something else lingering. Disappointment. Caleb couldn’t help but dwell on it the rest of the evening and even as he returned home that night, the thought bounced around in his skull, trying to find a home.

He ended up bringing it up to Dr. Bright during one of their sessions, thinking maybe she could bring some clarity to the situation.

“Something weird happened the other day,” he explained, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice. It was always strange discussing his love life with an adult, let alone his therapist. “Um, when Adam and I were… uh, you know. Kissing.”

Dr. Bright raised an eyebrow, but otherwise said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“I felt something from him… it was like this weird panic excitement thing at first but then it was disappointed and I’m not sure what it means. I mean, it’s not like we were doing anything weird or anything, so I’m not sure what I did to make him feel that way.”

“Have you tried discussing this with Adam?”

“No,” Caleb admitted. “I kind of got the feeling it was because of something I did and I didn’t want to embarrass him or anything, or for him to deny it so he wouldn’t hurt my feelings. I just don’t understand what he was disappointed by. Like, was I doing something wrong?”

Dr. Bright smiled gently. “I’m sure it was nothing you did. You and Adam seem happy together. If anything was wrong, I’m sure it’s something you can work out together.”

Caleb shrugged. “I guess. I just wish I understood him better sometimes.”

Dr. Bright leaned back in her chair. “It’s completely normal to want to understand your boyfriend better. I think even Non-Atypicals have experienced that.” She paused speculatively. “What were you doing? Before he became disappointed, I mean.”

Caleb wrinkled his face, trying to think back. “We were just kissing normally I think… at one point I like, brushed against his side or something and I asked if he was ticklish and he said no and so I believed him and we just went back to kissing. But that was all that happened.”

Dr. Bright’s face cleared as he spoke and she coughed, sitting forward a little. “Well, that explains it. Most people have bad memories associated with being tickled. He probably thought you were going to try something.”

“No, but it wasn’t like…” Caleb struggled to explain what he felt. “I mean, I guess that could be it, but it didn’t feel like normal panic, you know? He was like, super freaked about it, more than you would be about just tickling. And he wasn’t just freaking out, he was also… kind of excited? Like, a mixture of anticipation and happiness and the butterflies, but all at once. What? You feel… weird now. Wait, why are you embarrassed?”

Dr. Bright chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I just think I finally understand what’s happening here. You said he felt disappointed after?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you say that was after you failed to tickle him?”

Caleb thought about it. “Yeah I guess so.”

Dr. Bright folded her hands in front of her on the desk. “I think there’s a distinct possibility that Adam might have wanted you to tickle him and was then disappointed when you failed to initiate anything.”

Now Caleb was really confused. “Wait, but I thought you said people didn’t like tickling.”

“Generally no,” she agreed wryly. “I certainly wasn’t much of a fan of it myself as a child. But for some people it’s a method of bonding, something that brings them joy and reminds them of pleasant memories. It different for everyone. I remember Mark used to provoke people into tickle fights all the time. I could never understand it, but it was what made him happy. Maybe that’s so for Adam as well.”

Caleb frowned, thinking back on it. Could Adam really have wanted him to tickle him? And if so, what was he supposed to do about it? He thought about the expression on his face, that shy grin, the way he didn’t move away at first, waiting for Caleb to make the first move instead. When he thought about it like that, it started to make a little more sense.

They continued the rest of the session discussing football season and how he was getting along with his other classmates, random, trivial things that couldn’t hold Caleb’s full attention. His mind was still focused on the pressing information just revealed. He needed to see Adam. He left the session an hour later, rushing out the door with hasty goodbyes, already pulling out his phone to text Adam if he wanted to meet up later that day.

Two hours later, the two sat on Caleb’s bed and Caleb could feel the nervous energy radiating off Adam, inevitable after the words we need to talk.

“So,” Adam said, clearly trying to sound less nervous than he felt. “What, uh, what did you want to talk about?”

Sometimes Caleb hated his ability. It could be a nice insight on people, sure, but it could be a real pain in the ass other times, like when he needed to have a serious conversation and had to deal with the anxiety of two people combined all at once. The conversation was difficult enough already. “Do you remember the other day? You know, when I was over at your house and we were watching that movie, the one about that detective lawyer?”

Confusion, worry, amusement. “I hardly call it watching a movie if you’re sucking face with your best friend the whole time.”

Caleb snorted shakily. “Yeah, true. But uh, on that subject, I actually wanted to talk about what happened while we were making out. The. Um. The tickling, that is.”

Idiot.

He looked up at Adam hesitantly and was hit with the exact same feelings as the other day, only doubled somehow. Caleb felt like he wanted to claw off his own skin and then have the ground open up and swallow him. He could only imagine what it was like for Adam. Adam was staring at him with a wide-eyed deer-in-headlights expression, a dark flush slowly overtaking his face. He quickly looked down at his hands, picking at his nails.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, voice a cadence higher than usual. “What about it?”

“I sort of felt something,” Caleb explained slowly, trying to be gentle about it and ignore the panic coming off Adam in waves. He could see the other boy’s shoulders tensing. “There was, you know, panic, but you were also excited. Like, really excited.”

“Oh god,” Adam groaned.

“So I talked to Dr. Bright about it—”

Adam’s head shot up. “You talked to your therapist about it?” he exclaimed, gripping his arms. “That’s… that’s private stuff, Caleb! What, do you discuss our entire sex life with your therapist?”

Caleb decided now was not the best time to bring up the phone call with Dr. Bright. “No! I just thought she could provide some insight! I’m not the greatest at this deciphering feelings thing, in case you haven’t noticed. I didn’t realize you liked me for months.”

“I know that,” Adam said, a little bit hurt. “But you could have talked to me about it instead of bringing some random stranger into it.”

“Dr. Bright is not some random stranger,” Caleb countered defensively. “And I thought you would be too embarrassed to talk about it, or just deny it or something. The point is, she brought up some good points, and I think she’s right.”

“Right about what?” Adam asked warily.

“Adam, do you like to be tickled?”

Adam didn’t look at him. His face seemed permanently tinged red and he was still staring at the floor like he wished it would swallow him at any moment. After a moment of hesitation, he said, “M-Maybe? It’s not, um, like a weird thing or anything and you don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, I mean, I completely understand—”

“Adam.” He looked up into Caleb’s soft, understanding gaze. “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s weird.”

Adam frowned. “Y-You don’t?”

“No. I mean, maybe a little. But not any weirder than you already are.”

Adam snorted sarcastically, the sound coming out a bit too forced due to nerves. “Thanks, I feel so much better now.”

“No, that’s not what I—” Caleb broke off, frustrated. “I meant that it’s okay if it’s weird. Everyone’s a little bit weird. I like that you’re weird. And this is no different.”

Adam bit his lip, staring up at him skeptically. “You’re really okay with it?”

“Of course I am.” Caleb leaned forward, wrapping Adam into a hug. Adam stiffened at first but eventually relaxed into it, reaching his arms around him as well. “It means I get to discover a whole new part of you.”

After a moment Adam pulled away, nervously tugging at his sweatshirt. “This is so embarrassing. I mean, I’m glad that you’re cool with it and all, it just kind of sucks that my feelings give me away all the time.”

Caleb cringed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. Kind of can’t help it though. Superpowers, remember?”

Adam sighed, giving him a tired smile. “I know. I’m more mad at myself than I am at you.”

He could still feel that anticipation, though it was slightly dampened now by relief and happiness, swirling around in Adam’s mix of feelings. Caleb hesitated for a moment, not sure if it was something he really wanted or if Caleb was just guessing wrong again. He had to ask though, just in case. “Do you want me to… you know…” he wiggled his fingers a bit for emphasis.

Adam blushed, burying his face in his hands. “Can you really tell?”

Caleb shrugged awkwardly. “Kinda? Not directly, but now that I know about it, it wasn’t that hard to put together.”

Adam peeked out from behind his fingers. “Are you okay with that? I mean yes, I do. Kind of. Yes. Do you want to?”

In answer Caleb tugged Adam closer by the hem of sweatshirt, pulling him so Caleb was sat right behind him. He slid his hands up his shirt, resting them on bare skin, and he felt Adam tense, goosebumps prickling along his skin.

“Cold hands!” Adam hissed.

“Oh yeah? How’s this for cold hands?”

Adam’s laughter was spectacular. At the beginning of their friendship it had been a rare thing, coming out only in sarcastic chuckles or a half-hearted huff. Then, as they got to know each other better and both began to open up, he got to hear more genuine laughter, the cute snort that came out whenever he wasn’t paying attention or the silent laughter he would slip into when Caleb made yet another stupid joke. But this laughter was different. It started out as sputtered giggles, Adam desperately trying to hold onto the last of his dignity as he struggled to stay still. Then Caleb discovered that his stomach made him absolutely dissolve and from then on it was a mess, Adam sliding down on Caleb’s lap, half-heartedly curling up as he cackled helplessly, batting away at his hands. It was genuine and carefree and Adam, and Caleb couldn’t believe Adam ever thought he would hate this side of him.

“Whahahait!” he squealed, his hands alternating from covering his face to flapping around uselessly. Caleb was repeatedly pinching his hipbone, each touch sending ticklish shocks throughout Adam’s body. “Noho, Cahahaleb!”

“You love it,” Caleb teased and Adam went bright tomato red, not denying him but instead dissolving into laughter once more. “I can’t believe I never knew you were ticklish. I’ll have to make up for lost time.”

“Ohoho my gohohod,” Adam giggled, arching back into him. “Ihihi—Ihihi cahahan’t! Tohohohoo muhuhuch!”

He whacked Caleb’s arm weakly, a non-official tap-out, and Caleb immediately backed off, wrapping his arms around Adam in a hug instead. Adam giggled quietly for a moment, twitching at every sudden moment, his arms wrapped protectively around his torso.

“You okay?” Caleb asked worriedly. Even if Adam did like it, he didn’t want to go too far.

“Yeah,” Adam assured him, entwining their fingers together around his stomach. “I just… wow. That was intense.”

Caleb nodded. “Yeah. I don’t understand how you were able to stand it. I’d never be able to hold still for that long.”

Adam slowly turned around, a familiar shit-eating grin on his face, and Caleb quickly realized his mistake. “You’re ticklish too? Caleb Michaels, big strong football player, is ticklish?”

Caleb was already backing away, holding his hands up in a position of surrender. “H-Hey now, this isn’t about me—no, wait, Adam no!”

Needless to say, the boys’ evening was filled with laughter and giggles, not that either of them minded, not really. 

[birdwonder]

just thought of the idea of Rohan using his stand on reader and seeing on their page they have a big crush on josuke so Rohan either teases them or helps them get together. i think the idea is cute

|| i am SO sorry this took a while longer than i usually take to write. my holiday has left me without a computer so writing long stories takes forever on a phone but i hope these 3,000 words make up for it :,) its 3am so i doubt i editted properly so ill go through it again tomorrow

Josuke Higashikata | Rohan’s Help / Confession

You and Rohan have been friends for a short time. Less than a year to be honest, and yet you two felt like you were as thick as thieves — an unstoppable duo when it came to your friendship. Both of you complimented each other so well, you being able to improve Rohan’s social skills and how he treated others, and Rohan had been making progress with you to be more confident. A kind yet self-loathing highschool student who is best friends with a prideful and stuck up manga artist, who would have thought?

In the small amount of time you two have known each other, you both have been able to pick on small quirks you had and tell-tale signs of your moods. For example, you were currently leaning on the side of Rohan’s desk as he scribbled away on a piece of paper, desperately trying to figure out a new and inventive pose for his next manga page. Your blank, dull eyes staring into the distance and lack of encouraging comments was all Rohan needed to know that something was up with you. Of course, he wasn’t the best at comfort, not when it’s so early into his progress of becoming a better person, so jumping straight to sympathy and questions was not his go-to plan.

“So, what do you think so far?” Rohan questioned with hope, holding up his sketch book with one hand and gesturing towards it with another, hoping that your thoughts on his work would be at least distracting enough from whatever was plaguing your mind. Unfortunately, you only glanced towards the sheet of stunning, detailed figures and hummed halfheartedly before returning to look at absolutely nothing with your chin pressed into the centre of your palm.

Groaning, the artist tore out the page dramatically to then scrunch it up into a tight paper ball, throwing it into the trash-can beside him in a small fit of annoyance. “Right then,” he burst out abruptly, two hands slamming on his desk and his chair scraping backwards as he got up to emphasis his change in mood, “you’re going to tell me what’s wrong right now because right now I can NOT figure out how to draw this next panel, and I can’t do it when you’re sitting here like a... a...”

“Like a what?” You piped up, one brow quirked up which gave you an atypically fed up expression, one so cold it almost sent shivers down Rohan’s spine.

“Like a killjoy!” He finally said, huffing and puffing his cheeks out. “You’re just sitting there, staring like a corpse and I’m actually trying to talk to you!”

Then, you faltered. Your tightly pressed lips tilted downwards and your brows lowered, returning your expression to it’s well known gentle and kind look, something Rohan had greatly missed the last hour or so. “Oh, I’m sorry Rohan, it’s just, oh never mind.” You mumble your last words, a strange pink tint along your cheeks that didn’t go unnoticed by the man who valued every single detail he saw.

Rohan then grabbed your shoulders firmly, forcing you to turn and look at him, his eyes narrowed with an intense stare boring into your own pupils. “[F/N], I refuse to take that as an answer, so let’s try again shall we? What. Is. The matter?”

You gulped a little, sucking in your breath while debating whether or not to tell your trusted companion about the problem that ridiculed you or not. You opted no. With a shake of your head, you gave an apologetic look and your frown only went deeper, “sorry Rohan, it’s really stupid and I just don’t want to say it. I mean, it can’t be solved anyways, so I’m sure I’ll get over it soon!” You placed a hand on his shoulder and forced yourself to smile a little, your heart swelling with some joy over the fact Rohan had clearly grown as a person - showing that he cared for the problems that bedevilled you was one large step from where he was when you first met. “Thank you though, really.”

Your gratitude and certainty may have been enough to rest anyone else’s soul, but not Rohan’s. He simply would not take ‘no’ for an answer. Sighing, he released his grip on you, giving you the message that he wasn’t going to pry anymore until he spoke, “I didn’t want to resort to this but you leave me no choice.”

Before you could question his words a familiar cry of “Heaven’s Door,” was yelled and you felt your body slowly feel lighter, almost weightless as you watched the skin on your face and arms unfold to reveal small prints of words, words you knew revealed everything there was to know about [F/N] [L/N].

Resistance was futile as you struggled to shift away from Rohan’s approaching form, the back of the chair and the wall behind you trapping you inbetween, prayers being your only tactic of getting out of the hectic situation. “Now let’s see,” Rohan hummed, taking a gentle hold of the pages attached to your face between his thumb and index finger, his eyes scanning each word carefully as though missing a single one would be detrimental.

“Rohan, please don’t,” you begged, fear arising in you from the idea that he would find out the cause of your sullen mood. Fear that was quickly picked up on.

“[F/N] [L/N], sixteen years old... Birthday is... Ah, here we are, something more modern. Cereal for breakfast, and currently stressing over the idea that Josuke Higashikata won’t like her...” Rohan’s out loud reading soon quietened and the look he gave you could only be summarised to ‘really?’

Once he pulled away from you, Heaven’s Door effects subsided and your skin was no longer detached from you. You sighed with relief that you were no longer in such a vulnerable state, calm until you began to lightly pound your fists against Rohan’s chest, unable to actually hurt him since you didn’t have to heart to. “Rohan, that was private information, how could you?!”

Rohan clicked his tongue, using only a finger to press against your forehead to push you away. The perks of you being so docile was getting you to stop any hint of aggression was easier than reciting the alphabet.

“I did it for you so I could help you with your problem!” He argued in attempt to defend himself and cringed slightly, speaking with venom in his voice. “How was I supposed to know that you were so worked up over that idiot and not something sensible?”

“He is not an idiot!” You retorted since you hated whenever either Rohan or Josuke insulted each other. Those two really had the potential to be friends with each other, they just never let it work. Regardless, your main concern was the fact your true feelings were revealed and in the worst possible way. You hadn’t meant for anyone to find out about how you feel, not when you were for sure that it wouldn’t matter in the end.

Josuke ... he was amazing. Friendly, strong, funny and whenever he looked with you with those kind eyes and a smile on his plush lips, your heart stopped only to restart beating 1000 beats per minute. You were certain that he was the most perfect person you had ever met, and every memory with him was greatly treasured.

Though you were almost certain he didn’t feel the same. You felt so small compared to him, figuratively that is, and everything he was good at, you seemed to fail at. Confidence, strength, styling the perfect pompadour; you couldn’t even compare to him, even if these all seemed like the most insignificant aspects ever. So, why would he want to be with someone who couldn’t reach his standards ? He wouldn’t.

Your internal self deprecation was silently evident to Rohan as you began to nibble on the bottom of your lip, dejectedly looking down like a lost puppy. No way was he going to let you keep that up, not when he had announced you as a friend to himself and actually cared about how you felt.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rohan groaned at what he was about to do although he knew it was going to be worth it if it meant you weren’t ruining your hang out times anymore. “Alright, we’re going to make you confess to Josuke.” He declared, catching you off guard, and you weren’t able to even question him as a single finger was suddenly pressed upon your lips, sealing your mouth shut with one simple movement.

“Listen and remember this well, [F/N], you are perfect the way you are and as much as I would hate to see Josuke gain anything he doesn’t deserve,” he paused to retract his hand from your face and instead ruffled your hair, treating you like a younger sibling for a second, “I know being with him would make you happy, so I’m going to help you confess your entirely questionable and possibly delusional love for that delinquent.”

You blinked up at Rohan a few times, mouth agape. There was no way that this was happening, just who was this guy and where was the real manga artist you knew?

“Rohan, I appreciate you wanting to help me, I really do, but there’s no need! It’s a lost cause, let’s just get back to what we were doing before - poses right?” Your attempt to change the subject was quickly brushed off like dust on Rohan’s shoulder when he pinched your nose, an audible ‘ow’ squeaking from you.

Your resistance to the situation was irking Rohan to no end, his drive only stepping on the gas each time you tried to refuse his assistance. There was no way he was going to let you suffer in silence. Besides, if he helped two young, dumb and lovesick teens get together then maybe he could have some insight on how to work around the more romantic scenes of his manga, if he was to ever implement them.

“I’m not taking no for an answer. This is going to happen and you’re going to thank me for it,” the green hair male stated, eyes heavily trained onto you. You gulped.

You really didn’t know where this was going to go.

——

A band of raging drums had surely replaced your heart.

The hammering sound of sticks against percussion instruments was practically akin to the violent, frantic rhythm that pounded against your chest with the diagnosis resulting to be nervousness.

You sucked in your breath and released the built up carbon dioxide by muttering words of encouragement that Rohan had taught you to rehearse to yourself in case of situations like this. Ironically, he was the one who had put you in this nervous wreck state. His vow to have you confess to Josuke had stuck through pretty solidly leaving you in a cute outfit you definitely could not have afford on your lonesome, [Thank you Rohan.] and standing in front of your crush’s door.

Gulping, you began to hype yourself up.

‘I can do this! I can totally do this. No problems here, none at all!’ The repeated phrases were practically a religious mantra at this point; if you were to even dare forget a single one you’re certain life would be a living Hell. Well your stresses shouldn’t matter anymore, you were here now. Just knock. Knock and say what’s on your mind!

The unremitting worries failed to cease however , eating at your brain like parasites that were only starting to leave once you gathered enough courage and balled your hand into a fist, rapped against the wooden door.

It took less than a minute for the door to be unlocked and opened, revealing the tall, well built figure of the one and only - Josuke. For some reason you felt as though none of this actually happening right there and then, like it was some dream or even a nightmare you were going to wake up from any second. You quickly rubbed your eyes to see if that was true. When you opened them, he was still there, his usual stylised school uniform replaced with a regular white t-shirt and dark blue jeans. It wasn’t an unwelcome look but certainly threw you off for a second seeing as it was rare to see him wear anything other than his uniform.

“[F/N], hey!” He greeted,his eyes seeming to light up at the sight of you while a hand gripped the door frame, “didn’t think it’d be you at the door. What’s up?”

The moment he smiled at you, you knew that you had to this. How he instantly had made you feel relaxed would have seemed impossible to you five minutes ago, now you felt as though things would go perfectly. If not for the persistent nagging voice in the back of your head.

“Hi Josuke! I was hoping that I could maybe uhm, talk to you! About something that is. Something really important.” Your wavering voice had caused some concern to flash in Josuke’s eyes; the way he looked down at you with such a caring expression made you want to hide your face into a pillow and squeal.

He responded easily with, “oh sure, is everything alright?” Really, you weren’t even sure if things were alright or if they were going to be at all.

You doubts rose up again and a jumbled ball of words was suddenly caught in your throat, countless words and ways to say your thoughts conjuring up but not a single thing is said. If only you had more confidence — Rohan had spent so long trying to get you to perfect your confession and despite all that effort, you were still struggling.

Glancing down, you noticed that your fingers were a plain sign of your awkwardness. They constantly switched from fiddling with the fabric of your outfit to thumbs twiddling with each other, neither things helping you in the end.

“[F/N]...? You don’t look like your usual self, where’s that cute smile of your’s, huh?”

Oh god, did he just call your smile ‘cute’? Did that just make talking even harder or ten times easier? This boy was going to be the death of you!

Teeth lightly nibbled on your low lip as you argued in your head what to do. You really don’t know if you could ever have the courage to even approach him like this, let alone think about asking him out. Besides, all of Rohan’s efforts would go to waste.

“Josuke!” The sudden change of your volume had clearly surprised the teenager, his brows raising. “I— I have something serious to tell you and I’m sorry for making it so weird so far, it’s just really hard to get through what I want to say.”

Facing him was just too much. You couldn’t handle the idea of looking up to see an uncomfortable, angered, disgusted or any expression that would send you hurdling down a pit of regret. Instead, you stared down at the ground although you paid no real attention to it, your hand clutching at the clothing over your heart, almost as though you were trying to steady the rapid beating drums within your ribcage.

Taking in a deep breath, you continue, “I’m not the best at being outgoing or confident, and as my friend I know you know that, and you’re the exact opposite! You’re bold and kind to everyone and everything about you is incredible. Saying this I think I fully realised why I lo—.”

Again, the words are caught in your throat and you’re visibly struggling, almost choking on what you want to say. None of it goes unnoticed by Josuke, who had been initially taken back by the praise and tone you were using. His smile quickly returned when things became obvious to him, much softer and sweeter than before, his plush lips turning upward all thanks to your adorable stuttering.

He reached out with a large and surprisingly softer than you would have guessed hand, his palm resting against your cheek as he guided you to look up at him with both your eyes staring into each other’s.

“Do you want to come inside?”

The question was short and simple though it still took some time to process. You made a small, questioning ‘eh’ sound to which Josuke laughed at.

“You don’t have to stress so much, whatever you’re going to say I’m sure I’m going to like hearing,” he told you, stepping to the side so that you now had room to enter his house, a hand gesturing for you to come inside. “Maybe things would be easier if we had something to drink? My mum’s not home so we can watch a movie too!”

You had no idea how things got to this but you didn’t want to ask. If what Josuke said was true and that he was really going to like whatever you said then, why rush? It was probably better to wait for when the atmosphere was much more relaxed anyways. Things just seemed more right that way. The relationship between you and Josuke were always so casual so it was best to confess just like that. He was a serious God send to be so nice and understanding.

You mouthed a ‘thank you’ before walking through the door with small pep in your step and butterflies swarming in a welcomed fashion in your stomach. Josuke followed you, closing the door behind him as the two of you started to strike up a conversation about your week and what movie the two of you wanted to watch, every worry and care flying free and becoming lost in the sky.

From across the street stood a smiling manga artist, ready to walk home with nothing but pride in his heart for his shy and growing friend. All he really had left to worry about was whether or not Josuke would treat you right.

[imagine-loki]

It was his idea

TITLE: It was his idea

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: One-shot

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: After the Chitauri attack on New York, imagine Loki being sentenced to public service on Earth, specifically in aiding people who got hurt during the attack. His magic has been limited to only be enough to aid keeping Odin’s spell in place so he wouldn’t turn blue. His task is to help people with special needs, to do house chores, help them get around, do their grocery and keep them company while they recover. He is assigned to a girl who ended up blind after one of the Chitauri shot at her.

 +

i’d love an imagine where Loki turns someone looking for him into a long and convoluted game of marco polo or something

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: I told y'all that prompt was giving me ideas. And now look at where it’s landed us! Face-first into a load of fluff! Sickly sweet fluff! Warnings of language and very soft Loki. Related to I signed up for this & I signed up for this, too.

=

Loki prided himself on his responsibility. Whenever he committed to something, he saw it through to the very end. It was a point of pride and he would be damned if, living on Midgard, he would let go of one of the fundamental traits that made him, him. So, when Stark had mentioned a reduction of his total workload, including the disappearance of a certain name on his roster, he did what every responsible, principled adult would do… he pretended not to have been informed.

And it wasn’t like that person had complained or made absolutely any mention regarding his continued presence. In fact, they often made plans with each other–books they want to read together, albums to listen to, meals to prepare together. It wasn’t his fault. It just made him atypically nervous to think of her alone in her apartment, clumsy and lonely. And, no, this was not some silly sentimentality… he was just fulfilling his promise. He just had a conscience. Wasn’t that the very reason he had been sentenced to this stupid little experiment?

Loki took the steps up to Charlie’s apartment by twos, his long legs easily climbing up to the fifth floor with an ease that belied his centuries of training. He could have used the elevator, he knew, but there was something incredibly awkward about being stuck with someone else in the small metal box for what seemed like an eternity (though he knew the trip was barely a paltry few seconds). He would very much rather just take the stairs. He needed the exercise after all the lounging he had been doing lately, anyway.

The front door was unlocked, as usual, despite Loki’s many warnings that it was unsafe for her to do so. Not that Charlie ever listened to more than half of what he said. She was a dear and seemed to like him well enough, but he would be lying if he said that she tended not to put a whole lot of weight behind his words of warning. Especially when those words of warning were mocked back in a perfect imitation to his own accent and cadence. He should have found her attitude irritating–she was obstinate. Like a mule. A very, very cross mule. It made him smile.

However, there was no way he could, in good conscience, just let her mock him. At least not without the littlest bit of payback. Loki had decided quite a few weeks ago that if she was not going to listen to what he said, he wasn’t going to talk, at all. Not in any significant manner, anyway. Not until she was forced to listen. He couldn’t decide if he was being brilliant or cruel, if he was honest. He hadn’t just brought this idea up on a whim. In fact, he would be ashamed to say how many books and research articles he had devoured on the use of similar techniques. Still, he was so taken by her cautious precision and reluctantly excited intensity that it was difficult to give the negatives any thought, even when she got annoyed.

Silent as the night, he slipped through the front door and closed it behind him. Charlie was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping on a glass of water. Nothing in her demeanor betrayed that she had heard Loki come in. In fact, she was perfectly content to hum to herself while she drank, seemingly waiting for that same Asgardian to arrive. Loki smiled to himself, putting his bag down and clasping his hands behind his back as he tiptoed around her to the living room.

Charlie bristled, sitting up straight after being slouched the entire time he’d been watching her. “Loki?” Her body shifted left and right and tilted her head, as if she would be able to see where Loki had gone off to, if she could even tell he was there. “I can smell your soap. You might as well have taken a soak in a pine tree smoothie.”

So, maybe she could tell he was there.

Her fingers itched at her scalp, a nervous fidget that Loki found her doing quite often. It left her plentiful curls all the more mussed and wild than what they usually were, though he found it quite cute. He noted that her locks were still slightly damp from an earlier shower, to which he tacked on the blame for the smell of sweet oranges floating in the air. Another fidget brought him to smile, especially now that Charlie was barely holding on to that annoyed groan rumbling at the back of her throat.

Charlie grit her teeth exceptionally tight and her eyes fell closed in irritation. “Marco.”

Loki snorted immediately. “Polo.”

“I fucking hate you. This has to be mistreatment.” He smiled, though he said nothing in response. Charlie seemed conflicted between throwing something in the general vicinity of where she thought he was and actually playing his game.

Focus, Charlie. Don’t rush, Charlie. You know there’s a chair there, Charlie.

His words rattled noisily inside her head, despite her best efforts to be rid of them. They were well-intentioned, as was this whole stupid game. She was just astoundingly bad at it. Half the time Loki had to remind her of the furniture that was in her own apartment, even though she navigated it just fine when she was on her own. The demigod riled her up in such a way that she often tripped and cut corners, until she inevitably ended up on the floor. Having to admit that he was right and that she did jump the gun whenever he was in her abode was more irritating than the game of cat and mouse he had concocted. And that’s not even admitting that this foray into sound sensitivity had improved her accuracy of every day tasks a considerable amount. 

“Marco.” She slid out of her seat and readied herself to follow the voice.

“Polo.”

He sounded further away than he had a moment ago, and Charlie swallowed the urge to scream. “Marco.” A whisper of a touch ran across her shoulders, over the skin exposed by her dress. She shuddered against the feeling and turned on a dime, eagerly pawing at the air and coming up empty.

“Polo.”

He sounded like he was in the kitchen now. Turning back around, she stepped lively towards his voice. While her mind was quick to pinpoint the exact location where she knew Loki was now standing, it seemed so focused on its task that it failed to remind her of the possible obstacles in her path. Several steps in, and her progress was halted by the tangle of her legs with something on her way. Her brain went into fuzzy panic as her feet flew out from under her and there was nothing to do but brace for the inevitable impact.

The breath got knocked out of her. Not by the floor, but by a sudden jolt in her momentum.

“I’ve got you, dove. Never fear,” he murmured into her hair as she clung to his shoulders like a lifeline.

“I hate you,” she repeated, though the phrase lacked conviction. Because it never mattered how many times she would trip and fall, he was almost always ready for a save.

“And, yet, you’re still holding onto me.” He was right. He had set her on her feet, but Charlie’s fists remained tangled in the fabric of his soft cotton t-shirt.

“Because the second I let you go you’re gonna start with the Marco Polo shit again,” she huffed. “Echolocation is clearly not for everyone.”

A second later she pressed her forehead into his chest and sagged into him. Loki chuckled under his breath and held her loosely to himself. She was warm and smelled like an orange grove and it distracted him long enough that he could quickly shove away the voice in the back of his head trying to guilt him. He was a monster. He couldn’t fix this. This would never be enough. On occasion he still wholeheartedly agreed, but maybe that was OK, to be that imperfect.

“What did you trip over?” He quizzed in an attempt to reign in his thoughts.

“The credenza. Again.”

“You know where everything is, Charlotte. Don't–”

“Rush to get to anything or you’ll forget in your haste,” she finished, imitating his cadence and accent perfectly. He laughed again and gave her a squeeze.

“If you spent half as long getting a sense of your surroundings as you do practicing that voice, you’d be crime-fighting through the city streets by now.”

“Color me uninterested, demigod.” The crisp, precision of her vowels prompted him to roll his eyes. “I can hear you rolling your eyes.”

“Me? Roll my eyes? Blasphemy,” he joked. Loki released her somewhat reluctantly, allowing Charlie to settle back in her seat at the kitchen table and himself a quick moment to survey her.

Charlie was wearing a flowy, canary yellow sundress, her feet bare as they swung back and forth beneath her seat. Despite her grumbly attitude, she looked bright–just short of incandescent–and it nearly hurt to watch her. Another set of voices, different from the first popped into his head, but these he promptly squashed and disposed of into the abyss before he could give them any mind. They, too, were distracted by the contrast of colors between her skin and clothes, and the flouncy ruffle at the bottom of her skirt. She looked pretty and he decided just then and there that it would be a waste for it to stay within those four walls.

“Let’s take a walk.” He dipped silently into her bedroom, grabbed a pair of sandals out of her closet, and dropped them into her lap with a pat on the head.

“And go where, exactly?”

“The park would be nice. We can grab some ice cream and–”

“And, what? Enjoy the greenery?” The sarcasm accompanying her smirk made him proud and exasperated in equal measure.

Loki sighed. “You haven’t been outside in a month. And last time it was to see, and I quote, that fucking fool of a neuro-ophthalmologist.” He kneeled on the floor in front of her. “Come on. Let’s get some sun, stretch our legs.” His fingers drummed on her knees, while he stared hopefully up at her face. Charlie frowned.

“You’re aware that I physically can’t see whatever stupid puppy dog face you’re making at me, right?” Her hazel eyes had still zeroed in on him in, regardless, when his hands caught hers on her lap.

Though his cheeks were now burning and his brain berated him for letting that detail, the whole reason he was here in the first place, momentarily slip past him. “Please.”

“Hard pass, buddy.” Loki sighed, getting back to his feet. Even though Charlie was all-in-all in a better place emotionally, he knew that she struggled with being out among people. More often than not, she would get overwhelmed by the ambient noises of the city, which at one point in her life had lulled her to sleep. She also complained about the fact that she could feel people’s gazes on her every time she stopped at a crosswalk or walked around a store. She said they felt heavy and awkward, though as often as Loki caught himself simply staring at the young woman, he wondered whether or not she was just picking up on his own brooding intensity.

He pressed a kiss to her crown before going entirely silent. Charlie groaned knowing exactly where this was going. “Don’t you fucking dare.” Her hands swiped in front of her, closing around empty air. “Ugh, Loki!” There was more silence. Muttering under her breath, she slipped on her sandals. “Marco.”

“Polo.” His voice carried the richness of laughter that Charlie would be more than happy to slap out of his system if it weren’t for the fact that she couldn’t physically find him.

Charlie stomped her feet. “You know, I can just stay inside, right? I don’t have to hang out with you.”

Loki shrugged, leaning against the open doorway. “Then, don’t.” She was glaring in his direction, arms crossed over her chest. After a moment, her shoulders slumped, the thought that he had actually left crossing her mind.

“L-loki?” Charlie’s voice was barely above a whisper and the little notch that formed between her brows when she was concerned, deepened. “Lo?” He forced himself to breathe deeply, inhaling and exhaling as loudly as he could to tip her off, and her body immediately relaxed. “Marco.” Her voice was still small.

“Polo, darling.” She rolled her eyes and made her way towards the door. “Mind your fingers,” he remarked as he closed the door behind them. “Come along. Stay close.” He narrowly avoided her hands when she reached out to grab him. “Just listen and you’ll be alright.”

Charlie whined and pouted. “Yeah, until I walk into oncoming traffic because I can’t hear you over the sound of cars.”

“Have I ever allowed you to come to harm?” Charlie reluctantly shook her head. “I promise I will make sure you don’t get mowed down by traffic. I just don’t want anyone to think I’ve abducted you from your home.”

“Why would they think that?”

Loki chuckled. “I’ll give you a second to remember who I am, Charlotte.”

Charlie smirked. “Oh. Right. Alien attack. Enslaving humanity. That rings a bell.”

“Funny. You’re very funny,” he quipped, deadpan. He quietly walked backwards towards the elevators. “First one’s free. Polo.”

—

“M-marco?” Charlie wobbled over a dip in the grass. An arm swept around her waist and pulled her off her feet, carrying her easily across a distance she could not quite estimate.

Loki tutted under his breath. “I would think you would put up a little more of a fight when someone suddenly carries you off.”

“You smell like a Christmas tree,” she explained simply, sinking easily onto the soft grass she was set down on. Something cold was shoved into her hands and she frowned. “When did you stop for ice cream?”

“You truly do not pay a lick of attention when people are around, do you?”

Charlie giggled, licking her ice cream cone, happy to find a rich chocolate custard on her tongue. The sun was glinting off of her tanned skin and her eyelashes cast shadows over her cheekbones. The combination of the light and her dress made her seem like she was glowing. Loki shook his head, ridding his brain of those uncalled for thoughts as if he were one of those damn mortal drawing toys Stark called an Etch-A-Sketch. However, her second giggle in as many minutes proved more than effective at distracting him.

“What ever are you laughing about, Miss Camden?” He leaned forward and caught an errant smudge of chocolate on her cheek with his thumb.

“You’re an idiot.”

Loki guffawed. “You’ve awful manners, you know.” He bit down on his frozen strawberry bar to give himself time. “No, really. What are you laughing at?”

“It’s not people.” Her tone was matter-of-fact.

“That makes even less sense than your snickering.”

“You say I don’t pay attention when people are around. That’s not true. It’s not people. It’s you.” Loki’s heart stuttered so hard he dropped his treat. Charlie laughed again, throwing her head back as her shoulders shook. Her arm held her cone out in his direction. “Come on, I can hear the despair in your soul. And the thud of a popsicle. I know the sound well.” He bent to catch a drip off the side of the cone at the same time she gestured again. Another fit of giggles overcame her. “I swear all that wasn’t on purpose.”

“Yes, of course, it wasn’t,” he grumbled wiping away at the mess of chocolate on his face with the hem of his shirt.

“You know I can’t tell when you’re close, Marco.”

“Polo,” he replied, reflexively, sparking another giggle. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious. You’re just frazzled.” She took another lick, bouncing excitedly in place. “I would pay a hefty sum just for a peek at, y'know, all that deer in the headlights action,” she trailed off, gesturing at her face with her free hand. Fingers wrapped around that same hand, giving her a startle. The soft fabric of a handkerchief was wiping at her digits before dabbing at the very corner of her mouth.

“You’re a mess,” he whispered, touch lingering on her face far after her skin was clean.

“Loki…” His name in such a delicate, innocuous tone fascinated him more than any mystery anyone else could spin.

Loki shuffled closer, swallowing thickly. “Yes?”

“I have ice cream dripping down my hand. I kinda need to deal with it,” she replied, smirking. He released her all at once and watched as she tidied up her cone with an easy smile, though he himself was fighting the urge to scream in sweet, aching frustration. When Charlie offered her cone again, he held her hand steady as he had a taste to appease her insistence. However, the pit in his stomach that had opened up a few minutes prior did not allow him to have much more than that. “I’ve known you for eight months. Is it that incredibly surprising that I enjoy your company or, what?”

“Enough to purportedly have you zone out or trip over things? A little,” he admitted. Charlie shifted just enough to lean into his side, pointedly ignoring the gentle shudder that ran through him and echoed through her. He was extremely grateful for the fact that she seemed to be more concerned with whittling down her ice cream than with his suddenly anxious disposition. He channeled the anxiety into doting concern and let it bubble over. “Are you alright? Not too hot? Maybe I should have brought an umbrella to block away the sun–and you’re laughing again.”

“It’s not malicious.” She pinned her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from another laugh.

He shook his head good-humoredly, with a secret smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I know.” His index finger wrapped around a corkscrew-like curl. “You don’t have a single malicious bone in your body.”

“You don’t know that. I might be really mean,” she riposted.

Loki chuckled. “I merely have a feeling.” He tugged the curl and watched it bounce back before he picked another to repeat the process. “Do you want to go back home?” He asked, now worried about pushing her too far, too fast.

“We can stay a little longer. I’m enjoying myself.”

“I’m glad,” he muttered against her temple before kissing her there. He flushed. Loki knew the affectionate gesture had become a bad habit, as of late, but he justified it as an innocent token–a non-verbal reminder that he cared for her. For her wellbeing, his mind hastened to add.

The phone in her pocket buzzed insistently and he bit back a groan. Of course Stark would find a way to ruin even this. He pulled the device out as Charlie crunched on her cone with a ghost of a smile still lingering on her face. “Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m, er, at the park.”

“I know you’re at the park. I’m asking what you’re doing.” Loki frowned, turning his head this way and that to find where the billionaire was watching from. “Left.” In the distance, Tony and Pepper both waved at Loki. Pepper seemed to have been trying to suppress laughter while Tony was favoring a half-hearted glare. “I thought I told you Charlie switched off of the chores service.”

OK, so perhaps Loki did a little more than pretend he was not informed of his schedule changes. Like, actively ignore the whole conversation, altogether. Loki could barely make out Pepper saying “chores? Is that what they call it these days?” beside Tony, over the line.

“Yes, you said.”

“Is that Tony? Is he mad because I’m enabling you in playing hooky?” She asked, brushing crumbs off of her face with the cleaner hand.

“I guess he is–wait, you knew I was…? Why didn’t you say anything?” He asked, ignoring Tony’s complaints coming over the line.

Charlie’s empty gaze seemed to stare at him for a long moment before she pinched the bridge of her nose, and inhaled deeply. “Oh, I was kidding earlier, but I think he really might be an idiot,” she muttered to herself. She gestured with an open hand. “Let me talk to Tony.” Blinking confusedly, Loki handed over the device and she raised it to her ear. “Hiya, Tony. Yeah, we’re just hanging out. Was he expected anywhere else?” There was silence, and up ahead Loki could see Tony pacing as he spoke. “Oh. Then what’s the big deal?” She laughed, pulling the phone away slightly from her ear as she winced. “Jesus, Tony, I promise to have him back home by midnight with his virtue intact. I promise.”

Loki’s head snapped towards Charlie so quickly he felt it gave him whiplash. Charlie was wearing a large smile, head tilted slightly to the side as she listened carefully at the man freaking out on the other side of the call. “Tony, I am not spelling it out twice in one day.” There was a pause. “Yes, I did have to, and I’m not entirely sure he actually understood.” Charlie covered the mouthpiece and craned her head closer to Loki’s. “He’s here, isn’t he? I can hear the ice cream truck on his end.”

“Yes. A hundred meters, maybe,” he replied quietly.

He watched her deftly press the End Call button on the touchscreen and hand the phone back. The hand tucked against his side slid easily up his arm to his shoulder and stopped on his jaw. Her thumb barely brushed at his bottom lip and he could feel all the air in his lungs leave in a rush. Surely, he wasn’t still awake. Her lips nudged his more easily than he thought they would, tasting of chocolate and waffle cone and sunlight. Oh, he would be so angry if this turned out to be a dream.

“CHARLIE!”

Loki startled backwards at Stark’s voice hollering over the din of the park. He’d never had an out-of-body experience, but he reckoned this what that felt like. Tony was cutting right through throngs of people on picnic blankets and lawn chairs while Pepper attempted to persuade him back to their run.

“Time to get really good at Marco Polo, Lo.”

“Shit. Polo, Polo, Polo.” He hissed, snatching her hand in his, pulling her to her feet and sprinting off into a thicket of trees.

They stopped running only when the burn in their lungs and their legs was too much to take. Loki laughed, loud and rich and rumbly, pushing the shaggy mess of his hair back away from his face. Charlie was flushed, curls in disarray and leaning against an elm and panting to catch her breath. He sighed contentedly. Crowding her form against the tree, he buried his hands in the twists and turns of her mane before joining their mouths, relishing the way she tugged at his t-shirt to pull him impossibly closer.

“I was trying to say that I liked you, earlier, if that wasn’t painfully obvious–”

“Yes, yes. I get it,” he chuckled, leaning his forehead on hers. “Just, why?” The voices in his head were fixing to creep up and put a veil of gloom on his cheery heart.

“You’re my favorite monster. You’ve never made me feel like I needed to be fixed and that… has been more than enough.” Her fingers were making tidy circles into a bare strip of exposed skin at the hem of his t-shirt, sending a quiver down his spine at the sheer gentleness of the action. Loki felt a hairsbreadth away from falling apart in the most cathartic of ways. “Even though you felt guilty, you always treated me like a person, not a project, and… well… you kept coming back so I’m guessing you kind of–” He peppered her entire face with kisses, causing her to break out in giggles.

“Oh, Stark is going to have my head,” he whined as he forced himself to make space between them, lest he spend the next several hours snogging the life out of her.

“Why would he?” She asked, and there was a glimmer in her expression that seemed just short of dangerous. “Giving you the chance to play hooky with me was his idea.”

[kindrednerdspirit]

Sometimes A Thing Feels so Right: Part 2

Excerpt: Maybe she should be grateful she even knows someone could make her feel the way Newton does. Lately, though, it’s hard to feel grateful. Izzie is back to the ol’ numb-your-emotions-to-get-through-the-day routine. Her mum left again. No note, no nothing, just unanswered questions and disappointed kids.

TLDR: Timeline is after Season 3, Episode 9. It’s canon, except Izzie and Casey have not made up. Also, Evan and Casey are close friends, not just awkwardly figuring out how to be friends. Excuse the roughness, this is a work in progress.

The timeline for this story is after Season 3, Episode 9. I felt like the time in between the party where Izzie kisses a random guy (E9) and the part where Casey and Izzie make up (E10) could have been longer. It wasn’t necessarily rushed, but there was lots of potential to add more, especially in regards to Izzie’s internalized homophobia. I thought it would be fun to flush out Izzie’s feelings, and show her coming to terms with being gay. She realizes it’s not worth hiding a part of herself, especially if it means losing Newton.

Everything is the same as canon, except Casey and Izzie have not made up. Also, Casey and Evan are close friends. I think S3 E10 ends on a note where they’re friends, but still awkwardly figuring out what that looks like, so in what I just wrote, they’re solid friends.

This is unfinished, as you’ll see (it’s too jumpy), but my plan is to continue working on it. There are some things about the beginning that I don’t like, particularly the student council scene, but I’m struggling to think of ideas on how to improve it. So know that things are a work in progress and subject to change.

With Izzie’s emotions on my mind, I considered how the show hasn’t written much about her home life, either (not yet anyway--cannot wait for S4). So, I decided to write about life at home, her siblings, and the weight of having an absent parent. I was inspired and struck by the scene where Elsa sits down with Izzie, and shares how her mother was absent, too, and how that impacted her parenting style.

If you’re wondering why Izzie is hanging out with a superficial, “mean girl” crowd, it’s because I think that’s the role she played before she met Casey. This assumption is based on how Izzie first treats Casey, like when she pretends she pushed her during the sprint and when she refuses to help Casey on her first day of school. I’m also considering Izzie’s intimidating presence, and how she seems to have influence over her nameless, pre-Newton friends. This influence can be seen when she shows up at Casey’s birthday party with their Clayton Prep friends. I’m assuming that Iz is the main reason why they’re all there.

Phew! Anyhow, that’s how this piece began. Thank you for reading. Reach out if you have ideas, suggestions, criticisms, etc., or if you write Cazzie or Atypical fanfiction, too.

Friday, two weeks after the party. Izzie.

Since the party, the only thing Izzie knows about her and Newton, is that Newton wants nothing to do with her. It makes sense, really. Right after they almost kissed, she bolted and made out with someone else. Sometimes, Iz thinks of how turned on she was when Newton leaned in to kiss her. The memory alone makes her feel alive. It takes her out of the daily havoc and chaos created by her mother, reminding her of better things. It’s not like she savours the memory of Newton, though, or uses it to make herself feel better, because it inevitably gives way to embarrassment. Izzie went all the way with Nate and never, not once, did her body to respond to him like that. How could she be so dense to not know something so obvious about herself?

Maybe she should be grateful she even knows someone could make her feel the way Newton does. Lately, though, it’s hard to feel grateful. Izzie is back to the ol’ numb-your-emotions-to-get-through-the-day routine. Her mum left again. No note, no nothing, just unanswered questions and disappointed kids. It’s been a long time since Iz held any hope that her mum would stop using. Her siblings are different. Sometimes they still wait for her, awake in their beds at night, hoping she’ll come home safe.

But her siblings are all younger than her. Jason, the oldest, is eleven. He helps out with Alysha, their seven-year-old sister, and Arya, their two-year-old sister. He is so unbelievably sweet and Iz has no idea where he gets it from. She tries not to place too much responsibility on him, though. He’s still a kid, and the last thing she wants to do is rob him of his childhood.

Iz walks up the stairs to Clayton Prep as the warning bell rings. She cut it too close today. Selena has been sick this week, so the usual morning routine was a slog. She’s fussy, so Izzie woke Jason earlier than usual to help Alysha get ready. Iz considered an earlier wake-up time for herself but Coach is particularly barky lately, concerned that she is not getting enough sleep. It’s annoying when Coach notices things, because she’ll ask if things are okay at home. And what is Izzie supposed to say, exactly? 

“My mum is an addict.” 

“My siblings need me to take care of them.” 

“I’m worried that I’ll have to quit track, because my mum is a mess.”

“At any moment, the floor could fall out from underneath me, and I live with that possibility every day. But yeah, things are okay at home.”

Anyhow, Iz knocked on Jason’s door and gently shook him awake. Waking Jase 20 minutes earlier than usual doesn’t count as ruining his childhood, right? His response is a groan and a loud, “Why!?” That’s how Izzie knew it was going to be one of those mornings.

Like usual, the rest of the morning was a blur as Izzie got Arya ready for the day, while monitoring Jason and Alysha. She fed Arya as they got on their shoes. 

“Where’s your coat, Jason?” Izzie asked in between scooping spoonfuls of mashed banana into Arya’s mouth.

“I don’t need one.”

“You wear your coat when you leave this house. Go get it, please.” She handed Arya their agendas and lunch, then kneeled in front of her.

“Love you, hon.” She said before giving her sister a big hug and a kiss. Jason returned with a blue jacket and gave Iz a quick one-armed squeeze before running out the door.

“Wait for your sister!” She yelled after them before the door slammed shut.

When Izzie’s mum is sober, she leaves the house at 7:30 am, promptly arriving 15 minutes before the warning bell. With her mum AWOL and Arya needing to be delivered to her grandparents, Iz gets to Clayton Prep 15 minutes later than usual--too late for somebody trying to get into UCLA.

Izzie rushes to her locker. Her pre-Newton friends, who’re her current friends, wave and tell her to “hurry up.” Iz turns her lock clockwise, counterclockwise, clockwise in its familiar pattern, then opens the door. As she is switching out binders, her heart stops when she sees a folded piece of paper. A note from Newton? Not wasting a second, she grabs it and opens it. 

It reads, “Do you like me?” Two unfilled boxes are underneath, one with the word “yes,” the other with the word, “no.” There is no name indicating who wrote it.

Izzie’s heart pounds in her chest. Newton didn’t write it. This would, sadly, be the most exciting part of her school day. She stuffs the note in her pocket and makes her way to the library.

Student council is a new gig for Izzie. She has essentially reverted back to her pre-Newton self. Her old friends happily welcomed her back, inviting her to join student council in the process. There is Scarlet, who is like Regina George with less anger. She’s popular, bossy, mean, but she doesn’t mess with Izzie. Then there is Harmony, who is like Scarlet’s right-hand woman who does what Scarlet says. She probably has a personality, but Izzie hasn’t seen it, yet. Maybe Harmony will get a personality once she snaps. Lastly, there’s the new initiate who Iz is just getting to know. Her name is Mel, and she seems sweet. Why she’s hanging with Scarlet or Harmony is still a mystery to Izzie. 

Iz enters the room right before the bell rings, and pulls out a chair. Everyone is looking at her.

“So?” Scarlet mischievously smiles. “Any new news?”

“No.”

“No… notes?” Harmony jumps in. 

“Oh, yeah, but no name on it.” Izzie pulls the note out of her pocket, unravels it, and puts it on the table.

Scarlet snatches the note and examines it, while Harmony and Mel lean in.

“It’s from Brad. As in Nate’s friend, Brad.” Scarlet points to a previously unfolded piece with Brad’s name. The girls look giddy, all with wide grins on their faces. Well, at least Harmony and Scarlet are grinning, Mel looks uncertain. She likely has no idea who Brad is. Lucky girl.

Izzie sits on the other side of the table, not impressed. “Great. The best friend of the dickhead who lied and cheated on me likes me.” Iz starts fishing her binder and pens out of her backpack.

“Oh, come on, Iz. Chin up. This could be a great rebound for you. Also, it would totally make Nate jealous.” Scarlet and Harmony giggle.

Iz enjoys the thought of an angry Nate, too, but she mostly doesn’t care. “Can we not talk about Nate? I’d rather just get started.”

“Yikes. No help this morning, either?” Asks Scarlet.

Izzie shakes her head. Unfortunately, Scarlet and Harmony are very aware of Izzie’s home life situation. Iz had a moment of weakness months ago (pre-Newton), where she broke down and told them about having to look after her siblings. 

The girls are empathetic to Izzie’s situation, promptly starting the student council meeting. There is a school dance coming up that has Harmony and Scarlet’s attention. Iz zones out, thinking about how everything at Clayton Prep drags without Newton. It’s less interesting, less fun. She remembers the time she pretended Newton pushed her during their first sprint. Shame immediately rushes over her at the thought of the memory. Izzie was so certain Newton was just another over privileged rich kid.

“Iz?” Scarlet is staring at her.

“Yeah?”

“Wow, where were you? We’re voting on Mel’s idea. Should we ask for LGBTQ+ safe spaces in our next meeting?”

Izzie is caught off-guard. Usually, the conversations revolve around more trivial things, like dances and hem lengths on the girls’ uniforms. Her mouth moves before her brain catches up.

“Yeah, I support Mel’s idea.”

Scarlet raises her brow. “Okay, you two can brainstorm ideas for making safe spaces. Harmony and I will keep working on the dance.”

Mel turns to Izzie, “Thanks.”

“Yeah, well, Clayton Prep is supposed to be one of the more progressive schools, but I barely see any posters or anything saying it’s a safe space.”

Mel smiles and nods, “My thoughts exactly.”

Izzie feels her heart skip. Is that… excitement? Did something more interesting happen today than a jock’s secret love note? She tries to keep herself from smiling too wide while brainstorming with Mel, who is suddenly the only other person on her radar.

Later that evening

The first clue that her mum is back is the hunk of junk parked in the driveway. The second clue is the smell of pepperoni deluxe pizza that hits Izzie when she pushes open the door. Her mum always bought pizza as an “I’m sorry” treat. Iz walks into the kitchen with three large bags of groceries--groceries that she rushed to buy after school, so her and the kids could eat dinner at a reasonable time.

“IZZIE, my beautiful, gorgeous girl!” Her mum gets up from the table and gives her an exaggerated hug in front of Boyfriend Number… Six?

Iz doesn’t know if she’s high or not, and doesn’t care to find out.

“Hey.” She’s short as she puts away the food.

“This is Steve. Steve, meet Izzie, my oldest.” 

“Hi, nice to meet you.” Steve almost sounds like he means it. 

It’s never worth her time to meet her mum’s boyfriends, so Izzie ignores them and puts away some pasta sauce and beans.

“Hey,” her mum’s tone flipped remarkably fast, “I raised you better than that--don’t ignore people when they talk to you.”

Iz has also learned, over time, that it’s best for her to preserve her energy when it comes to her mum. This is one of those battles that wasn’t worth her time.

She turns to Steve, expressionless, and says, “Hi,” then immediately begins to put away canned corn and soup. “So Steve, were you in the picture before or after my mum left without notice for five days?” 

No answer from either of them, but it doesn’t matter, the situation is disappointing enough already. Iz slams the cupboard shut and leaves to check on her siblings. She numbed herself the moment she walked through the door, anyway. 

Saturday morning.

Iz wakes up the next day to a bright, beautiful Saturday morning. She groans, not wanting to deal with her mum today, so she decides to go for an early run. Leaping into her hoodie and track pants, she pads down the hallway and into the kitchen.

“Hi, beautiful.” Her mum is sitting at the table with a cup of coffee.

Iz frowns and fills her water bottle. “Did you sleep last night?”

There’s a scoff and a shuffling of feet. “What does it matter if I slept or not?”

“You know it matters!” Izzie’s raised voice even surprises her. Insomnia is one of her mum’s symptoms when she’s taking too many painkillers.

Her mum doesn’t say a word.

“Where did you go?” Izzie presses.

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now.” Her mum gets out of her chair and leaves the room. Other symptoms include hostility and mood swings. Nowadays, it was difficult for Iz to pinpoint her mum’s “normal” level of agitation. She always seemed sad or angry.

Feeling the familiar anger rise in her chest, Izzie calls after her. “Wherever you were for the last five days, I hope it was worth it!”

Friday, two weeks after the party. Casey and Elsa.

It’s a normal day in the Gardner household, whatever normal is when Casey’s autistic brother understands her relationship with her ex-girlfriend through the lens of two gay penguins who adopted an egg. And now Casey is not with her ex (hence the term “ex”), so she’s wondering if there’s another example of a gay penguin that Sam can compare her to that doesn’t have a partner. Oh, and then there’s her parents who are living together but not technically together, but they sometimes go on dates...

Anyhow, Casey is readying herself for a run. She wolfs down some pancakes made by Elsa, who is doing her typical mum thing and staring too long at her daughter.

“What?” Casey asks in between mouthfuls of fluffy, syrupy deliciousness.

“Have you talked to Izzie, lately?” She asks because for over a week, Casey hasn’t been looking at her phone with a goofy smile on her face, or laughing to herself while staring at the screen. Something is up.

“Nope.” It’s a firm “no,” denoting that there’s nothing else to say about the subject.

Elsa is not convinced, but letting her kids come to her for support has been not only rewarding, but extremely successful, so she doesn’t press further.

“Uhm.” There’s a beat as Casey wonders whether she should continue or not. “I saw grandma yesterday.”

Elsa stops washing the plate she’s holding, and turns to face her daughter. “Oh. Where?”

“Outside the hair salon. I crossed the street and talked to her for awhile.”

“That’s good!” Elsa nods a bit too vigorously to sound convincing.

“Why don’t we see her much? I mean, like, what happened between you two? For real.”

Casey knows that Elsa and her grandma don’t get along, but Elsa has held back on telling her daughter the full truth. Painting her mum as an alcoholic, absent parent wasn’t how Elsa wanted her children to see their grandma. And, even though those days are in the distant past, they still stir up difficult feelings for Elsa. 

Maybe she was unwittingly selfishly avoiding this conversation? She used to tell herself to wait for the right time, and now seemed like as good a time as any. Especially with Casey opening up to her recently about her feelings toward Izzie. She usually went to Doug for advice, so to finally have “girl” time together was really special.

With that thought in mind, Elsa pulls out a chair and sits beside her daughter. She takes a deep breath before speaking.

“I didn’t get along with my mum growing up. She wasn’t around when she should’ve been. She’d drink too much, come home too late, and there was a lot to do around the house, because she was absent. She was often around...physically, she didn’t go on benders or anything, but she was mentally gone. A lot. Even now, it’s hard for me to be in the same room as her, let alone trust her.”

Casey sucks in a quick breath. Elsa’s eyes are watery, but no tears fall. “Oh.” Casey’s short reply feels stupid and lackluster. Speechless, she hugs her mum. For once, she feels very grateful for her mum’s presence, even if that presence is often bothersome.

“Love you.” Casey says before pulling away. 

“Love you, too.”

“Thanks for not being a giant, meddling Elsa earlier.” She smiles wryly before leaving her seat, then leaving the house for her run.

Saturday. Izzie talks to Evan.

She loves the feeling she gets when she is running, like all her problems are somehow smaller, because she can think clearly. Izzie’s feet hit the warm pavement rhythmically, taking her further and further from home. Sometimes she fantasizes about running and never turning back. She could be free, free to go wherever she wanted and be whoever she wanted to be. But that’s all they were--daydreams. She could never leave Jason, Alysha, or Arya. One thing she could do, however, was let her feet take control, at least for a little while. Which is why she eventually found herself at… Don’s Pizza?

You don’t want to be here, she thinks to herself. Evan works here.

She stands looking at the entrance while families peer over at the strange, lone person on the edge of the parking lot.

Fuck it, I’ll just sit down and buy a slice. Just because Evan works here doesn’t mean that this has to be a big deal.

Iz lets her feet walk her through the front door. He is there, of course, standing behind the counter, wiping it down with a washcloth. He hasn’t looked up, yet. She could still leave.

“Evan, customer at the door.” Someone barks from the kitchen.

As soon as his eyes meet Izzie’s, his face hardens, but he walks over.

“Hey.” There is an awkward pause. “Would you like to sit at a booth or the counter?”

Iz doesn’t skip a beat. “The counter.”

“Uhhm… that’s where I’ll be.”

“I know.”

His eyes narrow. “Look, I don’t think we should talk about Casey.”

Iz raises her eyebrow. “Oh, are you suddenly uninterested in her? That didn’t take long.” 

Evan folds his arms and sighs. He doesn’t want to stand in the doorway any longer, and he is a little curious as to why Izzie is here. The last time he talked to Casey, she told him that Izzie didn’t want to date her, almost like she had cold feet or something.

“This way.” He says gruffly while walking toward the available spot at the counter.

She follows him and pulls out the bar stool. Iz looks at the table while Evan stands behind the counter, the two saying nothing. 

“I think I made a mistake.” Izzie blurts. Her chest rises and falls. Was she sweating? “I never should have got between you and Casey. She deserves...I can’t give her what she deserves. My life is complicated and I’ll just get in the way of her and UCLA.”

Evan is leaning against the counter, his arms outstretched with the washcloth in his back pocket. “For someone who’s smart, you’re really dumb.”

“I know.” Iz covers her face with her hands. She is overwhelmingly embarrassed by confiding in the one person who likely hated her, and unbelievably distraught over missing Newton.

“What is the problem?” He’s exasperated. “She left me because she likes you more. When I was with her, she lit up when she talked about you! Casey was different around you, like you two were in sync or something. You’re an idiot for throwing that away.”

Izzie feels her eyes warm up from the tears. Evan sighs and looks right into her eyes. “Just go to her.” He waits a beat. “Please? Preferably sooner rather than later, so I can get back to work.”

A grin spreads across Izzie’s face and she hiccups out a laugh. “I’m not ordering anything.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. I’ll still take a tip, though.”

She smiles wryly and puts the only bill she has on the table. It’s $5. “That’s for stealing your girlfriend.”

“That’s…” For once in this conversation, Evan is speechless. “You know what? I have actual work to do, so…”

Iz pushes in her stool, feeling lighter than she did ten minutes ago. “You know, I think I’m starting to understand your appeal.” She switches to a more serious tone. “Thank you.”

Evan nods and does, in fact, get back to work.

[zackcollins]

when you cry, i cry with you || b.bichette/c. biggio

Author’s Note: I'm back with another fic about these two! This is my way of coping with the fact that they got knocked out of the playoffs. Everyone's got there ways of coping and apparently mine is to write fanfiction. GIF credit to austonandersen!

Warnings: I don’t know if this is really a warning but I’ll include it here just to be safe. I watched an interview that Cavan did and an interview that Bo did to help myself cope a little as well. I realized something about Cavan after watching his interview. He acts and talks very similarly to the way I act and talk. Maybe I'm projecting, but it felt nice to see myself in someone like him. I hope I did a well enough job trying to portray that into his characterization for this fic. I may have the issue I was trying to characterize but I've never been the best at portraying my own issues onto characters. Let me know if I can improve anything!

Word Count: 1.2k+

Title: Cry With You by Hunter Hayes

Additional: If you found this by Googling yourself, are in this yourself, or know someone in this, please click back. No harm was meant in the creation of this fic. It's fictional and purely as way to help me, and anyone else that needs it, cope with the unceremonious end to the season. Everything aside, I hope you enjoy this!

Cavan felt defeated. He had worked his entire career to make it to the postseason in the Major Leagues only for it to end so abruptly. All he wanted to do was cry.

 When the team made it back to their hotel, Cavan was barely inside the elevator before tears started to prickle the corners of his eyes. Randal, Joe, Travis, and Lourdes were in the elevator with Cavan and all of them seemed too engrossed in their cellphones to notice the tear stains on Cavan’s cheeks. Cavan was extremely grateful for that. He was in no mood to discuss how he was feeling.

 As soon as the elevator opened onto the team’s floor, Cavan pushed his way through his teammates. Randal grunted but didn’t say anything in protest. Cavan apologized anyways before hurrying off down the hallway towards his room.

 Cavan fumbled his keycard a few times before he finally tapped it against the card reader. When the indicator turned green, Cavan swung the door open and entered the room. He barely made it beyond the entryway before he collapsed onto the sofa and started sobbing.

 He laid on the sofa, sobbing until his head began to ache. When he sat up after what felt like an eternity, his head began to spin. Cavan had to grip the armrest to keep from falling face-first onto the carpet.

 “Hey.”

 Cavan startled at the voice. He hadn’t heard anyone else enter the room. He didn’t even know anyone else had a keycard.

 “Bo.” Cavan raised an eyebrow when he saw who was in the room. “Where did you come from?”

 “Next door.” Bo motioned to the wall behind him. “I opened the connecting door when I heard you crying. I wanted to see if you were alright, man.”

 Bo stood from the chair and walked over to sit beside Cavan on the sofa. He made a move to grab Cavan’s hand, but Cavan recoiled it.

 “Not…” Cavan sighed. “Not right now.”

 “Sensory overload from everything that’s happened tonight?”

 Cavan nodded, running his hands along his thighs. After a moment, he tapped his fingers against his knees before folding his arms in his lap.

 “My brain is on max capacity,” Cavan said, bringing a hand up and knocking it against his temple. “And I’m not sure what to do to turn it off.”

 “Netflix,” Bo said, standing and walking towards Cavan’s suitcase.

 He pulled out Cavan’s laptop and set it up on the coffee table in front of the sofa before sitting back down beside Cavan. When Cavan saw that Bo had selected Atypical as the show, he smiled.

 “Thank you,” Cavan mumbled. “This is my favourite show. I like—“

 “I know, man. You like Sam because he’s a lot like you,” Bo said, chuckling.

 “Oh. How many times have I told you that?”

 “Several. But it doesn’t bother me. It makes me happy to see you excited about things.”

 Cavan blushed, smiling softly as he focused on the laptop screen.

 The longer they sat and watched the show, the more relaxed Cavan was starting to feel. The stress of not being good enough at the plate. The stress of losing the game. The stress of being knocked out of the playoffs. The stress of being knocked out of the playoffs so early. The stress of being knocked out of the Major League playoffs for the first time in his career. The stress of the circumstances surrounding the season. It was all decompressing from his brain as he sat here and watched Atypical with Bo. This show always helped him calm down from any sort of stress. It helped him feel like he deserved to be in the Major Leagues because people like him were just as important as people that weren’t like him.

 Since Cavan was starting to decompress, he had started inching closer and closer to Bo on the sofa. He was ready to cuddle Bo but Cavan wanted to ease himself into it to be on the safe side.

 When Cavan finally dropped his head against Bo’s shoulder, Bo didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around Cavan. Bo pulled Cavan closer, bringing Cavan’s hand up and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

 “Your brain finally shut off, huh,” Bo said, not looking away from the laptop.

 “Yeah,” Cavan replied. “Thank you for coming over and checking on me, Bo. I appreciate it.”

 “I’m your boyfriend, man. It’s my job to make sure that you’re alright.”

 Cavan hummed, pressing a kiss to the underside of Bo’s chin. Bo chuckled and ran a hand through Cavan’s hair. Cavan smiled and placed his hand on Bo’s chest.

 “You know that I love you, right,” Cavan said looking up at Bo.

 Cavan felt Bo’s heartbeat pick up underneath his hand. Cavan felt his brain start to fill with anxiety again, unsure if that reaction was positive or negative.

 When Bo didn’t say anything, Cavan felt tears prickle the corners of his eyes. He made to move off of Bo’s shoulder but Bo grabbed Cavan’s head and held Cavan in place. Cavan had tears in his eyes as he glanced up at Bo.

 Bo ran his fingers through Cavan’s hair softly, holding his other hand on top of the hand that Cavan had over Bo’s heart. Cavan felt his brain relax, anxiety starting to wash away.

 After a few minutes of running his fingers through Cavan’s hair, Bo pressed a soft kiss to the top of Cavan’s head. He whispered a few words that Cavan couldn’t understand before he lifted Cavan’s head so they were looking at each other in the eyes.

 Cavan blinked when he saw tear stains on Bo’s cheeks. He reached out and wiped them away. Bo hummed, leaning into the touch. Cavan kissed Bo’s forehead, brushing a piece of hair out of his face.

 “Yes, I knew,” Bo said. “For ages.”

 “Why’re you crying, then,” Cavan asked, grabbing Bo’s hands and rubbing the pulse points on his wrists.

 “You’re not very good with emotions, so it feels nice to hear you say it.”

 Instead of replying, Cavan leaned forward and pressed his lips to Bo’s. Bo hummed, kissing back almost immediately. Bo brought his hands up to cup Cavan’s face and Cavan brought his hands down to grip Bo’s shoulders.

 They kissed for what felt like forever before they pulled back, panting and gasping for air. Bo brushed some hair out of Cavan’s face and Cavan brushed some hair out of Bo’s face.

 Bo kissed Cavan’s forehead before he draped his arm around Cavan and pulled Cavan’s head down against his chest. Cavan hummed when he felt Bo’s heartbeat against his temple.

 “This feels nice,” Cavan mumbled.

 Bo replied by running his fingers through Cavan’s hair, gently massaging Cavan’s scalp as he went. Cavan sighed happily, closing his eyes at the feeling.

 The longer Bo continued his actions, the sleepier Cavan was becoming. He let out a soft yawn, wiggling closer to Bo.

 “Go to sleep, man,” Bo said. “I don’t mind.”

 Cavan nodded as best he could given his current position.

 It was only a few moments later that Cavan felt himself drifting off to sleep. The last thing his conscious brain registered was Bo mumbling softly into his hair.

 “You know that I love you, too, right, man?”

[i-stan-nct-and-satan]

Not Broken (Jaehyun Mafia prt 6)

Not Broken Masterlist 

Jaehyun X Reader

Trigger Warning : Mentions of abuse. Forced drugging

I woke up to the feeling of an ice pack being held to my face. I instinctively tried to sit up, forgetting that I had been tied to a chair, only to realize that although I was still tied up, I was no longer sitting in a chair. My head hurt even more than it did when Taeil used my face as a welcome mat. I could barely remember anything after the first hit. The pain really took over all my senses.  

I looked around, having somehow forgotten that there was someone in the room sitting right beside me.

"If you're looking for *****, he apparently ****** with you in it," a voice explained.

I whipped my head toward the voice only to hurt myself in the process.

"Here," the person said as he put the ice pack on my neck.

It was the Chinese boy from earlier.

"What?" I asked, having not understood all of what he said earlier due to his thick accent.

"I said, he ***** the chair, if that is what you were *****," he repeated.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand your accent very well." 

The combination of having been beaten to a pulp, his thick accent, and not being a native Korean speaker, made it really difficult to decipher what the man was saying.

He let out a sigh as he pointed to a chair in the corner of the room. He then made a fist with one hand and lightly punched his other hand. After that, he made two fists, put them together then separated them in a breaking motion.

I looked at him like a deer in the headlights, still not quite understanding.

He slapped a hand to his face in frustration.

"I can't speak English, so unless you speak Chinese, ******, okay?"

After getting over some of the grogginess from having just woken up, things clicked.

"Oh! He broke the chair while he was hitting me?"

The man nodded.

"Wait. Who are you? Why are you helping me?"

"They call me Winwin and I'm not helping you. Last night Jaehyun ***** so Taeyong ordered me to do my best to ****** and keep you alive."

"Winwin?" I groaned, becoming more and more aware of the pain I was in.

"Why do they call you Winwin?" I asked.

"It's hard for Koreans to pronounce Chinese names, so instead of ******* learn Chinese, NCT requires the Chinese members to learn Korean."

He sounded almost bitter about it.

"Oh. I'm Y/N, Y/L/N."

"You mean to tell me that these jackasses are ***** to find out any information they can on who you are and you just told me willingly?" he asked expectantly.

"Umm... I guess?"

Winwin face palmed.

"Of course, they didn't ask you."

"So why didn't they put me in a new chair? There seems to be plenty down here." I asked, randomly changing the subject.

"Why do you keep asking such pointless questions? Why does it matter if they give you a new chair or not?" he barked.

"I'm sorry, I was just curious," I whimpered.

He let out another sigh.

"It's pointless to ***** when he might just end up breaking this one too. Not to mention that your body is in a serious condition. Lying down is probably best so that ****** and heal a bit."

Despite the random gaps in my understanding of what he was saying, I could understand the gist of what he was trying to communicate.

"I'm also the one who put you into the clothes you are currently wearing. Normally, I would apologize for having undressed you but it seemed like there wasn't much undressing to do."

I looked down at my body just noticing the worn-down blue sweater and baggy sweatpants I was now wearing. The clothes must have belonged to one of the taller members because they were much too large for me despite being considerably tall according to Korean standards.

I watched Winwin as he set the ice pack so that it was resting on my face where most of that damage was done. He then started scrambling through a first aid kit I hadn't noticed earlier.

He took out a syringe filled with a clear liquid and I started panicking.

"Don't worry, it's not going to hurt you. We use this whenever one of our *** undergoes a serious beating like you did. It's just going **** adrenaline rush so that you don't stop breathing ***** and lucky for you, you ****feel as much pain. The only **** is **** won't be able to sleep tonight. Normally you should sleep for these kinds of injuries but I'm worried you won't be able to wake up."

Despite my continued resistance, Winwin easily managed to stick the needle into my left arm. I swore I could feel my pupils dilate to the size of watermelons. The pain that was crippling my body was now replaced with the extreme urge to run around but sadly, despite feeling as though I could lift a truck, I still couldn't break free of the chains that kept me dormant.

Winwin just kept staring at me. It looked like he wanted to say something to me, to ask me a question, but he remained silent. After being lost in thought for a few moments, Winwin finally got up to leave. He made his way up the steps. Stopping for a brief moment at the top, he took one last look at my twitching body.

"Did he give her the necklace before he was murdered?" Winwin asked himself out loud, quietly enough so that only he could hear.

He opened the door and started to make his way back to the rest of NCT 127.  

<><><><><><><><><>

"So, where's the boss? He called us here, didn't he?" Yuta asked as he picked at his teeth with a fork.

The members of NCT 127 were lounging around in their boss's kitchen, waiting for the man himself to arrive along with Taeyong. They had all been staying at the estate due to the abnormal circumstances surrounding the situation.

"Taeyong and Jaehyun are still discussing things in his studies. They should be here shortly," Taeil explained.

"Yeah, well, I bet they must have a lot to discuss after what happened last night," Doyoung scoffed.

"Doyoung, don't," Taeil warned.

"What happened last night?" Mark asked.

"Look, I don't know what happened exactly but after I left the basement that night, I decided to turn in for the night. Instead I got thirsty, so I came down here to get a glass of water," Doyoung started going over the events of the previous night.

"So, all of a sudden, I hear Taeyong yell, likely really yell so I figure that they started the interrogations. Next thing I know, Jaehyun yells 'Get off of me!' so I grab a knife from the drawer and run down there, only to see that Taeyong was trying to rip the boss off of the girl who was clearly passed out. I drop my knife and rush over to help Tae because obviously he must have had a good reason to be pulling him off the girl, right?"

Johnny, Yuta, Mark nodded while Taeil sighed.

"So, after we manage to get him away from the girl, who at this point wasn't even in the chair anymore because it was smashed up around her, Taeyong looks at me and is just like 'Leave, now.' So, I follow instructions and come back upstairs but I can still hear Jaehyun and Taeyong yelling at each other."

"Damn, dude," Mark said in disbelief.

"Yeah," Doyoung finished.

Everyone stared down at their feet.

"Taeil is that true?" Mark asked.

"It doesn't matter. We're just here to follow orders. No point in talking about the events that occurred last night, so let's stay focused," Taeil lectured.

"Wow. Even the boss-man can get emotional," Yuta commented leaning back in his chair.

"Yuta, it's his sister. Obviously, he's going to react.... atypically," Taeil shot Yuta a glare.  

"You know, if he isn't going to tell us everything that's going on then what's the point of us having to stay here?" Yuta continued. "I mean, I'm sure I'm not the only one here who is missing out on some action, since I'm sure the boss wouldn't approve of me inviting any girls to stay with me in one of his guest rooms."

Taeil sighed.

"That's the point of this meeting, Yuta," Taeil reported. "I have all the details here. We're just waiting for the boss."

Taeil lifted up a tan colored folder for all of the members to see.

Yuta tried to grab at the folder, only for his hand to be slapped away by Taeil.

"Ouch!" Yuta feigned offense as he held his slapped hand with the other.

After watching Taeil roll his eyes, Yuta turned in his swivel bar chair to face Johnny who was much quieter than usual, staring at his hands resting on the counter.

"What about you? What's wrong? Struggling with your newfound sexual identity?" Yuta taunted as he poked Johnny with the fork that he had been picking his teeth with.

"Dude!" Johnny slapped the fork away, sending it flying towards Doyoung, who gave no reaction when it hit his forehead, falling to his feet.

"Wow, man! The Madam must have left an impression on you!" Yuta continued.

"Shut up man! I'm serious," Johnny warned.

"Aww come on. No need to feel shy," Yuta taunted. "Look guys! He's in love!"

Johnny burst out of his chair and slammed his fist on the counter in front of Yuta.

"Are you sure you wanna keep talking? Because if I were you, I would shut the fuck up!" Johnny boomed.

Yuta surrendered lifting up his hands then made a zipping motion in front of his mouth.

Johnny sat back down; face reddened with anger.

"Well now that that's over," Taeil remarked as he turned towards Mark who was sitting on another counter eating a popsicle.

"Umm, Mark?"

"Yeah?" Mark looked over at Taeil.

"Do you maybe wanna throw that away since we're about to start the meeting?"

"But it's the last watermelon flavored one and I just opened it." Mark whined.

The frustration on Taeil's face became extremely apparent as he facepalmed.

Doyoung walked over to Mark, who looked at him in confusion. Doyoung then proceeded to slap the popsicle out of Mark's hand, causing it to land on the floor.

"Problem solved," Doyoung stated as he lazily examined his fingernails.

"That wasn't necessary Doyoung. Mark? Don't you dare continue eating that popsicle!" Taeil warned, which caused Mark who had picked up the floor popsicle to groan and throw it in a nearby trash can.

"How did I end up here?" Taeil mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?" Yuta asked, flashing an innocent looking smile.

<><><><><><><>

"Well at least you got some sleep Jae, even though you basically drank until you passed out," Taeyong commented as he walked over to Jaehyun, who was sitting on the side of his bed, still wearing the suit from two nights ago.

"Here, take this," Taeyong handed Jaehyun a glass of water and an Advil.

Jaehyun groaned but accepted the pain killer, downing the water in one go.

"You went too far last night," Taeyong lectured the mafia leader. Despite their relationship often appearing to be strictly professional, Taeyong was actually Jaehyun's closest friend, which allowed for him to challenge the man without fear, something the others could only dream of.

Jaehyun remained silent, rubbing at his temples in a vain attempt to ease his hangover.

"Jae? Are you listening? You did some serious damage to that girl. I mean for all we know, she could have had no idea that she was aiding a murder."

"No idea?!" Jaehyun suddenly bellowed. "Anyone who voluntarily works with Lucas knows what they're getting into."

"But we don't know what happened yet. We don't know how big a role she played. For all we kno-"

"I don't care what role she played! All I know is that she helped kill Ji-eun, my fucking sister, Tae!" Jaehyun interrupted, throwing the water glass at the wall, causing it to shatter.

Taeyong just stared at his friend and boss.

"What?" the pink-haired man demanded.

Taeyong sat down on the bed next to Jaehyun, resting a hand on the younger's back.

"We all miss IU, Jae. She was kind, intelligent, and like an older sister to all of us but what happened isn't your fault. You can't keep blami-"

"You're right Tae. It isn't my fault." Jaehyun stood up from the bed and walked over to his desk.

Jaehyun turned the laptop towards Taeyong revealing basement security footage of Y/N and Winwin.

"It's hers and that fucking bastard's!" Jaehyun pushed the laptop off of his desk along with the various pens and knickknacks that had adorned the surface moments ago.

The room was silent until Jaehyun turned back toward his red-haired friend.

"I'm ready to proceed with the meeting."

"Jae, you don't have to force yourself. I can't present the-"

"No," Jaehyun asserted sternly.

"I have to be the one who fronts this mission. I need to be the one who... who..." Jaehyun's voice falters slightly.

"I understand, sir," Taeyong looked Jaehyun in the eyes and Jaehyun held his gaze for a long silence until Taeyong nodded and Jaehyun nodded back.

Although neither said anything, they both understood each other, a secret language that could only be understood by life-long friends.

<><><>Back to the Kitchen<><><>

"Oh my GOD. I'm so bored!" Yuta howled as the rest of his colleagues remained silent.

Yuta turned back to Johnny again and opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't," Johnny warned, not allowing Yuta the chance to speak.

"You didn't even know what I was-"

"I said don't," Johnny fumed.

Yuta swiveled back in his chair to face forward, but it isn't long before he became antsy again.

Yuta glances up at Doyoung who is glaring down at his phone.

A devious smirk finds its way onto Yuta's face as he reached to grab a fork from the drawer on the opposite side on the counter.

Yuta grabbed the base of the fork with one hands and started to bend it back with the other. He let go and launched the fork in Doyoung's direction. Doyoung jerked his head to the side, successfully dodging the fork while giving no attention to the person who launched it. The fork flew across the room and landed at the feet of Jaehyun, who had just entered the room with Taeyong.

Everyone in the room stood up.

Jaehyun just stared at the fork on the ground.

"I'm sorry, sir," Yuta whimpered.

Jaehyun picked up the fork and examined it.

Yuta was frozen. He normally wasn't this way with the mob boss but after hearing about the man's actions last night, he was more than wary.

Jaehyun looked up at Yuta and approached the man, fork in hand.

Everyone in the room watched the scene unfold, praying that nobody would have to treat Yuta for having a fork embedded in his jugular.

Jaehyun lifted the fork up to Yuta's face and sighed.

"I can't believe my best sniper can't even hit a man with a fucking fork." Jaehyun threw the fork into the sink behind Yuta. "Gather around the table, everyone."

Yuta let out the breath he was holding in and Taeyong gave him a pat on the back.

They all moved from the kitchen to the dining room table. They rarely ever had meetings in Jaehyun's home but the table was more than long enough to accommodate the large group.  

Jaehyun took his place, standing at the head of the table with Taeyong and Taeil on each of his sides.

"Okay, now that everyone is here-"

"Not everyone," Both Taeil and Yuta said simultaneously.

"I'm here," Winwin announced as he walked into the room.

Yuta pointed to an empty chair next to him but found himself disappointed when Winwin walked past it to sit by Doyoung.

"And where have you been?" Jaehyun demanded.

"I just finished attending to the hostage," Winwin responded coolly.

Jaehyun slammed his hands on the table, causing a small flinch from Mark.

"And why on Earth were you treating her?"

"Jae. Calm down. I'm the one who gave him the order. You know that we need her alive," Tae put a hand on his boss's shoulder.

"I left her alive," Jaehyun mumbled under his breath.

"Barely," Taeyong turned to Taeil.

"Did you bring everything?"

"Yes. It is all here," Taeil answered.

"Then let's proceed," Taeyong commanded as he made his way to the empty chair beside Yuta.

"Boss? " Taeyong lifted an arm towards Jaehyun, inviting him to start the meeting.

Jaehyun let out a small sigh.

"Okay so you all know from the meeting yesterday morning that this... woman has to do with the death of IU," Jaehyun explained showing very little of the extreme sadness he felt inside.

"It is very important that you all take this mission seriously. Taeil here has prepared and organized the evidence surrounding the mission so I will let him inform you of the details and give a refresher on what we already know. Taeil?" Jaehyun sat down allowing Taeil to present the contents of his folder.

Taeil opened the folder and started laying out photos on the table for his colleagues to see.

"The night of Ji-eun's, I mean IU's disappearance was on September 21, the same night as the King of Hearts Ball where we sealed and celebrated the peace treaty between NCT and Seventeen. The ball was supposed to be a peaceful event but we implemented the same level of security as our previous events. All insider members from both gangs were present including IU, who willingly left the ball that night due to some texts she received on her personal phone."

Taeil pointed to the pictures on the table.

"These are screenshots of the messages we were able to recover from that night. As you can see, she received several messages that night from a number that was not listed in her contacts. We tracked the number but unsurprisingly it belonged to a burner phone. The messages instructed IU to leave the ball through the underground escape route located in the library of this estate and to meet them a few blocks down near the local park. We still do not know what compelled her to go meet this person but based on the messages, we can infer that the sender was holding something against IU. The message informed IU that the person she would be meeting was a foreign woman with (Your hair length) (your hair color) and (your eye color) eyes, and about (your height) tall. After three nights of searching for IU, her body was delivered to the front of this very house. Her body was sealed in a box with a note attached. The body was greatly mutilated and she was only dressed in her underwear, but there was no evidence of sexual assault. That night, all of the cameras monitoring the estate had somehow been hacked, so we have no footage of the drop off. We still have no idea how we were hacked but everything has since been upgraded to prevent further hacking."

Taeil set down another photo.

"This is a copy of the note that was attached to the box," Taeil said as his lifted a second copy up to read out loud. He shot a glance at Jaehyun who nodded, motioning for him to go on.

"I had so much fun with your sister, Jae. Lucas."

Jaehyun's knuckles turned white as he hands became fists.

"We don't know the exact motivation for the kidnapping but it seemed like it was an attempt to create chaos and establish Wayv as a legitimate threat to NCT 127 after they betrayed us and formed their own mafia group."  

Taeil took a few more photos out of the folder and set them on top of the screenshots.

"These photo's come from the security footage at Kitchen Beat Bar from the night after the ball. Their security was minimal to say the least. The only camera was pointed directly at the bar and the entrance, so we were not able to see anything but them entering separately and leaving together. We knew from street rumors that Lucas frequented this bar so after finding the note, all our men started working on finding him but this is the last piece of evidence we had about his whereabouts until now. It almost seems as if he dropped off the face of the Earth but we know he is still alive since Wayv's still smuggling weapons and other goods into the country"

Everyone at the table stared at the photos.

"As you can see, the girl in the photos is the same girl who is currently being held in the basement. She matches the description of the girl in the messages perfectly but her current hair is shorter and she has gained weight, making it understandable that we didn't recognize her at the show. What cause our boss to recognize her was that she was wearing the same green emerald necklace that our boss had given IU the night of the ball."

"Why were we unable to find the girl when we first got these pictures?" Doyoung inquired.

"The bartender who was working that night said that he had never see her at Kitchen Beat before and it is extremely difficult to track foreigners in this country, especially since they don't tend to stay long," Taeil answered.

"We already know that she is a liar because she claimed she didn't know Lucas while these pictures say otherwise," Taeyong chimed in.  

"Thank you, Taeil. I can take it from here," Jaehyun voiced as he stood up from his chair and returned to the front of the table.

"Of course, sir," Taeil affirmed, sitting down.

"We know that she has a connection with Lucas. Now we have to find out what that connection is exactly and what role she played in IU's death. Then we'll find out how to get to Lucas but first we have to find out who she is and what her real name is," Jaehyun asserted.

"Y/N," Winwin murmured.

"I'm sorry. What?" Jaehyun stammered.

"Yeah, she told me her name earlier; it's Y/N." Winwin repeated.

"What?" Jaehyun asked again, baffled at the raven-haired man's comment.

"Yeah, she told us backstage before the show started," Yuta chimed in, looking at Taeil.

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that," Taeil concurred.

"What if it's a fake name?" Jaehyun exclaimed.

"Here's her Instagram! I just looked up Y/N and it was the first one that popped up in my recommendations," Mark announced pointing to his phone.

Yuta took Mark's phone and examined it.

"Yep, that's her," He concluded, handing the phone to Jaehyun.

After briefly looking at the phone, Jaehyun sighed and brought his hands to his face in frustration.

"What are we paying our investigators for?" he asked himself.

"Anyway... Interrogation starts today so me and Taeyong will be-"

"Actually, Jaehyun," Taeyong started. "I wanted to talk to you about that first."

Jaehyun looked at Taeyong who slightly bent his head towards the other room.

"Fine. Please excuse me for a bit," Jaehyun said to the other members.

Both Taeyong and Jaehyun walked out of the room and into a nearby bedroom. Taeyong waited until Jaehyun closed the door before speaking.

"I don't think you should be involved in the interrogation,"

"What? What do you mean? Of course, I have to be involved."

"Jae, you almost killed her last night because you couldn't control your emotions."  

Jaehyun turned away from Taeyong to look out a nearby window.

"Jae. We all want to get Lucas. You can trust your team."

"Fine."

"What?" You could hear the pure shock in Taeyong's voice.

"I said fine," Jaehyun spoke up, knowing that Taeyong had already heard him.

"Oh. Okay then,"

"I won't participate in the interrogation but I have to be there," Jaehyun asserted.

"Jae."

"I won't get emotional. I'll just watch and leave the interrogation to our official interrogators but I have to be there. I need to be there." Although Jaehyun's voice was cold and unwavering, his eyes were filled with doubt.

Taeyong looked at his feet as he contemplated his boss's offer.

"Remember Taeyong, I'm not asking." Jaehyun turned back to Taeyong; his face returned to its intimidating state. "Either you agree or I lead the interrogation."

Taeyong held back a sigh and just nodded at his friend.

Jaehyun began to make his way out of the room before Taeyong stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. Jaehyun stopped but didn't look at his right-hand man.

"Just....be careful, Jae. Take care of yourself."

Instead of responding, Jaehyun jerked his shoulder away from Taeyong's hand and continued towards the impromptu meeting room.

[askmathiaskohler]

Mathias Køhler was not an anxious person. He was a man filled to the brim with youthful vigor, so the pacing around his bedroom isn’t so uncharacteristic. However, the perturbed expression that contorted his features was exceedingly atypical.

What had they been talking about?

He pinches his bottom lip between his pointer finger and his thumb as the ringing of his phone echoes through his ears, circling the front of his bed. Blue hues flit every which way as he tries to find something to focus on in his bedroom, and he ultimately decides that the framed picture of both his husband and himself that sat on their desk would serve well as something to look at; something to fidget with, to try and control his electrified nerves.

The sound of wheels against hardwood briefly fills the bedroom as the Dane falls into the cushion-y leather seat; and just as he does this he hears the ringing cease, the noise being replaced by a familiar voice.

“Hallå! Det här är Wilhelm.”

The heels of his feet promptly dig into the hardwood flooring to cease the rolling back of his chair, and with haste he speaks. He does his best to keep the concern he’s feeling at bay, not wanting the other to catch onto his worry. Yet, he is an expressive man- and he essentially barks out his response.

“Hemz! It’s Mat.”

“… Oh.”

There’s a shuffling sound on the other end of the line, before Wilhelm once again speaks; though this time, it is not to Mathias. His lips pull together into a thin line as Wilhelm addresses who can only assume to be Valtteri. “Hjärtanskär, I'm going to have to go, it's a call from work.”  He overhears, and Mathias grimaces whenever Valtteri expresses his  chipper response. The hand not being used to press the phone to his ear fiddles with the clasps of the wooden picture frame to try and relieve this sudden surfeit of nervousness; though he does not speak until Wilhelm bids his husband farewell.

“Hej.”

Mathias once more greets. He’s able to discern a sound akin to a grunt, which is followed by weight being relinquished from a box spring mattress. 

“Hej, Mathias.”

He sounded like Hel.

Unruly brunette brows furrow in apprehension upon making out the distant chattering of children. So, he speaks once again.

“Are you all safe?”

It’s a broad enough question, he thinks, so that if nothing were wrong he wouldn’t sound like a worry wart having a freak-out over nothing. Yes, a part of Mathias believed that this all must have been some form of misunderstanding. There must have been something lost in translation, or perhaps there had been nothing to translate in the first place. The chances of something having frightened Wilhelm Oxenstierna to the point of underhanded pleas to strangers for help was nigh unfathomable to Mathias.

“No.”

Wilhelm replies bluntly, and the Dane’s face drops as his heart tightens in his chest. Immediately, questions are tumbling from his mouth like rapid fire as he lurches upward from his seat- the photograph that had been sitting on his lap clattering onto the floor as he frantically hurries to his bed side table to retrieve his keys.

“Is he there?”

“No.” “Are the kids hurt?” “No.” “Are you hurt?” “No.” “Did he fucking dr-”

“Mathias!”

The Swede bellows, and Mathias snaps out from his frenzied state; one shoe on his foot, car keys dangling from his fingers, and his phone already opened to the SAS app.  Slowly, he takes his seat on the edge of his mattress, trying to recollect himself via deep breathes through his nostrils. There’s a moment of silence between both men as he does this, but before Wilhelm can break the tense atmosphere, Mathias poses yet another question. This one is vocalized in a more relaxed manner, as he doesn’t sound like he is running out of breath, and his tone is lower.

“What happened?”

“I can’t talk about it now.”

Mathias opens his mouth, preparing to deliver his retort; something along the lines of “Well you better make the time to talk about it!” or “What is that supposed to mean?” But, Wilhelm was quick to cut him off.

“Listen, Mathias. I don’t have a lot of time. I need a place to stay.”

Mathias falters whenever he hears the urgency in the Swede’s voice. He had understood that something had happened, as he hadn’t called the other for no reason; but actually hearing the poorly veiled distress for himself was different.

“You know you always have a place under my roof, Wilhelm.”

He starts, and his eyes narrow whenever he picks up on the noise of an almost relieved sounding sigh. Had Wilhelm thought he wouldn’t extend his hand to help? He figured that their sporadic heart-to-hearts in dimly lit rooms over steins of ale would paint a different image. He can’t deny that, in that moment, he feels slight offense; yet he doesn’t voice this. Instead, he continues his initial thought.

“What about Liam and Theodore? They can come too, but I don’t have an extra room. You all would have to share the guest bedroom.”

A dry, mirthless laugh resounds from the Swede in response.

“I wouldn’t mind that. But I think I’ll be sending them off with Berwald. I think it would be good for them to spend time with kids their age.”

Wilhelm pauses, a downcast expression contorting his features, before he carries on with his statement.

“... They probably need it.”

There is- yet again- a brief period of silence between both of the men as Mathias lets the words Wilhelm had spoken hang in the air. The words themselves topped with the tone of hopelessness they had been delivered with made the Dane feel disconsolate, and this frustrated him. Of course this frustration is not towards the Swede, nor his children! No, it was towards the man who had caused this strife in the first place. His keys jingled against the front of his fingers as his hand balls into  fist, a practice he had learned to aid with keeping his head.

“Should I come to get you?”

Mathias inquires, and the Swede shakes his head; though this, of course, is not seen through the phone call. 

“Nej. I’ll be flying in tomorrow, after I drop my sons off in Solna.”

There’s a hum of acknowledgement from Mathias’ end.

“Can I do anything for you right now?”

“Nej.”

Once more, they’re met with a thick silence; yet it is entirely awkward, and raises both goose flesh on Mathias’ skin and the hair on the back of his neck. He doesn’t want to hang up, as he’s concerned about the other's well being. But Mathias did not do well in silence, as it felt constricting and uncomfortable. Yet, for once it would appear that the Dane understood that now was not the time to crack some wise joke in attempts of alleviating the crushing feeling of stress; lest it come across as insensitive or thoughtless.

“Hemz?”

He asks, though the Swede does not address this. No, as soon as he had called for Wilhelm’s attention, the sound of knocking from Wilhelm's end of the line was picked up.

“I have to go.”  Wilhelm mutters, and Mat feels his breath hitch in his throat as he tries one last time to call out to him.

“Wait, Wilhelm!” “Hejdå.”

And with that the line disconnects, and Mathias finds that he is at an utter loss for words.

[ ASK BOX IS NOT YET OPEN ]

[ducktracy]

167. sweet si*ux (1937)

disclaimer: the review you’re about to read entails racist content and imagery. i, in no way, shape, or form, condone or endorse any of the ideals depicted below—i find the content gross and wrong. however, it needs to be talked about. to gloss over it like nothing happened would be just as insensitive and tone-deaf. PLEASE let me know if i say anything wrong, it’s absolutely not my intent to say anything hurtful or offensive, and i want to take accountability for my actions if i do. thank you for understanding and cooperating.

release date: june 26th, 1937

series: merrie melodies

director: friz freleng

starring: mel blanc (coach, hiccup sfx, mohican)

another typical festival of dehumanizing caricatures and stereotypes, there IS one aspect of this cartoon that is rather atypical--this is the first cartoon to debut a little known song by the name of “the merry go round broke down”. the song is the second anthem for the looney tunes shorts, officially debuting as the theme song with rover’s rival, just a mere 4 months after this cartoon. with “merrily we roll along” already instated as the merrie melodies theme, implemented with boulevardier of the bronx in 1936, the merry go round broke down preface cartoons in the looney tunes series, later prefacing every cartoon after 1964 with the bill lava version instead. it would also be the song number for daffy duck and egghead (sung by daffy), as well as being sung by daffy AGAIN with substitute lyrics in boobs in the woods. needless to say, this song has its fair share of history, and has made quite a name for itself.

the cartoon itself is another parade of demeaning gags, caricatures, and stereotypes, as well as remaining relatively plotless: we get a glimpse of native american life, complete with celebrity caricatures, song, and dance performances.

i will give credit where credit is due--the opening sequence of the cartoon is executed very nicely, with some beautifully painted backgrounds, accompanied by a tranquil (and appropriate) underscore of “indian dawn”. we open to the silhouette of a native american perched on top of a mountain. as the sun continues to rise, marked by changing backgrounds, it’s revealed that the silhouette is merely a statue. 

wipe away to a pan of the village, lulling us into a false sense of security as things are uncharacteristically quiet. one of the “teepees” (looking more like a circus tent) reads CHIEF “RAIN IN THE FACE”, a take on warchief rain-in-the-face, noted for his crucial contributions in defeating general custer during the battle of little big horn in 1876. sure enough, a jerk of a pan reveals a stereotypical stoic native american sitting in front of the tent with a small stream of rain designated just for his face. the build up and reveal of the gag is clever, but the gag itself is tired and difficult to laugh at. 

more teepee gags after--one native pushes his teepee up like an umbrella, sitting contentedly beneath it in a lawn chair. the most elaborate gag, however, serves as a callback to a merrie melodies cartoon dating all the way back to 1932. from the top of the teepee pops out a bespectacled, cap wearing college student toting a ukelele. he bursts into a rousing rendition of “freddy the freshman”, a callback to the cartoon of the same name 5 years prior, directed by rudolf ising. seeing as friz himself received an animation credit on the short, the gag isn’t totally out of the blue. the song itself would become a favorite of stalling’s, used in many a cartoon. once more, stereotypes prevail as the song is broken to allow a war-chant interlude before resuming. overall, the timing is well executed, but, along with everything else in this cartoon, is diminished in appreciation on account of being so tone-deaf. two more brief gags follow--a hen giving a war-cry after laying an egg, and a hitchhiker hopping into a woman’s papoose as she strolls by. nothing remarkable, more uncomfortable than anything. the gags feel a tad bit forced and directionless in my opinion.

next, a fade out and in signifies some momentum in the story as we spot a native american on the lookout, his entire upper-body rotating 360 degrees as he keeps a sharp eye out. suddenly, he spots something--a wagon crawls into view. a closeup shows two cows lugging along a covered wagon, emblazoned with TRADER DRUM on the side in big, red letters, serving as one of the more amusing gags as we see it towing a modern camper from behind. 

particularly tashlin-esque camera angles pop up in this cartoon, especially during this sequence as the native american dashes over hill and dale, zigzagging in and out of the foreground. a good sense of audience immersion as we merely see his legs and the side of the cliff when he dashes alongside the foreground--frank tashlin would also utilize this camera/layout technique later on, this scene here particularly reminiscent of an angle used in now that summer is gone just a year later.

the native starts to write a telegraph--in the background, there’s an EASTERN ONION sign decorated on top of a counter advertising “90 words for 90 wampum”, the eastern onion sign a pun on the telegraph service western union. i’m more sympathetic to corny puns such as these, but the gag has definitely become rather obsolete and lost to the sands of time (since when was the last time anybody sent a telegraph?) the native hands it to a man behind the counter, who shoves the note outside of a hole in the tent and shows it to another native on the lookout. after reading the letter, he grabs a pipe and delivers the telegraph via morse code through the pipe. the sound of the pipe DOES align rather nicely with the underscore of “the sun dance”. and, of course, to top it all off, just as we’ve figured the telegram has ended, we get a topper of “shave and a haircut”, a hiccup sound effect by mel blanc capping it.

many a warner bros cartoon dons the catchphrase “calling all cars, calling all cars” from the 1933-1939 police radio drama of the same name, and this one is no exception. instead, however, the native american on the lookout drones in the same monotone voice “calling all braves, calling all braves, pick up a covered wagon at cactus canyon and red gulch. go get ‘em, boys.” 

thus sparks some much needed energy--natives run out and (shocker) perform some war cries, the sequence cut short in favor of one (of a few) dance sequences. i do believe bob mckimson gets an animation credit for this cartoon, and while i’m not certain, his hand would certainly explain the solidity and fluidity of this next sequence as a native dances in time to a drum beat, getting progressively faster and faster as the tempo picks up, eventually transforming into a mere whirlwind. again, credit where credit is due--the animation and the technique behind it is very well crafted. it’s a shame such talent had to be used on such caricatures and stereotypes. 

more high energy and more intriguing foreground camera angles as the natives dance around a fire. one woman beats both her stomach and her butt (makes me wonder about the hays code), another carrying her son in a papoose doing a war cry. eventually, the son carries the mother on HIS back, also doing a war cry. i wonder, did audiences then find the war cry gags as taxing as i do now? racism aside, it definitely serves as a crutch gag. 

and, of course, time for a celebrity performance: a busty caricature of martha raye, living up to her nickname of "the big mouth” as indicated by her giant caricatured lips, singing “goombay drum”. the song number is catchy and fun, but her caricature is certainly... questionable at best. cultural appropriation much? sexualized much? she would have only been 20 here. nevertheless, animation is fun and the song is very lively, but, as always, difficult to appreciate to its fullest potential. 

after her song number, animation of the natives dancing around the fire is reused as a segue between scenes. this time, two natives dance the hopak (because why not?). carl stalling’s score is certainly a highlight--his transition between music styling is wonderful as always. more fire dancing animation as another segue, this time used to fade out and back in. 

the next scene of the natives charging on horseback would be reused a year later in cal dalton and cal howard’s breakout cartoon porky’s phoney express. the natives cross the creek to get to the trader’s wagon (once more some nice foreground overlapping and animation, all things considered), where the trader begins to shoot at them while they circle the wagon. the scene (as well as underscore) is very much reminiscent of the equally (if not more so) deplorable 1936 jack king cartoon, westward whoa. 

an all out shootout occurs, the trader perching on a stool and shooting rapid fire as he spins 360 degrees, whereas a native fires back, spinning around his horse from the impact. there IS some rather unique and fun animation as a native fires his rifle, stars and sparks trailing behind. the novelty of the entire battle is lost rather quickly, however--it’s stretched too thin, too repetitive, too tired to be continually encapsulating. i will award points for creativity as the trader shoots at a line of canoes in the style of a carnival duck shooting game, but again the content of the gag is cringeworthy and uncomfortable. 

nevertheless, this is where history is made, following in the carnival theme. the natives circling the wagon suddenly lift up and ride their horses like a merry go round, underscored of COURSE by “the merry go round broke down”, marking this the first cartoon to debut the future theme song. funnily enough, tex avery would reuse this exact gag in his 1953 cartoon homesteader droopy. friz freleng’s gag has the advantage of using “the merry go round broke down” to further the gag, whereas tex at MGM had to use “man on the flying trapeze”. this isn’t the first (nor last) time tex would take inspiration from friz. coincidentally, the cartoon reviewed before this, freleng’s streamline greta green, served as the basis for tex’s one cab’s family. his 1950 the peachy cobbler is also spoofed from friz’s 1946 holiday for shoestrings. 

after the merry go round gag, the shootout resumes. we spot sidelined natives, “freddy the freshman” popping up as an underscore once more, observing the “game” as the coach paces back and forth, complete with a cheering section and everything. one native is shot right in the butt, prompting the referee to blow the whistle. the chaos screeches to a halt as two natives toting a stretcher, taking the injured “player” off the field. the minor key rendition of “freddy the freshman” does accentuate the gag rather nicely. stalling’s scores are probably the best thing about the cartoon, aside from the notoriety spurred on by the merry go round sequence. 

the coach enlists in the help of one of the sidelined players, switching from broken english (sigh) to yiddish? another gag that, at least for me, has been lost to the sands of time. the native american he’s enlisting in gives a drawling catchphrase of “ooooooohhhh yeaaaaah,” coined from tony labriola’s character oswald on the ken murray show, used in quite a few 30s warner bros cartoons (porky’s spring planting is the first example that comes to mind.) maybe a riot back in 1937, but the entire gag sequence is too dated (and again, the stereotypes of it all) to get a rise today. 

another tashlin-esque technique is employed as various footage is overlayed and reused to further the drama of the entire sequence. for me, however, this comes off as more of a tactic to fill up the time slot then to convey urgency and theatrics. this WAS the depression, so if you can reuse animation to save a buck or two, then by all means go for it, but this cartoon in general feels rather directionless and hollow, as if there was too much time left to fill and they had to think of a way to fill it up. and, of course, the overarching unpleasantness of the racism contributes to my unfavorable review. we get almost 20 seconds exactly of overlayed footage before things finally settle down.

at last, the shoot out has subsided. the animation is commendable for how fluid it is as two native americans pop up amidst the rubble, both crossing their arms. the first native is obviously surprised to see he has company, exclaiming in broken english (sigh) “who you?” the entire sequence is bogged down by cringeworthy, stereotyped dialogue. “me mohican. who you?” “me mohican.” the second mohican, obviously unpleased, grabs his tomahawk and socks his companion right over the head. i could be wrong, but the first mohican sounds like the vocal work of tedd pierce, the second one obviously mel blanc. the timing of the punchline is rather nice, i will concede, as the final line of the cartoon is “me last mohican.” an unarguably clever gag, soured by racism and stereotypes.

so, as you can obviously (or hopefully) tell, this cartoon is far from a favorite. it’s bogged down by dehumanizing and insulting stereotypes and caricatures, stereotypes and caricatures that have been done before and are awfully tired (as are all.) friz has worse entries under his belt, but he certainly has much better entries as well. this cartoon felt a bit loose and cobbled together for my liking, lots of extended scenes, reused animation, and directionless gags. it’s not quite a spot-gag cartoon, but i wouldn’t say it exactly has a concrete storyline either. it just seems to exist. there are, of course, some good qualities: carl stalling’s musical technique is creative as ever, and brightens up the monotony of many of the scenes. the animation was rather fluid in some parts, but the content being animated sours the appreciation for the full technique. not enough to save the cartoon, it at least does tote some notoriety and history with it being the debut of the looney tunes theme song (being instated as such only a few months later.) however, i can’t in good heart recommend this cartoon. too cringeworthy, too racist, too monotonous, too routine.

but, as always, i’ll provide a link. obviously view at your own discretion. 

[goobergamer]

Welcome to the Real World, Chpt. 4/?

Summary: ‘The real world’ is Marine Corps slang referring to civilian life after discharge.

Or, Washington, new and struggling veteran, moves into a duplex where he has a strange and surly neighbor with a penchant for the color red. (Sargington modern war vets AU)

Pairing: Sarge/Washington (Red vs. Blue)

Warnings: Alcohol use in this chapter

First chapter on Tumblr here: (x). Also crossposted to AO3.

Wash is a chronic homebody rapidly chewing through the books on his shelf and the TV shows he can stand to be semi-present for. The phone never rings when he’s there, but he still can’t help and check every morning and night hoping the voicemail light will have come on.

He’s pretty sure he saw a couple of his teammates when he was taken in by the medical team, half-coherent. No one has been in touch since, through his care or discharge. He’s not sure what he expects them to say. Wish you were here, xoxo? Sorry you’ve cracked? (He’s not crazy.) Thanks for compromising the mission, asshole? How could you have fucked up so badly?

Wash isn’t sure. But he thinks he’d take any of it over the dead light and the dial tone.

---

It just keeps getting hotter as they approach midsummer, and one day when Wash steps outside straight into a wall of humidity, Sarge joins him only to suggest that he come inside for coffee so they don’t just up and die on the porch from the weather.

Wash is pleasantly surprised when Sarge gives him a tour of the downstairs space; it’s cluttered, but not a junk pile as he may have guessed. Rather, the home looks lovingly lived-in. A card table is open in the corner of the living room, with parts and tools for some sort of electronics project scattered across it. The TV stand is covered in small piles of DVDs; at quick glance Wash sees serious war documentaries mingling with old family sitcoms.

Of course, it still shows little signs of Sarge’s quirkiness beyond the multiple locks on the door. Despite the gun cabinet standing against the wall with his scarlet beret sitting atop it, there’s a shotgun casually leaned up against the coffee table that Wash only hopes has the safety on. Everything that can come in different colors is red in Sarge’s apartment; upholstery, painted wood, you name it. There’s a strawberry Yoo-hoo balanced on the couch armrest, and Wash halfway wonders if the flavor was chosen to fit the color scheme.

They take their coffee on very red chairs at the very red table in the kitchen. Sarge is polite enough to only harass Wash for two straight minutes about how he takes his coffee (“Washington, without sugar you’ll have no energy to defend yourself!” “Defend myself from what?”) The new location doesn’t change much until Wash asks, “Which way to your bathroom? Is your side of the duplex the same as mine?”

“Flipped. Upstairs to the left.”

When Wash walks into the bathroom, it takes him a moment to register what’s off. At first he thinks Sarge had installed a full-size towel rack above the sink, but after stepping closer, he sees that a bath towel has simply been strung across the medicine cabinet to cover it.

He remembered, Wash realizes. He remembered the mirror.

Something in his throat tightens, almost imperceptibly. It was a small, simple gesture, but an appreciated one all the same, at a time when the world feels minimal in its kindness.

---

When Wash hears a knock on his door early one evening, he only pauses a moment before opening it without the chain in place, having an easy enough guess of who it will be. “Hey, Sarge. Something you need?”

Sarge is leaning against the doorframe all too casually, an atypical grin splitting his face in two. “Washington, when was the last time you went out anywhere?”

Wash pauses for a moment, thinking. “I go running every day? Beyond that, I picked up groceries three days ago.”

Sarge switches battle tactics. “When was the last time you went somewhere to do something fun?”

Wash has a sinking, suspicious feeling he knows the ballpark where this is heading. “...I don’t mind grocery shopping.”

“...Well, that answers that.” Sarge chuckles. He doesn’t seem too surprised. Wash supposes he can’t really be insulted; a serious answer to Sarge’s question would have been ‘on shore leave over a year ago’.

“There’s a legion a couple towns over,” Sarge continues. “A few of the guys I know are catching up there tonight! There will be drinks! General merriment! And YOU are cordially invited!”

“I wouldn’t know any of the people there.”

“I can introduce ya’!”

Wash knows that Sarge isn’t the type to take no for an answer when his mind is set on something. And he has to acknowledge that he has become a hermit in the months since his discharge, to an unsustainable extent. At some point he’ll have to reconnect with the real world. May as well do it with a friend to guide him. “Alright, fine.”

“That’s the spirit!”

They take Sarge’s Ford, a decades-spanning oddity; the truck itself is from the 70’s, but has a new high-tech radio system Sarge says he installed himself. The radio will only tune into an obnoxious polka station from god knows where and which Sarge will claim no fault in his installation process for. The drive is still nice with the windows rolled low, Sarge resting his elbow on the sill as he steers with one hand, Wash turning in his seat so the early evening sun shines down on his face.

They’re quickly hailed by a chorus of both greetings and heckling from a far table when Sarge leads the way into the Legion. There’s one chair left open for Sarge when they approach, but he grabs another one from an empty table and plants it next to his own for Wash, the nearest guy shuffling over to make more space.

“Men, this is Washington,” Sarge announces when they’ve settled in. Wash receives some amicable nods and hello’s from the ensemble; apparently Sarge doesn’t think more introduction is necessary, and neither do they. “Washington, this is Tucker, Caboose, Donut, Lopez, Simmons, and Grif.” There’s a surly element to his tone when he introduces the last one, who seems unperturbed, just offering Wash a late “‘Sup?” before some earlier conversation picks back up.

Wash takes the time to examine the group unnoticed, observing that they look ragtag in more ways than one. They’re all young, younger than Wash, though it's not always easy to tell under the scars; the majority of this group look like they had to physically claw their way out of warzones. Wash can pick out four prosthetics between what he can see of just two of the people at the table, and with the extent of Lopez’s, he might guess prosthetic legs were hidden out of sight too. Grif and...Donut? sport some major scarring visible above the table. Grif’s scars, a layer of patchworks across his cheek and down one arm, look too clean to be from anything in-field; skin grafts, maybe? With Donut’s ear and eye gone, and the side of his nose and lips halfway there, it’s easy to assume that he took something hard straight to the face.

“—Before I can catch whatever gave Private Pinhead that stroke of inspiration, I’m going to get a drink!” Sarge huffs, brushing off a conversation with Grif to rise. “You want something, Washington?”

“Oh, I—whatever you’re getting is fine. Thanks.” Wash reaches for his wallet to offer him payment for the drink, but Sarge has already moseyed over to the bar.

“So, Washington, how do you know Sarge?” Simmons asks, all attention now turning to the new guy.

“He’s my neighbor.”

“Man, that sucks,” Tucker replies, though obviously without true rancor.

“Could be worse. He could live next to Donut,” Grif says.

“Hey!”

“That’s right, has Lopez gotten his insurance pay back after that fire yet?”

“No.”

“Hey, I said sorry, I didn’t think a hair dryer could overheat like that! I guess I’d been doing too much blowing.”

Amidst a chorus of groans, Sarge returns with a pina colada in each hand. “Can’t believe the bartender didn’t card me! They’re supposed to card anyone under forty.”

“And why would they card you, again?” Wash asks as he takes one of the drinks. Sarge’s efforts to convince Wash that he’s some ludicrous age are drowned out by amused laughter from others at the table.

The longer Wash is there with them, the more he feels himself settling into the rhythm of the conversation, becoming comfortable enough to laugh and joke along. By the end of the night, he’s been wrapped up into a number of ridiculous and crazy anecdotes that tell him two things: Sarge surrounds himself only with those that are as insane as himself, and that Wash has had the best night in as many weeks despite his hesitation before he came.

“They’re idiots, but they’re my idiots,” Sarge says fondly in the car on the way home.

“I can see why. They’re good guys.”

“We’re there every week. Just let me know if you want to come along again.” Washington looks at Sarge, but Sarge is cheerfully watching the road as he says it.

It’s an unexpected offer, but certainly not unwelcome as he thinks about the dark apartment he’s about to return to. Remembering the warmth of the rum and the night’s festivities is a strong pull. “I just might take you up on that.”