#gonna look like an unkempt pile of blankets

[frnkiebby]

that is in fact the mood~🎃

#me @ the fact that i have to work tomorrow #which is fine #but don’t want #gonna look like an unkempt pile of blankets #at least frank is cute when he does it #i mean he’s cute doing whatever #we had a whole ass spitting frank day #and he was still more than cute #fuck #okay i need to go to bed now #kthxbye #frnkiebby #frank iero #mcr #mcr5 #mcrmy #frnkiero #frnkie #my chemical romance #my chem

[shares-a-vest]

@steddielovemonth Day 1: Love is... Letting someone take care of you (Prompt by @starryeyedjanai)

wc: 722 | Rated: G | tw: the ever-present possibility of Steve vomiting, migraines

Tags: Sick Fic, Steve Has a Migraine, Caregiver Eddie

Eddie makes his way down the hall, following the sounds of gross, loud and retching coughs, his pace quickening with each step.

Steve was supposed to meet him at the arcade an hour ago. Steve isn’t exactly the most punctual person (despite the guy always looking at his watch with a laboured sigh). He sleeps in more often than not.

But he’s never an hour late at 2 in the afternoon.

“Stevie?” he asks, just narrowly missing the doorframe as he practically spins into Steve’s bedroom.

He doesn’t wait for an answer and tiptoes towards the blanketed form that is spluttering gibberish like Steve is attempting to answer.

Eddie looks around the room, his hand hovering over Steve’s form.

The place looks about the same as usual – a little too clean for the bedroom of a twenty-year-old boy, curtains drawn like they were downstairs. Steve’s work clothes from yesterday are discarded on the floor...

Wait.

“Sweetheart,” he coos, rubbing the blanketed mass now.

The lump moves to reveal a muss of Steve’s hair, sticking on end, looking greasy and tangled at the back. Steve grumbles.

Eddie rounds the bed, hoping the other side will reveal Steve at least a little.

“So dizzy,” Steve mutters as soon as Eddie spots his flush, pained face in amongst his bedding.

His eyes roll back and close, a full-bodied grimace shaking the pile of bedding.

Eddie eases down and reaches to comb his fingers through Steve’s fringe, only to be hit with just how clammy his boyfriend is. He swoops back the sweat-caked hair, patting it down gently.

“Think I’m gonna… throw up,” Steve says clear as day and gulps.

And Eddie thinks this might be the first time he has ever seen someone’s face flush green.

“I’ll go get your bucket,” he says, earning a reedy whine in protest.

Steve doesn’t embarrass easily, but he does when it comes to his (sometimes vomit-inducing) migraines and the yellow bucket Claudia Henderson brought by after Spring Break and demanded he keep close by. It sits under the sink in the ensuite bathroom now.

Eddie makes quick work of retrieving the bucket, plus some tissues and a glass of water. There are more supplies he could do with, he thinks, but they’ll have to wait.

“Come on, Big Boy,” he says, tugging at the covers, “Time to sit up.”

Steve moves at a snail’s pace to get himself untangled from his cocoon and sit upright. The blankets eventually fall away to reveal a flush, bare chest.

“You naked under there?” Eddie teases.

“Clothes sting,” is all Steve says as he swings his legs around with a monumental effort to hang off the side of the bed.

“Feet on the carpet, sweetheart,” Eddie instructs, placing the bucket in his lap and spotting it with his own hands.

“I’s gross,” Steve mutters, head falling into the receptacle, his voice echoing in its (so far) emptiness, “Go... away.”

He sways a little as if those limited, broken words were too much. Eddie wraps his free hand around his boyfriend’s middle.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he begins, “And you are not gross. You need help. I’m here now.”

He soothes his hand up Steve’s back, feeling him relax a touch.

“O-okay,” Steve hiccups, a tear falling onto his cheek.

“I’m here to look after you,” Eddie reassures, his voice barely above a whisper, “And I’ll get you good enough that we can pack you up and get you over to my house. Sound good, hmm?”

Steve half-nods into his bucket before he looks up.

His eyes are glassy. Nose red. His fringe now sticking to his forehead. He looks like a wreck, unkempt and sweaty. Now only a pale, pink-tinged green.

But Eddie leans forward and presses a kiss to his partner’s cheek anyway.

“Just think about your feet on the carpet, okay?” he whispers when he pulls back, “Your feet are planted on the ground – balanced, steady. Focus on that for a while. It’s okay if you throw up.”

Steve huffs and nods.

“‘Kay.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Steve.”

Steve drops his head towards the bucket again and Eddie begins detangling at the damp hair at the nape of his neck.

“Thanks,” Steve rasps after a long while of silence (and him not blowing chucks everywhere), “L-Love you.”

#yayyy love month is here #had to go for a sick fic first off #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #steddielovemonth #sick fic 🤧 #steddie ficlet #tw vomit #tw vomiting

[lovedrunkheadcanons]

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on AO3

Rated M

The time read 1:09 AM on the dot. A feeling of grim solemness cloaked the deserted streets. The decimated opera theater was cordoned in a shroud of response vehicles, revolving lights twirling red and blue. Reporters first at the scene had canvassed the complex, attempting to interview people and take photographs as ambulances were frantically wheeling survivors to the nearest hospital, seconded only by mortuary vans. Vested dogs were set loose, their snouts glued to the ground, while rescue volunteers and medics searched through rubble like it was a minefield operation, ordering everyone to be quiet when they thought someone was yelling for help beneath the wreckage.

Satoru stayed out of their way. He was silently cheering them on, but had already scanned the area with the use of his Six Eyes. All the people buried underneath were dead and those that made it out alive beforehand would have their memories wiped clean, as was standard protocol. Probably not since the World War had the death toll been so staggering.

He found Nanami talking to two policemen next to a freight truck unloading an excavator. The salaryman’s hair looked a little unkempt and his cleaver knife was dripping with blood, but Satoru didn’t care. He stomped right over, fuming.

“Shit, Nanami, I’ve been looking everywhere. Where the hell have you been?”

“I appreciate your time, officers,” Nanami deferred to the sergeants, keeping his tone professional. “That’ll be all for now.”

The two officers nodded and raced to assist their fellow service men and women. Nanami held his silence and fixed his eyes upon the rows of emergency vehicles lining the tapped-off street. Satoru followed his gaze and saw he was looking at Hannah, sitting out the back end of an ambulance, the Yamazaki siblings nestled on either side of her. Someone had given them blankets to stay warm. The three of them were quietly observing the rescue efforts. Her belongings were piled in her lap and her feet were still barefoot.

“How is she doing?”

Satoru’s anger towards his comrade cooled to a low simmer. “Fine, I guess,” he sighed. “Good but not great. You know how it is.”

“Any injuries?”

“A few scrapes here and there, but overall nothing life threatening.”

“Who’re the kids?”

Satoru glanced back at the two children huddled in blankets next to his wife.

“Stowaways,” he replied. “She found them when we got separated in the Domain.”

Nanami turned to issue him a condescending look. “You got separated?”

Satoru scowled and massaged his soar eyelids. “Hey, it’s a long fucking story, alright? The Domain ended up being a trick room. I’ll tell you about it later when I’m not dog-shit tired and properly caffeinated.” He was gonna drink a whole pot of coffee when he got home. His head ached like the dickens.

Nanami let out a long sigh and loosened the bow tie around his neck. He brought his cleaver knife to inspect the damage. “Sorry I wasn’t able to talk earlier. Got myself in a bit of an…altercation.”

“Sheesh, no kidding.” Satoru scrutinized the bloody knife. “What, some fanboys needed your autograph or something?”

“Suppose you could say that,” Nanami said with a shrug. The knife made a shing when he repositioned it in his grasp. “Though, I’d say I gave them a bit more than just my autograph.”

“You killed them?”

“No,” Nanami huffed. “They’ll be treated for their injuries and taken in for questioning. I have a feeling they’re connected to the attack somehow.”

“What, this?!” Satoru pointed to the destroyed theater. “You’re shitting me?”

“Two random goons assault me at an exclusive event, and a special-grade curse suddenly pops out of nowhere? That doesn’t sound odd to you?”

Satoru shrugged. “No. Not really.”

“Think, Satoru. What were we planning to discuss tonight?”

“The investigation regarding Hannah’s attack two months ago.”

Nanami gave a curt nod. “Precisely.”

Satoru waited a beat, trying to think. “Um…okay, so what does that have to do with this again? I missed it.”

Nanami heaved another exhausted sigh and wiped his glasses down his unwrinkled shirt. “As of now, nothing. But the two goons I took down began following me soon as I entered the theater. I thought nothing of them at the start, thinking they were just a couple of waiters making their rounds, until I saw them communicating through earpieces. That’s when I knew something was off.”

Gojo cocked his head. “Why didn’t you alert the others? Utahime and Shoko were already there.”

“It’s a party. You bump into the same people all the time. I had to be sure it was really me they were after. So I waded around a bit and after three full laps, I went upstairs to the gardens. As I thought, the two losers followed and that’s when we,” he nodded to the knife in his hand, “exchanged pleasantries.”

Satoru raised his hands. “Hold up. I thought you said this was connected to the curse att — ”

“Let me finish!” Nanami seethed, letting slip a few irritated grumbles before going back to his story. “While up on the roof, the goons stupidly revealed their motive. They were wanting to steal my phone.”

“You’re phone? Why would they want your crummy ‘ole phone?”

Nanami’s eyes flared heatedly. His phone was neither crummy nor old. “Do you realize how much personal information is stored in a cell phone nowadays, Satoru? All anyone would have to do is guess a few lucky numbers and immediately have access to all your messages, your credit card purchases, what websites you’ve visited, the whole gambit. There’s a reason cell phones are sought after when apprehending a suspect. They’re like evidential gold mines.”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Satoru relented, batting the air as though it would dispel his faux pas. “You don’t have to talk down to me. I’m caffeine deprived, not stupid.”

“Someone wants information on Hannah, and is going through great lengths to obtain it,” Nanami continued, gripping his chin between his fingers analytically. “They must’ve known I had been roped into her investigation a few weeks ago, and tried apprehending my phone at a time I’d least expect it, meaning there has to be a mole feeding them intel. The loss of human life doesn’t seem to deter them either. They want to make as much noise as possible. Get our attention. Raise hell.”

The Six Eyes wielder began picking his ear boredly as his comrade rambled. “I still don’t see how this is all related...”

“Satoru,” Nanami said sternly. “You and Hannah were the only ones trapped inside the curse’s Domain.”

“No, not true,” Satoru quipped. “There were also the kids.”

The salaryman exhaled. “Fair enough, but so far there have been no other living witnesses showing symptoms of Domain exposure. The dead will require autospies of course, but as of now it’s just the four of you. It doesn’t help that you admitted to getting separated either, and knowing the curse was one of Sukuna’s finger bearers is also troubling. It could mean he…” Nanami paused. “No, forget it. We’ll wait for more evidence before drawing more conclusions.”

“Conclusions? What conclusions?” Satoru said this moronically as though the salaryman were speaking in riddles, but feared he already knew the answer. Not counting the kids, revealing he and Hannah had been the only two living escapees made the bolts tighten in his chest. He couldn’t deny it any longer. Hannah was being repeatedly targeted by someone? Someone with the ability to transport special-grade level curses from one place to another, including the backstage of a fully packed theater without anyone knowing. There was really only one person who could accomplish such an undertaking. But still. What would his former best friend want with his wife? That logic made zero sense. The Sight was triggered from raw cursed energy floating in the atmosphere. The amount of cursed energy increased when curses were being spawned, or when cursed objects, especially powerful ones, were beginning to unravel. Japan was never in short supply of those, but if Suguru was searching for Sukuna’s fingers, or a powerful cursed object, why use Hannah to find them. The curse from tonight was a finger bearer. What good was it to use somebody with The Sight when you had no trouble locating them yourself? Or was there something else at play?

Is this out of spite, Suguru? Satoru thought. Are you targeting her to get to me?

“Still have that finger on you?”

“Yeah.” Satoru paused his reflections and dug out the Sukuna finger from his pocket, purple and withered, like it had been preserved in a case of formaldehyde. He saw the revulsion show on his comrade’s face and laughed. “I know. Gross, isn’t it?”

“Idiot, stop flailing it around. You’re an adult. Act like one.”

“Chill, man, chill,” Satoru appeased. “I’ll pay Kumari a visit and have her reseal the damn thing. Haven’t seen her and Ichiro in a while — Yeah, yeah, then I’ll hand it over to the Council like a good boy, so stop micromanaging already.”

Nanami rolled his eyes and looked back at the rescue workers and flashing ambulances. “We’ll have a better picture of what happened in the coming days. For now best keep an eye on Hannah and be on your guard. It seems whoever is behind this is hiring non-sorcerers to appear less conspicuous.”

Satoru blinked at him. “Non-sorcerers? That’s weird. What makes you think that?”

“The grunts used no cursed weapons or spells that I could think of. Plus, one of them was carrying ¥250,000 in his coat pocket.” Nanami let out a detestable snort. “A sheer pittance, if you ask me. Who keeps hit money where someone else could easily steal it?”

Satoru felt like he’d been kicked in the groin. The memory of Hannah slipping that exact amount in a random waiter's breast pocket resurfaced in his mind. They had gotten a good look at her. And he had let them.

“Tell me everything you saw, Kento.”

Hannah sat anxiously in the cab of the ambulance, watching Satoru converse with a serious looking man with ash-blond hair, holding a bloodied cleaver knife. Unlike Satoru, however, he was still wearing his tails, and his bow-tie and shirt were clean as swan feathers, like he had stepped out of the party for a casual smoke and found the bloody butcher knife lying there by happenstance. They had been talking for over twenty minutes, her husband’s facial expressions eclipsing from joking, to confused, to…worried?

The Yamazaki siblings were curled in a blanket on either side of her. Kenta regained consciousness long enough for a nurse to hook an IV in him, but had fallen asleep on Hannah’s arm, peacefully sucking his thumb. Meanwhile Hiro hadn’t touched the carton of juice and apple slices the nurses had given him. He lied awake, eagerly waiting for news of his parents who had yet to turn up. They had been watching first responders carry the loaded body bags to-and-fro, having lost count after the number reached thirty.

“Those are dead people, aren’t they?” Hiro whispered. “In those bags?”

“Yes,” Hannah said. Another body was being brought out from the wreckage. “They are.”

“Do you think my Mama and Papa are in there?”

“I don’t know, Hiro.” She reached for his hand and squeezed. “Let’s hope not.”

A woman wearing a long white coat over her gown was moving from ambulance to ambulance. Her satin gloves were replaced with yellow latex and her chocolate brown hair was kept from her face in a messy bun. The makeup couldn’t hide the heavy dark circles under her eyes which looked more pronounced as she worked. It was Shoko. She was collecting vials of patients’ blood and offering her sympathies to the victims. It had been a stressful six hours.

“Your turn,” she said rather cheerily, her eyes emoting something like relief upon finding Hannah with the boys. She held up an unused syringe and rattled three empty vials.

“What is this for?” Hannah asked.

“Safety protocol,” Shoko replied. “Everyone’s blood will be collected and sent off for testing. It helps us know whether your body is experiencing any long lasting side effects from the cursed energy. It’s standard procedure. No biggie.”

Hiro squirmed and hugged himself closer to Hannah. “I don’t like needles,” he whined.

Hannah stretched out the crook of her elbow for Shoko to draw blood first and smiled. “Surely after all that you can’t be afraid of a little needle.”

This harmless ribbing seemed to work. The six year old pouted but eventually outstretched his arm once Shoko was finished with Hannah. It didn’t hurt so bad. The doctor was careful where she stuck the needle and gave him a green colored band-aid when he voiced it was his favorite color. She quietly did the same with Kenta, who was still asleep on Hannah’s arm, and removed the empty IV on him shortly afterwards. At some point Satoru approached the group.

“We good over here?”

Hannah looked up. Her husband’s hair had returned to its normal, unruly self; the gel no longer keeping it parted to one side. His dress shirt was untucked and his sleeves were still rolled, making him give off a haggard appearance while still being handsome. She had to revert her eyes elsewhere when she felt blood rush to her face.

“Sugoi.” Hiro whispered in admiration, craning his neck to peer up at the sorcerer like he did earlier, except he had a better view of him now. “How are you so tall?”

Satoru smirked. He couldn't say he was a huge fan of children, but they were almost always fans of him (except darling little Megumi-chan). He patted Hiro’s head and slipped him a sly-eyed wink.

“Thanks for looking after Hannah for me, squirt. I owe ya.”

Hiro couldn’t believe a real life superhero was holding a conversation with him.

“That’s nothing,” he said modestly as any six year old would and looked back to the sorcerer’s wife for reassurance. “You should've seen what shedid.” He didn’t notice the way the woman froze. “Hannah healed Kenta’s leg.”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed. “Healed?”

“Yeah.” Hiro nodded excitedly, using grand sweeping gestures. “She shot gold light from her hands, vroom, and made the bad, purpley stuff go away, and then Kenta woke up, but now he’s sleeping again. You should’ve been there. It was so cool.”

Brow raised, Satoru glanced over to Hannah for more context. She dismissively waved her hand.

“Children. They have quite the imagination. Really, Hiro, whatever gave you that idea? You must’ve hit your head.”

“Huh?” The accusation of treachery on Hiro’s face was heart shattering. “But you…”

Hannah shook her head. “Kenta’s leg was never injured, remember? We just thought it was because his pants were torn.”

He dropped his arms. “But…what about the gold light?”

“Gold light?” Hannah chuckled. “Silly goose, there was never any gold light. Maybe we should have Shoko check you for a concussion. I’m growing concerned.”

The boy felt as though he had missed a step going down the stairs. Hannah, who he regarded as his friend, was lying. He knew very well he had not hit his head and was not con-cursed (or whatever she said), but also knew no one would believe him. Hannah was a grown up. He wasn’t. Her word would be taken more seriously than his. She had swept him under the bus. How come?

“Hiro! Kenta!!!”

The group turned to see an exasperated man and woman push through the throngs of rescue personnel. Together, they shoved Shoko and Satoru aside like revolving doors and pulled Hiro into a bone-crushing hug. Hannah too evaded these newcomers. No question they were Mr. and Mrs. Yamazaki. Hiro and Kenta’s raven black hair was the same as their mother’s, and their brown eyes must’ve come from their father. She also noted the scrapes and bruises marking the parents’ faces, along with their hand bandages, but thankfully the two of them looked healthy.

“My babies!” Mrs Yamazaki sobbed while her husband stood watch, tears welling his eyes. It was apparent to everyone how relieved they both were for having founded their children alive. Kenta had awoken from his slumber, confused as to what was going on, mumbling about how hungry he was when his mother hugged him; The two year old wouldn’t remember a thing from tonight. Hiro was crying as well. His parents were okay. He and his brother would not be left orphans. They were a family again.

“Thank you!” both parents cried, kneeling before Hannah and Satoru, foreheads touching the ground to pay them homage. Hiro had relayed to them all that had happened. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. How can we ever repay you?”

Hannah was rendered speechless to the point it felt awkward. She had never been thanked to such a degree and was fumbling on how to express her gratitude. Satoru pulled through for her.

“No payment necessary. We’re just glad you folks made it out in one piece. That right, Hannah?”

“Um, yes,” Hannah coughed. “Please, there’s no need to thank us. Really.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Yamazaki,” Shoko politely interrupted. “My name is Dr. Ieiri. Real quick, do you mind coming with me for a moment? I have some papers you’ll need to sign before we can let you go.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” they said in unison and shuffled behind the jujutsu doctor to another ambulance. Mrs. Yamazaki still had Kenta in her arms, leaving her eldest son with Hannah for a while longer. Satoru left to reconvene with Utahime who was newly accessorized in a workers helmet and construction gloves, busily helping volunteers lift debris and guide survivors to one of the nearby medical stations scattered throughout.

Alone with her once more, Hiro looked up at Hannah.

“Why did you lie back there?”

The woman gave him a sad smile. “I wish I could tell you, Hiro, I really do, but I’m afraid I can’t. I’m sorry.”

The six year old peered down at his dress shoes.

“Will I ever see you again?”

Hannah's smile waned. It had dawned on her in the ambulance that the boy was sensitive to cursed energy and would likely become a fine jujutsu sorcerer one day. But that day was not now, so instead she knelt in front of the child, leaned forward, and kissed him sweetly on the cheek.

“Take care of your brother, Hiro.” Goodbye, you brave boy.

Shortly afterwards, Hiro’s parents returned with little Kenta who had yet again fallen asleep, thumb lodged in his mouth. United as a family, the Yamazaki’s bowed one last time and waved farewell to Hannah as they departed with an officer who would escort them safely back home. Hannah watched until they had made it past the street corner and in a few blocks could be seen no more. She felt someone nudge her arm.

“You ready?”

She turned to see Satoru, fists stuffed in his pockets, his turquoise blue eyes shining amidst all the rotating emergency lights. He too had been watching the Yamazaki’s leave. Now feeling a tad bittersweet at their parting, Hannah nodded and followed her husband to the Rolls Royce parked on the side of the road. Mr. Ichiji slid out the driver's seat, peppering them with questions: “Are you alright?” “Do you need anything?” “Have you eaten at all?” Hannah tiredly assured him she was fine and slid inside as he opened the passenger door. Satoru climbed in the opposite seat, just as they had arrived.

Hannah sat all the way back, cushioning her head along the headrest. The medics had given her sandals to walk in and let her keep the blanket from earlier. She draped it over her legs and snuck a glance at Satoru, plugging his now working phone to a charging cord. She felt a pang in her chest.

“I’m sorry for getting angry at you the way I did. I didn’t mean it.”

Mr. Ijichi, ever the eavesdropper, rolled the privacy screen up. Don’t mind me, I’m not here.

“Why? It’s not like you were wrong,” Satoru scoffed, changing his mind unplugging his phone from the charger, slipping the device back into his pocket. “I’m the one who screwed everything up.”

“But you said the act was involuntary. I should’ve listen — ”

“Hannah…” He turned sharply to her. “We both know there is no excuse for what I‘ve done. If I were anyone else I would be facing criminal charges for sexual harassment. End of story.” He looked away and slicked a rough hand through his hair. “Shit, Utahime is right. I really am a terrible person.”

Hannah felt her lips tug. “The worst.”

He peaked over his shoulder. “Worse than a cancer diagnosis?”

“No,” she giggled. “I wouldn’t say you’re that bad.”

A low laugh escaped him. “Phew, good to know,” and he reached across the aisle to fasten her seatbelt, pulling the blanket over her arms to keep her nice and warm. “Cancer really sucks.”

Her eyes began to droop. “Yeah, it does.”

“But you don't think I suck?”

“No,” she yawned contentedly. “I don’t think you suck.”

“Even when I’m being an asshat?”

“Yes,” she murmured. “Even when you’re being an asshat.”

Mr. Ijichi put the Phantom in drive and sped up the empty street, heading for the exit that would return them to the Gojo estate. Hannah fully closed her eyes and as she drifted off to blissful sleep, she suddenly had the most peculiar thought. How strange. Last she had fallen asleep in the backseat of a car, she had been by herself, newly married and dejected by an unwilling husband who had since turned a new leaf and had kindly buckled her seatbelt and tucked her in. He was there with her.

They were going home.

#Gojo Takes a Wife #Jujutsu Kaisen #Satoru Gojo x female oc #Gojo x fem #satoru x oc #gojo x oc #jjk fanfic #arranged marriage #romance

[ratdoggozoom]

The adventures of the Gavina twins and Cayo part 1

“HEAR ME EVIL BEAST!!! THE GREAT GAVINA TWINS WILL BRING AN END TO YOUR DESTRUCTIVE WAYS!!” A red haired knight shouts out with her sword pointed at the giant beast. 

“Y-yeah. Die or something...please.” A meek voice tries to yell while not actually raising his voice.

“JEDDDAAAAAAAA!! Come on. ‘Please?’ really? You ruined such a cool moment.” The red haired knight is revealed to be a young 5 year old girl with a messy unkempt forest of curls as hair with scratch marks on her face from playing. She is pointing a wooden toy sword at a boy her age who has a large bowl cut hair covering one of his eyes. He clutches a similar wooden sword with both hands as he shakes a bit having the girl point the sword at him.

The girl is on top of a pile of blankets and pillows while the young boy named Jedda is cowering behind the pile. 

 “I’m sorry Ambra… I tried to get in the moment but Cayo’s mask is too scary.” Jedda whimpers out, pointing at a giant warforged wearing a boar head that has been striking poses and saying the word “Rawr” with each new pose the whole time. He is clearly having the time of his life. 

“No excuses, Jedda! As the next rulers of Fiorenza we need to stare beasts in the face with no fear. Also no please. Please is for weaklings.” Ambra says with her slightly squeaking voice with the pride of a 5 year old. “And Cayo you’re not even trying to be scary. How are we gonna fight beasts if I can’t take them seriously?! No fun.”

Cayo, still posing, says “Oh but I’m mighty scary. I’m doing my mightiest of poses after all.”

A wooden sword gets flung at Cayo’s head with what seems to be magic. Cayo puts a hand on his head as he says “Owwwwa.”.

 Ambra stands on her blanket hill and with arms crossed and cheeks puffed up. “Cayooooooo. Take this seriously. You don’t play with us as much anymore.” Ambra slides down the hill and lands next to the now sitting Jedda. 

“C-can we have lunch together? I’m hungry.” Jedda gently asks Ambra. 

Cayo looks at them and thinks. He walks up to them and stares at them with the boar head still on. Suddenly he grabs a blanket and wraps both of them in a blanket. The twins look confused and startled.

“I like Jedda’s idea. Let's go eat. I missed the kitchen staff anyway so let's give them a scare.” Cayo says as he picks up the wrapped up twins and runs out the door before they could say anything. He carries them over his head as he speeds through the palace. Ambra laughing and screaming  with joy. Somehow she managed to get her arms out of the blanket. While Jedda is screaming in both fear and joy, squirming around trying to break free.  The screaming brings the attention of a couple of maids as they see this boar headed warforged booming across the halls with the royal twins that look like giant worms in those blankets. 

“Cayo I swear if you mess up those blankets or the floor again you’ll have a broom through your head. “ one of the maids says as she stomps her broom with anger. 

“Don’t you worry Ms.Julietta. I’ll be careful. I swear this time.” Cayo says as he runs backwards looking at her. Ambra waves at her and Jedda smiles trying to wave as well.

They make it to the kitchen as they see the familiar old chef, Nana, stirring some soup. Other cooks and helpers look and see what Cayo has come up with this time.

Cayo goes on one knee as he holds up the twins “Jedda and Ambra turned into worms. Hurry and feed them with your magic soup of healing oh great chef Nana. “ Cayo says in a grand tone as if he’s in a play. 

Ambra has her hands up and hands ready to claw someone with evil and says “I am the worm queen now feed me.” while Jedda manages to get his fingers out and says “Can I have some bread instead?”

“Ohohoho oh dear. Hurry hurry, sit them down at the table. I’ll bring them their plates.”

Cayo unwraps them and sits them down. He folds up the blankets knowing he’ll get an earful from Ms.Julietta if he doesn’t. Nana comes into the dining hall with 2 bowls of steaming vegetable soup with bits of pork mixed in. 

“Oh back to normal I see.” Nana says

“The smell of your soup must have cured them,Nana.”Cayo says, putting down the blankets to the side. When Nana puts down the bowls and before the twins could dig in, Cayo gets a spoon and takes a sip of each bowl.

“Cayo that’s mine, what are you doing??” Ambra says annoyed. 

“I was ordered to be the royal taste tester. No food will go untasted.” Cayo says while giving Jedda bread “Now Jedda eat the soup as well. I got told you’re not eating again.”

“I heard aunty Lora was poisoned. What if we get poisoned?” Jedda says worried.

Cayo looks serious as he puts a hand on Jedda’s shoulder and crouches down. “Where did you hear that from?” Cayo says in a gentle voice.

“Last week I heard the maids talking about it while I was in the garden. They said she was in pain and almost died.” Jedda whimpers out, almost crying from fear. 

“Lora just got food poisoning. There must have been some carrots mixed in her food by mistake. Now Jedda eat properly. I had some and the soup is perfectly fine. Very good in fact.” Cayo stands back up and ruffles Jedda’s hair ,”I need you to eat properly so you can be as tall as me you know.”

Jedda sniffles and nods. He starts eating. Ambra only starts eating when he does. She slurps it down. Between each slurp she says “Hurry up,Jedda! I’mma get taller than you before you know it. I don’t want a short brother!”

With this Jedda starts eating a bit faster trying to keep up with Ambra.  

Cayo takes Nana back to the side where the twins won’t hear. 

“What the hell? Did Emil not tell the staff to be more careful what they say around them? Both me and Mini told him. I’m gonna have to tell him to his face aren’t i?” Cayo says thinking and pacing around.

“Now Cayo. You know that Sir Emil is trying his best to keep up with everything. He can’t keep an eye on the staff while handling all this.” Nana says. 

“Look what happened,Nana. Jedda stopped eating properly and if it wasn’t me he probably would never say why. We can’t risk him getting sick again while all the doctors are away at the battleground,”Cayo replies, slightly annoyed.

“It's war,Cayo. They will hear if something happens no matter what anyone does to stop that. Young master Jedda will learn from this. It makes him scared ,yes but he will need to get used to it if he were to succeed his mother or sister” Nana says back in a serious tone. 

Cayo and Nana’s talk is clearly heard by Jedda and Ambra who try to ignore them and eat in peace. They hold each other’s hand tightly ,comforting each other.

#original story #story #dnd #dnd character #dnd stuff #dnd campaign #dnd 5e #dnd story #dungeons and drawings #dnd warforged #dnd fighter

[fooltofancy]

LATE BUT ASKING HIM: 2,8 & 9

2. what is their grooming routine? (how do they treat themselves in private)

an early life on the road living out a bag more often than not has made the siren's call of things like consistent baths and things that Smell Good difficult to resist, tbh. he comfortably straddles the line between so, so unkempt and meticulous. is he moisturized? yes. has he combed or trimmed his hair in the last year and a half? no. he's wearing half of his clothes Right Now and none of the buckles are done 'cause who's got the time for that shit?

not ilya.

in private he probably takes less care of himself, tbh, because there's a bit of the performative about caring for himself when there are folk around who are gonna ask uncomfortable questions about it. he cares ABOUT himself substantially less when it's only his problem.

8. describe the place where they sleep (ie what does their safe space look like. How much (or how little) care / decoration / personal touch goes into it.)

old habits die hard, and comfort's been at best a pile of blankets in a corner somewhere. he's still young and even though his day-to-day is physically taxing above and beyond the average he thinks nothing of sleeping on the floor. any and all floors.

he HAS recently upgraded to a futon mattress, though, since he finds himself in possession of a more permanent place to sleep. did try a real bed, for a bit, but while having somewhere extra to hang your jackets was nice he has a tendency to roll off of anything up off of the ground, so a futon is the best of both worlds: soft and lacking in excessive gravity.

in-game sleep situation - unfortunately the boots in bed is pretty standard, as well.

9. what is their favorite holiday?

not a big fan of holidays, tbh, at least not when it comes to celebrating himself. they haven't ever been a part of his life in a significant way. THAT SAID i think he enjoys the hell out of celebrations where other people, especially folk he cares a lot about, are really into it.

#the amount of time i spent sitting there with wind whistling around in my head while trying to think about these last night was #a lot. #when u don't sleep unless you're so tired you kind of collapse into whatever bed-shaped object is available #thank! #xiv blogging #ch: ilya

[kitkatpancakestack]

Train

My beloved, I have combined your two prompts of Train and Unkempt <3

“Dad.”

Eddie glances to the side as Christopher shuffles up beside him, blinking owlishly through his glasses. “Hey, buddy. You just get up?”

He nods, stifling a yawn.

“How’d the bed sleep?”

“Mm, not as good as home, but I liked it.” He sags against Eddie’s side, and warmth blossoms through Eddie’s chest as he wraps an arm around his son’s shoulders. “How come we’ve never been on a train before?”

“You know, the opportunity just never came up.”

“Mm.” He looks around then, surveying the nearby spaces of the train car. It’s still pretty early, and there are only a couple families and solo stragglers occupying the dining area. “Where’s Buck?”

Eddie winces, recalling long late into the night of tossing and turning and listening to the arduous whistling of Buck trying to breathe. “He’s not feeling so good, mijo.”

“What? But it’s his birthday! We’re going to Seattle!”

“I know, and he might feel up for some adventure in a couple days, but for now he just needs a little rest, okay?”

Christopher pouts, but nods. “If you say so.”

“I say so. Now, how about some breakfast?”

They end up splitting a stack of pancakes and pile of bacon. They talk about school and their planned adventures in Seattle, and he regales Eddie on a compendium of facts that sound regurgitated from Buck’s mouth, but it makes him smile. He likes seeing bits of Buck poke through Chris, carving out little holes where the sun shines through. Tiny reminders of the person Eddie is privileged enough to be able to raise his son with.

After about twenty minutes or so, Eddie stacks their plates and wipes his hands. “Alright, buddy, I’m gonna go check on Buck, okay? You can hang out and watch the scenery, but don’t leave this car. Got it?”

Christopher offers him a sharp salute. “Yes, sir!”

He laughs and ruffles his hair, and then tiptoes back into their bedroom. He’d sprung for the deluxe package. His city worker’s salary had balked at the price tag, but it was Buck’s birthday, and Buck didn’t have a lot of big birthdays growing up. Eddie felt empowered to make up for every single year he went without, so the decision hadn’t been a hard one. It was difficulty to regret, anyway, with a full-size bed and another off to the side, completely accessible, along with free room service.

Unfortunately, the birthday boy in question could not, at present, enjoy it.

Eddie drops onto the bed by a Buck-shaped lump under the covers. He smooths his hand over the hill of a shoulder, down the slope of an arm, settling into the valley of a hip.

“Hey, baby,” Eddie whispers, hand reversing course and slowing to a stop by a tuft of blond hair peeking out of the blankets. “How ya feeling?”

Buck shifts slowly onto his back. Dazzlingly blue eyes peer up at him beneath hooded lids. His hair is an unkempt mess of curls splayed out over the pillow. “Bad,” is his dry response.

Eddie grazes his fingertips along Buck’s throat. “Still hurt to swallow?”

“Little better.”

His fingers move from the thin skin of his throat to the clamminess over his forehead. “Still have a headache?”

“Just congested, I think.”

“Hm.” Eddie traces the curve of Buck’s cheekbone with his knuckle, and Buck’s eyes flutter shut as he leans into the touch. “I’m sorry you're sick on your birthday.”

Buck shrugs, an action restricted by the blankets wrapped around his body. “S’okay. I’m here with you guys.”

“Doesn’t feel like a fair trade.”

Eddie’s joking, obviously, but Buck’s eyes snap open and tunnel passed Eddie’s defenses, all the way to his soul. “Of course it’s a fair trade,” he says, and his hand escapes the confinement of the blankets to push Eddie’s fringe away from his face, snare his fingers in the hair, hold him in place. “You guys are worth it every time.”

There it is again, a prickling buzz in the corner of Eddie’s skull. I’ll never know how to carry the love you give me. It runs through his head at least once a day, whenever he feels the heat of Buck’s presence at his side. But, that’s his own thing to figure out, and he's learning, bit by bit, how to permit himself to carry it.

“Where’s Chris?”

“Looking at the scenery. He’ll be in when he gets bored, which should be any moment now."

Buck laughs, and the sound is thick and throaty and congested, but so, so beautiful. “Lie down with me then. Just for a minute.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. He’s got his two favorite boys with him, they’re on a train to Seattle, and all he wants to do is bury his face in his boyfriend’s neck, here, where it feels like the chaos of LA can't touch him. So he lies down, and he closes his eyes, and he presses his nose against the underside of Buck's jaw, and for once in his life, he takes a damn minute.

#kitkat writes #buddie #one word prompts #outlandishgal

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

I Want Us Both to Eat Well

Ao3

Summary: Remy might not be great with self-care, but they've got the 'taking care of Logan' thing down to a science. And Logan can work with that. Content: Overworking, mentions of poor eating/sleeping habits, caretaking, it’s pretty soft overall, nonbinary remy Pairing: Losleep

~

Despite what some may think, Logan didn’t have the most demanding of jobs within the mindscape. He wouldn’t call his work a walk in the park, of course, but when he was largely tasked with matters such as scheduling and memory allocation, versus such things as emotional processing or idea creation, Logan had no plans on complaining.

And Logan’s most complicated job? Even less complaints to be figuratively filled, given it was his favorite.

See, for a good while now, Logan had been dating Remy, a figment of the Imagination created by Roman for a one-time vine gag that somehow managed to get enough permanence for themself to function as their own being. For a bit, they had simply wandered about, teasingly flirting with not only the sides but Thomas himself. Something about Logan must have held their attention however, because soon enough he was the only side being ‘bothered’.

It didn’t take long for the feelings of ‘botherment’ to morph into amusement, which furthermore transformed into affection and soon even love. Remy had made a bad attempt at celestial flirting, and despite the inaccuracies, Logan had greatly appreciated the sentiment.

Appreciated it enough to allow “I love you” to escape both his thoughts and mouth, an acknowledgement that had left the two of them in similar states of shock for a whole ten seconds before Remy was in Logan’s lap and doing their damndest to kiss him breathless.

Remy only became more cemented in the inner workings of Thomas’s mind after that, likely a consequence specifically of how much time they were spending in Logan’s room. They were still a figment, but they were rapidly gaining actual responsibilities, things they had to do or else Thomas would directly suffer. Most were connected to sleeping- making sure the sides were rested, bullying Thomas to bed when needed, lining up memories as appropriate to be saved and stored during REM- but some were simply random, the misc assignments settling onto the not-a-side.

Usually, Remy could manage it all without much issue. They would complain heavily, sure, bemoaning the days when they were a free-spirit with nothing to do, almost sounding like Roman when they spoke of the cruelty of fate that such was the price of love, but as long as Logan was there to hum sympathetically and play with their hair, they were good.

Occasionally however… it was too much. Too many late nights and sleepless mornings convincing others to rest, too many memories to pick between and sort, too many tasks all piling up. Remy would get overwhelmed and end up overworked if no one stopped them in time.

Luckily for Remy… they had Logan.

Figuring out that Remy had hit their breaking point wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, the first step of Logan’s ‘job’ therefore being the most difficult. Remy, for all their bellyaching, didn’t want to be perceived as a slacker or irresponsible with their job. With sunglasses, coffee, and their devil-may-care attitude, they could normally fake being alright for a day or two past actually being alright.

But the facade always cracked in the end, and as soon as it did, Logan was there.

So, the second step, taken once Logan recognized those cracks: eat a good and filling breakfast. This step was especially important, and made the list to remind Logan that a coffee and crofters-covered bagel wouldn’t be sufficient.

Next, Logan went about assigning Remy’s usual tasks to the other sides. To Virgil and Patton, enforcing Thomas’s bedtime. To Janus, memory dealings. To Roman and Remus, whichever various misc tasks Remy had at the time. And top it all off with a lecture to the lot of them to sleep well.

(Logan always expected some resistance on this step, and was always surprised to find none. “If you say they need a break, they need a break.” Virgil said one time with a shrug. “We want to help where we can.”)

Then there came the final step: convincing Remy to take a break. To most, this would be the hardest step. Even when all their work was attended to, Remy would insist they had things to do, that they couldn’t just take a break, especially not one as long as Logan would suggest.

Logan wasn’t ‘most’.

Before Logan entered his room (or, more accurately, his and Remy’s room, the figment not having a place outside of the Imagination and therefore opting to move into Logan’s), he double checked that everything was ready.

Breakfast? Eaten.

Time? Well past noon.

Work? Distributed.

Tie? Loosened.

Shirt? Untucked.

“Hotel? Trivago.” (vocabulary cards!)

Logan let himself into his (now shared) room. Remy was sprawled across his (now shared) bed, flipping through their own notecards- the form memories took when viewed within the logical side’s room. Their sunglasses were set aside on Logan’s (now shared) desk, making it easy for Logan to spot the dark bags beneath their eyes.

They glanced up when Logan entered, cocking an eyebrow as they took in his appearance. “You’ve looked better, babe.” Remy commented lightly, though Logan could hear the concern in their voice. “You here to crash? I can move.”

Logan didn’t answer right away, instead walking over to stand in front of Remy. Before his partner could guess what he was doing, Logan had grabbed the memory cards they were sorting, easily willing them away.

Remy’s eyebrow only raised higher. “Alright, yeah, someone needs to take a nap.”

“And that someone would be you.” Logan replied. “Or, more appropriately, someone needs to take several days to rest.”

Remy chuckled. “You sure about that, sweetheart? I wouldn’t think you’d want me falling behind on work, especially for Thomas’s sake.”

“Your work is being handled, Thomas will be fine.” Logan assured, taking a moment to tenderly tuck some of Remy’s hair behind their ear. Remy’s expression softened at the gesture. “I have taken care of everything for you, save one thing.”

“Oh?” Remy prompted, looking vaguely amused by Logan’s approach. “And what’s that one thing, doll?”

With a smile, Logan settled himself in Remy’s lap, arms wrapping lightly around the back of their neck. “Myself.”

Remy’s brow furrowed at the answer, their concern returning full force. “Log-”

“I have not eaten since breakfast,” he neglected to mention it was a large enough breakfast the lack of lunch hadn’t truly affected him, “I am stressed,” he ignored that the stress was Remy-based, “and my appearance is unkempt;” he pretended this was not a very conscious choice, “therefore, I should be resting, and yet, I am not.”

“You do seem tired…” Remy murmured, one of their hands moving to rest steadily on Logan’s hip while the other gently cupped his cheek. Logan appreciated the moment as long as he could, lazily leaning into Remy’s touch while the overworked figment searched his face for more signs of exhaustion.

Then they squinted at him. “Wait. This isn’t some ploy of yours, is it? ‘Cause no offense hun, but this feels a bit too easy. Normally you go running when I try to stop you from working on bad days.”

“I admit I am usually more… difficult about such matters, but I assure you, my love, this is no ploy. That would imply only I benefit from this situation. I think we both would.”

“Oh? How so?”

Logan’s fingers traced random patterns on Remy’s upper back. “You prefer to see me in good health and enjoy taking care of me. I prefer to see you in good health and know that letting you take care of me will subsequently lead to you being taken care of as well.” He kissed Remy’s forehead. “We both benefit, for the sake of not only ourselves, but each other as well.”

Remy sighed, their attempt at annoyance falling rather flat, in Logan’s opinion. “I can tell you’ve planned this out, babe.” Their hand on Logan’s cheek slipped into his hair, lightly scratching at Logan’s scalp.

The logical side involuntarily let out a content hum at the motion, briefly letting his eyes close as he pressed closer against Remy, their hand now supporting more of his head than Logan was. “Mhm, the plan of self-care? I think it’s a good plan.” Logan partially opened his eyes to catch Remy’s gaze. It was fond and sweet, Remy having clearly been swayed by tired Logan. “Do you think it’s a good plan?”

“Yeah.” Remy agreed softly, Logan grinning as he realized he had ‘won’ (really, they had both won, seeing how desperately Remy needed rest, but for the intents and purposes of this particular situation… Logan had won). “It was a great plan, angel.”

Logan allowed his head to be transferred onto Remy’s shoulder, happily nestling it into the crook of their neck. He could feel as Remy shifted their position, clearly going to lay Logan down on the bed. However, the bed alone would not be enough, Logan locking his arms behind Remy’s neck when they tried to let him go.

“Oh, come on, sugar, I can’t- I need both my hands- oh, alright, fine, if you’re gonna be like that, I’ll make it work.”

It took a couple minutes longer than it might have if Logan had allowed Remy to let go of him, but soon enough Logan was being deposited in a proper pile of blankets and pillows, all packed in together and arranged in the corner of the bed that lined up against the corner of the wall. He released Remy this time, comfortably sinking into the heap.

“I’m happy you’ve deemed this arrangement of your bed more acceptable than the one you yourself made, sweetheart.” Remy teased even as they worked on tucking the pile closer around him. “I’m going to grab lunch now, alright? Don’t go anywhere.”

It was an unnecessary request, given that Logan’s master plan of self-care wouldn’t benefit from him making Remy hunt him down, but the familiarity of it made Logan snort. The blanket-pillow lump had a one hundred percent success-rate with dissuading Logan from escape, no matter the circumstance, but Remy’s consistency in reminding Logan to stay put was endearing every time.

Remy returned within a few minutes, carrying a plate filled with ham and cheese cubes and some bunches of purple grapes. They placed it on part of the bed not overtaken by the plush pile before carefully climbing over it, cautious to not make a mess as they joined Logan. They slid into place behind him with practiced ease, shifting Logan to be more in their lap and against their chest before tucking the blankets back in around them both.

Logan leaned back against Remy as they settled, resting his head at a tilted angle so that he could keep his eyes on Remy. Noticing this, Remy smiled softly, pressing a kiss to Logan’s forehead.

“Alright babe who hasn’t eaten since breakfast, time to eat.” Remy said, tugging the plate closer to them before picking up one of the cubes and offering it to Logan. He let Remy pop it in his mouth, swallowing it while Remy grabbed another morsel of food. The motions were easy and repetitive, and soon enough nearly half the plate was gone.

Breaking the skin on a grape, Logan caught Remy’s wrist as they went to offer him a ham cube. Remy raised an eyebrow. “Darlin’?”

“You need to eat too.” Logan explained, nudging Remy’s hand towards their own face. “I know how you get when you’re busy.”

“Well now you’re not even being subtle.” Remy teased even as they accepted their redirected ham cube. Alternating between themself and Logan, Remy returned to their work of emptying the plate, quickly finishing off what remained of it.

When there was nothing left on the dish, Remy gracelessly pushed it off the bed, Logan well aware they’d pick it up later but still rolling his eyes at the laziness in the gesture.

“Shh, I can hear you thinking, love.” Remy trailed a few kisses down the side of Logan’s face, their arms wrapping snugly around his waist. “It’s my mess, I’ll clean it up later. Don’t worry about it.”

“You could take care of it now though.” Logan argued weakly, already once-more melting into Remy’s hold.

Remy chuckled, peppering more kisses across his chin. “Then I’d have to let go of you, my lovely Lo, and I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.”

“Mmm, fair point.”

“Plus,” Remy went on as they began to slide into a more horizontal position, laying Logan down with them and briefly releasing his waist so as to move his glasses from his face to the bedside table, “it’s naptime. Someone needs their rest.”

“You.”

“Which one of us is taking care of the other again? You’re the tired one.”

Logan laughed quietly at Remy’s rebuttal, rolling over and nuzzling his face into Remy’s neck. He wasn’t sure when the lights in the room had turned off, but he was fairly certain it had been Remy’s doing. “Fine. I am very tired. So tired I have completely forgotten what to do now. Remind me how to sleep.”

“Dramatic-ass.” Remy’s tone was too soft to match their words. They pressed their cheek against Logan’s hair, their breath as they spoke close enough for Logan to feel its warmth. “You’ve just gotta close your eyes and stop thinking about anything that isn’t your wonderful partner and their wonderful fluffy pile of comfort and relaxation.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Logan dropped a kiss on Remy’s collarbone. “I could do this for days and days and-”

“Shhhh, starlight. Rest.” Remy slowly ran a hand up-and-down Logan’s back, successfully distracting him from his poorly-veiled (but loving) jab at Remy. “Bully me later.”

Logan didn’t respond verbally, opting instead to hum in contentment and snuggle up closer to Remy. There was no way they’d be able to slip out of bed without Logan noticing- not that they’d try, not now, but Logan appreciated the assurance of proximity. Despite not truly being tired, Remy’s warmth and Logan’s relief at knowing they would finally be resting themself were enough to make his eyelids heavy, the idea of sleeping peacefully with his partner too tempting to pass up.

So, yes, Logan did have some difficult duties to attend to, the caretaking of Remy the most complicated of them all. But drifting off happily in Remy’s arms, Logan remained firm in his stance that it was his favorite duty.

#losleep #ts logan #ts remy #ts sleep #fanfiction #fanfic #ts fanfic #sanders sides #nb!remy #i hope y'all like this but 's okay if not bc it is- per the usual- v self indulgent sldjfmvksdl #i think it came out good tho

[shelikestv]

For @sinnabonka Happy Birthday, hon. I am so glad you’re in my life! You make my world a much better place! Ilysm!  🥰 🥰 🥰

***

"How about a kiss?" Dean asked, sliding closer to Cas's side of the bed.

Classic rock music played obnoxiously in the background and Cas groaned, throwing the covers dramatically over his head.

Dean laughed, poking at the blankets with a finger.

"Babe, come on. What's it gonna take to get your stubborn ass outta bed? I have plans for us today."

He nudged the blanket again, and he wasn't positive but he thought it sounded like Cas growled at him.

Surly, sleepy Cas was cute, kind of. But also since he’d become human it was very annoying, too. Hell, Dean was grumpy in the mornings and he knew it. But it was 11 A.M. and Cas was going on his seventh hour of sleep for the fifth day in a row. No way that was healthy.

"Dude, c'mon."

Cas hated when Dean called him ‘Dude.’ Surely it would get a reacti--

"Bite me."

Dean sighed. Tough love, then. He gently grabbed a fistful of blanket.

Three.

Two.

Yank!

The covers came flying off, revealing squinty eyes, wild and unkempt hair and a scowl so dark it could give Amara a run for her money.

Cas folded his arms and growled again. God, it should be funny, but it was actually a little terrifying.

Dean swallowed.

"You gotta get up sometime, man," he said sheepishly... then shrugged. "I'm just trying to help..."

With a glare fixed on Dean the entire time, Cas crawled to the edge of the bed on hands and knees, grabbing the pile of blankets and wrapping them over himself again.

God, between Cas and Jack, Dean wasn't sure who the bigger toddler was. He sighed, throwing his hands in the air.

Dean got up and walked to their shared dresser (most of Cas' clothes were Dean's anyway) and pulled out a few items. A cocked eyebrow peeked out from under the edge of the blanket, blue, bleary eyes staring at him.

"Dean, what're you doing now?" Cas mumbled.

"Shhh" said Dean.

He quickly popped the button of his jeans, removing his shirt and pants, tossing them into the hamper. He donned pajama bottoms and walked bare-chested to flip off the light, crawling back into bed with Cas. The hall light crept under the door just enough for Dean to make out Cas's extremely confused face.

"I thought you said you had plans," Cas whispered, though he didn't at all seem put out.

Dean laughed a little. "I had plans to spend time with you, dumbass," he whispered. Against his will, his eyes and tone were softer than he intended and he blushed.

Cas squinted again, skeptically.

"Look," Dean said. "I might... Miss you."

Cas smiled.

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Ugh. I didn't mean... it's not a big deal, okay? I just mean if you’re lazy and stay in bed all day. . . Don't get that look."

Cas reached forward running his fingers through Dean’s hair softly in gratitude. Dean closed his eyes, leaning against his palm.

"You miss me," Cas teased, with a cocky grin.

Dean shoved his shoulder, groaning but they were both smiling and Cas snuggled up against Dean's chest, ear pressing against his heartbeat.

Dean kissed the top of Cas’s head lightly:

"Wherever you are, I wanna be," he said softly.

They stayed silent for a while until their breaths synced, slow and calm.

Then, very very quietly, Cas whispered:

"I love you, too."

#sinnabonka celebrates #destiel #destiel drabble #my writing #yes hon I wrote this just for you bc I love you a lot okay? #I hope your birthday is absolutely incredible!! #spncreatorsdaily

[hogarthwrites]

just friends

pairing: young samuel drake/reader (m/f) 

genre: fluff

warnings: none

words: 3,155

summary:

Sam's your best friend, and you're hopelessly in love with him. It's cliche and it's stupid, but you can't help it. Is it really okay to be in love with your best friend even though you know it might ruin things between you two?

note:

Hi! This is a two-part story. The first part takes place in the past, in 1989, while the second part will take place in the present day.

tags: unrequited love, best friends

1989

You stared at your notebook covered in doodles as your history teacher, Mr. Phelps, talked on and on. A 90 minute class felt like three hours and you couldn't wait to just get out to see Sam.

Your vision kept blacking out as you tried to stay awake, something Mr. Phelps noticed right away.

“It was ironic that the British Empire condemned pirates when they pillaged and stole more than those buccaneers ever have, isn't that right?” The old man was looking directly at you and you blinked yourself awake and nodded.

“Yup, I agree,” you tried to act like you were interested.

“Welcome back,” he laughed.

You sighed and slumped further into your chair. 3 o’clock couldn't come any sooner.

As soon as class ended, Mr. Phelps asked to talk to you and you gulped as you picked your backpack up and walked to his desk where he was looking through papers.

“I'm worried about you,” he slid a paper across to you and y ou picked it up and frowned at the F in red taunting you.

“I'm gonna have to ask for a guardian or parent’s signature on this.”

“Really?” You sighed.

“I'm sorry, but it's just school policy,” Mr. Phelps shrugged. “Look, don't be afraid to ask questions, alright? I'm here to help.”

“Sure,” you pursed your lips and shoved your test paper into your bag.

Sam was lying on the grass in the park and reading a book when you found him, and you tilted your head to see what the book was. Treasure Island . Again.

“You know grass stains your jeans?” You nudged him with your Nike Cortez sneakers.

“Well look who the cat dragged in,” Sam gave you a lopsided grin as his brown eyes met yours.

You felt your cheeks burn and you quickly sat down next to him so you wouldn't have to face him. It was something you didn't want to admit, but you had a budding crush on Samuel Morgan, your cocky, way too ambitious best friend who was probably deranged.

“Fuck my life,” you groaned as you plopped down on the grass.

“I thought grass stains your jeans,” Sam tugged at your denim skirt.

“Fuck you,” you stuck your tongue out.

“Oof, cranky.”

“Sorry, it's just been such a shit day.”

“What happened?”

You pulled your test and put it on his chest. “That happened. Uncle Arthur’s going to skin me alive.”

Sam looked at the paper, and you almost thought he was going to laugh because he looked so amused, but instead he sat up.

“Let me help you,” he simply said.

“Help me?”

“Yeah! Like those tutor people.”

“What makes you the history expert?”

“My mom taught me, and pirates are kind of my thing. You know that,” this time it was Sam who nudged you with his worn out Chuck Taylors. “Come on, let me help you.”

“Fine, but can you do me a favour?” You propped yourself up on your elbows.

“Yeah, what is it?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Can you wait for me outside if Arthur decides to kick me out?”

It was a joke of course. Arthur wouldn't dare kick out his favourite -- and only -- niece. He did, however, lecture you about your priorities and banned TV for a month. As soon as you got to your room, you looked out your window and saw Sam smoking next to his red motorcycle.

You waved out a handkerchief to signify that things were good, and you could've sworn you heard Sam laugh before he drove away.

Sam’s apartment was actually a room he'd rented out in an older woman’s ( she’s just a friend , Sam had said) home near the city. It had a bed in the corner with an Indiana Jones poster above it and books piled on the wardrobe.

You sat on the floor, your back against the bed while you wrote the essay Mr. Phelps asked you to do while Sam read on his bed. Soft music played from somewhere outside and it was softly raining outside and all you wanted to do was lie down on the cool floor and take a nap.

“Done,” you announced as you finished your last sentence.

“Alright,” Sam plopped down in front of you, your knees touching. “Show me what you’ve done.”

Saying nothing, you held it out for him and buried your face between your knees.

“Hmm,” Sam grunted. “I mean, you’ve certainly memorised what you needed, but…”

“But?” You peeked up at him and saw that he was sucking in his cheek.

“But why was it important that pirates like Thomas Tew and Henry Avery pillaged the East India company?”

“For treasure?” You cocked your head to the side.

“Close, but you see, India’s economy dwarfed Europe’s at that time, and there weren’t any powerful navies in the Indian Ocean, which made a lot of the vessels there an easy target,” Sam explained, his hands flailing around as he talked. He did that a lot, and you thought it was kind of cute.

“Oh, alright,” you wrote what he was saying down on a piece of paper. “You make it a lot easier to understand than my stupid textbook.”

“Good to know,” Sam grinned. “If you get a good grade, I’ll take you out. My treat.”

Your face lit up. “Promise?”

“I promise. We’ll go anywhere… As long as I can afford it.”

“I’m holding you to that promise,” you stuck your tongue out.

It was quarter past nine when you were done rewriting your essay and Sam had fallen asleep. He was your ride home, but you figured if you walked fast enough you’d get home before 10 PM. You put your books away and looked at Sam who was gently snoring, his brown hair messy on his pillow.

He stirred when you covered him with a blanket, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t really make out.

“Good night, Sam,” you whispered as you turned off the light and stepped out.

Sam was waiting outside after school with a smug look on his face. You held up the paper as you approached him, doing a little victory dance before giving it to him.

“What can I say?” He shrugged. “I’m a wonderful tutor.”

“Oh please, you were asleep for most of it,” you jokingly punched him in the shoulder.

“I think the A on this piece of paper makes your point moot.”

“Fine,” you giggled as you took your paper back and stuffed it back into your bag. “Where are you taking me then?”

Sam hopped onto his motorcycle and patted the seat behind him. “I dunno, it’s your choice.”

“Hmm,” you tapped your chin. “I’ve always wanted to go on a picnic.”

“Really?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Alright. But what about food? It’s not a picnic without food.”

You ended up buying burgers and a small cake at a local diner and without a picnic blanket, you laid out a little lace handkerchief on the grass where Sam meticulously set the food. It looked a little ridiculous, but it was the best you both could have done with what little budget Sam had and at short notice too.

It was a cool evening and you happily ate your burgers while Sam blabbered on about Henry Avery. When he leaned back, his pinky touched yours and you froze, unsure if you wanted to move away or not. It was funny how just the tip of his finger touching yours made you feel hot and all you wanted to do was take his hand in yours.

Sam kept talking, but you wondered if he noticed that you probably just stopped breathing. You read plenty of romance books, hell, you even ready Forever by Judy Blume, but you never knew what it felt like to actually be in love. No, you shook away the thoughts. I can’t be in love with Sam… This is just infatuation. Nothing else.

You practically memorised him, the way he’d run his fingers through his unkempt hair, how he’d talk with his hands, how he’d bite his lip when he was upset. You saw him fall in and out of love with a variety of people, and you were always there for him. It was almost pathetic how much you knew about Sam Morgan, and you wondered if he memorised you the same way you did with him.

Something cold dripped on your cheek and you looked up as rain started pattering down.

“Oh shit,” you frantically picked the mostly eaten cake up while Sam picked up whatever was left of the burgers and the handkerchief and followed you to a gazebo nearby.

“Well, that ruined a perfectly good picnic,” Sam had his hands on his hips. “Is the cake alright?”

You looked down at the soggy cake. “It had better days.”

Sam laughed before he stuck his paper cup into the cake to get another slice.

“Really?” You looked up at him.

“What?” He shrugged between bites. “It’s still a cake. It’s not like the rain is dirty or anything.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“It’s fine,” Sam shrugged again. “Thanks for the picnic, by the way.”

“Nah, you paid for it.”

“But it was your idea. I haven’t been on a picnic since…”

Since his mom passed away. He suddenly looked forlorn.

“I know, Sam,” you reached out and touched his arm.

“Do you mind if I steal this picnic idea? Nathan might like this too,” he forced himself to smile.

“Not at all. Tell him I say hi, alright?”

“Sure thing.”

The rain lasted long enough for Sam to mostly finish what was left of the cake and once the sky cleared up, he drove you home.

“Thanks for helping me, by the way,” you smiled as you stood by his motorcycle. You could hear the sound of a TV blaring inside and you knew Arthur was probably waiting up.

“That’s just what friends do, right?” Sam grinned. Right. We’re just friends .  “I’ll see you on Monday?”

You nodded and watched him drive away. Arthur was fast asleep on the sofa while an old western played. You were always grateful he took you in when your mother ran off to Europe and your dad felt you were too much responsibility, but it made you sad Sam and Nathan didn’t have the same privilege.

You turned the TV off and placed your somewhat damp essay on the coffee table before going to your room.

I don’t love him . It was a lie you constantly told yourself. Believing it was getting harder every time you were with Sam and you could barely look him in the eyes without butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You tried to make yourself stop, but you just ended up thinking about him more.

Your grades improved, much to Arthur’s delight and you hoped you could keep it up until after graduation at least. You applied to some colleges, but you were nervous with your mediocre grades and lack of extracurricular activities.

“And I can’t escape / I’m a slave to love…” Sam sang as he tossed a baseball up and down. He didn’t seem like it, but he was a pretty good singer. You were on the floor again doing your homework while he sang along to the song that was playing outside.

“Is there a bar here or something?” You asked.

“Nah,” his brown eyes followed the baseball. “There’s this old man who plays music on his roof. The lady says it’s because he misses his wife or something.” He shrugged. “It’s not too bothersome. He has good taste.”

“I guess it’s better than Arthur’s loud westerns at home,” you muttered. “That’s sad though. He must have really loved his wife.”

“Yeah,” Sam simply shrugged.

“What? You don’t think you’ll be an old man yearning for his spouse someday?”

“I don’t even think I’ll fall in love, to be honest,” he ran his fingers through his hair.

You laughed. God, I hope you’re wrong .

“What about you?” He nudged you with a socked foot.

“Gross, get your nasty socks away from me!” You shrieked, which made him push his foot against your back more. “Sam, stop, I swear you’re disgusting.”

“Come on,” he teased. “I bet you have a little crush. Was it Vicky? Whatever her name was? The one with the…” He gestured at his chest.

“No!” You grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. “Don’t be rude. Vix is just a good friend, and she’s dating some guy anyway.”

Sam gave you a smug grin. “Alright. Keep your secrets.”

It was quiet again while you went back to your homework, your heart pounding from the interaction. What a bastard, you thought. If he knew… If he knew I had a crush on him, this would all be over. You didn’t want to think about what it would be like without Sam.

“I got this fancy letter for you from the University of Texas at San Antonio,” Arthur strolled into your room and handed you a letter. “You really wanna move that far away from your ol’ Uncle Arthur?”

“It’s a good university,” you stuck your tongue out as you tore open the envelope. “Please, please, please,” you whispered.

You barely read past the “Congratulations!” when you squealed and jumped out of bed. “I made it!”

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” Arthur embraced you. He looked at the letter then frowned. “Biology?”

“Yeah, I think I kinda wanna be a doctor someday,” you bit your nail.

“And someday you will be,” he ruffled your hair. “Promise you’ll phone as much as you can, alright?”

“I’m still here, Uncle Arthur.”

“You’ve just grown up so fast,” he sighed. “What am I gonna do when you’ve gone off to be a doctor?”

“You could get a dog?”

“Huh,” he grunted. “Maybe.”

A week later, he came home with a puppy named John.

As graduation loomed closer, you felt excited, but you were left with a melancholy feeling of having to leave Sam behind. He was his usual, oblivious self, but you wanted to do it. You wanted to tell him before you left.

It was getting warmer again, so it was different to see Sam without a jacket on as he squatted on the pier, skipping rocks in the river. It seemed like there was something on his mind and he didn’t even notice you coming up to squat next to him. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a rock skipping far.

“Nice,” you said and he looked at you in surprise.

“Oh, hey,” he gave a weak grin. “Didn’t know you were here already.”

“Yeah, you seem busy.”

“Nah, just got a new job out of state.”

“You're leaving?” You felt your heart drop.

“In the fall, yeah, but not for long I hope.”

Sam fell silent, and you felt your heart beat quickly in your chest. Was this the right time? You were graduating in a few weeks, then you were off to San Antonio, unsure when you were ever going to see Sam again.

“Sam,” your voice was weak and he hummed in response. “I–I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah? What's that?” He looked worried when he turned to you.

“I could tell you anything, right? Promise you won't laugh?” Your cheeks flushed and you felt like your heart was gonna leap out of your chest. What am I doing?

“I won't laugh.”

At three, you took a deep breath. One... two…

“Sam, I like you,” you blurted out. “No, I think I'm in love with you.”

His expression softened at your words.

“I'm sorry, I tried my best not to let it get to me, but we're parting soon and I just thought–”

“I've always known,” Sam interrupted.

“What?”

“That you have a crush on me.”

“Oh.”

“I didn't wanna say anything because this is the best friendship I've ever had, and I don't wanna ruin what we have. We're great like this.”

Oh .

Best friendship.

The butterflies in your stomach turned into moths and you wanted to vomit. A lump in your throat grew and you held your breath. The last thing you wanted to do was to cry in front of Sam.

“I'm sorry,” you looked down at your feet.

“Hey,” he lightly nudged you. “We'll always be close. I'll write to wherever you are in the world. I promise.”

“Alright,” you nodded weakly. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Bring it in,” he held out his arms and you leaned into his embrace, trying not to sob into his shoulder.

You spent the night crying while you packed your bags, deciding not to bring anything that reminded you of Sam to college with you. You had to get over him.

Your chest felt heavy as you felt your heart break with every stupid lovesong that came on the radio. Why did you even bother confessing, of course Sam wouldn't be into you. Why would you even want to ruin your friendship like that?

The day you had to leave for the airport, Sam was at your window early in the morning.

“Mornin’, college student,” he smiled as he climbed into your room.

“I thought you were going to see me off at the airport,” you yawned.

“Just thought we could spend a bit more time together,” he looked around your now empty room. “Wow. You're really leaving.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “San Antonio, here I come.”

Sam didn't react, instead he turned back to look at you, his brown eyes scanning your face. “Hey listen, uh, a few weeks ago… I'm sorry about that.”

“Oh,” you sat on your bed. “No, it's fine. You're right, we're great friends.”

“I didn't mean to break your heart or anything.”

“I completely understand, Sam.”

He reached into his pocket and asked for your hand. There he placed a little medallion with a star engraved on it. It looked more like a little coin with a chain pierced through it.

“Here, it's a late graduation gift. I couldn't get out of work to buy it early enough, but I made it just in time last night.”

“Sam, this is beautiful,” you gasped. You made your way to the vanity and put the necklace on.

“It's just so you won't forget me, the most amazing friend you could ever ask for,” he looked smug.

“And it was such a sweet moment too,” you shook your head. “Thanks, Sam. I don't think I can ever forget you.”

You hugged him, feeling his arms around you tightly. At the moment, you felt your heart break, suddenly missing someone who was right in front of you. Your tears flowed, and you buried your face into his shirt as he soothed you.

“Promise we'll see each other next summer?”

“Promise.”

“Promise you'll write and call?”

“I promise.”

But Samuel Morgan was gone by the next summer.

#sam drake x reader #sam drake #young sam drake #fluff #ig

[jokin-around]

1am trek to Rite-aide in a Batman kigurumi for a bottle of cold syrup and some ice cream

Fic under the cut🎉🎉 ⬇⬇⬇

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826074 

from beneath a pile of blankets a color drained clown groaned miserably, the sound somewhat muffled by the assortment pretty plastic bobbles filling up the half deflated kitty pool they laid in haphazardly.

The clown in question was Gotham's very own mage of mischief. and much as pain played into his game he absolutely HATED being sick.

Funny thing was, Jay didn’t ever get sick. Period.

With the slew of mystery chemicals constantly floating around in his blood he’d always thought he’d be immune to something as innocuous as a cold. yet here he was stewing in misery, surrounded by a sea of used tissues.To say this was the first time he'd spent the wee hours of the night feeling like garbage would be a lie, but it was definitely the first time he’d felt so unprepared for an ailment.

All that considered, He wouldn’t mind the discomfort if he wasn't so hopelessly bored and… not to mention… alone.

Harley, who was probably busy gardening at the moment, hadn’t answered his calls and none of the other rogues would bother coming to his aid if he asked… they didn't like him very much. He didn’t know why and hardly cared but right now he honestly wished he was better at making friends. Of course, Bud, his lovely hyena who was snoring audibly in the other corner of the room, kept him company on long lonely days, but a dog’s unconditional love could only go so far.

He’d been in his room for hours at this point but as the bat shaped clock on his wall struck 1:00 Jay finally decided he’d had enough.

Throwing the blankets aside, sending foam balls bouncing around the room in the process, Jay sat up, hair a mess, rings around his tired eyes, and stood. Trying his best to ignore the how the world spun like a fun top.

He didn’t need Harley or ANY of those other stupid bozo’s. He could fend for himself just fine and he wasn't about to let some stupid head cold keep him down. Without any further thought Jay grabbed his coat, put on shoes, and headed out the door with a pop-gun in his pocket, looking an absolute mess. Grateful for Gotham's shady midnight darkness --------------------------------

It didn’t take long for the clown to reach his destination, Nite-aid pharmaceuticals was right down the street, just close enough to glide the whole way on a pair of unsteady heelys.

When he entered the store the place was mostly empty except for a few unfortunate stragglers. Night owls looking for late-night smokes and liquor as busted fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered above them... A few patrons turned to glance at him warily, not recognizing the clown out of makeup but suspicious nonetheless. Their failure to turn-tail at first sight would be a mistake they'd soon regret as the unkempt clown lifted his pop-gun in the air and lazily pulled it's trigger.

Now a normal play pistol would’ve gone off with an amusingly harmless pop, but Jay liked to personalize his toys. When the cork shot out the sound pierced through the nights silence like a firecracker, a waft of confetti and billowing green smoke flying up with it in an explosion of noxious, candy scented, color.

The fumes quickly spread through the small store, hot boxing it with chemicals that sent all who breathed it into a frenzied fit. The few unlucky customers present dropped anything they held and nearly toppled over each other as they ran screaming with laughter into the night.

At the back though, a store clerk, who seemed to be bared behind his counter, gagged and giggled as he writhed on the floor with his arms clenched around his sids, too disoriented by now to jump to freedom or even unlatch the door leading out.

As Joker came closer the man backed up, amused yet scared half to death of what would happen as the clown peered over the counter and examined him silently.

A few beats passed before Joker let out a small sigh and mentally made a note to tweak his smilex a tad as he wordlessly opened the gate and let the poor, gasping, employee run free, watching him trip over his own feet a few times as he did. His patented giggle concoction seemed a little too potent this time around, he’d have to fix it sometime….

Soon the joint was empty and joker was alone once more. The whole store now nuisance free and it’s contents perfectly ripe for the taking.

Humming a tune to himself Jay sashayed over to the medicinal isle and eyed over his options. All the keysmashed names and multicolored boxes seemed to meld together the longer he stared. he had no idea which one would be his miracle cure and the way his head swirled made it hard to concentrate on all the teeny-tiny words in front of his heavy feeling eyes. Instead of thinking Jay took a bag and filled it with whatever looked right. If he overdosed on Benadryl and Tylenol instead of Nyquil, so be it.

Before heading out Jay decided to take anything else he thought he might need to feel better including a pint of mint-chocolate chip ice-cream from the fridges in back, a page of funnies and a bargain bin DVD copy of Roger Rabbit .

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

As Jay walked out he heard a low rumble coming from a few blocks away, before he was able to recognize the telltale roar of the Batmobile, the powerful car had already charged its way down the street swerving to a sudden screeching halt in front of the small drug store as blinding headlights pointed directly at Jay, temporarily disorienting the already discombobulated clown and exposing his unfortunate appearance.

As Jay clumsily shielded his eyes a dark figure exited the tech loaded vehicle and slowly floated closer. Soon a tall shadow loomed over him, blocking the stunning beams of light. Jay slowly peered up to meet a pair of cold blue slits.

"Batman..…?" said Jay, sounding somewhat surprised despite knowing better

“Shoulda known you’d be here…. you're not gonna arrest me are you?" He asked pitifully

The Bat seemed to examine him for a moment, blue lenses eyeing him up and down. Jay was suddenly very aware of how he must have looked, he hadn't combed his hair, or shaved, or bathed, he was 99% percent sure he'd grabbed a mix-matched pair of heelys on the way out and he was currently wearing a jacket over a onesie despite the fact he was cooking like a hotdog in a microwave, evident by the beads of cold sweat trailing down his face….

His bare, scar riddled, face….

He began to turn red with embarrassment as he averted his weary gaze from the other man's calculated scrutiny, shoulders tensing

"Look are you gonna do your thing or can I take my stolen goods and go?" He asked impatiently, exhaustion in his voice

"My Bat-monitor says you have a 104 degree fever" the Bat states. No inflection.

"right, Which is why I need to get home like, now- " a large hand placed itself on his shoulder as he crouched to collect his stuff from the ground

"What you NEED is medical attention" Batman insisted, gently firming his grip. Jay, stood up, shaking his head in protest despite feeling more and more lightheaded with every passing second

"n-no I-I'm fine, i'll be fine! I just need t- "

Before he could protest further, handcuffs were promptly clasped around his limp wrists with a snug click, Jay looked at his shiny new bracelets and gave Bruce a sharp glare.

"bastard." he grumbled

"You'll thank me later." Bats stated cooly as he took the clown by the scruff of his hood and escorted him to the Batmobile. Jay struggled slightly at first, ragdolling as the Bat pulled him along, the fight in him quickly dissipated though as his energy slowly faded and he realized how shortsighted he'd been to not expect a situation like this. Of course the Bat would be here. you could hardly J-walk in this city without his big dumb ears hearing about it somehow.

But despite the inconvenience he wasn't mad… just… unprepared

he and the Bat had a special little relationship and after the day he'd had, that flowing black cape could be considered a sight for sore eyes. But this particular situation was a little different from their usual routine. Up there on the rooftops they were perfectly matched equals. Jay fast and unpredictable, Bats strong and disciplined. right now, as Jay was silently chauffeured to an impressive looking street demon, the scales were tipped, and instead of being fast he was weak and slow and practically nodding off by the time Bats gently placed his body in it’s passenger seat.

The rumble of the monsters powerful engine shook Jay from his daze and his unfocused eyes were greeted by a colorful array of buttons and knobs that decorated the car's interior.

"Ooohh" he awed quietly

"Don't. Touch. ANYTHING." The Bat warned sternly.

"Fuuuh-INE" he complained. "You don't mind if i eat in here tho right?" He asked as he fished into his bag and took out his pint of ice cream.

Batman shot him a look of disapproval.

"Ah, Don't worry- " Jay assured as he struggled to get the tub open "I won't get any on your p-precious lea-ther interio- " a bout of violent coughs interrupted his snarky remark…

The Bat sighed

"here, let me" he took the tub and quickly ripped it open, before placing it back in Jays lap

"OH HO HO thanks, Armstrong." He teased

"Whatever… Just pipe down and take this." Bruce reached into his glorified fanny pack and pulled out a small green pill.

Jay eyed it curiously.

"S' not some funky sedative is it?" He asks cautiously

Bruce shook his head….

"It's a… chemical agent I made special for you… I uh… mix it with my sedatives to counteract your resistance to them… it won't put you to sleep but It should have the same effect on those meds i’m paying for" he explained, nodding at the cherry flavored syrup Jay swiped.

With a bit of hesitation Jay picked up the small capsule and eyed it further. It was rather large and filled with a bright green gel.

"....well that's pretty... thoughtful of you I guess. "

Bruce looked away briefly, he'd created the compound last time Jay was out cold on his operating table using a sample of his blood. He'd put it to other uses since, but it had ultimately saved the clown's life last time around… that said he should've known Jay might find his over-preparedness odd

After a few beats of silence, Jay bit the bullet, washing it down with a scoop of ice cream. Help from the Bat, no matter how uncalled for, was usually help he could trust, besides he thought it was funny how often the Bat modded his tech just for his sake. Was it obsessive? Romantic? he couldn’t tell, but he was definitely flattered…

With a small contented smile on his face, Bruce turned back to the wheel and revved his engine "Alright clown... buckle up"

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

It didn't take long for the two to arrive at the Batcave. The ride there quick and uneventful. Bruce didn’t have to bother with a blindfold or knockout gas to cover his tracks, Jay had passed out about halfway there and even then, it wouldn't have mattered much. He was sure Jay already knew it’s location despite being in the dark about...other things.

Exiting the car and stalking to the other side with his cape flowing behind him. Bruce opened the door to the passenger seat and watched as the winged doors lifted to reveal a sleeping figure cradling a half melted pint of ice cream.

“Is this the 'guest' you mentioned earlier sir?” Alfred inquired as he came to greet his kevlar clad son.

“It is.” He answered softly as he slowly lifted the pint from the clowns arms and handed It to the older man

"You somehow failed to mention the guest in question was your colorful new nemesis” the servant jested, raising a brow

"Uh… Forgot to I guess" Bruce shrugged, knowing full well he’d swept a detail or two under the rug to avoid another scolding from his free-spoken butler.

There was a pause of silence as they both watched the peaceful perriot rest

“...If only he was this quiet all the time, Gotham would be a much less hectic place… “ said Alfred after a moment.

“Perhaps” said Bruce. eye’s never breaking away as his chest rose and fell

Alfred, of course, had more to say but decided to keep it to himself as not to sour the moment he was having.

“Well this is going in the fridge... a pot of hot soup should be ready shortly. Just enough for the both of you”

“Thanks al”

Alfred nodded then went on his way as Bruce turned his attention back to Jay.

Although he was used to seeing the jolly jester in a more upkept state, he had to admit he was… striking... even like this…

When that perpetually cheery smile of his finally relaxed, it was replaced by soft supple lips and butter knife sharp cheekbones that framed his face in a way rarely seen outside of hollywood.

Gingerly, Bruce reached beneath his guest and lifted him from his seat.

It always surprised him how light he was, not that Jay was very big to begin with but… the way he threw a punch, took hits like they were nothing… it made it easy to forget he was only about 5'4"... perhaps even smaller minus the mane of hair that currently draped over his tired face

With the rest of the man’s features veiled, Bruce’s eyes were drawn to the two deep scars which curled from the corners of his mouth like a jagged grin. They were long healed but Bruce had a feeling the wounds cut deeper than eyes could see...

As Bruce thumbed away a few stray locks of green to get a better look, Jay began to stir. Hurriedly Bruce stepped over to the med bay section of the cave and laid his guest down before his eyes began to flutter open

"W-where?" He asked groggily as his vision focused

"Batcave."

“Again?” He muttered while sitting up “This gonna be a regular thing?”

“Were you expecting a hospital?” Bruce asked.

Jay rubbed his face

“guess not….” Hospitals we’re never really an option for people like them he supposed. Too many nosy doctors and prodding hands… bad memories...

“Here” a small cup of cherry liquid appeared in front of him, held by a black glove. He took it slowly.

“Can't have the whole bottle??”

“Why would you want to?”

Jay shrugged and took the shot

“I dunno…”

Bruce let that comment slide and stepped closer to check his temperature again.

"How are you feeling?"

" terrible" Jay replied miserably. Bruce looked at his monitor, the clown was stable at about 105°. It wasn't common for a cold to come with a fever but Jay was... an uncommon person.

" think a cool shower might help?"

The clown smiled "...mm… maybe…. You aren't offering to join me are you?"

Bruce scoffed "Not with you like this I'm not…"

Jay rose an eyebrow.

"er… not that I would if you…. Weren't…" Bruce's cheeks went pink for a moment. Though he'd looked away he could tell Jay was smiling even wider. Probably holding in a laugh too.

"Uhm...alright uh… washroom's that way, use what you want, shampoo, conditioner, whatever, I can always buy more"

Jay hopped down from the table and stretched with a moan

"I'm sure you can, rich boy."

"Huh?" Bruce tensed, taken aback by the term usually used to describe his alter ego.

"being best buds with Bruce Wayne must have some pretty sweet perks"

Bruce sighed, allowing himself to breath again as Jay made his way to the shower "right.."

_____________

It didn't take long for Jay to return, He made quick work of cleaning up and was soaped, rinsed and dried within a few minutes. His greasy mop now a fluffy, blow dried, up-do And his mind fog free.

The bouncy mane of curls caught Bruce's attention as the clown re-entered the main room, freshly scrubbed, lemon scented and humming a tune.

"You look a little better…. " Bruce complimented

"Just a little?" Said Jay, faking disappointment.

"Uh… w...well" Bruce stammered.

"Just teasing u dummy." He said with a smile as he took a seat on the bannister next to the Bat-computer.

"Right… well.... I see you're back to your normal self" said Bruce, returning to his work

"Mostly." Jay smiled

"Good… that's good." There was some silence taken up by Bruce's fingers tapping the Bat-computer's interface

"Hey." Jay interrupted

"Yeah?" Said Bruce

"Aren't you scared of catching my cold-cooties or something?" The clown inquired

"No." Bruce answered bluntly.

"Why not?"

"bats don't get colds"

Jay rose an eyebrow.

"Oh really?"

"It's true."

"Mhm…"

Suddenly the sound of a throat clearing interrupted their banter.

"are you two quite done, or will supper have to wait?"

The odd couple turned to face Alfred who was holding a silver platter somewhat impatiently.

"er...Now is fine Alfred"

The butler nodded and gracefully waltzed between them to set the plate down. Removing it's dome to reveal a piping hot stew, stuffed with chicken and veggies, with fresh baked biscuits on the side. It’s aroma was even more enticing than it’s appearance

"Wow this is nothing like that Campbell's stuff" said Jay, eyes wide.

"I should hope not.” Alfred huffed. “ I didn't go to culinary school to cook from a can"

“Thank’s Al, it looks great”

"Of course sir… Oh, and, sir?"

"Yeah, Al?"

"You invited this man into your home… least you could do is give him a proper seat"

Jay was still sitting on the banister, swinging his legs happily.

“oh…. Right” he pressed a button and a second chair raised from the floor “i’m… usually the only person down here, sorry.”

“What about that kid?”

“Robin? Never sits still, likes the banister “

“Huh, Go figure….” Jay plopped down in his seat and spun around a few times before grabbing his bowl and testing the soup… to put it lightly, the taste was beyond heavenly.

“Oh my god….”

“Glad to see it suits your taste mr.Jay, young Bruce would fuss about having to eat it every time he was under the weather….”

Bruce a blushed a tint

Jay smiled

“I guess bat’s DO get the sniffles”

“Wasn't a bat back then, doesn’t count”

“Yes it does.”

“No it doesn't”

“Yes it- “

“Children!”

They froze… Alfred gave them a stern look. Free of malice but intimidating nonetheless.

“Do try to behave yourselves, I have enough trouble with robin as is and he’s much better mattered than the both of you”

“Yes, Alfred”

“Sorry, Alfred…” they apologized

The butler one last look,turned on his heels and left the room in silence.

“Man you’re butler’s mean…” Jay whispered

“Don't worry, it’s just an act…. I think…” As they both returned to their gourmet supper Jay suddenly recalled the DVD he'd brought with him.

"Oh HEY! Can we watch a movie???"

"Movie?"

"Yeah!" Jay scrambled over his bag and ran back with the box in his hand.

"Roger Rabbit! It's a classic!"

"Never seen it."

"Really? well we'll have to fix that… it's a detective story! you'll like it!…"

Bruce slowly took the case, studying its colorful cover…

"Suppose… I'll... take your word for it."

Reluctantly, Bruce popped a hatch on the Bat-computer and let the movie play on one of it's many monitors. Jay sitting back with a satisfied smile as Bruce sunk deeper into his work...

Or at least, tried to.

Jay's amused chuckles here and there made it hard to concentrate but the sound wasn't… unpleasant. Every now and then the clown would tap his shoulder and tell him to pay attention to a favorite scene or line if his… eyes flitting between him and the screen, searching for a reaction, however small or unreadable … smiling whenever Bruce's lips curled even a millimeter or two.

As the night continued, Bruce recalled the large home theater he had upstairs in the mansion

50 seats and rarely more than one taken at a time...

He imagined himself up there now with his arm around the other man's shoulders, sharing snacks and a large blanket, huddled close…

Perhaps he could’ve come up with some elaborate lie about "Bruno" allowing visitors in his humble abode, but as much warmth as the thought gave him, it was greatly overpowered by his own paranoia…

He wasn’t quite ready to break that barrier no matter how much he wanted too...

So maybe not today…

But maybe later….

Someday.

After a few passing moments Bruce realized Jay’s little interruptions had stopped and turned to find the man fully asleep on the chair beside him. With a light sigh, Bruce carefully removed his cape and draped it over the man just as he’d done before a year or so ago, Quietly calling for Alfred to prepare the Batcave’s guest bed.

With all the cordial tenderness in the world, Bruce lifted his nemesis and carried him downstairs. for now, somewhere in between all the imaginary lines they’d drawn in the sand, just this close was close enough.

#batman #lego batman #batjokes #jokeboi au #fanfic #my art

[classysassy9791]

Sometimes its the quieter moments that speak the loudest. A story of love, laughter, and friendship carried through the years during the most wonderful season of all. Full of fluff and Christmas cheer. Interconnecting One-shots.

Fandom: Inuyasha Genre: Romance/Friendship Pairings: InuKag, MirSan, SessKagu Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6 l

Chapter 7: Carol of the Bells Word Count: 3050 Can also be found here

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Inuyasha pulled his scarf snug around his neck as he shuffled out of Sango’s house and into the bitter winter air. He shoved his mitten-clad hands into his coat pockets, ignoring the merry nature of his friends trudging behind him.

He was anything but merry right now.

“What’s wrong, Inuyasha?” Kagome asked, sidling up next to him and looping her arm through his.

“Keh,” he scoffed in reply. “Do I even have to answer that?”

She smiled brightly and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Oh, come on, it’ll be fun.”

“I’m not singing,” he refused for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. He honestly didn’t know what his friends were thinking coming up with a plan like this. And furthermore, how in the hell did he get wrapped up in it?

Kagome jutted out her lip in a pout. “But everyone is going to be singing.”

“Yeah, I bet you have the voice of an angel,” their friend Shippo called out, his green eyes glinting mischievously.

“I am not singing.” Inuyasha made a mental note to throttle the kid later. “Explain to me why we’re doing this again?” he grumbled. His toes were already beginning to freeze.

“The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear,” Kagome pledged with a laugh.

He stopped walking and looked at her. “Did you just quote Buddy the Elf?”

“Stop being such a scrooge,” Sango chimed in as her and Miroku caught up with them. “We haven’t gone Christmas caroling since we were kids.”

“Correction, you haven’t gone Christmas caroling since you were kids,” he amended. “I, on the other hand, never had to go through that torture.”

“I wasn’t torture,” Sango scoffed. “We actually enjoyed going caroling. The Christmas songs, the bells, the hot chocolate…”

Miroku chuckled. “We’re going with some other people,” he reminded Inuyasha. “You can just mouth the words and I’m sure no one would notice.”

“Absolutely not,” Kagome interfered. “You can’t spread Christmas spirit unless everybody is singing.”

“Well, I don’t have any Christmas spirit, so you’re outta luck.” He folded his arms over his chest and sneered. “I don’t understand why anyone would want to walk around in the freezing cold, bothering people, and singing off-key.”

Kagome frowned and shot him a glare. “It’s actually really fun, if you give it a chance.”

“I’m already miserable, so why torment myself?”

“Why are you always such a cynic?”

He balked and glowered at her. “Am not!”

“Are too!” she barbed, pulling away from him and clenching her fists.

“Now, now, you two,” Miroku attempted to interfere. “This is supposed to be an enjoyable night full of Christmas spirit.”

“Let’s just enjoy ourselves,” Sango chimed in, resting a reassuring hand on Kagome’s shoulder. “This isn’t the time for fighting.”

Kagome scowled at Inuyasha before she clucked her tongue and turned away. “They’re right,” she said, storming on ahead. “I’m not going to let your anti-Christmas attitude ruin the night.”

Inuyasha rolled his eyes as they passed by the town square and reached the church. A small group had already gathered near the door as the Father passed out booklets full of Christmas songs. A few classmates had shown up, along with some parents and their young children.

“Here you go, Inuyasha,” Kagome snipped as she handed him a song book.

He glanced over the red cover that had a picture of a Christmas tree, and then quickly flipped through the book that had approximately twenty songs. “This is stupid.”

Sango shot him a warning glare. He quickly shut his mouth, not wanting to be at the receiving end of her wrath.

“All right,” Kagome said, clapping her hands together with a smile. “Are we all bunded up? Got our hand warmers and our thermoses of hot chocolate?”

Shippo pulled out a bag of hand warmers with a grin, as Miroku held up three thermoses filled with cocoa. “Prepared and ready, Captain!” Sango cheered.

“Hey, Kagome!” a voice called, drawing their attention to a sandy-haired boy their age walking toward them.

Inuyasha  narrowed his eyes. Hobo…

“Hi, Hojo,” Kagome greeted their classmate warmly. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Every year.” He handed her and Sango some extra candles he had. “I help out at the church whenever I have some free time.”

“Of course you do,” Inuyasha mumbled under his breath.

Miroku leaned over. “Tell me again why you don’t like him?”

Inuyasha had his reasons. Like Hojo always flirting with Kagome, or giving her presents, or offering to help her study. Keh. He was always hanging around when he wasn’t wanted. Inuyasha wasn’t jealous or anything. No, of course not. The kid was just annoying. Even worse than Shippo. At least the red-head was tolerable.

Deciding to stay silent, Inuyasha folded his arms and continued to sulk.

“This will be fun!” Kagome said as Hojo lit her candle from his.

That smile he gave her made Inuyasha’s skin crawl.

“Are we gonna get goin’ yet?” he barked. “I’m going to freeze to death.”

Kagome frowned, but said nothing. “Ah, yes, Inuyasha,” Hojo replied, gesturing with his hand toward a blue pickup filled with blankets and a bag of toys for the children they met along the way. He turned to address the rest of the group. “The truck is all packed up. Go ahead and pile in. I’ll be right there.”

As the group began shuffling toward the truck, Kagome leaned over and lit Sango’s candle. “You know, Inuyasha, you could be a little nicer,” Kagome said off-handedly. “Hojo didn’t do anything wrong.”

“As if. That kid has been making goo-goo eyes at you since the third grade.”

Kagome sighed. “No need to get jealous. He’s not my type.”

He blushed furiously, mouth dropping open. “W-Well I would hope not, since you’re my girlfriend.”

“You’re right.” A small smile wormed its way onto her lips. “I’m yours.”

She folded herself against his side as he looped an arm around her shoulders. He placed a kiss to the top of her head. It was something about those two words that made his stomach do flip-flops. There was nothing in the world that made him feel the way he did when she said that.

Kagome made him happy, even though they fought sometimes. She made him laugh. She was smart. She was different. She was a little crazy and awkward, but her smile alone could make his day.

That’s right, Kagome, he thought as he pulled her tighter against him. You’re mine.

ACS

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way,” the group sang hours later at another house covered in Christmas lights. Inuyasha had begrudgingly mumbled along with the words, but didn’t do so with cheer, much to Kagome’s disdain. As they wrapped up their caroling, moving onto the next house, he groaned in discomfort.

“Here,” Kagome said, handing him some hand warmers and a thermos of hot cocoa. “Warm up a bit before we get to the next street.”

He stuffed the hand warmers into his pockets, and took a few sips of cocoa, relishing in the warmth pooling in his stomach. “How much longer are we going to be out here?”

She shrugged. The truck had taken some of the children back home a long time ago, the little ones too cold to finish. “I think this might be the last block.”

He wrinkled his nose, which had long ago become numb. He made a mental note to never let them drag him out caroling again. He stamped his feet to keep them warm as the group shuffled onward. Miroku and Sango had their arms linked, heads bent together whispering, while Shippo hung around near the front, joking with one of the other kids from the neighborhood.

Inuyasha didn’t understand why nobody else seemed bothered by the cold.

They stopped in front of a white house with a red door as everyone flipped through their song books to the tune Hojo had selected. The soft harmony of The First Noel filled the sky, as the carolers in the back hit bells softly against their hands to give a tinkling ring into the night.

After a minute, a young woman opened the door. Her brown hair was frazzled and unkempt, dark circles under her eyes, as the sounds of children screaming could be heard from within the house.

“Please, no carolers tonight,” she begged. “I-I’m trying to get the kids to bed.”

The carolers stopped singing, Hojo nodding his head in apology. “Of course. Sorry to disturb you. Merry Christmas.”

Before she could shut the door, a little boy appeared, pulling at his mother’s dress insistently. “Toshi took my toy!” he screamed at her, red-faced and crying. Another boy from within the house yelled back with indignation.

The mother obviously seemed overwhelmed as her children appeared, each one asking her a question or peeking their heads out curiously to see who was at the door. They ranged from toddlers to young teenagers, all misbehaving and causing their mother a lot of grief.

It had been more than two years since Inuyasha had lost his own mother, but sometimes he was caught unaware, during moments like this, and he was flooded with memories of her.

“Behave, Inuyasha,” Izayoi said with her back to him.

He stomped his feet and pouted. “But mama, I want that toy!”

She turned to look at him, dark hair sweeping over her shoulders. “You know about Christmas, don’t you?”

“Of course!”

“Well, then you know about Santa Claus, right?”

He nodded his head eagerly.

“Then you better watch out.”

“Why, mama?”

She smiled, a shine coming to her eyes. “Because Santa Claus is coming to town.”

A shouted cry from one of the kids startled Inuyasha out of his memories. As the mother struggled with her young ones, looking on the verge of crying, he couldn’t take it anymore. Finally, Inuyasha stepped forward, kneeling down to the boy’s height. “Hey,” he called out, effectively drawing the children’s attention and silencing them. He glanced over them before setting his sights on the boy, still clinging to his mother’s dress. “Do you guys know about Christmas?”

The boy nodded, side-stepping to hide behind his mother.

“Well, then you know about Santa Claus, right?”

They all nodded their heads, their interest piqued as they moved to look out at the strangers on their doorstep.

“Are you being good for your mom?”

The children didn’t answer, looking up guiltily at the woman whose gaze was fixated curiously on the man before her.

Inuyasha shook his head. “Oh man, that doesn’t sound good. You better watch out.”

“Why?” one of the girls asked, pulling at the hem of her shirt.

He scoffed. “Cause Santa Claus is coming to town, that’s why.”

Kagome, who had been standing back and watching Inuyasha with a warm expression, had an idea and quickly told the carolers around her to flip to a different song. In a soft voice that rippled through the group, she sang, “You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout, I’m telling you why…”

As they began singing, Inuyasha joining in as he handed each of the children a toy, the kids all looked on with wonder, scampering outside to join in, listening to the words and singing along – their eyes bright, their smiles wide, giggling as Inuyasha sang off-tune and stumbled over a verse.

“Santa Claus is comin’ to town!”

As the last of the song faded, Inuyasha chuckled at the look of excitement in the children’s eyes. “Now, Santa is going to be here in a few days,” he warned them gently. “So you need to be good for your mom. Otherwise, Santa is only going to give you coal for Christmas.”

The absolute horror on the kids’ faces made him grin, as they each turned to apologize to their mother. She patted their heads, smiling down at them, as they ran back inside to get ready for bed.

And then she turned teary eyes to Inuyasha as he stood, clasping her hands around one of his. “Thank you,” she said, giving him a smile, before returning inside to the warmth of her home and shutting the door behind her.

There was a stillness in the air as he turned around to look at the other carolers. Each one was looking at him with a stupid grin on their face. He frowned. “What?”

“You’re such a softie,” Shippo laughed.

Miroku joined in. “What a teddy bear.”

“All bark and no bite,” Sango added.

Inuyasha furrowed his brows and stormed toward them. “I am not!”

Kagome linked her arm through his before he could grab a hold of one of their friends – who all took off in the other direction – and looked up at him. Her cheeks pink from the cold, she smiled. “That was really kind of you, Inuyasha. I think you just gave that family the best present of all.”

“Keh. And what’s that?”

“The hope of Christmas spirit, good cheer, and a smile.”

He blushed under her praise, shuffling forward with the rest of the group. And for the first time that night, he didn’t complain about the cold or the long walk home. He didn’t argue about the songs, and sang louder than everyone else the rest of the way home.

He pictured that mother, her warm smile of appreciation, and the wonder reflected in the eyes of her children.

And as they finished caroling for the night, a small voice in the back of his head admitted that Christmas caroling wasn’t so bad after all.

ACS

Inuyasha pushed open the door to his house, letting Kagome escape inside from the cold before shutting the door behind him. They peeled the layers of their clothes away, hanging their coats and scarves on the hooks in the entry way. Kagome shivered, running her hands up and down her arms.

“I’ll start a fire,” he offered, stepping toward the living room.

“Sounds great. I’ll make us come hot chocolate.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

He knelt to start setting wood on the grate, and with a few flicks of a match, a small fire began to burn. He stepped back and sat on the couch, eyes watching the flames grow to life, licking the wood hungrily and bringing warmth to the room.

Amber eyes turned, sweeping over the emptiness of the living room. His father was working late again, and Sesshomaru had moved out over the summer. Kagome had bought some new Christmas stockings that hung with care over the fireplace. She had briefly mentioned early in December about putting up a Christmas tree, but Inuyasha had refused. He didn’t have the heart to go through their Christmas decorations just yet.

Izayoi swept across the living room, dressed in an over-sized Christmas sweatshirt, hanging glittering ornaments on the tree.

Inuyasha gazed into the box filled with Christmas wonder, his little hands grabbing at the plastic ones that looked like little toys.

“You want to help me, Inuyasha?” his mother called, bending down to look into the box with him. “Why don’t you hang some of these for me?”

He nodded his head eagerly, carefully hanging one of the ornaments near the bottom of the tree where he could reach. The ornament, a plastic rocking horse with small beady eyes, twirled on its string, reflecting the lights of the Christmas tree.

Izayoi’s tinkling laughter filled the room, and he looked up at her curiously. “What are you laughing at?”

She smiled down at him. “Laughter comes from joy, and I’m just very happy right now. Good things just feel good, Inuyasha.”

He gave her a curious stare, the soft tunes of ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’ playing over the radio.

“Here you go,” Kagome’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Inuyasha looked over his shoulder to see her standing beside him with two mugs of hot cocoa, reaching one out to him. She took a seat beside him, pulling an old red-checkered blanket over their laps, and snuggled up next to him.

He draped an arm over her shoulders as he sipped on his hot chocolate, eyes turning distant as he watched the flames curl and sway, crackling as they burned the dry wood. It felt good to feel their warmth, shying away the cold empty feeling of the house.

“I just don’t feel the spirit of it anymore,” he finally mumbled.

Kagome looked up at him questioningly. “The spirit of Christmas?”

He furrowed his brows. “Ever since my mother died, I just… I just don’t feel it. It’s like when she left, she took it with her.”

She bit her lip, taking a glance over his barren living room. “Izayoi always did love Christmas.”

He nodded his head. “She did. It was her favorite time of the year.” He sipped his hot cocoa quietly for a moment, and then he added, “But tonight, I felt it again. When we were out there singing to those kids, seeing their smiles, how grateful their mom was…” He paused, trying to find the right words to describe what he was feeling. “I haven’t been the same since my mother died. But tonight, just for a moment, it was like she was still here. Like I’d come home and she’d be singing Christmas music as she decorated the tree.”

Kagome sighed deeply, smiling warmly up at him. “She’s still here,” she reminded softly, laying a hand over his chest. “She’ll always be here.”

He granted her a smile, kissing the top of her head as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

As the fireplace mimicked warmth the house had long forgotten, Inuyasha and Kagome sat cozy by the flame, their features illuminated by the flickering light. He could smell the hint of pine as it burned, just a faint fragrance to reassure their comfort during the long, bitter winter.

And as they finished their hot chocolate, Kagome falling into a quite doze beside him, Inuyasha felt a sense of warmth spread through him, beginning where his heart beat softly in his chest.

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” he whispered, amber eyes glistening as he stared into the crackling evening fire.

“Merry Christmas, my Inuyasha.”

#inuyasha #kagome #inukag #fanfiction #inuyasha fanfiction #inukag fanfiction #my fanfiction #sassy stays classy #a christmas story #miroku #sango #mirsan #shippou #shippo

[ataleofaxes]

The Journal

(Some of you may have already seen these. I’m just gonna post them here too, for safekeeping <3)

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 “Wooby… Wooby, we can’ go in thew! Gwamma wiw be mad! Come back!”

 The creak of a floorboard under careless foot, ancient and unkempt. The rattle of shutters in a galing wind, the whistle of a coming storm through a cracked window pane. The deathly stillness of dust, boxes and crates filled with the unknown, shadowy silhouettes of either furniture or monsters in the darkest corners… a flash of brightest red, blood on snow on the chillest winter’s morn.

 And the shuddering, quick breaths of a frightened child, eyes wide in the unknowing and uncaring fall of night.

 The child lingering in the dim doorway, peeking through a crack in the door, couldn’t have been more than five years of age, though it was difficult to say, as she looked smaller and more frail than any child her age should be; her dark, choppy hair was held back in a messy, dirty ponytail that looked as though it had never seen a brush, her clothes ratty, old, too large, and far too threadbare for the frost nipping at the single, moonlit window high above the maze of odds and ends filling the attic space.

 Everything about the girl was thin and weak, but for her almost too large, widened eyes. Her irises held a strangeness to them, catching the moon’s light in a shade that looked almost golden, and sparked with odd magic; as she looked about the boxes and dusty coverlets with clear anxiety, clutching at the doorknob under hand, the darkness seemed to be no burden to her, and despite the impossibility… the path of her gaze seemed almost to glow.

 The little girl’s name was Aliza, and she was not supposed to be there, in more ways than one.

 She pulled at the frayed ends of her baggy sweater’s sleeves, lips parted as she panted out tiny, foggy breaths and jumped at every sound, every gust of wind and creak of the old, decrepit house around her; she seemed to be searching for something, though was completely disinterested in the crates and furniture before her as she, at last, pushed past the door and crept one, shuffling footstep forwards at a time.

There were many places in the house she wasn’t allowed to go, gramma’s room, the basement, the porch, the yard, the kitchen, the living room during the evening, sometimes the bathroom… but she had been told, many, many times, to never, ever go into the attic. It was dangerous, gramma had said, and none of her business.

 And Aliza had always been okay with that. It looked boring and dirty anyways. She’d never been curious enough to venture inside, to open the door, or to even peek inside for more than a moment when gramma was getting something. She’d been perfectly happy to ignore it.

 But Ruby never had been.

 The little girl swallowed hard, cautious, glowing eyes darting back to the slightly ajar door as it creaked on its rusty hinges, her body stilling like prey on the run; Gramma was asleep, on the ground floor at that, but there was a chill, persistent and nagging, zipping along Aliza’s spine that she did not like in the least… like there was something      wrong    , and she couldn’t see it.

 She’d always trusted that instinct, as it had saved her from punishment and danger before, but there was nothing for it this time. She had to find Ruby before she could leave, curl up under her blankets, and pretend this had never happened. She couldn’t leave her here… she couldn’t sleep without her.

 So another step slid forwards… another icy breath snuck from chapped lips. Bony fingers dug into frayed cotton, and golden eyes swept towering piles of boxes and piles of moth eaten clothes in torn plastic bags.

 “Wooby… pwease come out, it’s- it’s scawy…” the girl whimpered under her breath, voice as thin a willow reed permeating the dark in a way that sent the chills into overdrive (no no no… shadows didn’t move, nothing there, no); almost in answer, another flash of scarlet lit up a narrow passage through the mess, brighter yet than even the first, and Aliza, catching her breath, cast one last look back at the cracked door, and the silent house beyond it, hesitating visibly, before hurrying towards the already dimming light, squeezing through the crack in the boxes nimbly.

 It led into another, almost identical causeway of boxes and crates, rising precariously towards the wooden ceiling on a prayer. There was old, splintering furniture on this row (a broken side table, a wardrobe covered in scratches, one door ajar, a molding armchair piled with rusting beer cans), thicker dust on the rough floorboards, and high above, perched on one of the newest looking boxes of the lot, was a glowing, glittering, vermillion butterfly.

 Aliza sucked in a breath at the sight of the insect, though not in surprise, as any other would at the appearance of such an oddity; in fact, her little face narrowed, her brows lowering and her hands, almost completely hidden by her sleeves, propping on her hips. She looked as severe as she possibly could, eyes flashing the between gold and, it seemed at least, the same red that the butterfly was illuminated with.

 “Wooby, come down now! We have to go befow gwamma wakes up!” she scolded in an undertone, about as firm as the pile of boxes she was standing beside, and in response, the glowing butterfly, seeming to have been dubbed Ruby by the child, merely flapped its wings, unphased by the girl’s demand.

 The girl’s shoulders drooped immediately, all fight going out of her in a rush, and, with a sigh, pouted her lower lip out in a last ditch attempt to sway the strange insect.

 “Pwease?”

 Another flap of the wings, unanswered and unmoved, the girl’s plea falling on a deaf audience; she seemed unsurprised, merely huffing and halted the wobbling of her lip before looking around herself for something. Her posture righted as she seemed to spot what she had been searching for, and disappeared for a moment around the edge of a large, torn cardboard box.

 There was the quiet shuffle of a blanket slipping to the floor, and the sound of wood scraping against wood; the butterfly, high above, perked her antennae in the direction of the noise, obviously curious, before Aliza reappeared, tugging at the edge of a three legged, cracked side table, its surface stained with rings, dark stains, and lines in the dust from little fingers.

 Straining and puffing out tiny breaths of ice, the child painstakingly dragged the damaged table against the stack of crates the butterfly was perched atop, a stray strand of her hair sticking to her forehead and her tiny eyebrows beetled in concentration; the tip of her tongue extended past her lips as she, with one final push, seemed happy with the table’s positioning before, following a moment bent at the waist to catch her breath, she scrambled atop the dangerously leaning piece of furniture, swaying slightly along with its movements to keep balance.

 After a moment of stillness, letting the table settle under her weight, Aliza, dusty, tired, and more than a little weary of her friend’s games, stretched up on her tiptoes to reach for the now flashing, pacing butterfly above her, who looked about as concerned as a butterfly was capable of, the agitated flap of her wings sending shadows and flashes of light dancing across the attic walls and piles of boxes.

 The stretch of the child’s fingers gathered more dust the higher she reached; it drifted down in feathery flakes, layering her hair and shoulders and averted face. The letters on the side of the box under her hands, revealed by her increasingly more desperate grasp, went unnoticed, however, her eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to rid them of a particle of dust.

 She wouldn’t have known what to make of the word ‘  Frisk  ’ in any case… she couldn’t understand her letters, much less words or names.

 The winds outside the house were gathering power, and brewing into a storm. A bright, burning flash of lightning lit up the large, crowded attic space a pale, candescent blue. A resounding crack of thunder shook dust and plaster from the roof, making the little girl, fingertips only centimeters from her quarry, jump in shock at the rolling, deafening sound.

 A gasp shattered the air, as darkness fell again, and another crack, wooden and filled with doom, resounded around the shadowed room.

 The table let out an ominous creak. The top tilted dangerously, and little fingers scrabbled at the box beneath them, looking for purchase that just wasn’t there. Gravity kicked in, the cruelest foe in a contest of will and nature, and dragged the girl, the table she had been standing on, and the topmost box of the pile to the plywood flooring, the crash of falling objects again disturbing the silence of the house around them all.

 By some miracle, Aliza herself had managed to roll out of danger’s path, silent and still beneath the toppled form of a styrofoam clothing mannequin, and peered out into the settling mess with fear and horrid anticipation freezing her blood into stone; surely gramma had heard that, it had been      so loud    , she was going to be in trouble, so much trouble, she’d broken things...

 It had been an accident, but gramma hadn’t cared last time either, why hadn’t she just gone back to her room-

 Her breaths were ragged and fearful (though no longer icy; they seemed almost to steam, melting the frost in the air and singing the styrofoam of the mannequin), her hands shaking and her eyes burning a bright, piercing scarlet in her obvious petrification… but the longer she sat there, the wind outside the house howling and the thunder and lightning cracking around the roof above… the more she began to think that, in all possibility…

 The storm had hidden the noise. Maybe she hadn’t heard after all.

 After waiting nearly ten minutes, mostly spent rocking in place and hugging her knees, Aliza finally gathered the courage to crawl out of her hiding place and stand on wobbly, slightly scuffed knees; if gramma had heard, she’d have come up by now, even with how long it took her to climb stairs.

 Her breathing was calming. Her breath was no longer scorching the ends of her askew hair, again gathering crystals of ice from the air. Her eyes had gone through all the stages of crimson and gold and settled into a sparkling azure as it moved from the yawning doorway into the hall and to the mess she had made on the floor, the top of the crate that had fallen askew and its contents spread across the floorboards.

 It appeared to be mostly papers, big folders (she thought she had heard gramma call them… vanilla folders, before, big and yellow with little clips on the bendy part) full of documents and notes… a few pictures here and there. There were several glass containers, some broken… there was a little wooden box too, fancy and gilted and, from a crack in its lid, filled with something shiny (her palms itched, wanting badly to open it), and almost everything, besides the little box, was covered in little red stickers or written on in bold red marker.

 Something about the contents of the box, the bright red stickers and big red letters she couldn’t read, made her think she should put it all back into the box, push it into a corner, and forget she had ever seen it. The hairs on the back of her sweaty, dusty neck were standing up, and the sense of danger that had saved her before was telling her to      run    .

 But one of the pictures in the box stopped her, as Ruby, appearing almost as though out of thin air, crawled across it. It halted her feet as she shuffled closer to the haphazard mess, and froze her the beat of her heart in her chest.

 It was a picture she shouldn’t have known, had never seen before… but she did. She knew the person in it, had seen her in the pictures gramma would show her when she was having a very, very sick day… and even as tears rose to fog her vision, as hiccups faltered her breaths and shook her fingers… she still reached out to pick it up from the mess at her feet, holding it tenderly, like the most treasured thing she had ever possessed.

 “Mama…”

 The fallen crate could later be found pushed into a remote corner of the attic, cracked lid set as firmly as possible on top and covered with a dusty sheet. The table that had toppled was likewise hidden, and any trace of the happenings of that evening, from the burns on the mannequin to the little fingerprints on the boxes, were wiped away.

 The crate itself, though, was completely empty, now. It’s contents were hidden beneath a loose floorboard in the small room Aliza called home, every paper, folder, photograph, and note stashed away neatly. The single unbroken glass container was concealed in the back corner of her beaten up wardrobe, wrapped in a motheaten sweater, and the box, the beautiful box and the treasure within, she kept in her pile of blankets, to be admired and cherished every night and moment she was locked away in her little prison.

 It would take four more years before she discovered the purpose of the glass container, and another, to grow enough for the bracelet in the beautiful box to stop sliding off her wrist so readily (though, even almost seventeen, it still fell off). It took one more, to know and understand what had happened to the beautiful, sad woman in the photographs, and yet another to fully compile all the papers into what she began to call the Journal.

 Even when she began her journey, though, through all her years reading it, she never discovered what the red words and stickers on the folders and papers had meant.

 ‘Memetic’, ‘Paranormal’, and ‘Cryptid’ had meant nothing to her, after all, in comparison to the opportunity to know the most important person in her life, even long after she was gone.

#axetober #dayone #forbiddenknowledge #aliza #ruby #discovery

[linhiful]

Telephone

AO3

Modernlorian Series Part 1 | 2

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Phone sex, slight angst

a/n: OOPS I kind of turned the subplot to these fics as a way to process my own break-up with my ex SO SORRY ABOUT THAT.

The end also turned out a little angstier than I meant for it too. Idk if you could tell but I had trouble half-way through with this one. I had a lot of ideas but my fingers just did not want to type the story out so I ended up just kind of fudging through those plot points so I can finish this. I don't think it was ever going to come out anyways but oh well.

Really I just wanted to get this done because I was READY TO WORK ON THE NEXT INSTALLMENT which I promise its gonna be juicy juicy juicy.

Loosely a sequel to Neighbors, but you don't have to read that one to read this one. I did sprinkle in some references to that fic throughout this one so that might make you slightly confused

--

“Hey,” says the voice through the phone and dear god it was the silkiest voice you’ve ever heard and for a split second you forgot why you even called. “I’ve been waiting you.”

And you couldn’t help it, the girlish giggle that left your lips bordered on manic. “I bet you tell all the girls that.” There was a puff of noise against your ear but you didn’t have much time to notice or question it before his deep gravelly voice took your attention.

“I can tell you anything you want to hear.” And you bit your lip, cheeks heating up as it dawned on you exactly what was happening right now. Exactly what this type of thing was for.

“I--I’ve never done this before.” You start pacing your living room, the door of your bedroom firmly closed because for some reason the thought of doing this in there just felt wrong. Like you weren’t supposed to bring this kind of thing in there. Not where he could hear you. Not when you were sure he heard you late in the night as you strained to hear his muffled grunts, reaching your fingers between your legs in time with him. That was a different place for different needs.

Maybe that was a sign of just how lonely you were. This was definitely a sign of how lonely you were, actually.

“Do you want me to tell you how lovely your voice sounds?” His voice became a caress, and you closed your eyes and almost allowed yourself to believe him. “I want you to be a good girl for me and tell me exactly what you want.”

You inhaled, trying to gather your thoughts as you let out a shaky breath. “How much do you want me?” You let yourself sink into the cushions, back stretched out as you propped your feet up onto the coffee table, and you wondered if he could hear the quick tap tap tap of anxious energy against the wood.

“How wet are you right now?” And you frowned, looking down in your lap and wondered how you were supposed to respond. Were you supposed to lie? Would it ruin the fantasy? “Tell me the truth.”

“I’m not,” you say it softly, shyly, like you were doing something wrong, and for a second you weren’t sure if he heard you. You didn’t realize how tight your body was clenched until you heard his soft chuckle through the phone and you relaxed into the couch.

“Good girl,” he says. “For telling me the truth.” You pick at the blanket and bite your lip. Good girl. Gods that phrase did things to you, and it was like he knew it.  “You aren’t. Yet. But you will be. Because I want you to be. Because I want you to take that soft hand of yours and bring it down to that sweet pussy of yours. I want you to touch your clit for me, sweet girl, because I can’t do it for you. But I want to. I want to feel you get wet. I want it so bad I can taste your sweet pussy already.”

You didn’t hold back your groan this time, throwing your head back against the back of the couch and you swear even he could hear the deep throb of your pussy as you clenched down on nothing. “Wow, you are good at this.”

“Are you doing it?” he asks, and he’s breathing a little heavier now and you wonder if he’s palming himself through his pants, if he’s just as turned on by this conversation as you are or if this was just like any other call.

But it was like you couldn’t help but obey him this time, like that voice of his was putting a spell on you as you reached your hand down the front of your shorts and rubbing a finger down your slit. You respond back with a shaky voice, propping the phone on your shoulder, pressed against your cheek. “Yes.”

He groans, a deep baritone that vibrates through you and it goes straight down your body. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Good,” you say, rubbing circles into your clit and you feel zings of pleasure until you dip just the tip of your finger into your wetness and slip it back out. The slow slide of your slick finger as you drag it up your clit was heavenly. “I-I like it when you rub my clit. It makes me so fucking wet. Soft, first, please” you say, panting through your words, “but then it feels good when you press hard. Rub it until I’m screaming.”

He groans louder and you press your finger down harder. You’re dripping wet at this point and you wonder if he can hear how easily your finger slides against your skin, the soft squelch with each pass of your finger. “I want to hear you scream. I need to hear you scream.” And you obey, because he was here in your ear telling you to. Because he wanted it. Because you wanted to believe that he needed it.

Your orgasm comes quick and nosily, and you feel yourself drenched in your cum but you lay boneless on the couch as you hear each other’s deep ragged breaths. He doesn’t hang up and you are content to stay on the phone like this for just a second longer. "Thank you," you say breathlessly into the phone.

You let the shame settle in long after you hang up, the glow of your orgasm wearing off as you stare at the ceiling from the same place on the couch. You closed your eyes and let out a shuddering breath as you thought about why you were even here.

--

I’m casually talking to someone right now. Thought I’d let you know.

You threw your phone and turned away as it bounced against the cushions of the couch, slid onto the floor with a small thump. You resisted the urge to pick it back up again in favor of pacing back and forth the length of your living room.

It was cluttered, clothes and wrappers strewn about the floor, and usually the mess just tickled the back of your mind, but as your legs tangled themselves into the throw blanket hanging off the cushions, it was just the last straw. You told yourself you were going to clean it on your day off but instead here you were hovering over your phone again as you wracked your mind on how to respond.

...casually talking to someone….

What did that even mean? Casually? Talking? As if he wouldn’t have told you if it didn’t mean something. It had to mean something because why would he tell you about something casual?

And that was it. That you were really over. Because if he found someone else, if he wanted someone else, then you couldn’t stand to touch him knowing that you weren’t enough. He told you because it meant something.

Fuck him! Your friends blew up your phone the moment you told them. There is always better dick! And you cracked a smile, laughing at how many times you’ve said that same exact thing. It was a mantra at this point, shouted at each other like it was the spell to make all the pain go away.

But maybe this was what you needed, really, to move on. To know that it was over, for good this time.

It didn’t stop you from moping, unkempt hair piled high on your head, the same clothes you’ve worn for the past two days. You only left your apartment for food and work at this point, and as you step over the crumpled wrappers over the floor, the low ache in back from laying in the same position for the last how many hours it’s been. You’ve lost count at this point.

Your stomach felt empty, and you felt the growl low in your belly, but the thought of food made you nauseous. A snack, maybe, something sweet that will soothe your soul because at this point everything is going to upset your stomach.

It’d just be a quick moment, popping into the coffee shop down the street so you didn’t have to change. Coffee and a donut maybe. You’d take it to go, take it home, and you can settle back down in the comfortable hole that you’ve dug yourself in.

You heard him before you saw him, his distinctive loud laughter that you’d never be able to forget. You didn’t turn around, couldn’t, as you stayed rooted in the spot. Would he see you if you just leave? It felt like your back was on fire, the tension and ache in your back growing the louder he got.

God why were you so stupid? How could you not see this coming? You both came here together all the time, why wouldn’t he be here? You allowed yourself a quick peek over your shoulder, trying to curtain yourself behind your hair as if that would be enough to hide yourself.

He wasn’t turned to you, but gods, he was still just as beautiful as you remembered. He was always larger than life, the whole room tilted into his direction. You were too focused on him to see her at first, but honestly, you weren’t sure how. She demanded the same type of attention, her laugh loud and uninhibited and you had to bite down the jealousy that welled up deep in your throat.

Was it her? Did he bring her here knowing that you could possibly be here? You stepped up to the counter before they could call your name, and his laughter spiraled your head as you tried to step away.

Why didn’t you at least put on clean clothes before you left? He’d probably smell you before he saw you. There was no way around him to the exit, so you stepped away, coffee and donut in hand, into the hallway by the bathrooms.

You could still hear him just as loud here as you could out there, but he was out of sight and there was no way that he could see you either. Luck was not on your side, especially not today, and she followed behind you, even as you tucked yourself away in the corner.

And fuck, she was beautiful in a way that you could never be. Confident like you never were. You buried your face into your coffee, tried not to stare at her as she passed by you. She didn’t even spare you a passing glance, and you forced yourself to stare at the bulletin instead.

And that’s where you saw it, conspicuous, plain, but it stood out amongst the flashes of color and bolded letters.

Why spend your nights alone? First Session Free.

--

“Hey, I’ve been waiting for you.” It was late, super late, and in a building where you can usually hear every creak and movement in the apartments around you, there was only silence. You couldn’t sleep, head sunk into the pillow, staring at the ceiling in the dim light of night. you just ached with useless thoughts, your fingers twitching to pick up your phone and call he-who-shall-not-be-named.

But you couldn’t, not anymore. Not this time. So you picked up your phone and dialed a different number instead. Your eyes had burned so deeply into the poster for so long that that number was seared into your brain, and maybe you could seal it over memories you would rather forget.

"I, uh, didn't catch your name last time." You twirled a lock of hair, tried not to flush at what was probably the lamest opening line you could have come up with.

The sound of his deep chuckle eased the tension in your back. “People call me Mando.”

“Cause you the man though ?” It left your mouth before you could stop yourself and before he could even respond you immediately hung up with a squeak. You buried your face into your comforter and let out a small shriek.

You were never calling him again.

--

“Hey,” he says, the same silky smooth voice filling your ears, “I’ve been waiting for you.” It only took you four days before the humiliation faded away just enough that the loneliness ached inside you. Four nights of listening to your neighbor, touching yourself at thoughts of faceless men, trying to drive away the one who you’d rather forget.

He talks less the more you call him, but he'll still whisper dirty things into your ear when you want them. Sometimes neither of you bother with phone sex and he just listens to you talk. You told the funny stories of your coworkers just to see if you can hear him laugh and every once in a while he'd give a low chuckle.

It’s kind of hot. You said. That I don’t know what you look like. You could be anyone, but your voice, oh god your voice. I’d recognize it anywhere. You can make me do anything with that voice of yours.

He listened to you cry about your ex, wondering why you aren't good enough and his voice will rumble with a low growl. He's stupid. You're- he pauses hesitantly and you wait with bated breath. -- remarkable. And you blush harder than you did when he admitted that he wanted to slam you against the wall and stick his tongue down your ass.  

So you settle into your couch, eyes staring at the phone settled into your hand, a glass of wine in the other. You closed your eyes, took a deep sigh, and gulped down the glass.

You’ve talked every night, and you haven’t looked at your bank yet, but you knew that it probably wasn’t good.

“Hey,” he says, and it’s short, straight to the point, but the rest of his words tumble out like a caress against your ear. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“If you could do anything, anything at all, what would it be?” You refilled your glass, the bottle almost heavy in your hands, and you take the first sip before he even replies.

“With you?” The wine is bitter but crisp against your tongue, and behind the glass you want to whisper yes, but you couldn’t form the words around your lips.

“No,” you say instead. “No limit. If you could do anything, what would it be?”

“Look outside,” he says and you frown for just a second but you untangle your legs from underneath you and stumble off of your couch. In one hand you cradle your glass as you pull back your curtains, the dim light of the parking lot shines into your eye and for a moment you wonder if this would be like the movies. If you’d see him waiting for you underneath the street lamp with a bouquet of flowers in his arms.

But you just see the lot full of cars, trees rustling in the wind, and the quiet murmurs of the apartments around you. “What am I looking at?”

“Look up,” he says, and you do, looking into the clear night sky, the stars twinkling in the distance, and the full moon hung low in the sky. “Just you and me under the stars.”

“Exhibition kink, huh?” you laughed and you tipped the glass back to take another sip.

“You’d be beautiful under the moonlight.” You sighed, head tilted back and you closed your eyes and imagined his lips ghosting across your neck. “That noise,” he said,” what did you just think about?”

“You,” you sigh, “kissing my neck. Am I naked? I think we should be.” He laughed his low rumbling laugh and it sent tingles up your spine.

“We are,” he says, and you imagine his hands wrapped around your neck, forcing your eyes up against the sky. Your arms ache to hold him, trembling at your sides, but he would shush you, tell you to stay right where you are. He can touch you, but you can’t touch him. “You’re quiet. Means you're thinking something.”

“I thought this was supposed to be your fantasy?” You take another swing of your glass, gulping down the rest of it before placing it down on the windowsill. The wine loosens your tongue just enough that it didn’t even matter at this point. “You’re holding me down, hands around my neck, I can’t see anything but the stars above us.”

He groans, a gravel sound that spurs you on even more. “Don’t look,” he growls, and fuck, that was just enough to keep you going.

“I won’t,” you moan, and you hold your own hand against your throat, feel the pressure holding you down, and you wished that you had a free hand to move downwards. “Please, I’ll do anything you want.”

“Touch yourself,” he says, and you let out a gasp of breath the moment you release your own throat, the fingers crawling under your shorts. “I want to hear how good it feels.”

You gasp the moment you feel how slick you already are and you feel his breath hitch over the phone, the static roaring over the receiver. It makes his voice deeper, more primal almost, and you can’t help but sink a finger inside.

“Keep your eyes on the stars,” he says, and you have to force your eyes open, the lights of the parking lot and the moon blurring together as you try your hardest to do what you are told. “There’s no one here but us, I want to hear you moan. I want to hear how wet you are.”

You slip another finger in and you didn’t even have to try to moan louder, the pitch of your voice climbing higher and higher as he whispered into your ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, and you want to believe that it was true. That this was real. “Stop thinking, I just want you to feel my fingers inside you.”

You felt tears form at the corner of your eyes and you had to hold back the sniffle. “I’m sorry,” you say, pulling your finger out from inside of you, sliding down to your knees as you tried not to cry.

“Why are you sorry?” he asks, and you could almost imagine the frown on his face, creasing between his brows.

“This is going to be the last time,” you say, and he’s quiet for a second, and you leaned against the wall, pulling your knees in to hug yourself. You were small, underneath the windowsill, hiding yourself away from the dim light that streamed through the open window.

“Did I--”

“No,” you say, hiding another sniffle. “No. I just. I can’t keep doing this.” He makes a quiet hmm in your ear, and you close your eyes, try to capture his voice, but he was never a man to do anything that you didn’t want.

“Can I at least answer your question?” You bite your lip, and you know that he can’t see you, but you couldn’t help the slight nod of the head.

He doesn’t speak though, even as the seconds tick by, the silence spilling out between the two of you. He waits until you slip out a hoarse croak. “Yes.”

“I want to meet you,” he says, “Out there.” You swallow down the lump in your throat, clutch your knees closer together.  “I’ve imagined your voice right here, in my ear, and I turn around and it’s you.”

“You don’t know what I look like,” you say and even to your own ears, your voice is weak. He laughs that quiet reserved laugh that makes your heart flutter.

“I’ll know it’s you,” he says. “And I’ll kiss you, wherever we are. I don’t care. I’ll kiss you if you let me.” You stand up on shaky legs, the words stolen from your throat as you step towards your couch. He was always a patient man with you. He’ll wait for you to respond. You pick up the bottle of wine this time, forgoing the glass as you press your lips against the mouth to swallow.

“You’re just saying that for a paycheck.” He sighs, long and deep and you have to swallow another.

“I haven’t charged you a penny,” he says, and you almost drop the bottle, but instead drop your body onto the couch with a quiet thump before you can choke out a response.

“Why not?”

“Will you?” he asked, and you try to imagine his face, try to see the want reflected in his words, but you can’t bring yourself to imagine it. It was just the quiet expanse of your room. “Will you let me?”

“Yes,” you lie because it didn’t matter what you said this time. Not if this was the last time.

“It’s a date.”

#the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #reader-insert #my fanfiction #modernlorian

[therainroguefanfiction]

🔥 ℝise Ⱥbove I̾t ◈ Chapter 007 [The Exam Begins]

📑 Table of Contents | ◂ Backward

Word Count: 1,796 ☁

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

〈“This is my destiny. Here comes a king. Everybody’s gonna see.” WAR*HALL, “King of the World”〉

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

Something was slapping my face. Repeatedly.

My eyes snapped open, glaring at the blonde hero hovering above me. “The fuck is your problem – stop!” I grabbed his wrist, shoving his hand away from my cheek.

“It’s the day of the exam,”

I tilted my head backward to look at the window. There wasn’t a hint of light coming through the sheer curtains. “What time is it?”

“Five-thirty,”

“Fuck off,” I rolled over, pulling the blanket over my head.

“Hey, hey, get up!” He easily tugged the blanket off, throwing it onto the floor. “I have to go meet up with young Midoriya and I don’t want you to risk sleeping in, now get up!”

I groaned when he grabbed my arm, pulling me up and off the couch. “Fine, whatever. Imma go shower.”

“Breakfast is in the microwave. It’s chilly outside so dress warmly!” He called after me before leaving the apartment. I let the cool water run over my body, my forehead against the cold tile. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous as fuck, but I had confidence in myself and in the training Aizawa had provided me.

I dried my body, dressing in a pair of basketball shorts, a taco t-shirt, and a black hoodie.

The food was still warm, steam fogging up the plastic wrap covering the plate. A cheese omelet and a serving of white rice. Simple and nutritional, but not nearly enough to fill me up. I glanced at the window as sunlight started to streak across the horizon in shades of orange and purple. I set the plate in the sink, grabbed a couple of snacks from the cabinet and pulled my sneakers on.

I was ready to go.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

The entrance to U.A. High was packed with hopefuls. My eyes scanned their faces – confident, scared, nervous. Those were the most prominent emotions they were exhibiting. I stuffed my hands into my hoodie, following the throng of students as they piled into the building. Teachers herded the students into two lines, where we signed in at the desk and got our exam ticket.

After signing in, we were taken to a large gymnasium where rows upon rows of desks had been set up. A thin cement wall was constructed on each desk to prevent cheating. Midnight was standing at the front of the room with a smirk on her face and a riding crop in her hand.

“Everyone, take a seat! The written exam is about to begin!”

Students shuffled into the room, several boys rushing to the front to try and get closer to the R-Rated hero. I rolled my eyes, choosing a desk near the back. The last thing I wanted was to be closer to that woman, she doesn’t know what personal space is and I swear to god if she touches my boobs again, I’m gonna set this entire fucking building on fire.

After the room settled, Midnight spoke up, her voice echoing off the tall ceiling. “You will be given twenty minutes to answer as many questions as you can! There are a total of one hundred questions, each worth one point.” She started to walk around the room, her heels clicking against the polished maple floor. “Cheating is strictly forbidden. Anyone caught doing so will be punished severely.”

Her threat caused a wave of excitement to sweep through the male students. What a joke.

“BEGIN!”

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

After finishing up the written exam, we were led to an auditorium where the seats sloped downward like a college classroom. A podium was set up at the bottom, a large screen taking up the length of the front wall.

Where should I sit, hmm? I stood off to the side, watching as the students filtered into the room, nervously choosing a seat. I felt a tap on my shoulder and glanced over, meeting the golden eyes of Shadow. He smiled, his clawed hand grabbing my wrist as he pulled me over to toward the bird boy standing on the right side of the room, looking embarrassed.

“Let her go,” he ordered before bowing at me. “I apologize for Dark Shadow’s actions.”

The shadow in question looked between the two of us with a sad expression. Dam, he’s too adorable. I reached out, patting him on the head. “It’s no biggie.” I sat down and he followed, sitting to my right. Shadow was hovering between us.

The boy held out his hand. “My name is Fumikage Tokoyami.”

I accepted, giving it a firm shake. “Jen Winchester,”

Using that last name felt foreign on my tongue. I had briefly debated whether or not I made a mistake choosing that name over Gramps’. When Toshi had taken me to get my quirk registered, he had asked me what last name I wanted to use. I hadn’t even considered that at the time. In a way, I felt like I was betraying Gramps by not taking his name, but… this just felt like something I had to do. Whether I liked it or not, I was a Winchester. It’s part of who I am.

But don’t worry, Gramps, I’ll always be a Tegu, as well.

The fluorescent lights clicked off before a spotlight focused on that damned cockatiel known as Present Mic, who stood tall behind the podium. I knew all about him and his quirk from the one time I met his ass during a trip to U.A. with Aizawa. He’s loud and really fucking annoying. I don’t hate the man, he seems pretty decent, but he’s too damn high strung for me.

Shadow perked up, looking fiercer in the darkness that surrounded us as he leaned against my shoulder. Fumi looked like he wanted to scold him, but he held his tongue.

“What’s up U.A. candidates?” The cockatiel boomed with excitement. “Thanks for tuning into me, your school DJ. Come on and let me hear ya!”

I scoffed as the room remained silent. Because of nerves or just because they thought he was lame, I didn’t know. Probably a bit of both.

He started to shake at the rejection. “Keeping it mellow, huh? That’s fine. I’ll skip straight to the main show! Let’s talk about how this practical exam is gonna go down, ‘kay? Are you rea~dy?!”

“So cringy,” I muttered, placing my palm against my forehead.

“He’s quite… eccentric.” Fumi commented.

“Like your application said, today you rockin’ boys and girls will be out there conducting mock battles in super hip urban settings!” The screen behind him came to life, showing the mock city. Lines extended out from it to seven boxes, labeled with a letter from A to G. “Guard your loins, my friends.”

He did not just fucking say that. What is wrong with this fool?

“After I drop the mic here, you’ll head to your specified battle center. Sound good? Okay?!”

What center am I going to again? I pulled the exam ticket from my pocket, scanning the card. Battle center E, huh?

“Aww, I wanted to fight alongside you,” Shadow said softly, peering over my shoulder.

I glanced at Fumi’s card – he’s in center A. I rested my hand on Shadow’s head to console him.

“Okay, okay, let’s check out your targets.” The city floated in the middle of the screen. Robot silhouettes appeared on either side of the city. “There are three types of faux villains in every battle center. You’ll earn points based on their level of difficulty, so choose wisely. Your goal in this trial is to use your quirk to raise your score by shredding these faux villains like a mid-song guitar solo!”

I deadpanned. The demonstration on screen was of a retro game where the cockatiel walked around kicking villains.

“But, check it – make sure you keep things heroic. Attacking other examinees is a U.A. no-no, ya dig?”

“Excuse me, sir, but I have a question.”

“Hit me!”

God, I would love to hit him right now. Preferably with a chair. He’s giving me a headache.

A spotlight focused on a tall, navy-haired boy with glasses who stood up and pointed at the handout of the faux villains. “On the printout, you’ve listed four types of villains, not three. With all respect, if this is an error on official U.A. materials, it is shameful. We are exemplary students, we expect the best from Japan’s most notable school. A mistake such as this won’t do.”

“What a loser,” a kid behind me snickered.

“Shut up, he’ll hear you!” But he was also laughing.

I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a loser but he was certainly making an ass of himself. He reminds me of a pretentious prep school kid. I clicked my tongue, leaning back with my hands behind my head. Guess it’s expected to find these types at the top hero school, huh?

He turned his glare to a student a few rows back. “Additionally, you with the unkempt hair. You’ve been muttering this entire time. Stop that. If you can’t bother to take this seriously, leave. You’re distracting the rest of us.”

“S-Sorry,” the kid mumbled, earning a laugh from the other students.

Poor kid. He’s probably just nervous. “What a toolbag,”

“Alright, alright.” The cockatiel tried to get everyone’s attention back on him. “Examinee number 7111, thnks for calling in with your request.” Another silhouetted robot appeared on the screen. “The fourth villain type is worth zero points. That guy’s just an obstacle we’re throwing in your way. There’s one in every battle center. Think of it as a hurdle you should try to avoid. It’s not that it can’t be beaten, but there’s… kinda no point. I recommend my listeners try to ignore it and focus on the ones topping the charts!”

The prep bowed. “Thank you very much. Please continue!”

Like he needs your damn permission to do so. Man, I really don’t like this kid.

“That’s all I’ve got for you today. I’ll sign off with a little present – a sample of our school’s motto! As general Napoleon Bonaparte one laid down, ‘A true hero is one who overcomes life’s misfortunes’. Mhm, now that’s a tasty soundbite. You ready to go beyond? Let’s hear a PLUS ULTRA!” Silence. “Good luck! Hope you practiced more than just books!”

Everyone was dismissed to get changed out of their school uniforms. Since I wasn’t wearing one, I headed straight for the bus that would take my group to battle center E. I noticed movement from the corner of my eye and glanced over, seeing Aizawa leaning against a tree with a cat in his arms.

“Did you steal that cat, bro?”

His eyes narrowed at me and he ignored the question. “Don’t make me look bad, kid.”

I scoffed as he walked away.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

▸Forward

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[lokidokiliteratureclub]

Frostbitten (Chapter Four)

Previous Part

Y/N L/N is a child of a Jotun and an Asgardian. She spends her life hidden in the dungeons of Asgard, with no one to talk to other than one of the princes- a man who seems completely incapable of leaving her alone and entirely unable to give up on helping her. Y/N and Loki Odinson have always been inseparable, it seems- even when there is a cell wall, or a village, or an entire kingdom between them.

Even when he disappears, even when you run away, and even when his world falls apart; you are inseparable.

Happy 4th, if you live in the U.S.!! I listened to Hamilton twice today and then rewatched 1776, and then finished this, because that’s the only way I know how to celebrate. Sorry this took so long to get out! Also, enjoy this peace while it lasts, because this story isn’t gonna stay happy for long :)

Okay. Alright. This is fine.

The Asgardians will be completely okay in the dungeons. They can fend for themselves, right? There's no point in worrying about them, especially since it has only been moments since their departure, and since there’s no doubt that Odin will find a way to retrieve them very soon. You can worry about that later, you decide, trying to focus on the occurrences at hand.

The two guards at your sides walk you down a large dining hall, fitted with a table that has probably been set for years. A thick layer of dust is settled on the top of the tablecloth and spread along the grey, stone plates. It matches the rest of the castle: abandoned, unkempt, empty. The building seems to lack a soul.

The next hall that the guards lead you down is slightly less the part. It looks swept, at least. Portraits on the walls are crooked and cracked, but clouds of dirt do not rise to meet you every time you take a step, so it’s still, in a way, better. Some doors down this hallway are cracked open, and you can see beds left unmade. Plates of decaying food are left unattended on silver platters, with no hints as to why or to who left them there. At the end of the hallway, a large door to the left of you is the only one left closed. The guards pause at this door, ushering you forward. Since the door was clearly made for much taller beings, the handle is at your shoulder- nearly at your neck, but you wrap both hands around it and pull.

At first, the room is dark and silent, the only traces of light entering from the space behind you. You take a step in, and a small ball of light emits from near the back of the room, stemming from the fingers of a rather young looking Jotun, not much shorter than yourself. His hair, long and a ratty mess, reaches down across his oversized grey robes. He sets the orb of light down, as if it were solid, and ties his hair back, away from his face, before straightening up and truly addressing you.

"Who're you?" He asks quietly, his voice high, but calm. "You're awfully small."

"Loric," groans a second voice after a moment's delay, accompanied by a quiet tossing of sheets. "Stop... Magic... No one is..." the voice trails off, and you squint into the dim light, searching for the owner of the second voice. "Oh, damn. Light it up."

Loric spreads his hands, and light floods the ceiling of the long, musty room, illuminating two columns of "beds," piles of sheets lined up along the stone walls. There are six. Two are empty, four are filled. Two of the children are awake, and the others begin to stir, poking their tiny heads out of the clutters of fabric.

They look like twins, each of them being very young girls. The boy who performed the magic seems slightly older, probably in his early teens, and the one who spoke to you is much taller than you, though, assuming he'll grow to the size of the guards or the king, he's probably years younger. He studies you, flabbergasted, and waves a hand to the space behind you.

"Guards, you are dismissed," he says. The two giants leave their posts, shutting the door behind you.

The two twins, rubbing their eyes, each turn toward you.

"Hi," you say, blinking uncomfortably. Your voice is dry, and a bit weak. "I, hello, I'm Y/N. You're all very tall."

"Y/N," echoes the eldest, shifting in his pile of sheets. "You're quite short for a giant."

"I'm only half-" you start, on instinct, and then quickly cut off. These sons and daughters of Laufey do not need to know that you’re half Asgardian. "I suppose I'll be about half your size. It's a birth defect."

"How was prison?" Asks Loric, staring at you with large red eyes. "That's where you're from, isn't it? You are Laufey's lost child. We were told you’d come."

"You're here to join us?" Asks one of the twins, using a small hand to push her hair out of her face. Beneath the veil of hair is a round, makeshift eyepatch, fashioned from the sole of a shoe and bit of cloth. "There's no room. Where are you to sleep?"

"She'll sleep in one of the other beds, stupid," says the second twin, rolling her eyes. "They're plenty empty. She'll sleep next to you, even."

"That's where Elora sleeps!" The first twin shoots back. "We're not kicking her out!"

"Elora isn't here!"

"Quiet, you two," the eldest interrupts. The twins shut up very quickly, staring away from each other. "Y/N, we'll get you new bedding. You'll not want to use any of these."

You look at the crumpled piles along the walls and don't make a move to disagree. "Thank you, ah..."

"Vaire," he finishes. He is studying your face, appearing troubled. "And that's Loric, and the twins are named Kolla and Arna. The one with the eyepatch is Kolla."

Kolla smiles at the sound of her name, staring attentively at a spot on the wall. Arna waves at you in greeting, but her eyes are on her sister, gazing with a certain kind of restrained grief. Each of them has long, straight hair and pale blue skin- contrasted from the darker shades in Vaire's and Loric's skin. Now that you think about it, other than the twins, they don't look much alike at all. They look more distantly related. Like cousins.

Or, you think, like step-siblings. Same father, different mothers.

"Well," you look over the four, "I'm, are there others? The other beds, are they normally.." you trail off when you notice everyone's eyes suddenly avoiding you, deciding that you may not want to know the answers to your questions. "I, it's nice to meet you."

"Likewise," says Loric, faintly.

"I pity you if you thought this would be any better than where you were on Asgard," says Vaire, absentmindedly running a thumb under his jaw, which is over pronounced, sharp from malnourishment. "Though, it may get better for you sometime soon, since you've singlehandedly managed to steal the throne."

There it is. There’s the bad side.

"I, sorry if I did, but I didn't mean to steal anything." You sigh, looking away from the people who you're pretending to be related to. "Besides, look at me. Do you think Laufey is going to let me anywhere near the throne? I look like a splinter in an armory. I'm completely unintimidating."

"Do not mistake my words for contempt," Vaire says quickly, putting his hands in the air in surrender. He seems genuine, immediately regretful. "I didn't mean that in a bad sense- I'm actually quite glad I'm not the heir. I have no interest in the throne."

"Vaire wanted to give it up to me," Loric says, lacing his fingers together. "He thinks I'll be a very powerful ruler. But Laufey forbids it. He says that I'm a wizard, not a king."

Boy. Where have I heard that before.

"That doesn't make any sense," you comment. Vaire nods solemnly.

"Nothing does.” He looks at Kolla, who is mumbling to herself and staring at the bed next to her, then looks at Loric, who hugs his legs to his chest, staring right back at him. You'll get used to it."

You grow quiet. The room goes stale, reduced to shuffles and breathing. Then Loric lets out a loud, semi-annoyed sigh, and he stands up.

"You want to see your friends," he says, to your immediate surprise. "Don't be so shocked. I can see it written on your face!"

"To be perfectly honest, I guessed too," says Vaire, clearly grateful for a change in subject. "But I didn't think they were your friends. I figured you'd want to bid farewell."

You blink. "I, one of them is a friend. The others are allies. I don't intend to let them die."

"Won't they starve?" Arna asks, head tilted curiously. "Are they nice?"

"No," you say plainly. “Most of them are actually quite awful. But they're innocent, and one of them..." you bite your lip. "One of them is quite important to me."

"Oh? Do explain." Vaire grins, narrowing his eyes. "I do love a good romance story, and we haven’t many of them in the library."

You flush, cheeks warming, and stare at the ground. "No, no. It's not, we're, no, he's just the one who kept me company while I was in prison." 

"A guard?" Arna suggests.

"No, he was.." your blush deepens, creeping down your neck. You probably look just as ridiculous as you sound. "...he was a prince."

"Thor!?" Kolla is suddenly snapped from her gaze, staring with one big eye. Then she turns her gaze to the empty pile of blankets beside her, lowering her voice. "Did you hear that, Ellie? She's courting Thor!"

"No!" You say quickly, sounding quite a bit disgusted. "No, gods no. It's his brother."

"Thor has a brother?" Loric asks.

"Oh, I've heard of him. Prince Loki, I believe. God of Mischief and Lies," speaks Vaire, thinking deeply.

You nod, but halfway through the motion, you stop, frowning. "I've never heard of him by that name. But yes. Loki."

Loric begins to grin along with his brother, walking toward you and stopping just a couple steps away. "And you're in love with him?"

"No!"

"Are you sure?"

"...Yes."

"Does he love you?"

"No."

"That sounded disappointed."

"I'm not!"

"Is he?"

"Is he what?"

"Is he disappointed in the lack of amorous air between you?"

You roll your eyes. "I'll have to ask him next time I'm in the dungeons."

Loric nods thoughtfully, then all the light from the ceiling drops to the floor and flies into his hands. "Alright. Let's go! Vaire, we'll be back soon."

Vaire seems unfazed. He waves at you, then disappears back into his blankets. "Bring back food."

"Of course."

You blink. “What?”

“We’re going to the dungeons!” Loric exclaims, grabbing your wrist, which immediately freaks you out considering that you haven’t directly been touched in a very long time. You somehow manage not to rip your hand away.

“Won’t you get in trouble? I’ve only just met you- you don’t have to-”

“Oh, Loric is excellent at not getting into trouble. Don’t you worry,” mutters Arvid, speaking through a yawn, and not a second later you're being dragged down the hallway, Loric's fingers holding tightly around your wrist as he flies past oblivious guards and open doors. He slows down for a moment in the dining hall, pulling you off into a small side room and grabbing a stale loaf of bread off of one of the shelves. 

He snaps the loaf in half and hands one half to you, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Half for us, half for your... Allies."

You take the bread and hold it tenderly, smiling at the eagerness of the young child. Maybe it's his generosity, or his magic, or his name- but he reminds you distinctly of Loki.

"They've only been in the dungeons for about twenty seconds, but thank you," you say as he grabs your wrist once again. “Are all of you this nice? On Asgard we have a very specifically awful image of Jotuns.”

"There are plenty of good ones here, just not many in the palace," he returns. "Oh, and in case you haven't realized, I'm making us invisible. I’ll let go when we're in the dark."

"Alright."

He starts off again, heading toward the entrance hall and then pulling you down a dark staircase, so dim you have to squint to make sure you don't hit the guards standing by the walls. When you reach the cells, Loric doesn't immediately let go. Instead, he leans over to you, whispering.

"I think your friends are special prisoners. They won't be close to the front."

"Oh?" You frown. "Where will they be?"

"Near the back, probably, where it's hardest to escape," says Sif, her voice popping up very suddenly from behind you. You spin around, only to find that she's hidden behind a thick, metal door- the only access to the outside world is from a small window at the top. Even that is barred off. "Though, for some reason, they presume I'm not special enough. They'll regret that, eventually."

When he hears no guards, Loric releases your wrist, conjuring a small ball of light. You move to the door and grip the bars, trying to see through to her. "The Odinsons are further down?"

"Loki controlled you," she says, dodging the question. "Are you here to get revenge?" Sif is at the back of her cell, but when she sees you she begins to move forward, arms crossed defiantly. "He's a magician, might I remind you."

"You're being extraordinarily annoying," you comment in retaliation, backing a step away from the bars and ripping off a chunk of the bread. "And Loki wasn't controlling me. I was telling the truth. You three are innocent."

"Oh?" She cocks an eyebrow, stepping to the front. Her eyes fall to the bread, then to Loric. "And who's this?"

"Loric Laufeyson," Loric says, smiling gently. He seems unfazed by her attitude. "You've lovely eyes, miss."

You stare daggers at Sif the minute he says his name. Don't blow my cover, you scream at her, mentally. Then we'll both die.

She stares at him for a moment, confused, and then looks back to you. Realization starts to dawn on her face. Slowly, but surely, you see her resolve to hate you flicker away. There's almost guilt in her expression. Almost. "You're serious?"

You nod. "I'm serious. You're hungry?"

She looks ready to reject the offer, but swallows her pride, sighing. "I didn't exactly eat breakfast."

You hold the bread through the bars. It's surprisingly unfrozen, and she takes it.

"I don't trust you," she says, inspecting the bread. "But I don't think you're so much evil, just stupid."

"Thanks." You smile sarcastically, backing up from the bars. "I'll let you know if the Allfather drops out of the sky to retrieve you."

She pauses, and then looks down, shaking her head. "If all goes well, that will be soon."

You leave her behind with that, not offering a response. Loric leads you away, father back into the prison. He's smiling.

"I like her," he says. "She seems very fierce."

"Stubborn, more like. I hear she's excellent on the field, though."

"Is she your guide?"

You shake your head. "We.." you pause, realizing that you probably can't tell him about Arvid. "..Jotunheim Is small. We figured that no guide was needed."

He nods, contemplating this until you reach your next destination.

It's not an energy barrier, thank the gods, and the only thing that separates this cell from Sif's is that through the bars on the door you can see Thor has his hands in cuffs chained to the wall. He seems to have a few feet of walking space, but that's all.

"Oh, it's you," he grunts, eyes following you from the back of his cell. "You know, you're lucky the other prisoners are asleep. They'd rip you to pieces if they saw you visiting us."

You stare. "Thor, I realize you don’t like me much, but I'm trying to help."

Loric frowns. "Is this the man you love?"

"No, this is Thor. He's awful. Also, I don't love Loki either."

Thor looks alarmed. "You love my brother?"

"You know what?" You tear a piece off of the bread, throw it, and watch as it hits him square in the face. "Take the bread. I'll talk to you tomorrow, if you’re still here by then."

He says something else, but you're already walking away before you have time to hear it. Loric chuckles at your change in stature, following you toward the back of the room and pointing you to a hallway to your left. "You don't like him," he comments, smiling. "Why not?"

"With the Odinsons, you just have to like one and hate the other."

"You picked Loki?"

"I'd hope so," joins a third voice from farther down the hall, warm and familiar. Both you and Loric turn toward the cell which holds the voice, and through Loric’s light, your eyes lock with beautiful blue. "Y/N is practically the only thing my brother can't take from me."

You step up to the foot of his cell. The bars are full length in his cell- ceiling to the floor instead of solid walls. The door is the same as the others. "I chose you because you’re not arrogant and insufferable. Don’t change my mind by whining.”

“Wow, so bold now that we’ve switched positions.” He grins, and bows swiftly, keeping eye-contact the whole time. "As you wish, your majesty."

"Should I leave you two alone a moment?" Asks Loric's tiny voice, laced with mischevious intent. "It'll be dark, but I doubt you need light to speak."

"Oh, Loric, there's no need-"

The light goes out. It grows silent, and then Loki begins to laugh.

"I like him," he says, quieting his voice.

“That’s Loric Laufeyson,” you mutter, laughing gently along with him. “I like him too.”

"How have you been? It's been quite a while. Maybe a bit too long."

"Maybe?” You chuckle. “I'd slap you if I wasn't sure I'd freeze your nose off, but I'm pretty sure there was no way for you to visit, so I'll let it slide."

"I would have visited if I could, I promise. It nearly killed me to be away for so long."

You scoff, but smile through the darkness. "Drama queen. You were fine."

"No, really, I didn't realize how much of my life..." he trails off, then laughs lightly. You hear him shuffle a bit. "Everyone else is either insanely secretive and deceptive, or arrogant and shameless. Since Thor got this assignment from father, he's been an absolute nuisance."

"More than usual?"

"More than usual,” he agrees. “Thor may be a bit arrogant, but he's also very easy to love. He's like a, well, like a horse- simple, easy to operate, kindhearted, loyal-"

"But a complete idiot?"

"Not necessarily, it's just that... He's a bit slow sometimes."

You snort, feeling for the bars and leaning against them, taking some of the weight off your legs. "We'll have something in common. It's been ten years and I still can't control whether or not I take someone's hand off."

"Oh, Hogun will be alright. He was being an imbecile." There's a soft, outward sigh, and you feel his shoulder brush yours as he leans on the other side of the bars. "You weren't level-headed. You controlled it fine when..."

"When you were there," you finish with a sigh. "Everything is always horrible when you're gone. If you ever leave again I might have to come find you."

"I'd be more worried about yourself." You feel a gentle brush of skin on the hand you have resting against the bars, and quickly pull your fingers away. Loki immediately expresses concern. "What's wrong?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Loki. You can't touch me."

"Because you don't want me to, or because you're afraid it will hurt me?"

"It will hurt you."

"You won't."

"I can't control that."

His voice gets closer. "Y/N, you could cut off my legs in my sleep and I'd still adore you. If you give me frostbite, I'll heal it and forget this ever happened, but I doubt I'll ever need to."

You hesitate, the word adore lingering in the air. "I.. Loki, I would never forgive myself. You'd do the same for me."

"This isn't about me. This is about you. If there were no consequences-" he breaks off. When he speaks next, he sounds amused. "Fine. Coward."

"Loki, don't-!"

His skin meets yours with a sudden shock, so sudden that your hand jolts upward. He grips your hand gently, steadying you as you screw your eyes shut, trying to calm down and control the ice. His fingers slip delicately around yours, and your hand is lifted upward until the soft skin of his lips hits your knuckles. The contact is short, but it carries a lifetime of meaning.

"See, was that so bad?" His voice rings, and you can almost hear him smirk as your hands, shaking, wrap around his.

"You're going to kill me one day," you said, voice shaking, your heart beating at an alarming rate. "By the nine, Loki-"

"Hush, it's alright. We're alright." He takes your hands, one in each of his, and places them on the sides of his face, as if to confirm this fact. “You’re not even cold.”

You soak in the feeling of his skin, breath evening out. You take a moment to touch him, thumbs brushing under his eyes and fingers wrapping around his jaw. He mirrors you, gently taking your face in his hands and holding you, so close that you can feel his breath on your face. You can hear your heart thrumming in your ears. You can feel the light, weightless, tingling feeling spreading into your limbs. You feel the thrum of his pulse against your fingers, and... Is it? Yes, it's surely faster than usual. You wonder if he can feel your pulse as well or if his fingers have grown numb atop your skin.

When you don’t even think it’s possible to get closer to him, there is a brief, soft brush of lips. The shadow of a kiss. Intoxicating and unfinished, leaving you to revel in silent, confusing longing. After a moment of deep breathing and heavy silence, Loki plants a kiss on the corner of your mouth, chuckling softly. "Getting a bit close, are we?"

"A bit," you whisper in soft response, not sure what to call the feelings awakening inside you. "Is this what it always feels like?"

"What what feels like, dear?"

"Well, you know.. Touch." Your fingers brush for a final time over his face, pausing on his cheekbones. Under your fingers, you swear there are small ridges on his skin. Raised places, forming delicate lines down his face. "Does... Is there always...this?"

There's a silence, your hands still on each others' skin, and Loki plants a second kiss on the top of your head. "No," he whispers, so faintly you nearly don't hear. Then his hands leave your skin, and he takes a step back. "You should probably go find your brother."

"He's not my brother," you remind him. Your hands slowly, shakily leave his skin. "But yes, I suppose so. He's quite a dear. I'd not want to get him in trouble."

"I'll be waiting for you," he says. His voice is fainter, lower. "Try not to forget me while you’re living in the lap of luxury."

“Don’t count on it,” you murmur, throwing the last chunk of bread at his face and quickly exiting the premises, heart still rushing.

Frostbitten Tags:

@natalia-rushman @what-inspirational-name@jessiejunebug@fandomdestroyer @a-new-schematic @iris-suoh @pandacookieowo @givememyskittlesback@awesomefandomsunited @itsanallygator@arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fire-treasure-iii @strangerliaa @for-the-love-of-the-fandom@woohoney @itsanallygator @rosesarestriped @justyuuhi @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @loser-alert @egos-r-life @themusingsofmany

#Loki Laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x reader fluff #loki x reader #loki (marvel) #thor #marvel #mcu

[drawlfoy]

A Short Meeting

pairing: draco x pansy

request: yes! thank you to anon for sending it in :)

warnings: just mentions of war/fighting/minimal gore. i’m not all that into blood so i’ll keep it light if i put any mention in

a/n: i took a few liberties with the canon to write this one. but also i just got in a car crash so i’m kind of shaky so i apologize for any spelling mistakes

music recs: i was listening to insomnia by iamx

summary: i don’t want to give too much away but basically pansy is in a pinch during the war and a certain someone appears

word count: 1,343

Pansy couldn’t tell you how long she’d been hiding out where she was. She had tried to run to the Slytherin common room like Snape had instructed them to, but somehow she’d been split away from the group. With all the adrenaline rushing through her body, she ran right past the corridor leading to the dorms, and it was far too late to turn back now. She could hear the shouts and the spells being fired near the turn she was supposed to take. The chaos was only growing closer.

Keep going, keep going. If either side finds you, you’re dead for.

At first glance, the pureblood girl should’ve sided with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, but her family had deserted last minute by jumping countries and decided that she’d be safe at Hogwarts while they took their extended vacation in...New York? Sydney? For some reason she thought they might’ve taken a quick stop in South Africa along the way, but she couldn’t be sure.

Regardless, no one liked her. To the Death Eaters, her name carried weakness and treachery. To the Order, she was a coward and a bigot. Both seemed to forget who she really was: a very lost, very betrayed 17 year old girl who just wanted her family back. 

But then again, no one wanted to take the time to psychoanalyze Pansy Parkinson. She’d already been pigeon-holed and it was so much more worthwhile to guess how many freckles Harry Potter had on his right ass cheek. Or how Bellatrix took her tea, whichever side one fancied the most.

The commotion was growing nearer and Pansy was being slower. She couldn’t keep running for much longer.

Thankfully, she spotted a broom closet just off to her right, just begging to be used as a hiding spot. She exhaled a grateful breath before yanking the door open and piling objects on top of her.

Maybe they’re right she mused. Maybe I am a coward, hiding under a pile of household objects instead of going out there and fighting for what I believe in.

She cast these thoughts away. How could she fight for a side when both of them hated her? And regardless, she was alive. That’s all that mattered, after all. Maybe afterwards she could owl her family and join them in their exclusive penthouse or beach house or whatever they were living the pampered life in.

Pansy allowed herself to be taken away by all of these daydreams of life after the war, riding each fleeting thought like one would surf a wave. 

Yes, a wave in Hawaii she thought dreamily. Perhaps Mother and Father are there.

She thought that perhaps the war had stopped once the chaos had quieted down, but she knew better than to leave her spot. The war had probably moved to another part of the castle, but even so, there could still be people rounding up scragglers. And she was safe, so safe, in her cozy little broom closet. She felt an odd vibe of immortality, tucked away with random items covering her from view. It felt like she was a little girl again who was afraid of the dark, pulling blankets over her head and feeling invincible in her cocoon of softness.

This security only lasted for another few seconds, though. The broom closet handle was ripped open violently and someone else stepped in, casting a quick lumos and peering around.

Pansy couldn’t believe her eyes. She hadn’t seen him since the middle of the previous school year. It had been over a year. 

The time did not treat Draco Malfoy well. She had never seen his platinum hair so unkempt and ruffled and his face so dirty. 

“Pansy?” His voice, though hushed, was full of alarm. “Why aren’t you in the dorms?”

“Dunno.” It seemed like a rather trivial question. Did it matter why she wasn’t there? She was here. And that was that. “I generally prefer private rooms when I’m hiding from a war.”

If he had found that funny, he didn’t show it.

“It’s dangerous here. You need to get out.” His face was just as stone cold as she remembered, but  as she looked into his eyes, she noticed a glimmer of fear.

“And go where, Draco?” she asked incredulously. “My house? That’s currently being used to hold your prisoners? Or the Dining Hall, perhaps? The one that’s already blown to bits? Or to my parents? Whose whereabouts I’m not even aware of anymore?”

“Oh.” Draco’s eyes widened. “I thought you knew...where.”

“No.”

The two sat in silence for a few moments. The memories of Pansy’s shameless attempts at flirting made a reappearance. The most recent had been when she was 16--just a year before--when she’d instructed Draco to lay his head in her lap and carded her fingers through his fine hair.

So embarrassing. He was so clearly never interested. How could she’ve been so naive to chase after boy that never cared about her anyways?

“I’m sorry about that,” he finally told her.

“So what now?” She pushed. “You’re gonna take me to your fellow Death Eaters? Let them see how cowardly I am, hiding away in a closet like this?”

He winced at the term “death eater”. 

“No.” 

The silence embraced them again, just as awkward as before.

“I am sorry, you know.” 

Pansy jumped at the sudden tone change. Draco sounded...remorseful, something  she’d never expected from him.

“For what?”

“For leading you on for...I don’t even know how many years,” he muttered, passing his wand back and forth from both hands, causing the light omitted from it to shake. “That was pretty shit of me.”

“I should’ve stopped trying,” Pansy confided in him. “I knew you didn’t care. It was just so hard to leave you alone.”

The silence returned, much more comfortable this time. Pansy never thought she’d be here--sitting in a broom closet with a Death Eater in the middle of a raging battle.

“Come here.” Draco’s voice came off as surprisingly strong, and she looked up to see him motioning to her with his free hand. 

“Why?”

“I have some things to make up to you.” 

Once Pansy had scooted over to his side of the closet, he distinguished his wand--even though it didn’t really look like his wand, now that Pansy was looking closer--and set it on the floor next to them. He adjusted to sit cross legged.

“Put your head here.” He pointed to his lap while Pansy squinted to see exactly where.

He couldn’t be serious. 

Slowly, she lowered her head down, letting it settle in between his crossed legs. She felt his hands encapsulate her head, his fingers stroking her hair in a fashion very similar to what she did.

“What’s gonna happen to us, Draco?” Her voice didn’t sound like hers.

“I don’t know. You should find your parents and get out as soon as you can. As for me....” Draco paused, his hands stopping as well. “We’ll just have to see what happens.”

Pansy accepted the weak answer, shutting her eyes and just enjoying the moment as it came.

“This is the last time, isn’t it?” Pansy asked. She already knew the answer. “I mean, for the two of us?”

Draco was quiet for a few moments before answering.

“Yeah.”

They stayed like that for a while. Pansy wanted to believe that he was doing this out of desire, but she had a feeling that this was just to settle the guilt inside of him. He was paying his dues.

Yells began to sound outside again, accompanied by screaming and blasts. Draco exhaled sadly, running his fingers through Pansy’s hair one more time.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Okay.”

He stood up awkwardly, brushing off his pant legs and retrieving his wand from the ground. Before he opened the door, he turned back and caught Pansy’s eyes one more time. 

“Stay safe, Pans.” 

With that, he stepped out and shut the door behind her, leaving her alone with the knowledge that she’d never see him again.

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