#this came out a little angstier than i intended so i hope you still like it :) the intention was shivani comforting nat!

[lovelyfoolish]

dans mes yeux ça se voit

nat x f!detective (shivani gupta) / 1.4K / M

⇢ summary: natalie sewell fears nothing.

⇢ notes: happy holidays, @sunshineandviolets! i'm your match for @wayhavensecretsanta ♡ all of your detectives are beautifully constructed and would be a pleasure to write about, but i knew i wanted to write about shivani after i read about her love of bugs (adding to my insects and wayhaven canon? you love to see it) and desire for a fairytale romance. (and as a part-time woman in stem, i couldn't resist sneaking in some of my own interests with all the bug facts.)

i hope it's very cozy where you are and that you have a lovely holiday season and get to go on a nature walk with a pretty girl someday soon ♡

🐞 ‎

set the mood

🦋 ‎

In her memories, the sea glitters like a diamond, waves that wear white foam shrouds catching the light as they dance, rolling towards an unseen shore. She could never see the bottom. She never wanted to. 

For a moment, Nat tastes salt instead of the heady, smokey flavour of the Lapsang Souchong she drinks while Shivani eats her breakfast in the back of her throat. 

Then, iron. 

If she still thinks of the sea as a precious gem, even after all this time, even though she knows what it can do, then the lake that stretches out before them, placid and unmoving, so still it’s unnerving, must be glass, crawling towards the horizon. The treeline frames its edges, the mountains cast shadows over it, it reflects the grey of the winter morning sky like a mirror — 

In this light, the lake is a gleaming pearl at the centre of an oyster dulled by the dark of the ocean. 

They’ve come here before. A few times. She can map it in her mind. In a few minutes, they’ll pass a makeshift dock that Shivani once told her was crowded with reckless swimmers in the summer. There’s a fallen pine to the north, half-submerged and rising from the water like the rib of something ancient, right at the shore’s edge. Ribbons of smoke curl from the chimneys of the houses in the distance, mist rising off the surface of the water. It’s quiet, the only sound their footsteps on the path, and she is restless in a way that feels both unfamiliar and innate, swallowing down a feeling she has no name for. 

Not — déjà vu, exactly. Not melancholy. Something else. Something implacable, that feels like something trembling inside her chest, straining against her skin, what a chrysalis on the verge of metamorphosis must feel like.  

As she walks, her long strides shortened to match her girlfriend’s, Nat’s fingers brush against Shivani’s. They touch only momentarily, but it makes her stand straighter, exhaling softly. How many times did Shivani do this alone before she met her? How many times had she walked alone by the edge of the water before she met Shivani? 

“Nat.”

She turns towards the sound of her name, finding Shivani staring up at her, the sky reflected in her expression, the gold ring in her nose glinting. It makes Nat smile reflexively, her lips unfurling like a bow being untied as she reaches for her hand. Her fingers wrap around her wrist, a bracelet of adoration, before she hooks their smallest fingers together as though making a promise, stroking her palm with her thumb. She wants to touch her more, in a way that is rapidly becoming more impractical the further they get down the path, deeper into the trees.

Shivani’s skin, with its down of dark hair, is soft as velvet — it is treacherous to liken her human (so human, entirely human, much too human — and yet, she has chosen her) girlfriend to something inhuman, but with her dark eyes opened wide and that constant, unchanging air of caution, she thinks first of a doe. 

“Yes,” Nat says in answer, head tilted, fixated on her girlfriend, that smile she only smiles for Shivani on her lips again. 

“It’s a widow skimmer,” she says, the pitch of her voice betraying her excitement, and Nat follows the point of her gaze — a dragonfly is flitting down by the water, so fast she would have missed it if Shivani hadn’t spoken. “Libellula luctuosa. Male. You can tell by the white band on its midwings and its blue body. Can you see it? If it was a female it would have yellow stripes on its body instead of blue, and there wouldn’t be any white patches between its nodus and stigma, only black or brown.”

“It’s beautiful,” Nat says, “Should we get closer?”

Shivani shakes her head, laughing softly. “Nat, it’s hunting.” 

She arches her brow, and Shivani’s eyes light up. 

“Dragonflies are one of the most dangerous predators on Earth,” she continues, leaning closer to Nat as she watches the insect, side of her head against Nat’s bicep, making her heart flutter, not unlike the beat of the widow skimmer’s wings. Nat is flushing. She can feel her cheeks getting warmer. “If you’re their prey. They can catch other insects in midair and not have to land before consuming them. They feed while they fly. There’s been research that suggests they’re almost like humans — they can focus their attention like humans can, and that allows them to stalk their prey more accurately. Their efficiency is almost unparalleled. They’re remarkable.”

Prey. Such a simple, uninteresting word, over in a syllable, but she finds it repulsive nonetheless, spitting it out in her summations and reports. 

“It was funny, really, there were reports of places where frogs were experiencing extreme rates of missing or extra limbs, and there was no environmental factor that they could pinpoint, like improper chemical disposal. It turned out that dragonflies were preying on the frogs as tadpoles. Their bodies would sometimes grow an extra limb in response to losing one before they were grown. And then as frogs, they would get their vengeance by preying on the dragonflies. It’s cyclical.”

Vampires prey on humans.

Someone is holding her hand tightly, squeezing it gently. They’ve stopped walking. 

“You know — I read something about dragonflies recently that made me think of you, Nat.” 

When they met, it was Shivani’s voice she noticed first. (— Her eyes second. Her lips third.) It’s clear and with an elegant lilt to it, her tone higher when she speaks Gujarati, a voice that made Nat want to listen to her talking about anything, in any language. She finds herself listening to her as though her voice was music, able to hear her even from a distance, as though it was a rope thrown to her. When she hears her name, she knows. Shivani is reaching out for her. They’re close enough that Nat could stoop to kiss her, or sweep her off her feet and carry her home, or —

“A few years ago, researchers discovered that bacteria are not able to survive on a dragonfly’s wings. They’re what’s called “bactericidal”,” Shivani says, “Those wings — they look so delicate, but they might be the key to preventing infection and saving millions and millions of lives. It’s so simple, really. On their wings, there are these structures called nanopillars. They’re like — little spikes. They have different sizes and lengths, and they trap and tear apart bacteria on a microscopic level. It’s as though the bacteria land on a knife point. They can’t survive that. So you’ll never find a dragonfly with a wing infection.” 

Nat reminds herself to focus, gaze finding the dragonfly again, lulled by Shivani’s voice. Another has joined it, skimming the water. A blue body, white bands on its wings — another male. 

“And they’re trying to use that research to create nanopillar bandages. To prevent infections from open wounds. And — I thought you might find that interesting. That they’re dangerous hunters. But someday, in the future, they might be the reason why we have technology that can save someone like me. Or Verda. Or one of my students.”

When their eyes meet, Nat wants to collapse, overwhelmed by affection for her girlfriend. 

She doesn’t have to say it explicitly. She knows exactly what Shivani is telling her, and her heart is aching as she lets go of her hand and reaches out to stroke her face, holding her round cheeks between her palms, desperate to kiss her. 

“You’re right,” she murmurs, “I do find that interesting.”

“Nat,” Shivani says, “You know you can tell me when something is wrong, right? Whenever you want. I’ll listen. I want to help you. You’re my girlfriend. I want you to be happy.” 

“Don’t worry,” Nat says, lowering her head, wrapping her arms around her shoulders as Shivani rises on her toes, their lips finally meeting. The kiss is sweet — the taste of honey lingers in the corners of Shivani’s mouth — and smokey, the Lapsang Souchong she drinks on her girlfriend’s lips now. “I’m happy. I want to know everything you know. Will you teach me more about the insects here?”

“Well,” Shivani says, suddenly not meeting her eyes, “There is one other thing I know about widow skimmers.”

“Go on, darling,” Nat says, already amused, immediately certain of where the change in her attitude is leading.

“Widow skimmers — when they — when they mate — they form —” her voice is getting quieter. If Nat touched her face again, she knows her girlfriend’s cheeks would be blazing hot, “When they mate they form a heart.”

Nat gasps softly, first, and then she laughs.

🪲 ‎

the opening line is courtesy of my aunt, who refers to the time of afternoon where the sun is low enough that the ocean starts to sparkle as "the diamond hour"! (the lake being a pearl is via my brain, though. i am delighted there is oyster art on my dash as i type this, i am taking it as a sign.)

a male widow skimmer by photographer greg lasley! i don't know where your wayhaven is, and they're native to north america, but it was so beautiful and distinct i couldn't resist choosing it for shivani to spot. (in my mind the two males nat spots at the end are lovers. parallels!)

information on the relationship between dragonflies and frogs is from this journal article and this blog post, and information about dragonflies' hunting is from this nyt article.

what shivani says about dragonfly wings being antimicrobial is true! here's an article about their nanopillar structure.

subscribe for more dragonfly facts with cami and shivani :-)

#i accidentally published the draft on december 15th lol #i hope you did not get notified about it #especially bc it was my formatting copy and the actual fic was still in google drive lmao #this came out a little angstier than i intended so i hope you still like it :) the intention was shivani comforting nat! #as a person with anxiety sometimes i wish i could be the one comforting the ones comforting me #you know? #also i wanted to share bug facts :) #one day i'll let go of n sewell and diamonds as a motif #but today is not that day #can u believe i forgot the tags #wayhavensecretsanta #twc #nat sewell

[blackberrywars]

I saw the flash fic thing you're doing!! If you're in the mood any of your adorable Kitten Shenanigans™ would be delightful ❤️❤️❤️

Ask and ye shall receive, my friend! It ended up just slightly angstier than intended, because witchers and Vesemir are involved, but I hope it meets your expectations for the Kitten Shenanigans™. Full disclosure, it is heavily inspired by this post.

——————————————————————————————

Kittens love to be tossed.

This epiphany —perhaps the most important one in all of Guxart’s many, many years of raising kittens into Cats— came at the cost of his ungreyed temples and his witcher-slow pulse. All he remembers now, four decades later, is that he had been walking through a Toussaint forest with Gezras when a horrible, ear-piercing shriek shattered the peaceful morning air. It had ripped through him like poison. Made his guts fall through to his feet. Nearly took him out at the knees before he whipped his useless body around, sprinting to the source, the lake where he’d left his kittens to bathe. Another scream found his ears, and he barely fucking registers the orange blur of Gezras beside him as he pushed ahead, bursting though the treeline to save his kitten 

“Lexandre!”

The sound nearly tore his throat apart, but how could he care? Just beyond the shores stood Lexandre, cowering from the claws of a water hag. He ran. Vicious, disgusting claws tore into his back as he tackled his kitten, curling him into his chest and away from the danger. He barely felt them, just kicked away underwater as fast as he could, hearing the sound of steel on flesh, knowing that Gezras had the danger in hand so he could focus on getting his precious cargo to safety. When Lexandre began to scratch at his arm, he pulled them upwards to the surface, took their heads above the sudden waves.

He expected screaming. He expected whimpering and sobbing, to have to comfort his kittens and scold them in the morning.

He hadn’t expected laughter.

—

— — —

—

From that day onward —when the beat of his heart had kept pace only with the rapid, joyful cries of “Again! Again! Again!” as rowdy kits begged to be tackled once more— Guxart had a new tool to wrangle his growing clowder. Lakes, rivers, bushes, leaf piles, snowdrifts, pillows. Other kittens, on occasion. And oftentimes, right back into his arms. Any and every surface that could give them a somewhat soft landing, and Guxart has both an irresistible reward for good behavior and a deterrent for excessive mischief, all in one. Good kits are tossed, repeatedly. Naughty kits would have to, unsatisfyingly, throw themselves. It minimizes considerable damage. So, when he decides to show Vesemir his newfound knowledge, he expects more gratitude than he gets, and maybe even a fun, tossing-related reward of his own.

“What the actual fuck, Guxart.”

It was foolish, in retrospect.

“What? They’re having fun, look at ‘em.” 

Guxart’s newest charge, a dwarvish girl just barely past five summers, falls hard into his arms, giggling with glee. Kiyan’s weight pulls at the strained muscles of his back the same way her smile pulls at the strained strings of his too-soft heart. Shrödinger handles his other kit, Joël, in a similar manner, tossing him higher still. The pair had done excellent in their drills today, and had been slowly learning to hold knives properly with no delays, thanks to the promise of being tossed. His wolf snarls, curling his lip. It’s handsome, but ultimately unnecessary.

“You’re going to hurt yourself, damnit! What the fuck are you even doing to them? What for?”

“I’ll be fine, pretty boy. My kits aren’t so big yet. And it’s called kitten-tossing, a favorite pastime around here.”

He catches Kiyan again, and lets the resistant kitten wiggle her way out of his arms to be tossed by some other willing elder before turning back to his sometimes-lover.

“The long and short is that they like it. It keeps the hellions sweet, and I thought you’d appreciate that for your own little pack. I’m sure they’re no kits, but surely not all of your pups are as stiff as the pole stuck up Rennes’ ass.”

“Don’t you bring up Rennes, not when he doesn’t know I’m even here. What are you coddling them for? With their odds, what’s the point?”

Guxart sighs, rubbing at his graying temples. The movement makes his shoulder twinge again, but he ignores it again.

“Fuck off, Vesi. I can love them at least a little while, or however long they last. Besides, I think it really does help them —we don’t just get lucky picking acrobatic children, not with how desperate we’ve been for new trainees. The throwing… balances them, oddly enough.”

“Maybe. Or it’ could be what makes them all crazy.”

It’s a low blow, and it stings like bitter herbs in a fresh wound. But Vesemir can’t stay for long, so Guxart lets it slide with a wink and a laugh. A joke.

“Then what’s my excuse, hm? And yours, for coming here?”

“Don’t make it like that. You’ve always had your way of handling your recruits, and I won’t stop you. Lexandre turned out mostly fine, explosives aside.”

With that, the Wolf bumps his hip against Guxart’s, the best apology he can make, and Guxart takes it. He likes his way, and this method is one of his best to not only prepare his kittens for witcher life, but show them some kind of affection under the guise of training. It works, whether Vesemir understands it or not. He’ll bet anything the bastard adopts it himself, once he gets a pup who needs it badly enough.

——————————————————————————————

#in case it's not heavily implied enough #lambert is that pup #and vesemir will have to concede that his lover was right #even if he's not around to say it to anymore #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanart #guxart #gezras #lexandre #witcher kiyan #witcher joël #school of the cat #dyn marv #berry's fics #flash fic requests #inbox is open!!

[killingitreservoirdogsstyle]

Hello :)

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

May I request a prompt story where Mr. pink and the female reader are friends but realize they’re in love, please? Where they’re sharing their first kiss and making out later.

(Fluff and light smut)

I just need some romantic stuff.

Thank you!

Have a nice day!

Hello, how are you doing today? Thank you for your fantastic request, I'm so sorry it took so long to finish. I can absolutely do this for you! And great choice with Mr. Pink by the way, he's my favourite of the Dogs aside from Eddie. It kinda got a little angstier than I intended, but it serves the plot. Is that okay? It will be lighter smut because I am not comfortable with leaning towards heavier sexual content just yet, so thank you for understanding in that regard. But anyways, enough ranting, let me get right into this for you! If it isn’t what you wanted, don’t hesitate to let me know so I can fix it for you. I have no qualms or hard feelings over it! :)

Quick note here that my headcanon name for Pink is Jeremy Davidson, but go ahead and change it to whatever you like if that doesn't fit for you!

Trigger Warnings: AFAB reader, friends to lovers romance, swearing, light smut, and anxiety in some cases!

Genre: REQUESTED Prompt Story/Friends To Lovers

Fandom: Reservoir Dogs

Synopsis: Mr. Pink and his best friend Y/N have been in a platonic relationship for awhile, until they come to a startling realization that there's much more to their feelings than they thought!

Legend: Y/N, your name ( I always forget to put this shit here, dammit ).

Pink found himself staring at her once again. He couldn’t give any logical reason as to why, nor could he understand the strange feelings within him. Through his shades, his blue eyes gazed at his best friend as she drove the Sedan through suburban Los Angeles. The late afternoon sun caught her jewelry in a golden sparkle, her eyes shining through her thick lashes. The tight pink sundress and heels she wore gave her the appearance of a magazine model, further establishing a beauty that was undeniable in her. The skirt of the dress covered little to nothing, legs bare on display to him. K-Billy’s Super Sounds of The 70′s played softly in the background, Tony DeFranco’s high voice gracing his ears. His heart raced, a blush tinting his cheeks that he was hoping was hidden enough from her. 

‘Oh my god! Quit it, man! She’s your best friend, stop being a horny asshole!’ he berated himself, peeling his eyes away from her. He tried to regain control of his emotions. He sat stifling in his Hawaiian resort shirt, the Californian heat only adding to how hot he was. A fuzzy sensation panged in his chest. There was a magnetic pull he was resisting, fighting his body to stop himself from touching her. Futile as it was, he battled himself. 

“ You’ve been dead silent since we left, Jeremy, s’not like you. Are you alright?” her voice came in a concerned inquiry. Pink almost jumped back in his seat. He had been so engrossed in his inner turmoil he hadn’t realized she was so worried. He turned to look at her. It took his all to stop his eyes from darting to her lips, but he stole several small looks. Her gloss shimmered, enticing him. A brief image of him kissing her filled his brain. Her juicy, plump, silken mouth on his, tongues swirling and moans sounding in the car. 

‘Oh god’, he swallowed, cracking a teasing smile at his best friend. 

“ You’re such a mother hen, Y/N. Can’t a man have a minute of peace and quiet with his own thoughts or did the feminist movement take that privilege away?” Y/N rolled her eyes, smacking his arm.

“ At least you’re still an asshole. We’ll be there soon. I can’t wait to see what feature is on, I hope it’s something exciting.” she laughed, him joining her. 

“ Me too. All this mainstream bullshit is killing me. Brown keeps riding me about taking you out to this joint, says that all the cool indie stuff is here.”

“ I suppose he’d know, being the dorky cinephile he is.” 

“ No shit, Sherlock. Hey, can you crack the window. The heat’s fucking with my head.” 

“ Yeah,” she did as he asked, the cool air hitting his face in a much needed draft. Some form of relief, he supposed. 

“ Oh god, what a drag! That was terrible!” Y/N sighed after the movie had finished, sitting on a cliffside pullout facing Los Angeles. The distant city glimmered in a vast sea of gold, red, and blue hues, twinkling stars in both Pink and Y/N’s eyes. She inhaled her cigarette, the cherry going livid with her drawn breath. A half spent one hung between his lips. He grunted, leaning back in his seat. His eyes closed, head going back to the rest. Once again, thoughts of Y/N crossed his mind. The movie had been awful, one of the worst he had ever seen. The plot was messy, the characters unlikable and dull, cinematography low in quality like a camcorder underwater, and an overall disaster. Why people raved about it and upheld it as the pinnacle of modern filmmaking, he could not understand, nor would he try to. Throughout the movie, he drifted into a series of fantasies around Y/N. He hadn’t questioned why in the moment, just letting them come. It had dawned on him in the passenger seat of her Sedan, as the film rolled on the drive-in theatre’s gigantic screen, what he was feeling--love. It came as if the earth beneath him was caving inwards. He was in love with her. Even thinking about it then, he laughed at the thought. No, Jeremy Davidson was not a man to callously fall in love like a schoolboy. Nonetheless when the person in question was his best friend. Y/N was practically unattainable, she’d be disgusted with him if she ever found out about his silly little infatuation. 

‘ That is all this is, you stupid fuck. Infatuation and nothing more. You’re just not thinking clearly right now, don’t act blindly.’ 

“ Jeremy?” he jerked to look at her, regretting the snap he sent in her direction.

“ For fuck’s sake, what? I’m fine, Y/N!” she recoiled, brows furrowing. He reached out to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. The icy gold of his ring pressed into her skin. She didn’t pull away, looking confused and hurt.

“ I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to blow my top on you, Y/N. I... I’m just going through some bullshit right now. You know I didn’t mean to do that.”

“ Jeremy, you know you can tell me anything. What’s going on?” he hesitated, the words wedging in his throat. What wouldn’t sound insane and make sense at the same time? He had no clue how to react, opening his mouth to reply several times but never uttering anything but pathetic squeaks. She shifted forward, suddenly cupping his cheek. He went rigid, eyes bulging in shock. 

“ Hey, it’s okay. I promise I’m not going to come up with some snarky comment or sarcastic jab. You know I love you no matter what.” 

“ Not in the way I want you to.” It left his mouth before he could stop it. He cursed, pushing her away gently. 

“ I’m sorry, I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me--!”

Going to open the door, she stopped him by gripping his wrist. All traces of worry had vanished from her face, replaced with concern. She leaned forward, crawling onto his lap. 

“ I take it just being friends doesn’t suit you anymore, stupid?” she smirked. In an instant, all his grief dissipated. He could see her determination, her approval, her love for him. No longer did he see through a darkened veil. No, he saw everything clearly for the first time in his life. There was a sense of relief that encompassed him. He grinned back, putting out his cigarette on his jean-clad leg in one go.

“ Just shut up and kiss me, Y/N.” 

They wasted no time, him immediately taking her lips in a fervid kiss. Before they continued any further, he beckoned her to the backseat. She followed quickly, her lipstick bright pink on his lips and the facial hair of his chin. On the beige pleather, she threw herself and spread her legs open to him. It was a thrilling view that he delighted in. He crawled on top of her, launching into another kiss. His hands roamed across her body, hers doing the same. The sudden lust for her came like a crashing wave, and he couldn’t help but channel it into his actions. 

“ Oh god, you don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do this, Y/N.” 

“ Me too, Jeremy. Fuck, you’re so good.” 

“ Are we really gonna do this here?”

“ Why not? I’m not going to stop now that we’re so far into this.”

“ Couldn’t have put it better myself, clever little vixen. Help me get out of my pants and I’ll show you just how hot you make me.”

I hope you are okay with how I did this, I apologize sincerely if this wasn’t what you wanted. Thank you to @guiltyofallsevensins for the request, please go give their blog a follow everyone! Have a good day everyone, and don’t stop with the requests and asks! They make my day, and I love hearing from you guys. 

#killingitreservoirdogsstyle #quentin tarantino #reservoir dogs #movies #mr pink #mr pink headcanon #mr pink x reader #steve buscemi #friends to lovers #this was really hot omg #god god god #i'm blushing #requested fic #reservoir dogs x reader #reservoir dogs headcanon #resdogs

[sevenmikento]

Hey~ It's my first time requesting but I love your writing! Can I request a Yuji x reader where reader is super shy and Yuji finds it extremely cute. I hope that's how I should be requesting😅 Have a great day and don't forget to stay hydrated❤

A/N: AW OMG i’m honoured to have received your first request ;—; hope you have a great day as well!! everyone who is reading this pls go drink some water thank uwu also omg this came out angstier than intended OOPS!

Itadori Yuuji with a shy S/O headcanons

“opposites attract” isn’t really a universal given when it comes to relationships but for Yuuji and you, it’s pretty much the foundation on which your relationship was built

you were the second student he met in Tokyo Jujutsu High–having been introduced to you almost immediately after settling down in his dorm room beside Megumi’s since you were visiting the latter that morning with the intent of helping him change his bandages on Ieiri-sensei’s behalf

having seen you walk out of Megumi’s room, Yuuji let out a super loud gasp that shook your very soul and also caused you to drop all the unused medical supplies in your arms

he felt so bad about startling you but also #noragrets bc your timid expression was legitimately so adorable, he felt his heart squeeze

much to the surprise of literally everyone else in the school, you got along extremely well with Yuuji as friends, though, your time with him was cut short by the incident at the prison

it’s when you’re away from one another do the both of you realise your feelings for each other

you spent sleepless nights tossing and turning in bed, hearing his cheerful voice in your head as you clutched onto the few memories you shared with him, desperate not to forget a single detail

on Yuuji’s end, his resolve to become strong only became even stronger. as he trained with Gojou-sensei, he felt a sense of bitterness in his chest every time he remembered you believed he was dead. the only thing he wanted more than to be with you was to train harder so that when he was by your side again, he could at least prove his worth

your reunion was bittersweet. though you didn’t say a word, Megumi and Nobara did their best to keep Yuuji away from you for a little bit after having (correctly) sensed that you required some space

for the few weeks after his return, it’s almost as if you’re strangers again. your shy demeanour no longer consisted of you hiding behind his broad back when you felt overwhelmed, or tugging on the sleeve of his uniform when you needed to tell him something; instead, you avoided eye contact at all costs and barely spoke to him unless necessary

it upset Yuuji greatly but he was still super careful and considerate towards your feelings–friends suddenly dying and coming back to life isn’t a normal occurrence, after all

however, the realisation that maybe he’s handling this situation all wrong hits him randomly in the middle of another sleepless night; and you found yourself stirring awake to the feeling of someone shaking your arm. when you nod after he asks if you can talk, Yuuji decides to sit down beside you and explain everything even though Gojou-sensei had already briefed everyone on what happened

except this time, he also reveals his own feelings

“I’m stronger now and I won’t die again… I won’t put you through that ever again.” His voice trembled as he spoke but still, in the darkness of your room, you could see the hardened resolve in his eyes. “I like you a lot so please… can we go back to how we were in the past? You don’t have to return my feelings, I just–”

you kiss him, and, to Yuuji, just the sheer amount of courage you must have mustered was enough to make it even sweeter than anything he could’ve ever imagined

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #itadori yuuji #yuuji x reader #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #headcanons

[aceinspace691]

Techno and Wilbur with 20?

Sorry that this took so long! I'm working on a ton of thing rn but I hope you enjoy! This turned out way angstier than I intended but ahhh hope it's good enough!

Prompt from here! ( prompts are currently closed but I'll reopen them soon I promise :] )

Warnings for swearing, injuries, fear, keeping a person against their will, angst Word Count ~1100

------Like a Rat in a Trap------

When Wilbur had begun his day, he hadn’t really planned on getting caught. Not that any sane borrower would plan on it, but still, it completely threw off his life plans. Those consisted mostly of just staying hidden and staying alive, but who cares about details?

It started when he ventured into the human’s bathroom, into the cabinet under the sink. He needed to get more floss to make rope with, and it seemed like a safe bet to do it now. It was well past midnight, likely around 4 in the morning. But in the darkness of the space under the sink, Wilbur couldn’t see much.

This usually wasn’t much of an issue; Wilbur knew the path by heart now, so he’d be able to get through and to the cabinet door without an issue. But as he neared the door, he was stopped as something threw him off balance and onto his side, hearing a loud snap echo in his ears and feeling weight on his leg.

There was a moment of pause where Wilbur thought hey, that sounded a lot like a mouse trap, and then the pain started. It felt like his leg was on fire and it hit him all at once. He was screaming before his brain caught up, and even as it did, he found he couldn’t stop. He shoved his hands over his mouth, willing himself to shut up, shut up, shut UP! before the human woke up and came to investigate.

But god, that was so hard to do. His face was soaked with tears and he drew in shaky breaths between sobs.

And then, as if things couldn’t get worse for him, he felt vibrations of footsteps, and they were getting closer. No, no no, no no no no no. The sound of the light being flicked on was the only warning that Techno got before the cabinet door opened and light flooded into the dark space. He cursed and removed his hands from over his mouth, pained whines and gasps leaving him. And then he steeled himself, and moved quickly, reaching for the metal bar that was on his ankle, trying to pry it off of himself and failing to do so.

A cry escaped him as the human reached for him, and he flinched as a rumbling voice said something, but the cloud of terror in Techno’s brain didn’t allow him to actually decipher it. But it sounded panicked, for some reason.

Another whimper escaped him as the human moved his hand back closer again, and Wilbur shielded his head with his hands, curling into himself as much as he could. And then, he felt more pressure on his ankle and he instinctively tried to jerk away, biting back another cry as it sent another wave of pain up his leg. The human grumbled again, sounding displeased, and then, a moment later, the weight was off of him.

His head shot up in shock, but it meant that he saw the hand coming. It didn’t matter; he couldn’t go anywhere, couldn’t move fast enough, and the hand wrapped around him.

It was surprisingly gentle, with obvious care taken to avoid his limp ankle yet keep him firmly in his hand. He was sprawled on his back, a thumb bigger than his torso gently pinning him down and lifting him into the air. Wilbur blinked spots out of his vision as he was lifted, and his vision slowly refocused on the human holding him. His body was wracked with trembling. He tensed as he felt the vibrations of the voice as the human spoke.

This time, he actually made out what the human was saying, even with his mind fuzzed with panic and pain, and it sounded distant despite the proximity.

“I’m so sorry.” The voice was monotone, but no less genuine than one would expect. “I didn’t think – I mean, you’re definitely not a mouse, and you’re a tiny person.” A sharp laugh that made Wilbur flinch escaped the pink-haired human. “I’m not entirely sure I’m not dreamin’. Or hallucinatin’. Maybe I’ve just been awake for too long.”

“I-I’m real,” Wilbur found himself saying with a shaky voice, “please don’t hurt me. My foot, I can’t move it.” He could feel the panic bubbling up inside of him again as the human began walking, jostling him and pulling a whimper from this throat. He heard the human click his tongue in concern before he was placed onto a counter.

“I think it’s broken.” The human was saying, pushing his pink hair out of his face as he leaned a bit closer. “I’m really sorry about that. I’ll fix it, I promise.” He gave the borrower a considering look for a moment before pulling out his phone.

“Wh-what’re you doing?”

Techno glanced up at the boy on his counter, frowning slightly. “Figurin’ out how to reset your bones. I think it was a clean break, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Don’t!” The little dude sounded panicked again, not that he had ever really calmed down, but still. “I’ll be fine, just let me go.”

“Listen,” Techno leaned a bit closer, and Wilbur cringed away as much as he could, “it’s not safe for you to not have a functional foot. I’ll fix it and keep an eye on you until you recover.”

“But-“

“No.” Techno said sharply, and it almost made him feel guilty with how the little guy flinched. But it was the tone that said ‘that’s it’ and ‘that’s final’ and the little humanoid just ducked his head. “I’m sorry, but I need to fix this.”

He reached forward and hushed the borrower as he tried to protest, and before long, the bone was reset.

“You still need to stay off of it, okay?” Techno was saying, and the little guy died nothing for a second before immediately getting to his feet and trying to run. He stumbled almost instantly, and Techno steadied him with a finger. “Hey, what did I say? Listen, I’m not above sticking you in a jar if I have to.”

Wilbur fell silent at that, slumping defeated back onto the counter.

“So, what?” He challenged weakly. “I’m like, your petor some shit?” He spat the word and continued, trembling. “Or some kind of pity project?”

Techno let out a sigh, loud and long, as he fixed the borrower with a stare.

“It’s just until your foot is healed properly,” Wilbur pressed his lips into a line at that, “I swear.”

And Wilbur just had to hope that the human wasn’t lying

#mcyt gt #bitty ask #ace reply #ace writes #giant!techno #tiny!wilbur #there were several different ideas #and this is the one that I decided on #maybe I'll go back and flesh out the other ideas #idk we'll see

[laurenairay]

11 and Tazer?🥺

Thanks for requesting this one anon! A little angstier than I originally intended, but I hope you enjoy it!

Tagging @texanstarslove and @princessphilly 😘

“I didn’t know where else to go”

*

It was late. Like, gone midnight pitchblack outside late. But still someone was knocking on your door, breaking you out of sleep. You groaned as the knocking continued, forcing yourself out of bed and turning on the bedside light, groaning even more when you noticed the time.

What the hell? Who was at the door at this time of night?

But still the knocking continued, so you shuffled through your apartment, if nothing else than to make the noise stop and to make sure you didn’t get complaints (again) from your neighbours. Whoever this was had better have a fantastic reason.

Who you saw when you opened the door was the last person you were expecting. There stood the man who spent casual nights in your bed every now and again, the bright shining star of the city…and he looked like an absolute mess. What the hell?

“Jon? What are you doing here?” you asked, frowning.

“I-I don’t know. I just…I didn’t know where else to go,” he said, a little choked.

The misery in his voice, shoulders slumped in defeat, like he was broken, made your stomach churn uncomfortably.

“Shit, come inside, come on,” you murmured.

He nodded at you in thanks as you stepped aside to let him in, but didn’t speak any further words, eyes wide and empty and fuck if that didn’t make you feel sick. What had set him off like this? When you stepped closer to take his jacket though, you figured out at least part of the problem.

“Damn Jon, how much have you had to drink?” you frowned.

This wasn’t like him. Not at all.

“Not that much,” he shrugged, avoiding your gaze.

You rolled your eyes in disbelief, folding your arms over your chest. “You smell like a brewery, Jon, come on,”

His forehead pinched together as he grimaced, eyes still so empty and sad, and you just sighed.

“Make yourself comfortable on the sofa, okay? I’ll get you some water,”

You didn’t wait for him to answer before you left the room, heading for the kitchen, glad for the space to gather your thoughts. While this thing between you and Jon was fun and intimate and incredible…it had only ever been friends with benefits, something hot and easy with no strings, a way to blow off steam after a hard day. But always with a few messages to see if the other one was available. You knew that the team had gone through a bad string of losses recently…but Jon turning up here drunk and sad and lost in his own head? That really wasn’t what you did at all.

But like hell you were going to turn him away. Not when he came here above anywhere else. Not when he needed you. By the time you returned with the promised glass of water, he was slumped on the sofa, shoes neatly placed to the side of him, his head in his hands, only making your heart break a little more.

“Hey, here’s the water. Can you manage it on your own?”

He looked up at you with a weak smile but nodded, taking the offered glass. “Thanks,” he said, voice rough.

You bit your bottom lip but sat down next to him, taking in his appearance as he slowly sipped at the water, staring blankly at the wall. His hair was unkempt, like he’d been running his fingers through it, and his shirt was rumpled, the most ruffled you’d ever seen him, not even considering the heavy air of alcohol leaking out of his pores. But it was his face, his eyes…he looked tired. Like he was just done with everything. He looked like he had nothing left to give. And that was what worried you.

“What’s happened tonight, Jon?” you asked softly, breaking him out of his thoughts.

He huffed out a laugh, running his hand through his hair like you’d thought.

“I know you know how badly we’ve been playing,” he started.

He waited for you to nod, however hesitantly, before he sighed.

“People are calling for me to have the C taken away,” he mumbled.

White hot fury filled your body, surprising you with its intensity, before you shook your head to clear it, resting a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“Whoever said that, whoever they are, are wrong. You’re a great captain,” you said firmly.

Jon laughed again, this time with a much more bitter tone, making you frown. He didn’t believe that talk, did he?

“I’ve barely scored in the last 10 games, can’t inspire the team, can’t get my head in the game. What use am I?” he muttered.

“Hey,” you said sharply.

Jon’s head snapped towards you, his eyes wide at your cutting tone.

“You listen to me, Jonathan Toews. Your team, your friends, would follow you to the end of the earth. They believe in you. They trust you. They know that you are fighting every night,” you said angrily, “you haven’t given up on them, have you?”

“Of course I haven’t,” he spluttered.

“Then why the hell do you think they’ve given up on you?” you snapped.

Jon opened and closed his mouth, looking a little helpless, his eyes still so wide and lost. You sighed, shaking your head, trying to calm yourself down. Getting angry wasn’t going to help him, definitely not tonight.

“They love you, Jon, just as much as you love them. The team’s opinions are all the matter, not armchair experts, okay? Scoring will come back with time – it doesn’t help that you’re just piling all this pressure on yourself,” you said softly.

“I can’t just act like everything’s fine, like these problems are serious,” Jon mumbled, looking away from you again.

“Why not? Hockey isn’t just a job to you, is it? It’s your life, it’s what you love. So try to remember why you fell in love with it in the first place, hey?” you said, offering him a smile.

He looked back at you, smiling slightly at the sight of your smile, just like you’d hoped.

“Look, Jon, it’s late,” you sighed, rolling your neck, “Why don’t we get some sleep, hm?”

“Sorry, yeah, I should go,” he winced, starting to stand up.

But your hand reaching up for his arm made him pause.

“I said we should get sleep, Jon. Not that you had to leave,” you pointed out.

Jon’s eyebrows shot up in surprise before his face relaxed into a smile, the first genuine one you’d seen all night, and he took your hand resting on his arm into his hand, helping you stand up too.

“Can I take a quick shower? I can’t imagine I smell that great,” he said, a little sheepish.

You couldn’t help but laugh, nudging his hip with yours.

“Yeah, go ahead, you know where everything is,” you nodded, smiling, “Join me in bed when you’re ready?”

He smiled back at you, nodding too, before he leant down to kiss you softly, sweetly, just long enough to make your heart start beating a little faster before he broke away. You watched him walk away to the bathroom before you laughed under your breath, starting to move yourself. Door locked, lights off, back under the duvet. You had no idea what things would be like in the morning, with Jon sober and probably regretting all the alcohol, but you could only hope that he took your words to heart. He was special, he had to know that. And maybe him coming here meant that he thought you were special too.

#my writing #lauren turns 30 blurbs #jonathan toews #this went super angsty but i'm not mad at it #I kinda just want to wrap him up in a blanket and give him a hug #jonathan toews blurb #jonathan toews fic #jonathan toews imagine #jonathan toews x reader #hockey writing #hockey blurb #hockey fanfic #nhl writing #nhl blurb #nhl fanfic

[cheesy09]

Did I Find You? Kiro x MC Fanfic

This is my own variation on the events that take place in Chapter 19 of Kiro’s route. Or more like... my fantasies T_T.  Although I didn’t intend to, it came out a lot angstier than I expected so be prepared. Also, this is my first time writing fanfiction so I’m sorry if the characters end up being a little OOC. Don’t be shy to send your feedback. It would really help improve my writing.

Spoilers for Chapter 19 of the game and Kiro’s Stardust Date. If you haven’t read these two things yet than you probably won’t understand whats going on here. 

Tagging all my lovely Kiro/Helios lovers out there @kudoriee, @thatfanfictionchick, @truth-be-told-im-lying and @pickle-scribbles whose stories inspired me to start writing fanfiction. Thank you, you guys, for being so amazing! Even if I could never dream about writing smut.  

Anyway, without further ado, Enjoy!

───※ ·❆· ※─── ───※ ·❆· ※───

“Kiro!” I shouted, bursting through the door that opened onto the roof top.

He turned, a trace of shock flashing through his clear, pure eyes, but fading just as fast.

“Miss Chips, what are you doing here--woah!”

I didn’t give him a chance to finish, grabbing his hand and dragging him back inside, my heart racing with urgency. Images from my dream flashed through my mind. The endless white, the mist, and me-- groping around like a blind man seeking desperately for his long-lost light. If I hadn’t had that dream, would I have been able to find him? I shivered involuntarily at the thought. His palm that was usually so warm, was now a stone cold, which only caused my anxiety to rise. I tightened my grip on his long, slender fingers as I continued pulling him along to the elevator.

“O-ouch, Miss Chips! You’re hurting me!” Kiro winced slightly, but that didn’t make me loosen my grip. I was much too afraid to find out what would happen if I did.

Afraid that… if I loosened them, even a bit, he would slip right through my fingers and I’d lose him forever.

“Miss Chips, where are we going?” His irresistible voice sounded in my ear, finally making me turn to look at him. His perfect eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion, forming worried lines on his glistening brow. His gorgeous, deep blue eyes that I’d constantly find myself drowning in, reflected an unusual sense of melancholy for some reason. But I couldn’t bring myself to feel sorry for him this time.

“Home.” My voice sounded a lot harsher than I’d meant it to. In all the time that I had been with him, I’d rarely ever gotten mad at Kiro. He was the warmth and light of my life. The boy whose charming, unreserved laughter could light up a whole room. Whose smile was like a beacon in the dark. Sure, there were times where I’d find myself getting annoyed when he’d take his teasing a little too far, but Kiro never got me riled up enough for me to lash out at him.

Yet this time, the stunt he’d pulled managed to push my buttons to the max. Anger boiled in me like hot magma threatening to burst out. Savin’s anxious tone and the cold, electronic voice that had rung through my ears when I had dialed Kiro’s number this morning had thrown me into a panic like I’d never felt before. It had felt like I was on the verge of losing my mind. “How could you just run off on your own like that? Savin and everyone else have been look for you, you know?!”

The elevator doors opened and I stepped inside, pulling him along, my hand still clutching his own as if my very life depended on it. The elevator doors shut behind us.

I thought I wouldn’t get a reply, but after a few seconds his voice drifted through the air, carrying with it a grim heaviness I’d never heard from him before.

“I’ll explain things to Savin and the others later,” he said. “But before I do… can I ask you something?” Kiro didn’t wait for my answer and instead just tugged on my arm to make me face him. His seraphic face entered my vision, and all of my previous anger was instantly blown out of my system.

“…If I wasn’t Kiro the superstar anymore, would you still like me, Miss Chips? Would you still… think of me?”

My whole body froze as his words sunk in. This had been a question that he’d asked me countless of times… and every time, my answer was the same.

In a burst of annoyance, I brought my middle finger to his forehead and flicked it.

Kiro let out a cry of pain as he took a step back from me and rubbed the spot between his eyebrows. The wide-eyed shock and confusion with which he looked at me actually made me feel a little better about myself. Then, I caught his slightly red cheeks between my palms and brought him down to face me, pressing my forehead against his own like the way he’d do to me, those countless times in the past.

“I told you, it doesn’t matter who you are and what kind of life you have, you will always be ‘Kiro’ to me and I will always think of you,” I said firmly, hoping to brand my words and my feelings into his mind and heart.

“You...” 

I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the way his breath caught in his throat, or the way a spark of doubt flashed through his shimmering, azure eyes, but in a bold moment of impulsiveness, I lifted myself onto my tiptoes and pressed my lips against his own.

Kiro’s entire body went rigid as a tiny gasp escaped his lips, as if his mind couldn’t process what was happening at that very moment. But after a few seconds, I felt his body cave, his hands grabbing my hips and pinning me against the wall, pressing his whole body against me. One of my hands found purchase on the back of his neck while the other held on to the scarf wrapped around his neck, tugging him closer and closer, like I was trying to brand his body with my own.

His lips were as soft as I remembered them, but there was no tenderness or gentleness to this kiss. It was ravenous, desperate and stripped me of my ability to think straight. Our mouths moved against each other with an urgent need, like a dance of our own, in sync and in heat, drinking each other in.

When I felt the familiar warmth of his tongue brush against my own, I was taken back to that night of the concert, when he’d kissed me just like this and asked me to come look for him, if he ever got lost. At that time, I never really understood what he meant when he said ‘come look for me,’ but now I think I do.

Did I find you, Kiro? Was I able to bring you back?

As our lips continued to move against each other, Kiro brought up his right hand to brush against my flushed ears and I let out a soft moan into his mouth.

That seemed to bring him back to reality.

All of sudden, Kiro broke away from the kiss, his harsh, heated breaths mixing with my own. Our foreheads were still pressed together, noses brushing and chests heaving against each other. “Now do you understand?” I whispered, ghosting my lips over his, making him shiver. “No matter who you are, I will always like you.”

Kiro let out a light chuckle as he buried his face in my shoulders, his fluffy blonde hair tickling my neck. He didn’t say anything and neither did I. We were content on just holding each other, and perceiving each other’s existence through our shared body heat. But after a few minutes, Kiro’s soft voice cut through the silence.

“I’m sorry.”  

It was like a bucket of ice-cold water had been poured on me. Images flashed through my mind as I was overcome with a sense of déjà vu. I seemed to remember silver hair, a pair of gold eyes, these same familiar arms, this same broken voice, the same feelings of anguish and despair and the same sensation of tears running down my face.

Before I even had time to react, Kiro grabbed me by shoulders and pushed me back, staring at me with a determined look on his face.

Only this time, his eyes were a blazing gold.

“I command you—”

   When the elevator had finally reached the bottom, there was only one person who stepped out, while the other remained behind, the doors sliding shut on the vision of his bitter smile.

I walked out of the building in a daze, the commotion of the traffic loud in my ears. Static seemed to blanket the other parts of my memory, only one thing coming through clearly.

I hailed a taxi and told the driver the only thing that was on my mind.

“Driver, I want to go home.”

───※ ·❆· ※─── ───※ ·❆· ※───

Thank you so much for reading. If you’re interested in checking out my other works, you’ll find them in my Masterlist

#mlqc #mlqc fanfic #mlqc kiro #mlqc spoilers #mlqc zhou qiluo #hope these are all the tags

[otomeramblings]

And then I found You

Pairing: Itaru x Reader Pronouns: written in 2nd person, remains gender neutral A/N: “this was supposed to be a short drabble,” I whisper after more than 7 paragraphs. But yeah, I had a lot of fun with this one (even if it ended angstier than intended....again;;) and I might revisit this AU again in the future to expand on it. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy it!

🎵 Song: Once in a Lifetime by Tiffany 🎵

It’s not that Itaru didn’t believe in soulmates. He knew that the timers on their wrists that counted down until D-Day were an established fact. The sky was blue, the sun rose from the west and one day he would meet the person he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with. No, he knew that’s what would most likely happen, and when his eyes had been brighter and his hopes had been higher, he had thought that it was a perfect arrangement. The universe had a person in mind that would be perfect for him? It sounded like a pretty sweet deal on his book. But his rose-coloured view turned grey fairly early in his life.

It was his parents' divorce when he was twelve; it was his then-friend cheating on his girlfriend when he was 16; it was the girls and guys who even after taking a peek at his timer still tried to flirt with him when he was 19; it was the old ladies at his office whispering behind his back and shaking their heads as they said he would finally be complete once he met his soulmate when he was 25. “Complete”, he slowly grew to resent that word. Not only because it implied that he wasn’t his own person, but also because if soulmates were so great, so infallible, then what explanation was there for all the heartbreak he had come to witness throughout his life? Even though they existed, Itaru believed that the connection everyone praised so much was more at home in his games and anime than in real life.

Some people might call his line of thinking jaded, but he called it “realistic”. Because of that, he saw his timer’s countdown with no more than a slight purse on his lips. He woulnd’t deny the small sense of anticipation he felt, but the excitement that had been present in his younger days just wasn’t there anymore. Even after you two officially met -having bumped into each other on the street-, he still couldn’t shake the scepticism that clung to him like a wet blanket. In fact, that feeling only grew. You were nice, don’t get him wrong, but he couldn’t understand what exactly made you two a perfect match. It’s not that you didn’t get along well, but your personalities were distinctively different. He just didn’t get what made this connection so special. In the beginning, at least.

The more you spent together, the more Itaru came to realise what was the problem with the soulmate system, at least in his eyes. It had become such a certainty, such an unspoken norm in life that everyone just expected their relationships to work out right off the bat. But reality wasn’t so simple. The soulmate connection was real, and it did direct you towards the person you would be most compatible with, but there was more to it. Just like any relationship, soulmates needed to be patient and persistent, they needed to be open to try and understand what the other person thought and felt. The bond wouldn’t magically fix your problems if you were unwilling to compromise and work together.

For you guys, it started small. You had been much more open to deepening your connection than he had been, so you proposed that you meet up once a week to get to know each other better. He had agreed, and the first couple of reunions happened at café since you both considered them neutral places. After a few weeks, you then proposed to take each other to places you frequented to share your likes and dislikes, You took him to a book café and a cat café and he took you to the arcade and to game bars. At first he hadn't been too keen about having to go out so much, but it didn’t take him long to find himself anticipating your little outings. 

Slowly but surely, he had started to fall for the small things you did. It was the way you listened to him rant about his nosy coworkers, and the way you didn’t judge him at all once you found out about his gaming habits and his “real” personality”, and the look of concentration on your face when you were trying out a new game he recommended. And later, he also found the charm in the way your eyes lit up when talking about your favourite novels and the way your smile would widen when a small kitten would brush up against your leg, and possibly his favourite thing of all: the fond look in your eyes whenever you kept up with his banter or laughed at his stupid jokes.

“I can’t believe we had to sit through all of that,” he groaned as you entered your flat. That company party had been so dreadful he would rather take on the boss battle he struggled for five hours on merciless difficulty again.

“You poor thing,” he could hear the mirth in your tone and that only made him pout more. At that, you reached up to place a kiss on his cheek before turning away and walking towards your shared room. “C’mon, I’ll let you use my account to see if you can get your waifu using my gems this time around.”

“That might have been the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he called out with a twinkle in his eyes, and his pout turned into a grin once your laugher reached his ears.

Sure, your relationship wasn’t perfect, but he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so at peace with himself. It wasn’t that you completed him; you complimented him in a way no one ever had before. Thinking that he might have never known you if it hadn’t been for the soulmate system made him, for the first time since he was a child, grateful beyond belief. He knew that you two would find bumps along the way and that your days wouldn’t be sunny all the time, but that didn’t matter. You were his once in a lifetime, a limited UR that was tailored just for him, and he knew would do anything to make sure he didn’t waste this opportunity.

Send me a 🎵 + a character name and I’ll press shuffle on my playlist to write a short drabble based on it  (These are closed until I finished the ones I have on the askbox)

#a3! #a3! act! addict! actors! #itaru chigasaki

[emelywrites]

Could you make a Diego Hargreeves x reader where she is number 3 and her power is like a banshee? Where she is part of the Sparrow Academy. When she meets Diego she falls for him and him for her, but he is still thinks about Lila so he’s kinda weary of starting something with the reader

I didn’t know how to write this at first but then I started and it got out of hand. It turned out angstier than I wanted it to but I hope you like it!

Warnings: Language, Angst

Her voice

When you were little every sound out of your mouth was harmful. Your screams as an infant put your siblings into unconsciousness, it made all the nannies quit and Pogo and Dad were always wearing earplugs. At some point everyone in the house was wearing earmuffs all day long. You soon came to understand that your voice hurt them and you started to keep quiet. When Dad noticed that you had understood your powers to that extent he finally started training you as well. Quickly, you were able to talk without hurting people, generally using your voice normally or to severely injure those within earshot.

As you got older, Dad taught you about frequencies and singing the right notes to do more than just harm. Manipulating people, make them love you, make them do whatever you wanted them to. Destroying objects, moving objects, even growing plants. You had your voice under full control and found quite a lot of joy in singing. 

When the Umbrella Academy arrived and you all gathered in the living room your sister nudged you to sing a tone to put them to sleep. Dad seemed to know who they were though so you kept your mouth shut. That, of course, didn’t mean he told you anything. Dad was a secretive man.

The Umbrella Academy stayed on the same floor as you. They had gone on many explorations through the house and sometimes you heard them in front of your door as you were practicing to sing without destroying everything in your room. One day someone knocked on your door.

„Come in“, you called.

„Hi, I’m Alison, I’ve been listening to you, sorry , that’s not supposed to sound creepy or something“, she laughed, „But you sing beautifully.“

„Oh, thank you so much“, you smiled, offered her a seat and sat down, „I certainly hope I didn’t manipulate you into saying that“, you laughed but then saw the confusion on her face, „I’m a banshee, or that’s what Dad says I am, the mythology is a bit different from what I do.“

„So you sing and people do what you want?“

„That’s one thing“, you grabbed the empty water glass, sang a high c and the glass shattered, „This is another. There’s more to it, I don’t think I’ve reached my full potential yet. I’m (Y/N), number three.“

„That’s cool, I’m number three where we came from, I can manipulate people, too“, she looked down, „I don’t really like using it though.“

„Except of course if you want to mess with your siblings“, you both laughed, „Don’t worry I do that, too, sometimes.“

„The other day I made Diego punch himself in the face“, she told you.

You laughed. You realized that she could be a friend to you and if she could be that, why couldn’t the others be that, too? So, you started spending more time with her. Her siblings, Vanya and Klaus, also started to come around and you showed them more and more of your powers. Yours and Vanya’s powers worked well together and you also started helping her with controlling her powers a little more than she did before. As you grew closer and closer you started hanging out around the house, with more people around.

Diego noticed you truly for the first time when you were sitting in the living area, singing along to Vanya playing the violin. He was entranced by your voice and when he looked around the corner he saw you for the first time and to him, you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He watched you and listened to you until you were done and went back to your conversations. That night as he laid in bed he thought about you but the longer he did the more it felt like some charm fell off and he felt bad about his feelings. He had just let Lila escape with a briefcase because he loved her. He couldn’t suddenly be in love with you, could he?

After that day, Diego seemed to always be looking for you, listening to your voice was like a drug to him and he couldn’t stop. Whenever he didn’t hear you he felt empty. One day, as you were practicing on your own in your room he was standing in front of your door when said door suddenly opened and you were standing in front of him.

„Diego, right? You know, you could just join us sometimes instead of eavesdropping“, you pointed out.

„I- I’m just- Sorry, your voice is…“, he couldn’t find the word.

„Beautiful, Cool, Amazing?“, you searched his eyes for confirmation, „Your siblings’ words.“

„Of course. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I just- I heard you the other day and- and you’re great, it felt good to listen to you.“

You blushed a bit at his words. „I can have that effect on people.“

After that Diego stopped listening from afar and joined you and his siblings. You grew closer to him. In a different way than to his siblings. You started feeling something for him that you’d never felt before. Diego didn’t know what your powers could do and you worried that if he did he’d think you used them on him. Because you did use him to lure him in. Everything after that was real. If he still loved you now it would be all his own feelings.

One day, after your first mission with the Umbrella Academy, Diego immediately went to his own room. He started avoiding you and didn’t talk to you for nearly two weeks until you got sick of it and went to his room. You knocked on his door but didn’t get an answer. You knocked again.

„Diego, please, it’s (Y/N). You haven’t talked to me since we got back from that mission and I think I deserve to know why at least.“

You leaned forward against the door and nearly stumbled into Diego when he finally opened the door. You looked up and noticed his eyes were swollen as if he had been crying but it didn’t look like sadness, more like rage.

„You lied to me. Don’t try to deny it. I saw you on the mission“, his tears started rolling, „I felt so bad about it but it wasn’t even my fucking fault. You used your stupid voice to lure me in, didn’t you?“

You felt your own tears sting your eyes. „No, Diego, please, I- I don’t use my powers on you“, you looked down, „not anymore.“

„You really did manipulate me. Fuck“, he was about to slam the door hut but you caught it.

„Diego, wait, I- please, don’t misunderstand. I saw you and I was- I was starstruck. I fell in love with you and- and I couldn’t control my powers anymore when I knew you were around. I think- No, I know I should have tried harder. But I’ve managed since we started hanging out. If- if you still like me that’s not me. I don’t do that“, your voice got quieter, „If it makes you feel better, I’m willing to always stay quiet when you’re around. I just don’t want to lose when I’ve only had you for so little.“

„I don’t want to be around you anymore. How will I ever know that all this was real? I felt so fucking bad about my feelings for you. Because I loved Lila, I mean I love Lila, I do. And then I- I fell in love with you. But it’s not real.“

„No, it is. Diego, I fell in love with you, too. I just made you notice me. That’s all, please don’t shut me out.“

You let go of the door and he threw it shut. You went to your own room and locked the door. Your cries that night made your room shake since your emotions were overpowering your self control. You stayed in your room for days and when you finally left it again for breakfast you were exhausted and just hoped no one would try talking to you. You got yourself a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal and sat down at the kitchen table where some of the Umbrella Academy and some of your siblings sat. When your siblings noticed your swollen face they made a run for it, trying to avoid confrontation at all cost.

„You okay?“, Alison asked.

You just nodded. You didn’t intend to use your voice again. Not around people you liked and cared about. You couldn’t risk them thinking about you the same way Diego did. She looked at you with worry but didn’t bother you about it anymore. You didn’t even notice how time was passing but you were soon alone in the kitchen, constantly refilling your coffee cup, eating cereal directly from the box. When the grandfather clock in the corner sounded you turned around and saw it was midnight. You sighed and noticed that with all the caffeine and sugar you had consumed you wouldn’t be able to sleep anytime soon.

Instead you went into the courtyard with a blanket around your shoulders and stepped into the courtyard. Diego was sitting under the big tree in the centre, flipping a knife in the air and catching it again. When you saw him you sighed again and looked down. That was your spot. You always sat there when you were upset. And right now, you were upset. On the one hand, you didn’t just want to surrender the spot to him. On the other, you didn’t want to bother him. You were in love with him and he hated you, at least that’s what you thought. Demanding your spot back now would probably just drive him further away.

Then he spotted you. He put his knife away and stared at you.

„I haven’t heard you at all these past few days“, you didn’t respond and didn’t look at him either, „But my feelings for you were still there.“

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. He had feelings for you. Did he believe you now that you weren’t manipulating him?

„I missed hearing you sing. I missed seeing you everyday. I missed putting my arm around your shoulder when we were sitting beside each other“, he got up and walked up to you, „I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. But if you can forgive me I would like to hear your voice again.“

He put his hands on your cheeks. And you looked up at him through teary eyes. 

„I would love to sing for you again“, you whispered.

He smiled. Then he leaned in and kissed you. Because he wanted to.

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader

[lemonietrinket]

Reach ||| Felix x Reader

Summary: After finding out that you are older than him, you feel like the chances of your crush liking you back immediately go from low to zero in a matter of minutes. But there are a few other things you don’t know about Felix, besides his age that you somehow managed to miss, so not all hope is lost...

Genre: Fluff, angst, with some small bits of humour thrown in  Warning(s): Some poor language (inferred: text abbreviations) Word Count: 4329 (+11 photos of fake text) Theme Song: Sing Me - Day6 

AN: A request from anon, I’m so sorry it took so long! I hope you like it, it did turn out a bit angstier (and a lot longer) than I originally intended but the fluff I think makes up for it!

~~~

You always felt so giddy and light whenever Felix was mentioned in any capacity in your vicinity. Your heart could never stop pounding at the speed of light, while your stomach was always alive with butterflies, fluttering up into your lungs and leaving you short of breath.

But now, dread slowly began to seep through your body like a poison, the butterflies ceasing up and stuttering. Their corpses fell to the pit of your guts, and those that did not became lodged in your chest and throat, leaving you without air for another reason entirely.

Your fingers numbly opened your laptop and pressed the keys of Felix’s name. You never searched him, you felt like it was an invasion of privacy, especially when he was normally right there within your physical grasp if you so wished to take it (which you never did, you were too afraid to take the leap). But this was something small, and though it was somehow something so huge while being so, you let yourself off just this once. Not that you could stop yourself even if you’d tried. 

The screen turned white, the search bar scrolling unnaturally slowly, until finally Google returned your worst fear.

Age: 19. In bold, unavoidable text. As if you were stupid. And you felt as if you were.

It had to be wrong, it had to be. An inaccuracy in results. You’d seen them happen before, whales with four legs and members of other groups being represented by the wrong photo.

You clicked on the first webpage and scrolled, your eyes unblinking, unwavering. And then the second. And then the third. 

19.

You pushed yourself away from the desk, your face a stone wall while your thoughts ravaged in your head. 

You couldn’t comprehend how you’d been years older this whole time. You’d assumed he was your age, you were on such a similar wavelength that your subconscious hadn’t considered he wasn’t.  Meanwhile the irrational part of your brain refused to be quiet. He isn’t even 20 yet, it said, think old you were when he was 18, when he was 17, when he was 16—

It was only three years. It wouldn’t mean anything in half a decade but it still weighed so heavily on your shoulders.  

You knew Chan was still messaging you, the light on your phone wavering in the corner of your eye, blurred with brimming tears.  The truth was though that you weren’t even crying, not with the rest of your body at least. You didn’t feel like it, the usual energy you had festering and leaving you empty, meaning the tears built up but refused to fall.

All of those beautiful smiles that put the sun to shame and had been directed to you meant little now—only that he probably liked you as his senior, nothing more. There was a chance that he only smiled at you to curry more favour, not because he genuinely liked you. All while the age-hierarchy indicated that all of those texts were probably just him responding to you because he felt like he had to.  Even when hope tried to remind you that he didn’t grow up with it, and regularly texted first, the voidful feeling crushed it.

Because, ignoring all of the age-related qualms, you still hadn’t bothered to even ask him how old he was. That surely made you a bad friend, and if you couldn’t be a good friend to him then what partner would you be? You were undeserving of him, and he most definitely did not like you back.

Aimlessly, you moved from your desk chair to your bed, dragging the cold weight of you phone in your hand and letting the screen turn black. As you lay dejectedly upon the covers, your thoughts trailed off to think of the boy you’d fallen so hard and quickly for. His radiant smile that you wanted to be the reason for, his pretty eyes that you always found yourself gazing into no matter how much you told yourself not to, his adorable hands that you just longed to hold... It was as if his features were emblazoned in your mind, and nothing could wash them away, and it only made thinking how these things were out of reach for you now hurt more.

Hearing your phone vibrate by your head where you’d discarded it, you absentmindedly flicked your eyes up to look at the lit screen. Seeing who the notification was from, your fingers immediately opened it up before you could stop yourself, eyes scouring over the messages.

You’d forgotten all about the restaurant trip you had agreed to last week. Everyone was going to be there. Your thoughts briefly turned to rationalising an escape route—maybe if you claimed sick Chan would let you stay home, or maybe if you even told him the full truth he would?

It was nonsense of course, everyone was going, so you would have to attend at least for their sake. Plus, he would always say that moping wouldn’t help after all, and you had to face your demons eventually.

Nevertheless, it didn’t stop you from feeling a shedload of regret for agreeing. Even if there was no way you could have known, you scolded yourself for putting yourself in the line of potential damage. 

Still, you couldn’t deny how badly you wanted to see everyone and catch up on everything—make new plans, learn new gossip—but you knew if you glanced at him, even just once, you would shatter.

With your mind in turmoil, you felt drawn to the clock ticking away endlessly on the other side of the room. It felt as if it was counting down to an end, though you put a quick stop to your melodramatic heart’s ramblings in this circumstance. You couldn’t focus on the sound for your own sanity’s sake, otherwise you wouldn’t head out at all.  Opting to check the time, you spotted that you still had an hour and a half before you had to get ready, if you pushed it. And yes, rushing was not something you preferred, but you’d already made an exception for yourself today so why not another?

You slipped under your blankets, rolling over to face the wall and shut out the world. Gravity played its part and pulled the tears from the barricades of where they’d halted, clearing your eyes so you couldn finally close them comfortably.

You’d get through it.  Perhaps things would be ok.

.

.

.

Smooth jazz music wafted across the air in the restaurant much like the rich scents of delicious food from the surrounding tables. With everyone smiling at one another, laughing into their drinks and desperately apologising to the next table over, you’d never felt more out of place.

You’d strategically sandwiched yourself between Chan and Jeongin, praying that this combination would be the most likely to not attract the attentions of Felix. But, to your luck, the person you were so desperately trying to avoid ended up sitting right opposite you.  And, to make matters worse, he seemed very intent on trying to catch your eye, send you smiles, and—the worst part by far—talk to you.

Aimlessly picking at your rice with your spoon, you felt awful; not only were you unable to handle the situation quite literally right in front of you, you had practically become a deadweight in the group. Even when Jeongin asked you things, the boy who had grown up so much and never failed to make your laugh with is sass, you could barely muster answers configured of multiple sentences. All the while your eyes were cut off from looking at the vast majority of the room, forced to the confines of the table, your hard left and your hard right. 

Soon enough, the time came where Felix finally spoke to you, and god you wanted the word to swallow you whole. 

“Hey, Y/N, can you pass me the soy?” 

Gulping, your forehead creased as you slipped your hand across to take the sauce from Chan and rigidly pass it across the wood.

He seemed to pay no mind to your wordlessness, replying with a bright, “Thank you!” All you could do was pray that would be the end of it. 

But one of the qualities you admired in Felix was his diligence, and it took the form of gentle persistence on this occasion nonetheless.

“Hey, Y/N, do you want to play some video games at some point?” he enquired, hastily adding, “Jisung and I have been meaning to get round to trying out this new multiplayer, and it seems right up your street! The art is really cool, and I’ve already downloaded some of the soundtrack because it’s just that good.”

You centred your eyes awkwardly on your rice, answering as simply as you could, “Sorry I’m busy.”

You heard him chuckle, seemingly completely unfazed, and the sound snapped another one of your heartstrings, “Well, obviously not right now, but maybe, like, tomorrow evening?”

“Y-yeah, busy.” You hated how he quickly caught onto your silence and followed suit, but you also had to be thankful in some shape or form. Maybe you could get this night over and done with, and then get over your crush too and save yourself the majority of the heartbreak that you presumed was inevitable.

However, Felix was not that easily deterred and by your luck—or was it misfortune?—you suddenly saw movement out of the corner of your eye.

Taking the risk and glancing up ever so slightly, your gaze met the sight of your crush leant in over the table. His head was cocked cutely to one side, the feathered tresses of his fringe effortlessly accentuating his features, his hand reaching towards you carefully without a particular aim other than to try and show something. He’d inclined over to try and reach you, and you had accidentally fallen right into him, your eyes catching his and he smiled.

It wasn’t fair. Those pools of rich chestnut had held you and very nearly broken every single one of your defences.  Your breath hitched in your throat.

“Are you ok?” he asked, and you could only stammer incoherent phrases, your cheeks heating up as you tried to hold yourself together. 

There were many reasons why you had fallen so quickly for this boy in particular, like his resilience as mentioned earlier. Though another one of those things was his selfless kindness, and it had arisen to bite you: of course he would notice your silence, your crestfallen expression and worry.  “Y/N? Do you feel sick? Do you want to get some air?”

Unable to respond once again, emptily swaying your spoon in a half-empty bowl you heard his voice at a strange distance. You didn’t snap back into focus, and only then barely so, until he continued, “Come on, lets get some air.”

Head empty and crowded at the same time, you looked up without fully understanding why. You could only rationalise that it was to see the sight of Felix sending a nod to Chan to your right, before asking Changbin to shift a bit so he could get through. Your heart lurched at it, the amount of care he offered you gnawing at your lungs.

Before you knew it, Jeongin was helping you stand, and you were out from around the table, following Felix a few steps behind. 

Your focus once again settled on him and him alone, even though you’d promised yourself before you arrived to never do so again. You wanted to believe that he did all of this because he liked you back, that he’d fallen for you just as hard as you’d fallen for him, but you’d convinced yourself he was just extremely kind—and he of course was, therefore meaning that the story was all tied up and set.

Nevertheless, there wasn’t much that could have prepared you for what followed.

.

.

.

The cold hit your face and knocked the daze out of you, and you suddenly felt very awake, as if you’d fallen face first into a pool of ice cold water. Having stepped out onto the balcony, you had been plunged into the night with little to protect yourself with. Hence you wrapped your arms around yourself as best you could, drawing your jacket closed as your eyes surveyed the street just metres below.

The lamplights were warm against the navy of the night, and the few people that were still out dappled in and out of the shadows. You let your mind wander as to where they were going; a graveyard shift, out to a party, home. You wondered if any of them had someone waiting for them, a love they couldn’t wait to see and hold again after a long day out. The thought sent a pang through your heart. 

The change of scenery had successfully distracted you from the person who had both directly and indirectly led you into it, but you couldn’t exist painless forever. You had to confront him now.

It was Felix who spoke first, though. Before you could even turn around, his voice, deep and sweet, danced across the breeze. “Hey, do you feel any better?”

You nodded simply, lips pressed together as to avoid anything stupid and sudden.

He sighed, a sound filled with relief but also an edge of something else. “Ah, that’s great. You do look it... the light’s returned to your eyes a bit.”

The wind buffered around the nearby buildings, a police siren wailing in the distance, catching your attention to the junction at the end of the street. Turning your head away from him, you shivered at the cold, listening intently to it fading away into the hum of the traffic. 

“I guess you found out then,” Felix began suddenly, a car horn making the both of you jump.

“Found out what?�� you asked, keeping your head ducked low as you turned back towards him. 

You heard him pause but remained afraid to glance up. He hesitantly shuffled on his feet. “Th-that I have a crush on you.”

The world continued; the traffic bustled along the mainroad, people hurried along the streets, dogs barked at nothing. 

But to you, everything went silent. Dead quiet. No wind, no clatter of shop gates, no mildly drunken yelling.  Just your heartbeat, beating harder by the second, and the sound of your crush’s nervous breathing.

You looked up at him at last, to see his face obscured by his arm as he rubbed the back of his neck idly. He moved it away eventually, revealing his head downturned as yours had been just moments before.

You stood transfixed as his voice wavered, knocked by the wind as he attempted to explain, as if he needed to rectify a mistake. “I-it’s ok, I don’t want to ruin the friendship now, I—uh...” he broke off as he swallowed thickly, and you noticed that his cheeks weren’t flushed from the cool air, but rather from the tears that were welling in his eyes. “I want you to know that I’m so happy with being just friends, and... I really hope I haven’t made you feel awkward around me and—I’m sorry I...” 

You found it so cruel of the world to make his eyes glisten as if they held the stars when they cradled tears. It was a form of twisted irony that he didn’t deserve.  But it was the final straw that made your heart snap.

The spring of tension and worry and fear uncoiled as you reached across the deck for him, pulling him into the care of your arms. You were taken aback by how neatly they fit around him, how perfectly he rested against your chest and how his nose nuzzled into your neck. 

“No, it’s ok! Shh, don’t be sorry, you have no reason to be sad. Please don’t be sad,” you found yourself whispering, your voice so fragile that it no doubt was carried away by the wind as soon as it fell to his ear. 

You rubbed your hand soothingly across the mid of his back, the other tracing up to his hair and stroking the tresses there.  Meanwhile, Felix remained confused. he longed to sink into your touch, his fingers gripping at your jacket being proof of that, but he couldn’t bring himself to relax. 

“What...? Why are you...?”

A smile slowly rising to your lips, you didn’t waste a second. 

“You haven’t ruined anything, I’d be so happy with being friends with you too, but—I like you Felix, I have a crush on you too...!” you rushed, pulling away to hold him at arm's length. Upon seeing his shining, wide eyes and his puffed, pouting lips you sighed in relief. Reaching up, you cupped his face in your palms, like you’d wanted to do for so long. “God, I was such an idiot...!” 

“No, you’re not stupid!” Felix emphasised, barely coming to terms with your confession himself.

Though you nodded desperately, caressing his cheek with your thumb. “But I am. I thought you didn’t like me back.” It was then that reality decided to hit you full force, the sound of the rest of the world returning to yours as you exclaimed, “Oh my god, you like me back?!”

“Y-you like me back?!” he echoed, hands fumbling at his chest before finally gaining the courage to come to your shoulders instead. There he delicately ran his fingers across your shoulders, as if to check if you were even real. “Why—why wouldn’t I like you back?”

“Because you’re younger than me!” you said, “I didn’t think you’d see me as even viable, like, I thought you saw me as only a senior to you and that...” You gazed into his eyes, no longer cradling stars but rather glistening with the gold from the restaurant behind you, watching as they widened even further. “Why would I not like you back?”

“Because you’re older than me! I thought I wasn’t cool enough for you, and that you only were nice to me because you had to look out for me!”

His answer forced an astonished laugh out of both of you, and before you knew it the pair of you were in borderline hysterics. Felix fell back to cover his mouth with his fist, walking an aimless circle as you merely bent over, hiding behind your palms. 

“We’re so stupid!” he announced, his eyes wide and incredulous, all the signs of tears long gone. 

You sank your teeth into your bottom lip as you knocked your head back up, staring at him incredulously as you shook your head. “At least we both are.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, returning to you, his hands reaching for yours, “we can be dumb together.”

“Exactly, it’s merely proof that we belong together.”

You didn’t think your words through then, but any fear was met with strength, as Felix showed no sign of disagreement—rather the opposite, gently caressing your hands in his before you finally interlocked your fingers. Back together, only inches apart, you were once again in each other’s solace, stood against the auburn haze of the city night and the cold it brought.

“I don’t want to be friends with you anymore,” he murmured, the brightest grin on his face as he glanced to your lips.

“Neither do I.”

Desperately trying to keep yourself together as the proximity and the intentions of both his and your words, you leant in until your foreheads met. There you welcomed the grace of the small touch with your whole heart, wondering if you would reach out to what you had dreamt of.

With your eyes closed, unable to take in the sight of his soft beauty, you took in the scent of him as his deep voice caught your attention. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes!” 

Your words barely rolled of your tongue before the final gap had been closed between you and your lips met at last. 

His kiss was not what you expected; it was soft yet deep, as if he wished to instil final proof that he meant everything he’d said. You couldn’t help but melt into him, your hands drawing away from his own, only so you could loop them behind his neck. He mirrored you, his hands finding the small of your back, and pulling you closer as you pressed into him. 

Perhaps this time the world did stop, to momentarily regard you and the kiss that summarised all the feelings that had lingered in your soul for months. After all, it was a resurrection event too, as the butterflies’ sparks reignited, sending them spiralling throughout your body and you back into radiant life.

It didn’t matter to you though, as your world stopped and that was all that was important in that second. Just the feel of his lips soft and plump between yours, and the hum of absolute relief that mottled through your throat at the touch.

You pulled apart with a gasp from both sides, still entwined with your arms. 

Felix cursed, smile immediately returning to his features.

“What?” You cocked your head inquisitively.

“It’s so cold,” he said, exaggerating a shiver playfully to emphasise his point. 

You rolled your eyes at him with a chuckle, stepping away but instantly taking his hand into yours. It was a decision of mixed results, as yes you were holding his hand, but now you had to come to terms with just how tiny they were and how devastated that made you.

“Hey, stop ogling my hands!” he pouted.

You perhaps would have pressed the matter if you weren’t still dazed by how quickly everything in your life had changed for you. You swept your head back, before pulling your best Australian accent, “You don't like me ‘cause of my personality...”

He immediately caught on, the two of you immediately wailing, “Only ‘cause my body!”

You continued to laugh together as you made your way back inside the restaurant, grateful to be in the warm again.

“Honestly, I try to be nice to him one time...!” Felix said, pursing his lips as he shook his head.

“I know right! And he just throws it right back...!”

“Terrible hyung!”

“Hundred percent!”

As you turned the corner to where your table was, you only just caught sight of Hyunjin looking over in your direction before he suddenly shouted.

“Finally!” 

Confused, you took the lead, “Hey, sorry guys, I hope we weren’t gone for—”

All of a sudden you were confronted with seven guys sighing and sinking into their chairs with relief. Changbin was rubbing his eyes, Minho had his eyes centralised on the ceiling, all the while Jeongin was grinning wildly at Seungmin, a hand outstretched and beckoning for something, to which the elder was desperately miming for him to cut out. 

No answer came to mind until you noticed Jisung exasperatedly smiling at the two of you, or more specifically your interlinked hands. 

Glancing at Felix, silently asking him if he knew about this to which he shook his head bemusedly, your attention was taken away by Chan who had stood, making his way to the both of you.

“At last,” he stated, his features folded into tired relief, “praise the lord, I was starting to think we were going to need divine intervention—”

You heard Minho pipe up behind, “By divine intervention he means me!”

“—but thankfully we didn’t. God, I’m just happy that you finally did it.”

“Thanks...?” Felix looked at him sheepishly. 

You exhaled a laugh, bringing your new boyfriend a little bit closer to your side—something he of course didn’t have a single gripe with—ahead of catching Chan’s attention. “Bang, what is all of this?”

He pouted. “Hey! You can’t get mad at us for being sick of you two! Imagine having to watch two obviously-in-love people dance around the in-love-with-each-other part for months. It was driving us insane!” Before you could interject, the he continued, “It doesn’t matter now, we’re just happy that you’re together now at least. And look! Because I’m a good leader I’ve moved myself out of the way so you two can sit next to each other.”

Unable to quite comprehend this further development, that the entire group had been anxiously waiting for you to get yourselves together and confess for as long as you’d literally liked each other, you murmured a ‘thank you’, before  beginning to make your way to your new seats.

Your food was inevitably cold, but neither of you minded at all. The rush of newfound love had sated your appetites rather enough for tonight, though you expected you could go for one more thing. 

Ignoring the bustle of his group mate’s comments, and the rather proud smile of Chan opposite you, you turned to Felix, “Hey, do you want to share some ice cream?”

The look on his face made your heart flutter instantaneously.

It was as if the sun had risen, his pretty smile gleaming while his nose scrunched sweetly. “Yes please!”

Knowing his favourite flavour of the top of your head, you sat back and let Hyunjin call for the waitress so everyone could order desserts. Even when the others spoke to you, and even though you felt even more alive than normal, you always found yourself looking back to Felix, taking in the sculpture of his adorable face that you now could hold between your fingers if you so wished. 

He meanwhile got shy under your gaze, smiling to himself as he looked away coyly.

As you leant in to whisper how adorable he looked in his ear, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket.  Taking it out swiftly, your heart swelled as you read the message upon your lockscreen. Sending a thankful grin to the man opposite you, you quickly turned your attention to detailing your order to the waitress.

And at last, things were much more than ok.

~~~

AN: ok so this took longer than i imagined (like a solid 4 hours at least, idek i wasnt actually counting) 

the irony is i actually wrote that felix’s age was 20 until i luckily checked and found he was still 19. i’d forgotten to count that his birthday hadn’t happened yet but. yeah. proud stay moment.

apologies for any poor quality ss, my phone hates me

i hope you enjoyed anon and so again for the wait!

Masterlist

#felix #felix stray kids #felix skz #felix x reader fluff #felix fluff #felix x reader request #felix x reader imagine #felix x reader oneshot #felix x older!reader #felix x reader angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader fluff #stray kids x reader angst #stray kids angst #stray kids imagine #stray kids oneshot #chan & reader #platonic chan x reader #reader is also friends with bambam #felix fake text au #stray kids fake texts

[flamingo-writes]

For fluffvember: Law w/a crewmember that has mutual feelings for him, but they both repress it- until one night when she has a nightmare and she asks to cuddle? And he just can’t help but be sweet and affectionate bc it upsets him to see her like that- and maybe a breakthrough happens, like a confession or a kiss?

A/N: not quite as requested, and this turned out a little bit more angstier than I intended XD Also, I was listening to Something About Us by Daft Punk when I started to write this, and I love that song very much, so I decided to title this after the song tht basically gave me that inspirational push to start writing. 

Fluffvember Post 

Wordcount: 994

Warnings: mentions of smut at the end, a few swear words.

Something About Us — Law x Reader

It was some sort of painful silent burden Law insisted on carrying upon his shoulders. As much as he tried to treat your PTSD, it was impossible. As if you were immune to every medication he prescribed you, nothing ever ceased your nightmares. Nothing could prevent them, but Law´s presence sure helped you soothe your stress away and help you go back to sleep. 

Law had always been there. As long as you could remember. He has always been there whenever a nightmare chased you. Reason why you room was next to his, the thinnest wall standing between you so he could easily hear when you were having a rough time and quickly get to your room and comfort you. 

All those years of fighting back to back, watching over each other, had taken their toll. It was a unique kind of bond that connected the both of you. Something far stronger than just care, a blind faith and immeasurable trust. An unspoken attraction pulling you towards one another, masked under a shade of guilt. Why would you fall in love with your best friend? It was just wrong. 

It was hard to predict when your nightmares would show up. They came without a warning, and you could spend weeks without having a single one, or spend three or fours sleepless nights because the moment you closed your eyes it all went to hell. Whatever triggered your nightmares was unknown. 

However, this night, unlike any other, was the worst. 

Usually you’d start whimpering, sometimes crying. This night however, was bad. Very, very bad. Screaming at the top of your lungs, cries for help, your voice scarring as if you were being tortured. Not only Law was awaken, but the entire crew. 

Penguin kicked your door open, ready to attack whoever was harming you. However, he found Law kneeling next to your bed, holding your head in his hands, his forehead pressed against yours as you cried your heart out, uncontrollably, apologising. 

“God, Law...it was awful, I-I thought I-I-I….Fuck, I’m sorry for waking you up, I-I didn’t me-mean to…” 

“Hey, there’s nothing to apologise for…” Law whispered. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw the crew poking inside, the same worried eyes reflected, echoing silently in the room, Law could sense everyone’s worry. He locked eyes with Bepo and silently jerked his head as if saying: it’s alright, I got this. 

The mink nodded and told the crew to leave the two of you alone. Once your door closed, Law sat on your bed and hugged you tightly. Clinging to his hoodie, you buried your face in his chest and cried painfully. His arms tightening around you, trying to keep you from breaking into a million pieces, as if he was holding you all together. And he waited. The sound of your cries hurting in his chest, as the clock slowly moved around. After a few minutes, your cries had lowered into low sobs. 

“[Name]-ya” Law purred. “Do you want me to stay here tonight?” 

Slightly embarrassed by his question, you nodded shamefully. It had been years since the last time Law had stayed with you overnight because of one of your nightmares. Usually he’d stay there and distract you until you felt sleepy once more and went back to sleep. Rarely, very rarely, your nightmares were bad enough for him to stay with you for the rest of the night. 

Lying on the bed next to you, he held you close, as you snuggled next to him, burying your face in his chest. Law massaged your scalp, well aware that you were still crying despite sobbing in completely silence. He kissed the top of your head, hoping to comfort you. 

Your heart was still racing, however, it wasn’t because of the nightmare. The sudden closeness with Law was what had your heart beating against your ribcage as if it was about to break your chest. 

"Thank you, Law" you purred. 

"It's nothing, I promised you I'd always be here for you" 

The way his gentle voice warmed you made you cling even tighter to him. His words still echoing to your heartbeat's rhythm, you looked up from his chest and locked your stare with his. 

"What's wrong, [Name]-ya?"

"Thank you, Law" You buried your face back into the base of his neck before he could notice the blush painting your face. 

Still, Law could notice a faint trace pink beginning to color your cheeks before you snuggled back. He smiled pleased. 

However, his smile soon faded away to the feeling of your lips innocently brushing his neck. Instead, his heart rushed, a shiver running up and down his body as images of his fantasies flashed in his mind. Fantasies in which he is hungrily claiming you, his best friend, as his. Guilty, he didn't try to stop those images from playing behind his closed eyes. He opened his mouth, your name escaping from his lips before he could even realise it.  

"Hmmm?" You hummed looking back up at him. 

His heart racing at a dangerous speed, and his gut twisted with a very peculiar anxiety he always tried to suppress. However the way your eyes were shining even in the dark of your room fueled that anxiety fluttering in his stomach. 

Still flustered by the warmth of the lips he very much craved, he didn't think twice and simply leaned closer. Thirsty, he tasted your lips for the first time. His heart on his throat, and his primitive mind taking over. And yet, surprised that you responded to his kiss immediately. 

Kissing him back, speechless, breathless, your hand moved to the back of his head, deepening the kiss you craved as much. 

Swallowed by the darkness, the both of you released the unspoken frustration the both of you had been keeping to yourselves for years. Letting your bodies do the talk, you melted into each other for the night. 

#one piece #one piece law #one piece imagines #one piece x reader #trafalgar law imagine #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d law #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar d. water law #law x reader #Trafalgar x reader

[thetomorrowshow]

Faith In ‘Okay’

This was my Secret Santa gift for @sandersarefamily ! I had a lot of fun creating for you--sorry it turned out angstier than I intended. I hope you enjoyed it! 

Summary: Logan Sanders is blind, and does not need a service dog. His brother, Roman, convinces him to at least try it--and who knows? maybe Logan will find everything he ever needed.

Rating: G

Word count: 4351

Pairings: Logicality, Prinxiety

Tw: Blind character, anxiety attack, kissing, mention of Remus, mention of Deceit

-

Logan didn't need help.

He never had. Yes, being blind was a . . . limitation. Sometimes he saw it as a disability. Sometimes he sat in a stupor, trying to remember what stars looked like before the accident. Sometimes he bit back tears in the middle of a conversation, not willing to break down in front of people just because they discussed how best to assist him. Sometimes he yelled at his brother for not leaving him alone.

But Logan was also fine. So when his brother, Roman, suggested a guide dog, he was more than a little irritated.

“You keep talking about wanting to be independent!” Roman argued. “Maybe, if you had a guide dog, I could move out!”

That was the argument that kept coming back. That was what Roman wanted. He was tired of always having to help his disabled— limited— brother, and it was showing. Logan knew Roman wanted to attend a school out of state. He knew that Roman desperately wanted to act, to try out for shows, but never had time.

That was probably why Logan agreed to look into the idea.

It took two weeks for the online application to be approved, then another two to get the phone consultation done. The additional forms to complete hadn't taken too long, but it was another three weeks before anyone could come to complete the home evaluation—see if Logan was physically able to have a guide dog, see if his home was safe for one, etc. It all happened, though, and soon they received the approval notification letting them know they had found two dogs that might match with Logan and that they were ready for him to come stay at campus for the two weeks it took to go over the training course.

The day came to leave. Logan was still unsure about this, but Roman insisted it was too late to back out now—then they would've wasted not just their own time, but countless people's time. So Logan begrudgingly followed Roman to the car. He knew the way down the driveway, but Roman had been struck by some protective urge and not only taken his suitcase from him, but had insisted on making him use his white cane. Ridiculous.

Logan settled in to the familiar worn leather of the passenger seat and felt the warmth of the morning sun on his face. It was pleasant. He could almost pretend that they were going to visit friends, or going out to eat.

Then he felt an arm reaching over his chest, and he slapped Roman away. “I can buckle my own seatbelt,” Logan snapped, but didn't move to pull it around his waist.

“Well, you weren't doing it.”

Grumbling, Logan buckled the seatbelt. On the drive he tried to ignore Roman's incessant noise, show tunes and Disney songs alike blaring from the radio. If his brother didn't insist on singing along, it wouldn't be so bad.

Instead, he tried to clear his mind. Long division generally did the trick, but it wouldn't on this day. He tried some basic trigonometry, but just couldn't focus.

His head kept circling back to the dog. What would it sound like? How big would it be? Would it truly allow him to live alone? He lived within walking distance of both the university he attended and the grocery store, and could technically get to both places without physical help—a GPS speaking into his ear didn't count—but rarely did. His school, CSU, helped him immensely with classes and getting to different areas of the campus. Roman drove him to school every morning and to and from the grocery store.

Deep within, he knew that Roman would never move out. Logan was notoriously bad with money—why did all the bills have to feel the same? Folding them differently could only do so much—and, with how often the store was rearranged, he could never reliably find what he was looking for. The few times he had gone by himself, he'd ended up having to ask for help to identify which can was cream of mushroom soup, which milk was 2%, which carton of strawberries looked the best, if what he was holding was hot pockets or a microwave dinner—and all with a clerk guiding him the sections.

A seeing eye dog couldn't help with those things. Only Roman knew what he—they—needed.

-

“It's good to meet you! Glad you're able to stay with us for the next few weeks. Would I be correct in assuming that you're Logan?”

Logan shook the stranger's hand. “That is my name,” he confirmed.

“I'm Patton Hoyt, and I'll be introducing you to the two dogs we've matched with you! Would you like me to guide you by your arm, or just speak directions?”

Logan's eyebrows rose. That was a first. Generally people did one or the other (usually the first) without asking his preference. Of course, Patton was likely trained to ask. “Spoken directions, please,” he replied.”

Roman still guided him with a hand on his back.

-

“This is Layla, she's a lab retriever. . . .”

-

Layla was fine, Logan supposed. She seemed to know her stuff. She just . . . didn't seem to like Roman. That would be a problem, seeing as how Roman wasn't going to be moving out anytime soon.

“Do you want to meet the other dog? If Layla doesn't feel right, I can be back in fifteen minutes with Crofters.”

“Like the jam?” Logan asked, smiling despite himself. “I had some on toast this morning.”

Patton giggled, somehow small and loud at the same time. “Probably,” he said, a grin in his voice. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Why not?” Logan found himself responding. He didn't really want a service dog, he reminded himself. It would be just perfect for Layla to not work out, so they could go home and forget about this whole thing. Roman was the one who wanted the dog.

He was only agreeing, he realized, because he was afraid of hurting Patton Hoyt's feelings. Logan had never really had much regard for others' feelings, but he liked this Patton. He was kind and considerate and funny. His voice held a bright quality, a constant warmth. Logan didn't want to let Patton down.

Not that Patton would be let down. It was his job to be kind. At the end of the day, he would still get paid. Somehow, though, he got Logan to agree to meeting this dog.

-

Logan knew immediately that Crofters was the one. Instead of licking his hand, or barking at Roman, or ignoring them both completely, Crofters bumped his head gently against Logan's right knee then backed up a step.

“Aww! He nuzzled his noggin! Crofters is usually a bit shy!”

Logan grinned. He still didn't really want a service dog, but he thought maybe he could like this dog. Patton told him about how excited Crofters was, how well he'd done on all his tests, and how much Crofters had enjoyed a sweet potato that had been left out from an employee's lunch. Patton talked a lot, and didn't seem to mind when Logan interrupted to provide random bits of knowledge, or review some of his basic needs in his routine.

Logan was growing . . . attached, he supposed. He begrudgingly admitted that he had been looking forward to the idea of having a dog. Now, he didn't know if he was attached to Patton, or to the idea of having a dog. He supposed he'd find out.

-

Now he knew. He began to know when Patton timidly asked if Crofters was right, and if he wasn't, they could go through the application process again and ask for a different dog. Logan cut Patton off and agreed to begin working with Crofters, because yes, he would love to adopt the golden retriever, and yes, he would be willing to stay on campus for the duration of the two weeks of training. Now, as he patted Crofters's head while Patton explained (even though he'd said the same thing every day for the past week at training) the schedule for the day, he knew.

Logan was certainly very open to the idea of having a seeing eye dog.

He was also experiencing a crush on Patton Hoyt.

-

“I'm just rambling now, aren't I?”

Logan smiled. “Possibly,” he allowed. “However, your rambling is . . . pleasing to listen to.”

Patton laughed. It was almost drowned out by the noise of the buffet.

Six weeks had passed since training ended. Patton had scheduled one meeting (ahem, date, ahem) a week, so they could go over any problems Logan might be experiencing or any questions he had. At least, that was the purpose of the meetings.

“Do you want anything else to eat?”

“No, no,” Logan waved him off. “Whatever the fried item you got me was may be a cause for gastrointestinal surgery.”

Patton giggled again. “It was okra,” he said. “Is Roman picking you up, or do you and Crofters want me to drop you off somewhere?”

“Patton, I believe we should stop, to use a figurative statement, beating around the bush.”

Silence from Patton. Logan heard a rustle and caught a whiff of perfume as someone passed by. A child screeched over the beastly rumble of chatter. Logan took a deep breath. This was going to be hard to bring up, so he worded it in the most detached way possible.

“I have developed feelings of romantic attraction for you.” Wow, that was blunt. Not for the first time in that day alone, Logan wished he could see. Patton's silence didn't tell him if he'd reacted positively or negatively.

“If this makes you uncomfortable, I promise to never bring it up again.”

Silence. Again, Logan spoke, panicking now.

“I apologize for mentioning it. If you would drop me off at the CSU campus, that would be wonderful.”

Finally, Patton spoke, his voice low and sing-songy. “Two bros, chilling in a buffet. Five feet apart 'cuz they're so gay.”

“What?” What was Patton talking about? His verbal cues were giving him nothing—but he liked the sound of 'gay'. That seemed hopeful, didn't it?

“Logan, we haven't said a single word about Crofters all lunch. I was so flustered about trying to get you to like me, I wore a tie.” Patton's voice was shaking. Tears or laughter? Logan wondered frantically. “Logan, you can't see! How were you supposed to notice a tie?”

Then Logan was laughing, and Patton was laughing, an adorable little giggle accompanied by the occasional snort. Their hands ended up clasped over the table, and Logan, almost subconsciously, leaned over the table, somehow knowing that Patton was doing the same thing. Their laughter died down. Logan felt his forehead bump lightly against Patton's, his skin burning at the sudden impact, and he knew he was close enough.

“People are staring,” Patton whispered. Logan shrugged.

“I'm told people stare at me a lot,” he said. “I assume it's usually because I'm staring at them and don't realize.”

“And your dashing good looks,” said Patton playfully. Logan's cheeks burned—he hadn't expected this to happen. He liked where it was going, but what if Patton thought they were moving too fast? Just minutes ago, they'd been colleagues. Now they were . . . romantic interests? It happened so quickly, one could've blinked and missed it. That was surely too fast. Not to mention, Logan had a plethora of special needs. He didn't want to dump them all on someone so—so wonderful!

“Patton,” Logan said before anything could happen, “I've already confessed my attraction. But is it wise to continue? I-I am blind, after all.” The lame excuse fell flat on his ears. Patton seemed to find it a poor reason as well, as he squeezed Logan's hands and whispered a question.

“Would you like me to guide you to my lips, or just speak directions?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roman wasn't upset. He truly wasn't! He was incredibly excited that Logan had a boyfriend. He'd already planned three perfect dates for them, including one that would be enjoyable for Crofters. He'd suggested a road trip to visit family, he was so certain their aunt would love Patton. Just the other day, he'd caught himself daydreaming about what songs would be best for their wedding dance. What could he say? He was an imaginative guy.

No, Roman definitely wasn't upset. But he was worried. He worried that Patton would never figure out exactly how to toast Logan's toast. He worried that Patton would always forget to set up the table correctly. What went where in the fridge. Where to find the type of clothes Logan liked to wear. When to let him walk to school and when to drive him. But most of all, Roman worried that Patton would get tired. Tired of all of Logan's needs and routines. Tired of holding Logan's hand when they crossed the road. Tired of having to shop for him. Tired of not being able to do normal things with him.

He was worried that Patton would abandon his brother, breaking Logan's heart in the process.

So who could blame him for growing more protective?

It all came to a head one day.

“Get in the car, I'll grab your cane. Crofters! Here, boy!” Roman called. Logan had just seen fit to inform him that he had an interview that day. He was certain that Logan would be a wonderful teacher's pet—aide for CSU, where he attended classes, but . . . Roman was going to miss an audition if he took Logan. He'd been really excited about it, too. He was auditioning to play Feste in Shakespeare's Twelfth Night , but . . . he found himself doing the math in his head. The drive to CSU was fifteen minutes counting traffic lights, then the interview would likely be longer. Then a good brother would take Logan out to eat, regardless of the results of the interview. The audition was half an hour away, just in the other direction. He couldn't make both. Logan's needs and wants came before his. He knew that.

Needless to say, Roman was very surprised when Logan didn't move. “Come on!” Roman urged. “We don't want to be late.”

“Patton has agreed to provide transportation to the interview. If he doesn't show up, we live within walking distance of the school,” Logan added, forestalling Roman's next argument.

Roman didn't really know what to do with himself. Patton picked up Logan and Crofters. Roman tried to watch TV. He tried to rehearse his monologue. Eventually he left, arriving early at the audition.

It went fine, as far as he could remember. Nothing like the auditions from his high school days, but probably okay. He couldn't stop thinking about Logan—was he safe? Would he get lost? Taken advantage of? Who would comfort him if he failed the interview?

Roman left the theater and drove. He didn't know where he was headed. He drove until he arrived at the mall.

Roman had often had fun at the mall—he and his twin, Remus, had often come here to mess around. He had dozens of pictures of Remus running through the kids' play area, or of he himself posing as a mannequin, dressed in the most uppity clothes they could find. The memories were nice enough to look back on, but they carried a melancholy air. He hadn't seen Remus in four years, since they were eighteen. His twin had moved across the country, scared of the responsibility of their younger brother Logan when their parents had died. Roman had had to grow up fast.

Through the smog of memories, Roman realized he'd wandered into Barnes & Noble, the smell of books reminding him of Logan in a comforting way.

“Welcome to Barnes & Noble. Can I help you find anything?”

Roman spun around. The clerk standing behind him let his bangs fall in front of his face and didn't even try to smile. Roman forgot his woes momentarily as he was struck with a second of gay panic. This clerk was hot . Like, skater gruff mountain man mixed with Tom Holland. An emo baby with scruff. The heir to the evil legacy who loves the good prince. The type of dude on the big poster in the window of the shoe store. His eyes caught the nametag—Virgil. Even his name was hot.

“Thank you, but I think I've just found what I'm looking for,” Roman found himself flirting. The clerk blushed and averted his eyes, muttering a small “whatever” and walking past. Roman turned to watch him go—was he hot from behind?

He didn't get to know, as the clerk turned as well and met his eyes. “Nice hair,” Virgil said, cheeks still red. “Purple. Looks . . . edgy.”

Roman laughed. A little too hard. It made Virgil smile, though, so maybe it was okay.

“My lunch break's in twenty minutes,” Virgil said. “Can I, uh. Can I get you some Panera?”

-

“—and I wasn't entirely certain that I'd done the character justice, you know? I know it was just a cold reading—”

“Dude, Roman. Calm down. I'm sure you did awesome,” laughed Virgil. The two were sitting in a booth at Denny's, hands entwined over the table.

Virgil was being reasonable, but it was so hard to calm down. Roman tried to change his train of thought and ended up thinking about Logan. His brother was representing CSU at a college fair. Roman had argued against it (“I'll have Crofters and Patton, I will be fine. Fracture a femur at the callbacks and enjoy your outing with your boyfriend.”) but had lost. His mind started spiraling again as he wondered: what if Patton forgot about Logan? What if someone dognapped Crofters? What if someone took advantage of his naive, blind, baby brother, who would be standing proudly at his school's table with a smile and a brochure? What if—

“In for four, Ro. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Breathe, and focus on my voice.”

Roman hadn't realized he was panicking outwardly, but he tried to do as Virgil instructed. The breathing didn't feel like it was helping, though, and soon he ignored the rhythm. He kept thinking about all the dangers Logan was in, and wished he could keep Logan in the safety of their routine, where nothing changed and nothing was unknown.

“Tell me five things you can see.”

Roman hadn't noticed that his eyes were closed. He blinked them open to find his vision blurry with tears. “A beautiful man,” he managed, eyes sweeping over his boyfriend then the restaurant. “Uh. The carpet. That painting of the dogs playing poker. That boy's hat. And the hanging light.”

“I love you, you're doing great. Four things you can touch?”

“The booth, your hand. The table. My phone in my pocket.” When had he become so tired?

“Nice,” Virgil said quietly. “Three things you can hear?”

“Your voice. Music, and the news playing on that TV.”

“Almost done, you're doing awesome. Two things you can smell?”

Roman sniffed. That was easy. “Your lasagna, the syrup from my pancakes.”

“And one thing you can taste.”

Roman licked his lips and grinned. “Your lasagna.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, but smiled anyhow. “Feel a bit better?”

Roman nodded. He was still worried, but it was better. The sleepiness that filled his veins made him not want to think about it. He wondered sometimes how Virgil always knew how to calm him down.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Roman took a deep breath, then nodded again.

-

“I have a brother,” Virgil said. They'd finished eating and relocated their conversation to Virgil's pick-up truck. There Roman had spoken his worries, confessed that he couldn't seem to stop being anxious about Logan.

“Not really, I guess. I mean, I think of him as my brother. My parents foster. So he's my foster brother, but that doesn't matter. His name's Dee.” Virgil ran a hand through his hair. He spoke again.

“Dee . . . can't talk. Something happened in his birth home—I dunno if he was born like that, or abuse or what—but it was hard. Hard to not try and take care of him. He's in pain a lot of the time. More often than not, he has to have a feeding tube because swallowing hurts too much.

“It was hard to let him go. Dee's such an individual!” Virgil laughed slightly. “He got into debate when he was thirteen. He's super good at it, too. I just—I couldn't stop worrying. What could someone do to a boy with no voice? A boy who can't say no. A boy who can't yell for help.”

Roman felt a pang of familiarity. He'd had very similar thoughts about Logan.

“When he was sixteen, we got into a fight,” Virgil continued. “He was yelling—I say yelling. His hands were moving angrily—, I was yelling, and he finally snapped. Dee told me I was too protective. He could handle himself. Bunch of other stuff. He ended up telling me that one of us was going to have to move out, and he was fine with it being him.

“I wasn't—he needed help, and our parents could help better than some roommate. So I left. Moved out of state.”

“How?” Roman heard himself whispering. He couldn't imagine ever doing that to Logan.

Virgil shrugged uneasily. “I was pretty mad. I was still anxious, though—for a while I called home every day. Heck, I texted Dee all the time to make sure he was okay. I stopped when he told me to. I got a job, enrolled in a few classes at CSU. It got easier. Dee skypes me on Sundays to ask about my week. It's okay.”

“Logan wouldn't kick me out, though,” Roman said bluntly. “He—”

“Can survive without you.”

“What?”

Virgil smiled and took his hand. “Logan can survive without you,” he repeated. “He has strengths, even if they're different from yours. It's okay to be scared. Scared of someone hurting him. But it sounds like. . . .”

“Yes?”

“It sounds like you're scared of him not needing you.”

Roman felt tears filling his eyes. That—that was it. He hated to admit it, but that was it. “Ay, there's the rub,” he choked out. He collapsed against Virgil's chest, his body shaking with sobs.

“It's okay . . . it's okay,” Virgil murmured.

“I just—I've been there for him since our parents d-died,” Roman sniffled. “My b-brother left us and Lo was so—so lost, and I-I love him so much! I packed his lunch when he was sixteen and drove him to school and got a job and gave up everything! Just to take care of him! He—he's my purpose! He's been my purpose for years! How—how can I just mo-move on?”

“No one expects you to just move on,” Virgil said, tracing small circles on Roman's back. “But I'm here to help you get through this, and so is Logan. It's going to be okay. Depend on us. It's all going to work out. It'll be okay.”

-

“You must be Patton. It's good to meet you,” Virgil said, shaking the bespectacled man's hand. Patton grinned at him, then gently pulled forward the man whose hand he was holding.

“That's me! This is my boyfriend, and his dog, Crofters.”

“Thank you for introducing my dog, Patton,” the man said dryly. Virgil knew his name before he said it. It wasn't just because Logan was attached to Patton, or the fact that his golden retriever was named Crofters, or even the classic sunglasses shielding his eyes. It was the smattering of freckles on his nose. It was the dimple in his right cheek as he smiled fondly in the direction of his boyfriend. It was the slightly round way his voice sounded. There was no doubt that this was Roman's brother.

“I'm Logan. I must presume that you are Virgil?”

Virgil ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. How's the move going?”

Patton grinned. “Really well!” he said excitedly. “I'm definitely picking up on Lo's routines, and Crofters is adjusting too!”

“That's good. Let me know if you need to borrow my truck. Anything for Roman's family.” He tugged awkwardly at his stiff collar. He hated dressing up, but this was for Roman. “Shall we go in, then?”

They walked into the theater, making a chain of sorts: Virgil leading Patton by the hand to the seats he'd already reserved for them, Patton leading Logan by the hand so he didn't run into anyone (something, as Logan pointed out, Crofters could do just fine).

“Do you want to hear Roman's bio?” Patton asked Logan once they were settled in, the program held open in his hands.

“I'm relatively certain I edited it for him, but read on, love,” came Logan's reply.

“'Roman Sanders, Prospero—Roman Sanders is pleased to make his acting debut as Prospero in—'”

The lights flickered. One minute before the show. All around them, people began to sit. Patton closed the program and quietly informed Logan that the show was about to begin.

Then the curtains parted.

Patton watched Logan, hoping he was following the story, and grinned at the look of interest on his boyfriend's face as he settled back into his chair. Everything was okay.

Logan listened closely. He'd heard Roman's lines a million times when his brother rehearsed at home, but this was different. All the characters came together in a complex symphony that made him never want to stop listening. Everything was going okay.

Virgil watched Roman throw his arms dramatically, miming control of a giant storm while Shakespeare sang from his lips. He felt a surge of affection, of love, for the man who had come so far. Everything would be okay.

Roman caught a glimpse of his family in the audience and smiled inwardly. They'd all come, just to see him. Everything was okay. Everything was going okay. Everything would be okay. It was okay to move on.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #fluff #sanders sides fluff #blind character #logan sanders #ts logan #roman sanders #ts roman #patton sanders #ts patton #virgil sanders #ts virgil #ts sides #shakespeare #service dog #logicality #prinxiety #secret santa #sandersarefamily #sanders sides au #sanders sides human au #love you

[arrowversefairytales]

Could I request a character study (is that the right term?) on Siobhan and Winn’s relationship in this AU? They were a couple for a hot minute in canon, which probably isn’t a thing here since they’re step-siblings. So what leads to her treating him the way she does, since he’s supposed to be Cinderella and all? Does she have a reason for it, or is it just for sadistic funsies? (I’ve always loved to hate Siobhan, and you got me curious lol)

Yep, a character study’s what you’re after. And this one is definitely angstier than usual.

Siobhan hadn’t hated Winn at first. He just wasn’t someone you could hate. He was quiet, and awkward, and seemed to share absolutely none of his father’s brilliance. But he did his best to acclimate into their family, always offering a smile or a kind word no matter what he really felt.

But then the change had started. He wasn’t like his father, he wasn’t what his new stepmother had wanted him to be. And so, little by little, inch by inch, she had forced him out of the family circle. From sleeping in the attic, to eating alone in the kitchen, to being held responsible for the brunt of the housework- every new development was intended to push him farther away from the rest of them until finally he was nothing more than the ragged, cinder-smudged servant, not part of the family at all.

And that was really what made Siobhan start to hate him, in the end, because he never resented any of it. She had seen it, sometimes, the anger in his eyes when Lyra lost her temper again or some subtle new insult was hurled at him by his stepmother. But he never acted on that anger, never resisted what they were doing to him. He just...let it happen. He never fought back. And the way they treated him never changed the way he treated them. He was still so kind, so cheerful, so willing to please. He never stooped to their level.

That was what Siobhan hated about him- the fact that, when it came to down to the kind of person they were, he was better than the rest of them. She would never have had that patience, that meekness, if their places had been reversed, and she knew it. She would not have had the strength to hold back her feelings the way he did, to forgive and forget and go on without a hint of bitterness as if not a thing in the world was wrong, to bear everything with a smile and search for brightness in the darkest places and always see the good in people even if there was little good left. Compared to him, she felt twisted and ugly and dark inside, and that feeling was one she had never had before. Being around him was forcing her to confront the way she was, and she wasn’t pleased with what she found.

So she began testing him, seeing how much he could take before he finally snapped, finally gave into the hatred he must surely have buried deep inside. Hate had taken her over long ago, and surely, if she could make things bad enough, it would do the same to him. It would prove that he was just like her, deep down, and then she could stop feeling guilty, stop feeling like she should have been a better person. She would be content with the darkness inside her if she could bring out the darkness in him.

And she tried. She humiliated him in every way she could think of, hurled insult after insult and slight after slight. With Lyra and his stepmother doing the same, surely he would reach his breaking point.

But he never did. Sometimes his jaw would tighten, and sometimes his green eyes would flash fire for the briefest of seconds. But that was all. And then he was back to being the cringing, docile servant they had made him into. No matter what they did to him, he was never anything less than kind and gentle and good, everything they were not.

That was why Siobhan hated him. Because she would never be like him, and sometimes, deep down, she wished she could be.

I really had to think about this one. I don’t think Siobhan’s really the type for “sadistic funsies” as you put it, so I did want to have a reason behind it. And with the whole thing in canon about them coming from a similar place with their messed-up families, but responding very differently, I could kind of see Siobhan treating Winn the way she does out of guilt that she’s not like him. This was a fascinating thing to explore! Hope you enjoy, anon!

#siobhan smythe #winn schott #supergirl #fairy tale au #fanfic #ficlet

[sojourner-between-worlds]

Burn the Ships, Epilogue

A/N: And now we’ve reached the end. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the final chapter! I have no excuses for why this took so long except for who I am as a person, meaning “I started reading the Power of Five series, and I can’t even,” lol. :P

This started out as completely self-indulgent fluff (with some angst because I can’t control myself apparently) because it’s what they deserve, but honestly now it’s just self-indulgent. Still some fluff but much angstier than I intended, lol. Most of the real fluff got cut because it got too long, unfortunately (this is still one of the longest chapters, and I didn’t even write half of what I had planned, ahahahaha). You’ve been warned. :P

Content warnings: A panic attack, mentions of a nightmare and trauma, vomiting (nothing graphic by any means, but...) . . . . .

Epilogue

February

“I’m sorry.” Alex’s elbows hit the countertop, his head falling into his hands. “I didn’t mean -- I’m sorry.”

“Alex. It’s okay. I’m not angry. This isn’t your fault.”

He didn’t look up. There was glass shattered on the floor now because he’d failed to control his temper. He had lashed out, and now something -- he didn’t even know what -- was broken, and why had he even been angry, anyway? He couldn’t remember, but it definitely was his fault, and he had no idea why Steve was saying it wasn’t. “Sure seems like it is.”

A tired sigh. Alex knew what he would find if he looked up, so he didn’t bother. This situation was all-too familiar, and one of these times Steve was going to get tired of him -- just like everyone else had. Honestly, it was a miracle he’d lasted this long.

“Look at me, please, buddy.”

He didn’t want to.

Another sigh, then: “Alright, just listen, okay? There are three things in play right now, and none of them are your fault. The first is the amount of trauma you’ve been through the last couple of years. The second is that you’re sixteen, which means raging hormones. The third is that you’re still trying to settle in here -- transition into a new life. Any one of those by itself would be hard enough, but you have to deal with all three at the same time.” A pause. “Mood swings are gonna happen -- that’s just a fact. But it’s not always going to be this bad. It’s gonna get better, but you need to be patient with yourself because it’s going to take time. Remember? You need to give yourself time.”

Alex finally straightened up and turned to face Steve, almost still surprised to find nothing but concern and kindness etched on his face where Alex had been sure would be nothing but irritation. “How long, Steve?” he begged, frustration bleeding into every word. “Because it’s been almost two months, and I’m still just --.” He cut himself off, looking away, his gaze catching on the mess on the floor. “I’m still just broken,” he finally muttered.

“Yeah. You are.”

His head whipped up, eyes wide. Surely he hadn’t heard that right?

A smile ghosted over Steve’s lips. “But so am I. You, me, Chin, Kono, Lou, Danny… We all are. There’s nothing wrong with being broken as long as you pick up the pieces. Even then, you won’t be the same as you were. But that’s okay. No one expects you to be.”

Alex didn’t know what to say, what to think about that statement. He’d never considered that maybe it was okay to be damaged.

Maybe it was enough just to try. . . .

March

“Steve, it’s three o’clock in the morning. This has better be important.”

Steve glanced at the clock. “Sorry, Danny. I honestly hadn’t realized the time. I might have...panicked. Just a little.”

“What’s wrong?”

His partner sounded a bit more awake now, at least. He took a deep breath. “What do you do with a puking teenager?”

A startled laugh. “What? Okay, let me get this straight: you called me in the middle of the night because Alex is sick and you don’t know what to do?”

Steve swallowed his pride. “Basically, yeah. Look, the only person I have experience taking care of while ill is myself. You have kids -- more specifically, you have a teenager -- so please just tell me what I’m supposed to do right now.”

Danny’s next words were -- thankfully, mercifully -- serious. “I take it that, since you called in a panic, he is currently, at this moment, throwing up?”

“I’m...actually not sure. I just heard him make a run for it. He hasn’t gone back to bed yet, though.”

A sigh. “Okay, first things first -- go in there so at least you can assess the damage, and he’ll know that you know so he doesn’t try to hide it in the morning. He’ll probably be embarrassed but also grateful. If he’s not ready to go back to bed yet, sit with him until he is, and make sure he drinks something once his stomach has settled a little. In the middle of the night, that’s about all there is to it.”

Steve let out a breath. “I think I can handle that…”

“I would hope so.”

“Thanks, Danny.”

“Yeah, I’m going back to sleep. Try to save any other questions for daylight hours. Now go take care of your kid.”

“Yeah. Goodnight.” He pulled the phone from his ear to hang up, but Danny had beat him to it. Slipping it into the pocket of his sweatpants, he quietly made his way down the hall.

He gently knocked twice on the slightly ajar door before he pushed it open. Alex was on his knees beside the toilet, forehead resting on his arm against the seat, breathing heavily. He didn’t look up as Steve entered. “Hey, buddy. Really not feeling great now, huh?”

Alex let out a huff as Steve knelt down beside him, hand instinctively falling between his shoulder blades and rubbing in slow, gentle circles. “You could say that.”

Alex’s voice came out shaky, and Steve didn’t even bother asking if he was ready to go back to bed; his pinched expression, eyes squeezed shut, and labored breathing were answer enough.

Not a minute had passed since Steve had come in when Alex tensed then jolted back up over the toilet as he gagged. Steve winced as he felt the muscles contracting under his hand as the poor kid heaved. Judging from the sound, there wasn’t much left to even bring up, and if there was one thing worse than vomiting, Steve thought, it was dry heaving.

He wasn’t sure where the words were coming from -- long buried memories of Dorris fussing over him, maybe -- but he started murmuring reassurances anyway. “It’s alright, Alex. Shhh. Just breathe through it. That’s it.”

After a minute or so, Alex finally dropped his head back down to rest on the toilet seat, with a horsley muttered, “This sucks.”

Steve couldn’t help but grin a little. “Yeah, I’ll bet it does, buddy. I’ll bet it does.” . . .

June

“Hey, there you are.”

Alex turned his head but didn’t get up from his chair, wind off the ocean whipping his hair around wildly. “Hey.”

Steve sat down in the other chair, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Looks like you’re about due for a haircut.”

Alex shrugged, resting his chin back on his knees. “I don’t mind it.”

Steve chose not to say anything, turning to look out at the waves. Six months had passed and yet Steve still had a hard time figuring the kid out sometimes; was what Alex just said the truth or did he not want to ‘inconvenience’ Steve with the price of the service? He would tackle that another day, though; there were other things they needed to talk about right now.

“Doing okay?” Steve always asked when he came home; Alex always answered honestly. That had been the arrangement for a while now; Alex was struggling to settle in still, and Steve couldn’t do anything to help if he didn’t know. “This isn’t exactly prime sitting outside weather, after all.” It wasn’t, truly; the sky was overcast, and the temperature was unseasonably cool. While it wasn’t unusual to find Alex outside, on a day like today? That was questionable, and Steve got the feeling Alex wasn’t having a great day.

“I don’t know.” Alex shrugged. “Just kind of restless, I guess. Needed to get out of the house.”

Steve nodded; that wasn’t the worst answer he’d ever gotten by far. “Yeah, you are here by yourself most of the time. That can happen.” He paused. “That - uh, that kind of brings me to something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, actually.”

“Oh?” Alex tilted his head so his cheek rested on his knee instead of his chin, his gaze meeting Steve’s again.

Steve knew Alex would balk at the idea before he’d even started, but he had to try. Alex couldn’t stay cooped up in the house for the rest of his life; he needed to get out and live. “I know the last six months have been rough, but I think it’s time you at least start thinking about going back to a public school. You don’t need to decide right now; I just want you to think about it, okay? If you decide you don’t want to or you’re not ready, that’s fine. I don’t have a problem with this whole homeschool thing we’ve got going on now. But honestly, Alex, it might actually help. Going to school is normal. Something that’s always been a constant might help you adjust.”

Alex sat up straighter and stared down at his bare feet. “I won’t fit in. I’m too different from them. They’ll ask too many questions I can’t answer.”

“Maybe so.” Steve sighed. “I’m not gonna force you, but seriously consider it, alright?”

Alex nodded. “Fine. I will.”

“That’s all I’m asking for.” Steve stood with a small smile. “I’m gonna go start dinner.”

As he headed for the house, he already knew Alex would make the decision that was best for himself, whatever that might be. . . .

September

Alex nervously followed behind the officer. Steve had told him he was always welcome to drop in at the Palace, but this was the first time he’d taken up that offer. If they were busy, he didn’t want to interrupt or be in the way, but it was actually important this time.

Chin was the first to see him as he stepped through the door. “Well, this is a surprise. Hey, Alex.” He turned to the officer. “Thanks for bringing him up.”

As the officer walked away, Lou said, “If you’re looking for Steve, he’s not here. He and Danny are in a meeting with the governor. Should be back before long, though.”

“Was there something you needed?” Kono asked. “I think this is the first time you’ve been in without Steve.

“Not really.” He grabbed onto the straps of his backpack to keep from fidgeting. “It’s nothing, and I’m sure you’re busy with a case anyway. I don’t want to interrupt.”

Lou shrugged. “Nope. Been a slow day.”

“And I doubt it’s nothing,” Chin added. “It’s obviously something if you made the trip down here instead of calling or waiting until Steve got home tonight. So what’s up?”

Alex gnawed on his bottom lip. He didn’t want to bother them with this when he was most likely just being paranoid. It was one thing to talk to Steve and entirely another to bring in the rest of Five-0.

Kono must have sensed his hesitation because she said, “Alex, you know you can talk to us, right? You’re ohana. If something’s going on, we want to help you.”

Ohana. What did that even mean, really? Family, but they weren’t related in any way. He didn’t seem to fit. But since Steve wasn’t here, maybe it wouldn’t hurt? He sighed and, after another moment, nodded. “Okay, but it probably really is nothing.” He pulled out his phone as he stepped closer. Opening his photos, he set it down on the table so the other three could see it. “These two guys have been sitting outside the school everyday for the past two weeks. They never pick anyone up, and no one ever goes over to talk to them, either. They sit there for about an hour after the final bell, and then they drive away. It’s just...weird. And kind of creepy.”

Chin moved his phone to connect it to the holotable. “Do you have any more photos?”

“Yeah, just swipe right. I took one of the plates on the car, too.”

“Atta boy,” Lou grinned, clapping him on the back. “Good work. Let’s see if we can get an ID on these creeps.”

Alex was momentarily floored at the response. They weren’t writing him off; they weren’t laughing or mocking. “You’re...taking this seriously.”

Chin’s hands hovered over the table for a moment before he turned to face Alex fully. “You thought we wouldn’t?”

Alex shrugged. “People usually don’t.”

Chin turned back with a smile. “Like Kono said: you’re ohana now. Better get used to it, because we aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

Alex smiled back. For once someone actually had his back. It was a nice feeling -- one he thought he definitely wouldn’t mind getting used to. . . .

December

His lungs felt like they were filled with lead as he desperately tried to pull in another breath, his whole body shaking with the effort. The strong arms around him tightened ever-so-slightly, one hand sliding up to cradle the the back of his head, as if knowing if they didn’t hold him together then he’d crumble into ash.

They do know, he realized with a start. Steve does know. Because they’d been in this same position a million times already this year.

Alex’s fingers involuntarily tightened their grip on Steve’s shirt as another wave of panic hit, blinding his senses, making it impossible to get his lungs to function. He could hear Steve talking, but he couldn’t seem to make sense of any of it. The blood was rushing in his ears, and every instinct was telling him to run, and he couldn’t make heads or tails of anything. So he latched on to the one thing he could find outside the chaos in his head: the thrumming of a heart that wasn’t his. Alex’s own was rapid and hammering; the one he could feel against his temple was calm and steady.

He forced himself to focus on that rhythm -- it was all the proof he needed that he was safe. Another living person right beside him meant he wasn’t strapped down in Cairo or drowning in Cornwall. He was safe. He was okay. Because there was someone with him.

Steve’s words started to filter through the fray: “Try to breathe with me, Alex. Everything’s going to be okay. You’re safe, buddy; you’re safe.”

Reality came back in small doses. A nightmare. 4:41am. An impending panic attack sending him straight to Steve. Collapsing to the hardwood floor beside the man’s bed.

The floor, where he was currently curled up half in Steve’s lap, head pressed into his sternum, fingers twisted in a white-knuckled grip in the back of his t-shirt. Steve’s arms were secure around him, one hand still at the back of his head, the other following a slow path up and down his spine.

He forced his focus to the hand on his back, knowing its purpose from repetition. His breaths were erratic and shallow; the motion was a breathing pattern for him to try to follow. His chest ached, but he did his best to match it anyway; he knew he needed to -- that it would get easier even though it felt impossible now.

“There you go, buddy; that’s it. You’re doing great.”

As the muscles in his chest slowly loosened and he could breathe more normally -- albeit shakily -- again, he let his thoughts wander.

When had he become so comfortable with this arrangement that it had become second nature to run to Steve when he started to panic? The first time he’d had a panic attack in front of the man, he’d pushed him away, embarrassed, unwilling to let him help. He had managed to keep them a secret for an entire month, and Alex had thought Steve would be angry when he found out. But he hadn’t been. He’d understood. Since then, they had talked about triggers and what helped and what didn’t. And, at first, it had been weird to let Steve help him, but now…

Now it was comfortable.

“How you doing, Alex?” The softly spoken question brought him back to the present.

Alex shifted slightly. He knew what Steve was asking, but all the same, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander back over the previous year. Once, he had thought that he’d never get to truly know what home felt like; he had thought he’d never have another family. But now he thought maybe he did.

Maybe this was home.

Maybe this was family.

If it was, Alex knew he never wanted to let it go.

“Good,” he rasped. “I’m good.” . . .

“This is my family. I found it all on my own. It’s little and broken, but still good. 

Yeah, still good.”

--Lilo and Stitch

. . . . .

Tag List: @diekatimitdemhutohnehut @ghostly-homo @grungeweasel @just-add-butter

#alex rider #hawaii five-0 #crossover fanfiction #fic: Burn the Ships #I may well write more in this verse someday #because I love it #and I have plenty more ideas #mostly stuff that didn't make it in this chapter #but I still want to write it so #lol

[fullmetalscullyy]

And if youre still taking requests, would you mind doing a morning after where they were drunk the night before and slept the first time together? AU or not. Thanks!

of course!!! thank you i absolutely adored this one and i hope you like it! (it turned out so much angstier than i thought it would but lmao gotta stay true to my brand)

thank you so much!! uwu

Roy awoke with a pounding headache. Squeezing his eyestightly closed, grasping his aching head, he rolled over and –

His face his something solid and warm.

Eyes opening blearily, Roy could not make out what he wasseeing in front of him. There was blonde hair, a pale shoulder peeking outabove the duvet cover, the red ink of a sickeningly familiar tattoo –

Oh… Shit.

All he could do was stare down at the woman in his bed, eyeswide as his mind raced a mile a minute trying to come up with an explanationfor this. An appropriate explanation.

But there was none.

Riza stirred and groaned, lifting a hand to her head,apparently feeling a similar way to Roy. He watched, mute with his mouth partlyopened in shock, as she curled in on herself, pulling the duvet off Roy andexposing his very naked body to thecool air in the room. He shivered violently in the cold, jostling the bed as heshot up to a seated position and grabbed his boxers and t-shirt from the floor.

“What –” Riza murmured, rolling over onto her back. “R –Roy?” she stuttered. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, taking a deep breath.

This was not what he intended to happen when he suggestedgoing to get drinks last night. Her father’s funeral was yesterday morning. Notmany people came – just a couple of the townsfolk. There wasn’t a wake afterwards,just Riza exposing her back to him and entrusting her father’s research withhim. That was one of the worst afternoons of his life, so Roy took Riza intotown to the bar. There were no sorrows to speak of that she needed to drown,but uncertainty for her future hung in the air and Roy wanted to help herforget it all.

Apparently, they had forgotten too much. The last thing heremembered was kissing Riza hungrily in the back of the bar, outside the ladiesroom. What happened after that was evident in the sheets they were currently lyingin.

“Wh – What happened?” she asked fearfully.

That hurt to hear; the fear in her voice.

“I don’t remember,” he lied. It was white lie. He rememberedthe bar. He got a flash of them stumbling home well after midnight. More glimpsesof heat and passion. Whispers of words and promises against each other’s skin –

Roy squeezed his eyes tightly closed to try and block it out.If Master Hawkeye found them –

Master Hawkeye was dead.

Roy relaxed slightly.

“What?”

“I don’t know Riza, but I’m sure you can figure it out.” Roystood abruptly and left the room, his nervous energy clinging to him, refusingto let go.

This… This was unprecedented. He had always liked Riza, shewas kind and caring with such a dry sense of humour that he secretly adored. Asshe had grown older it had developed further, creeping up at the mostunexpected moments. He would never have dreamedthat it would escalate to this. She was the frighteningly quiet girl he hadgrown up beside and not someone he saw in that way…

Except when he had to leave over the Christmas break everyyear with a heavy heart upon the discovery Riza would be left alone in that housewith her recluse of a father.

Except when he would see kids from her school picking on herand feel an overwhelming urge to step in and protect her.

Except when he had seen her tattoo yesterday afternoon andfelt white hot rage boil in his veins, wishing Berthold Hawkeye could come backto life just so Roy could kill him forwhat he had done to Riza.

Okay, he really did feel that way about her.

The realisation hit him like a tonne of bricks. Roy pausedon the top step, foot raised in the air, ready to descend. One thought wasniggling at the back of his mind, freezing him in place.

You woke up in her bedand rudely brushed her off after sleeping with her. Not so brilliant for your firsttime, was it?

With the information he knew now, Roy turned around anddefeatedly headed back to her bedroom.

“Riza?” he called, knocking on the door. The sound, althoughsoft as he could make it, still shot through his pounding head. Roy winced ashe spoke, face scrunching up in pain. There was no answer. Cracking the dooropen he paused when he heard running water.

Perhaps making a start on breakfast would be a better peace offeringthan sitting on her bed waiting for her to exit the shower.

Pushing all thoughts of Riza showering from his mind, Roy quicklydescended the stairs and made a start on breakfast.

Riza apprehensively entered the kitchen, a wary look on herface as her eyes found his. He smiled weakly but it fell when Riza’s expressionturned hard. Without a word she stalked over to the oven and turned on the heatfor a clean frying pan.

“I made breakfast,” Roy offered.

“No thank you,” was her clipped reply.

“Riza –”

“Mr. Mustang,” she replied curtly, and Roy winced at the formality.Riza hadn’t called him that in years. Thisis what you get for snapping at her upstairs. This is just as much on you as it is her. The voice of reason inhis head was correct, of course. “I apologise for taking up so much of yourprecious time.” Her cold tone shot through his heart. “I took the liberty ofwriting down the train times yesterday before you arrived for the funeral. Ifyou wish, I can drive you to the station myself –”

“Riza, stop.”

“Stop what?” she asked, whirling around. There was something…different about her. It had been a year since Roy had last seen Riza, but inthis morning light, her expression hard, he saw there was a different air abouther. She stood taller, her shoulders thrown back and head held high. Whetherthat was the effect of finally being free from her father’s oppressive shadowthat no longer haunted these halls, or if it was the result of being here withBerthold while he left her behind to go off to the academy with big dreams.

He blushed, realising she had turned into a fine young woman.

This only caused her to glare at him as Roy struggled tocome up with an answer. Riza scoffed, shaking her head, as she turned back tothe oven. “I see how it is,” she muttered.

“How what is?” Roy frowned, placing his knife and fork down onthe table.

“You come back, preaching about big dreams for the world totry and win me over. Then, when you do, I show you that fucking tattoo and give you everything you want.” She angrilydropped the bacon into the pan, the sizzle no doubt matching the blood in herveins. “I played right into it like a fool. I always did with you, and youpreyed on that to get what you want.”

“That’s not it at all,”he replied, his own temper being tested.

“Well, what is it then?” she barked, refusing to look athim. A humourless laugh sounded in the cold room. “Don’t say it’s about feelings.Don’t try to kid yourself.”

“But it –”

“Don’t lie to me,” she growled, whirling around, baconforgotten as it spat oil angrily into the air. “I thought you were better thanthat. I was wrong.”

“Riza, I love you and I just fucking realised it this morning,”he replied. “Forgive me if I’m a little overwhelmed.”

“It took you that long to realise it?” she replied, tonemocking, but there was a wobble to it as another emotion threatened tooverwhelm her.

“Is that a problem?” Roy demanded.

“I’ve been in love with you for years, idiot,” Riza rounded on him, a single tear falling down her cheek.“Then you up and leave without a moment’s notice and leave me behind, alone, with that bastard. Then, when you come back, it’s for one thing only. One lastconquest before you go and take over the world with that cursed alchemy.”

“That’s not the case –”

“Really? It looked that way to me this morning when youfucked off after realising the mistake you had just made the night before.”Riza’s voice trembled in her anger and Roy watched as she clenched her handsinto fists by her side. “Flame alchemy can rot in hell for all I care. It’swhere it belongs, along with my father and anyone else who uses it.” She turnedback to face the oven, shoulders hunched over and beginning to tremble. Roywatched as she tried to keep control while trying to reign in his own temper. “Iwant you out of my house within the hour. Go and save the fucking world, Roy. I’llstill be here whenever the desire strikes you again.”

That hit a nerve.

That wasn’t what this was about at all and Riza wasn’t giving him a chance to explain that.

She is justified inher anger. You did leave abruptly both this morning and to join the military ayear ago. For someone who preached to Riza that you both “told each othereverything”, you failed to mention that little nugget of information.

It was because you didn’twant to admit you were leaving, another voice in his head replied. If you did, you would admit to leaving herbehind, subjecting her to living alone with her father once more. You would admit to subjecting Riza to a fatethat was so much less than she deserved.

She was so much more than a conquest.

Roy stood and Riza spun around at the sound, another teartracking its way down her face. She tried to fight it down, shifting to adefensive stance as he approached silently, eyes on her the whole time.

“What are you –?”

Roy wrapped his arms around her tightly. Riza struggledagainst his hold, the beginning of a snarl on her lips. She stilled when heburied his face in the crook of her neck.

“I love you, Riza,” he whispered against her skin. “I havedone for years, I just refused to acknowledge it this last year. If I did, thecrushing reality that I had left you behind would have hit me, and I would havecome running back.” Roy heard her breath hitch. “I had to prove to your father thatnot only was I good enough for his precious alchemy, but that I was good enoughfor you as well.” Her body froze. “I returnedwith every intention of asking him for his permission to marry you.”

A strangled sob left her throat, but it was quickly smothered.“How do I know you’re not lying?” she accused, but the anger was gone from hervoice.

“Wait here?” he asked – no, begged.

Riza regarded him for a long moment before she nodded.

Returning to the kitchen with a small black box, Riza’sbreath caught in her throat when she saw it, tears pooling in her eyes.

“The reason I left so quickly this morning was I worried youmight have thought this was a mistake. We were drunk last night, and yousounded so scared when you asked what happened, I didn’t want to see the lookon your face when you realised you had made the biggest mistake of your life. Iwouldn’t have been strong enough to survive that.”

Riza choked out a laugh. “I thought you might have thought last night was a mistake. That’s why I wasso scared.” She lowered her eyes to the space between them, but her head turnedtowards the small black box he held in his left hand. “I couldn’t face thatrejection. Not after everything that has happened.”

Roy nodded, chuckling and voicing the absurdity of it all.Riza joined in, wiping away a tear from her face.

“I – I know this isn’t much,” he began, his nervousnessfinally getting hold of him as he opened the black box to show a beautiful butsimple ring. I hope she can’t see howmuch my hands are sweating. “I don’t earn a lot in the academy and… I understandif you no longer, or – or never wanted to –”

Roy was cut off as a pair of lips were pressed against his.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai oneshot #fic request #ask #dvltgr #writing prompts #emma writes

[palmettoes]

i’m going to make this place your home

this is a gift for @bluetheking as part of the winter @aftgexchange. you mentioned mary coming back and i was all too happy to comply (albeit with a significantly longer and angstier fic than i intended). i hope you enjoy it, and happy holidays!

canon-typical warnings apply, namely violence, abuse (specifically parental), alcohol, and mentions of past torture

read it on ao3!

Neil Josten, starting striker for the Palmetto State Foxes and reluctant protégé of one of the country’s most notorious mob bosses, had given larger men than himself reason to quiver in their boots. (Not that larger men than himself were all that unusual to come by, but Neil wasn’t ashamed to appraise himself for the several six-foot-something would-be-giants who knew from experience not to turn their backs on him.) It wasn’t so much that his history of violence preceded him—probably a good thing too, as Neil rarely came out on top of his spats once they turned to fist and flesh—but it was hardly considered confidential that what he lacked in muscular finesse, he made up for in guts and a somewhat slow brain-to-mouth filter. The point being, Neil had a handful of subjugated bullies (to use a term that wouldn’t leave his grandmother rolling in her grave) under his belt, a team of short-tempered and overprotective ruffians at his back, and almost nothing to worry about. Or so he would have attempted to reassure himself had he known who was eagerly awaiting his return to Fox Tower.

Vacation was difficult to manage when you were a Fox. Especially when your makeshift family consisted of two progenies of a nationwide crime empire, one legally recognised psychopath, a murderer (or two), and their legal guardian. Especially when Kevin Day and Andrew Minyard were involved. Because Kevin Day refused to let an exy court out of his sight for more than twenty-four hours and Andrew Minyard refused to let Kevin out of his sight for more than maybe one hour tops. So they were a little restricted on holiday destinations and the house in Columbia was more of a second home than anything, but none of them were complaining when it meant easy access to Eden’s Twilight at a moment’s notice and radio silence from Coach Wymack who was usually not hesitant to hound them into extra practice over break. (Plus, Neil wasn’t exactly averse to having Andrew, a double bed, and a door with a lock all to himself for a whole weekend.)

But the break came to an end, as it always seems to, and they were several hours overdue their agreed return to campus by the time they managed to drag themselves and their bags—now severely lighter than they had been five days prior, what with the copious consumption of alcohol they had partaken in—out to the Maserati. Erik, having spent most of Thanksgiving holed up in Nicky’s room with a metaphorical sock on the doorknob, had seen them off at the kerb before heading his own direction to the airport, so Nicky’s demeanour was somewhat subdued during their ride back. They spent the journey in formulaic silence, but Neil was still riding a vacation high and had successfully relegated Kevin to the backseat, giving Neil ample opportunity to admire the set of Andrew’s jaw and the clench of his knuckles over the wheel from the corner of his eye. A good end to a weekend of good beginnings, Neil thought. So, naturally, the universe threw a little English on the ball as they pulled into the Fox Tower parking lot.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of Dan Wilds standing outside the entrance; arms crossed, teeth clenched, and foot tapping an unsteady rhythm into the paving stones.

“You’re late,” she said, with unnatural terseness. Nicky shrugged as he scrambled out, bouncing back from his Erik-induced mourning with practised ease.

“It’s Thanksgiving. Forgive us for getting a little carried away,” he offered by way of explanation, but Dan barely spared him a second glance. Her gaze fell instead to Neil, cracking his back as he made his way slowly round the hood of the car.

“Neil. Inside. Now. The rest of you stay.”

In his peripheral, Neil caught Nicky grabbing at Kevin’s wrist before he could move to follow but no one raised a finger to stop Andrew as he shouldered his way through the doors behind them. Neil considered telling him to wait, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. Whatever he was about to walk into (and no doubt it was bad, if it had Dan as tense as she was), he didn’t much fancy going in alone.

“There’s someone here to see you,” Dan said, as the elevator rattled to a halt on the third floor. “And then I want an explanation.”

Neil could have paused to assess the situation, but Dan sidestepped the opening elevator doors in a clear invitation for Neil to lead the way, so he bit the bullet and moved forwards. Matt was leaning stiffly against the wall outside the room he shared with Aaron and Nicky, the same tenseness lacing his frame as Dan’s. Neil thought there was a greeting somewhere on his tongue ready to spill, but it died the second his gaze flitted to the woman standing alongside. Though years had etched wrinkles into her skin and a new stoop to her shoulders, the long, curly hair and dark, weathered skin was unmistakeable. Neil traced the outline of her figure, familiar yet unrecognisable in places where time had broken her back, until his eyes caught hers and Mary Hatford—she of the false identities and paranoid promises, of hotel rooms and guns under unfamiliar pillows, of firm love and firmer bruises—blinked back at him.

Seconds passed. Minutes stole the breath from Neil’s lungs. Days melted their surroundings into shadows until Neil knew nothing, nothing, nothing but the slit-eyed stare cradling him in arms like vices. He was walking, maybe, though he couldn’t see far enough to check his feet were actually stepping one in front of the other. The whole world became a tightrope; his past at one end, his present and future at the other, and him—a weightless body in between, two gusts away from blowing off into the horizon.

Everything tilted back into sharp colour with the slide of a hand into Neil’s hair. Pain jolted through his scalp, familiar and welcoming, with a tug to drag him forwards.

“Abram.”

He hadn’t thought he’d hear that voice again, like knives and blood and running running running, but Mary pressed her cheek to his, her lips a weight at the lobe of his ear, and whispered his name twice more like he might disappear if she didn’t give him solidity enough to stay. He had an inch on her now—the product of sunshine and full meals, while she tucked herself into dampened corners—but he shrank under her fist, shedding years of his life until eight-year-old Abram stared at her wide-eyed, knowing nothing but hurt and losing.

This was coming home after a lifetime of leaving, and Neil felt sick to his stomach.

“Neil,” Andrew said, a million miles away but hurtling towards them at breakneck speed. Neil twisted, searching for a different kind of home, a different kind of family that didn’t leave the taste of bile heavy in his mouth, but Mary held him in place with a sharp tug that sent lightning down his spine. She gave enough leeway for him to pull back just slightly, to watch the way her gaze pierced through Andrew and saw everything Neil didn’t have words for yet.

“Your father is dead. We have a lot to discuss,” she said at length, relinquishing her hold with a jerk and making uniform steps towards the stairs. It took no thought for Neil to follow—his feet knew their place even if his brain didn’t.

“Neil, who—” Dan started, a hand out as if to stop him. He gave her a rueful smile, gaze flitting between her and Matt, and ignoring Andrew with calculated difficulty.

“My mother,” he said honestly, because there was nothing left to lie about. “Team meeting when I get back?”

And he left them, stranded aimlessly on the third floor with their thoughts in utter turmoil.

Mary waited for him in the stairwell and set off again the second he made an appearance, light and quick on her feet as ever despite the age lining deep frown lines on her brow. The rest of Andrew’s lot were leant up against the Maserati, waiting obediently for a signal to enter. Nicky made to call out, but a curt shake of Neil’s head and the unfamiliar presence stepping out into the open seemed to cut him off short.

“Take me somewhere,” Mary said, without sparing a glance at the three blatantly obvious onlookers. “Somewhere we can talk.”

Neil took the lead, trailing Perimeter Road down to the campus green. It was empty enough in the early evening, the frosty edge of winter riding in on the skirts of autumn, that they could talk without fear of eavesdroppers, but open and close to home still so Neil could squash the urge to seek out every possible escape route. It was old habit buried under months of safety and security, but it came rushing back with the furtive twitch of Mary’s eye that brought his past knocking no matter how desperately he tried to bar up the door.

They stared each other down with clenched fists and tight jaws, an insurmountable rift and three feet of grass between them. Time was nothing when Mary held him in her eyes—minutes passed unchallenged and he let them wash over him. How long they stood there, he did not know, but one minute Mary watched him like a dark cloud hovering just out of reach and the next, something cleared in her vision. Thunderclouds still claimed the corners of Neil’s eyes; else, he might have ducked before his cheek began to sting. (It would have been futile. Submit, his body screamed, it’s the only thing you know how to do.) He could feel every inch of Mary’s open palm imprint itself onto mottled skin, leaving bruises further than skin deep on parts of him that he didn’t know how to bandage up. It felt like home and fear, and tasted just bittersweet enough for Neil to know this was where he belonged.

“You idiot,” Mary hissed, grafting a hand to his scalp again and pressing the thumb of her other into the base of his throat, pushing down down down until breathing was nothing but a distant memory. “You never learn, do you?”

Neil closed his eyes, took a shallow breath through his nose, and let himself relax in her grip. This was familiarity, was comfort. Above all else, he knew how to be Mary Hatford’s son.

The pressure at his throat disappeared but the hand remained in his hair, nails digging just deep enough to make him wince if he moved. He could feel his cheek spasm where the phantom weight of her slap still rested and his nerves ran dead ends across scarred flesh. Every movement, every brush of her skin against his, was magnified, electrifying him from head to toe.

“Did you keep any of your promises?” she said, her voice a whisper one hundred decibels too loud for the quiet atmosphere.

“I did.”

The first words Neil had spoken to her since her supposed death three years ago. They tasted like gasoline and sand in his mouth.

“Liar.” Mary’s hand tightened in his hair and Neil could feel the tug of each separate strand like a thousand tiny needles biting into his skin. He gasped softly, just short of a keening whine, and let his eyes roll closed again. The pain had a grasp on his brain but through the fuzziness, he could feel her warmth where she was almost brushing against his chest. She was right here despite everything, despite Neil’s incompetence and his brashness and his breaking, always breaking. She had come back for him. He always knew she would.

“It’s not a lie,” he said, teeth gritted against a plea that he would never let her hear. “You. I never told them about you.”

Her hand disappeared, slipping away so quickly he stumbled under the weight of having to hold himself up. There was a foot of air between them before he managed to catch himself, and it felt like losing all over again, like reaching desperately for something—someone—already gone. Neil watched his mother step away from him as eagerly as she’d moved closer. Little Abram watched a car go up in flames.

“They thought you were dead,” Neil said. There was no squeeze at his throat, no yank in his hair, but the words came out a gasp anyway. He had lost his breath three years ago on a beach in California and had failed to catch it ever since. “I told them you were.”

Mary held her glare a few seconds longer, expression unreadable as it always had been. Neil had long since given up searching for telling in her eyes. She had always been the better liar of the two.

“I wasn’t good enough for this life? You gave them everything, but you left me behind?”

And this—this was familiar. There was no winning against Mary Hatford. Neil could play all his cards right, but it wouldn’t change the fact he’d been dealt a duff hand. Losing was easy; boys like Neil Josten were not built to be winners.

“They let me be a part of their family. I didn’t want to screw it up,” he said anyway, because, despite a year of healing and learning, there was a death wish under his tongue and violence ingrained in his bones. He didn’t know how to survive when he wasn’t putting himself in danger.

Mary’s fist cracking against Neil’s jaw was a new sensation. Her open palm he knew as well as his own—every splay of her fingers, every crease of her skin. There was the weight of a golf club imprinted to his torso, far more permanent than any bruise or scar. The bite of her nails into his flesh until they drew blood was a fresh reminder on every inch of his body. She had been tough love, hurting and healing on repeat until he learnt his place, tearing him apart herself so that no one else got the chance to. But the clench of her fist was unfamiliar—a weight he did not carry in the back of his mind. He felt it now as she collided with his chin, tectonic plates meeting in a rupture of the skies. Neil was mountains, and earthquakes, and crumbling under weights unknown. After all this time, Mary knew best how to pick him undone.

“I am your family.”

Her voice was dangerously quiet and leaking venom from places where her resolve cracked through, but the words were honey to Neil’s tongue and nothing had ever tasted sweeter.

“Abram, we’re all we have. You won’t leave me again, okay?”

Neil could have screamed; could have reminded her it was she who left him stranded on California’s coastline with hands that smelled like burning metal. He could have turned his back and slipped easily into the life he had made in her absence. He could have. He didn’t.

“We’re all we have,” he echoed, and when she reached to cup his face between her rough palms, he tilted into the touch. She was his family. She would not leave again.

“Come home with me. The season is almost over. We’ll do Christmas,” Mary said.

“Home?” he asked. The word sounded like Foxes, like court walls and keyrings and Columbia and Andrew’s thigh pressed to his on the couch. Andrew. The word sounded like Andrew.

“England. Your uncle has given us a place to stay. We’ll be safe at last.”

Safety would always be a novelty to Neil, a luxury he could not afford to indulge. He thought of Wymack picking him up from the airport, of Allison smoothing foundation over his skin, of Andrew holding him together in hotel rooms and bathroom showers and at the end of the world. And he thought of his mother drying his tears and holding his hand, of unfamiliar faces blinking out of cracked mirrors, of bandages and alcohol and smoke. And maybe he already knew what it was to feel safe. Maybe he always had.

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

***

The journey back to Fox Tower passed in relative silence, but Neil’s thoughts were buzzing into overdrive. He didn’t need to imagine the look on his teammates’ faces when he told them what he had agreed to—he had seen it too many times already. But he had only promised to go home, not to stay. He would spend Christmas in England with Mary and Stuart, and would be back before the season started up again. They would hardly notice his absence.

Mary left him in the parking lot, promising her hotel was nearby and she would come back for him soon. Neil’s apprehension heightened as he took the stairs up to their floor, prolonging the inevitable as indefinitely as he could.

He wasn’t remotely surprised when he let himself into his dorm to find more than just Kevin and Andrew awaiting his return. The Foxes (minus the freshmen) were spread across the couches and floor, silence and concern tense in the air. The click of the door shutting behind Neil was enough to rouse them from their vigil, and he paused just inside the doorway as eight heads turned to meet him.

There were several sharp intakes of breath and Renee’s quiet “Oh Neil”, but Neil’s focus was on Andrew, who had risen almost instantly and was pacing steadily towards the door. Neil didn’t miss the way he fingered the edge of his armbands carefully, as if double checking the presence of his knives.

“Andrew,” he said warningly, taking a shuffled step back towards the door in a feeble attempt to block it from Andrew’s sight. It did nothing to deter him.

“I’m going to kill her.”

Andrew sounded about as cheerful as Neil had ever heard him off-medication, but it hardly masked the ferocity behind his words. Neil may not have wanted to admit it, but he knew Andrew meant every syllable. He backed up fully against the door, pressing himself flush against the wooden frame.

“No,” Neil said, loudly enough for someone to flinch across the room, but his eyes stayed fixated on the way Andrew’s arm stilled a hair’s breadth from jostling Neil out of the way. “We don’t have a deal anymore and I’m not in danger anyway. I’m asking you to stay out of it.”

His voice left a heavy silence in the air, tight with levelled stares and held breaths. The room was still clustered with bodies, but they might have melted into nonexistence for all Neil noticed their presence, because Andrew wasn’t retreating, wasn’t blinking, was there but wasn’t there there and Neil needed so desperately to bring him back before things turned nasty.

“Someone needs to tell her what happens when she touches my things.”

The words were careful, like bow to string; dangerous, like match to flame; deadly, like blade to heart. Neil heard the venom laced through them and knew it meant Andrew was only backing down, not off.

“Let me.”

Andrew’s hand dropped like a weight at that, falling heavily to his side. He turned away before Neil caught his expression, but couldn’t mask the way his hand curled a fist into the hem of his shirt. He settled wordlessly back into the couch, the space between him and Kevin an open invitation. Andrew would wait. The other Foxes deserved an explanation first.

Neil took the proffered seat, wincing at the five sets of eyes that tracked his bruised jaw. They had gathered to hear him spill secrets around worse injuries, but he was rough edges and raw interior, and every cut and bruise would always leave them on edge.

Neil cast his eyes to the cornice where the wall met the ceiling and spread his hands open, palm-up in his lap, searching for a place to start. The freshmen were spared this impromptu team gathering, and he was stupidly grateful. They knew of the history that undermined Neil Josten as Nathaniel Wesninski, because they were Foxes and reserved the right to know who they were playing for, but there were parts of him they’d never understand. They hadn’t seen him disappear into the shadows at the edge of his home state; hadn’t seen him spill himself all over the floor in a mad rush to let out everything he should never have kept hidden; hadn’t seen him return time and again a bloodied, broken mess just to let his family patch him back up from loose threads and gentle touches between them. And, for everything they knew and everything they couldn’t understand, this was something they didn’t need to be privy to.

“Mary Hatford didn’t die from internal bleeding on a beach in California. And when I burned the car, she wasn’t inside it.”

Neil could almost hear the sound of eight brains whirring to keep up with this new information. No one prompted him further. He thought it would be easier to speak once he got the first sentence out, but something stuck in the back of his throat, making it difficult to swallow or breathe or find words enough to explain himself.

When he hadn’t heard from her after a year in Millport, he figured that was it. He had never intended to tell the Foxes about her—it was the one promise he couldn’t bring himself to break. But nor had he thought she would come back for him. Hoped, yes, but it seemed nothing more than childish dreams. Suffice to say, he was not prepared for this conversation.

“It was safer if we weren’t together. My father’s people—they were looking for a woman and a boy. They never expected us to separate.”

“She abandoned you?” Allison said furiously, unable to stop herself from breaking the silence of Neil’s audience.

“She waited until I was eighteen,” Neil said before he could bite the words back. It was old habit to jump to her defence. There was no way to make them understand that everything Mary had done had been in his best interest. “I was an adult.”

“Barely,” Matt said, a look in his eye like he was remembering the Neil who had showed up to Palmetto State University with a duffel bag and a bubble of lies.

“She gave me money, and contacts if I ran into trouble. It was only temporary. We were supposed to find each other when it was safe, but…” Neil let his voice trail off but he was sure they knew where his words were headed. But it’s never safe. But Nathan has eyes everywhere. But I am a burden and a threat to her survival.

“When I left Millport to come here, I didn’t think she would ever come looking for me. I never told you because I never thought it would come up.”

It sounded like a cheap excuse. He had promised them he wasn’t going to lie anymore, but it was too easy to fall back on the same old stories. As long as she was dead, Neil didn’t have to think about her. Some days he convinced even himself that she had met a quick death at the barrel of a gun; that she had been on her way back to him when a bullet lodged itself in her brain. It was easier than accepting that she just hadn’t cared enough to find him.

“Les Moriyamas savent-ils qu’elle est encore en vie ?” Kevin said, finally. His knuckles were taut where they clenched over his knee and his gaze a weight on Neil’s profile. Neil flicked a glance up to meet Kevin’s, before refocusing on the entire room.

“I don’t know how much the Moriyamas know,” he said, ignoring Kevin’s disapproving huff at the switch to English, “but if they knew she was alive, I doubt she would be for much longer.”

No one had a response to that. It was nothing but the bitter truth, distasteful and heavy on the tongue as honesty so often is. Mary was as much a loose end as Neil, and she didn’t have the benefit of a deal cut with Ichirou. If her survival was discovered, it would not last. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, sitting uncomfortably in the air between them, but nor was it a sad one. It was just the truth.

“Your face,” Nicky said, gesturing to the corresponding spot on his own jawline that bloomed purple on Neil’s. There was question in there somewhere, though it didn’t quite sound like one. Neil answered anyway.

“My fault. I provoked her.”

Dan stood abruptly, Matt’s hand falling limply from her lap in the process. The tense set of her shoulders was mirrored in each of the Foxes as they pierced glares into the bruise at Neil’s chin. Neil twisted his head to Andrew, expecting to find comfort in casual indifference, but Andrew had stilled beside him. He wasn’t looking at Neil, but there was violence in his eyes—the reflection of blades, and car crashes, and the cold metal of a gun. His fist still creased the fabric of his shirt in a desperate attempt to hide the shake of his fingers, or to deter the anger claiming his muscles, Neil wasn’t sure which. Neil had seen his Foxes through thick and thin; had seen them throw fury between one another like exy balls; had seen them come together as he fell apart. He had seen them in pain and sorrow, and in honey-sweet triumph, but he had not seen them like this. With electricity crackling through the air between them. With clenched fists and grit teeth and anger so palpable Neil could feel it burning his skin.

“You know this isn’t okay, don’t you?” Renee asked softly, uncertainly. Her voice stole the tension from the room, leaching it from tight shoulders and bitten lips. Dan collapsed back onto the couch, as if the anger had been the only thing keeping her together, but she ignored the inviting hand Matt laid in the gap between them. Neil tried not to think too much of it.

“She’s just doing what’s best—”

“Don’t be so obtuse.”

Renee pressed her fingertips to Allison’s knee before she could say more, but Neil knew it did nothing to subside her fury. He couldn’t explain it—not in a way they would understand. They didn’t know how much of a nuisance Neil had been growing up, how often he had complained when they went without meals or when his feet were too blistered to walk further, how distracted he got by the little things like the local sports team or the soaps on hotel TVs. They didn’t know Mary had taught him the only way he would listen: with bruises and burns.

“You don’t understand,” he said, buying himself time as he searched for words to explain himself.

“I do,” Aaron said, before Neil could find what he was looking for. He didn’t offer anything further, but he caught Neil’s eye contact for the briefest of moments. It wasn’t warmth or comfort or even the vaguest essence of friendliness, but nor was it the cold, angry stare he usually reserved for Neil. It was just understanding. Support came in the strangest of forms.

“She won’t see you anymore. She isn’t welcome here,” Dan said, when it became apparent no one was chasing the thread Aaron left dangling in the air. She looked small and scared, anger brittle in the tremor of her fingers, but her voice didn’t shake once. Neil felt at once grateful and saddened, because he knew he had to let her down just once more.

“I’m staying with her for Christmas.”

“You’re what?” Nicky squawked. Several voices clamoured over one another, and Neil only caught fragments of each of them. You’re not— She’ll kill— We won’t let— You can’t be serious. It didn’t matter what they said. He had made up his mind. Because Neil knew what the others didn’t—couldn’t—understand. He knew that Mary and he were a unit, two parts of a whole that would always find their way back to each other. Mary was no worse a person than Neil himself and, against all odds, she had risked everything to find him again. He wouldn’t let that be in vain.

***

(Two silhouettes and an empty rooftop. Forgotten cigarettes burning to the filter. A hand on the back of his neck instead of around his chin. It’s your choice.

Two hearts chasing circles around one another. Air dirty with mislaid secrets. Fingers in his hair to keep him steady, or keep him close, or keep him whole. I’ll come back to you.

Their lips were gentle when they touched, fire and fury as always, but only softness over bruised jaws. It hurt, it hurt—it healed.)

***

Neil left one family frowning after him in Upstate Regional Airport, and boarded a plane to his other. Mary had returned to England without him, but she swore black and blue she wouldn’t hesitate to show up on his doorstep again if Christmas came and went without delivering him to her. Despite his teammates’ concern, Neil wasn’t worried. He had lived with Mary for eighteen years. He had to believe she had already done her worst to him.

“It’s only two weeks,” Neil had said, when Matt squeezed his arm so hard he might have snapped it clean in two. There were worse ways to spend Christmas break. Neil would know—he had experienced them.

Mary was nothing short of sunshine and smiles when she picked Neil up from the airport. The radio played in the car on the drive to Stuart’s house, but she talked over it. She told him about her plans for Christmas—about dinner and movies and her special hot chocolate.

Neil could almost forget the last ten years of his life had happened. When he looked at Mary, he was nine years old and they were planning secret Christmas celebrations behind his father’s back. They could never do anything big with roast turkeys and stockings, but Mary made two mugs of hot chocolate every year and turned a blind eye when Neil snuck extra marshmallows from the bag. Their first year on the run, she had wasted their weekly expenses buying cocoa and marshmallows and made cheap hot chocolate in paper cups on Christmas Day. Neil remembered wrapping his small fingers around the cup long after its contents were gone and it was cold against his palm. Mary had had to pry it from him when they moved on the next morning.

Stuart’s house was a four-bedroomed affair on the outskirts of Brighton with six northward windows and a rooftop fire escape. Neil took all of this in as they stalled in the driveway, his relived memories leaving him raw and vulnerable, falling into abandoned routines. He had brought only his duffel with him, to avoid baggage claim at the airport, so he had no excuse to linger by the car after Mary stepped out. Walking up to the front door felt like a march to the gallows, and stepping over the threshold was putting the noose around his own neck. Neil spared a thought for his Foxes, hoped they would enjoy their respective Christmases, and sealed his fate.

Mary kept the household busy over the week leading up to the big day. They were doing Christmas properly this year, she insisted, since they were finally a family at last. There was only three of them in the house, but the meal they prepared in advance would have fed a professional exy team twice over. Neil found the methodical chopping, boiling, and calling to one another across the messy kitchen became a comfort after the first few days, but he could never quite relax. He locked the door to his room overnight and slept with one of Andrew’s knives under his pillow. It was less reassuring than a gun, but comforting nonetheless.

Whenever he wasn’t needed for preparations, Neil snuck out the fire escape and burned cigarettes on the roof. He had taken to buying Andrew’s brand out of habit, and the smoke smelled less like burning metal and more like the Foxhole Court. He thought more and more every day that he would survive this. Mary was playing at the mother he had always wanted her to be, and Stuart was as distant as Nathan but not nearly as dangerous. And Neil had a ticket to South Carolina tucked in the pocket of his duffel. He would make it home.

Christmas Eve brought the first inkling of the old Mary Hatford blinking back into existence. Neil’s defences were weakened, his thoughts muddled by the easy routine they had fallen into. He was standing in Stuart’s cosy sitting room, watching Mary stoke the fire and waiting for Nicky to text back with an update, when she made her move.

“You’ve grown soft, Abram. Too fond. Too trusting,” she said without looking up. Neil snapped his phone shut abruptly, focusing his attention on the muscles shifting in her shoulders as she jabbed the poker at the coals. He had known it was coming, long before he even arrived, but he’d let himself be lulled into a sense of security. Stupid. Reckless.

“The blond one. You need to let him go,” Mary continued. Neil’s fist tightened around his phone. He wouldn’t fight her here—not in her own home, not on Christmas Eve.

“I can’t,” was all he said. It was the truth, plain and open like Mary had taught him never to tell it. He would not fight her. But he would let her know he wouldn’t break so easily these days.

“He isn’t good for you. He makes you weak.”

“He doesn’t,” Neil said, the defiance like copper on his tongue but still honest in ways he was learning to be. “He is my family.”

Neil Josten was the fastest striker in collegiate exy. He spent half his time dodging stray balls and hefty rackets. But even he wasn’t quick enough to avoid the poker that flew from his mother’s hands at those words. It glanced off his cheek before he could think to duck and, by instinct, he drew his arm up to force it away from his body, sending a searing pain all through his wrist. He crumpled, cradling his face with one hand and curling his body around the other in a measly form of protection. In the blink of an eye, he was tied to the passenger seat of a car, a dashboard lighter licking scars into his cheek. He was handcuffed to Kevin’s Evermore bed, a burning wire slowly peeling the skin from the palm of his hand. He was on the floor in his father’s Baltimore house, a heated iron discarded beside him and the sensation of every nerve in his shoulder being ripped one by one from his body.

“Oh, Abram. Silly Abram. Haven’t I always told you not to play with fire?”

Mary knelt at his side, pushing his hand away to tilt his face into her line of sight. Her cool fingers were a salve to his flaming cheek, and she held him together gently with a palm cupping his chin. Neil would fall apart without her—it was a wonder he hadn’t already. She knew how to treat burns, how to clean wounds, how to stitch him back together piece by careful piece.

“I know what’s best, remember? He is not good for you,” she said, her eyes full of concern as though she couldn’t have predicted the burning poker slipping from her own fingertips. She brushed his hair back with one hand and used the other to draw him close enough to kiss his forehead, all sense of anger stolen from her limbs. She had never been wrong before. Neil needed no further incentive to trust her.

“Okay, Mama,” he said, leaning into her touch like he was chasing the last breath of oxygen left on the planet. “Okay.”

***

Mary Hatford was a mother, not a gaoler. She didn’t lock doors or bar windows, because she didn’t need to. Because she was keeping only those who wished to be kept. This would be her downfall.

In lieu of a goodnight, Neil had received a rolling pin to the stomach for mentioning holiday meals with the Foxes, and a handful of painkillers by way of apology. The rolling pin had been wooden and flimsy, but Mary knew force if nothing else. As the evening wore on, breathing became a chore and movement nigh on impossible. Neil could feel the cracked rib worse than ever as he contorted his body to shimmy out the bathroom window, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and tugged himself out onto the window ledge. He dropped softly to the grassy outcrop framing the side of the house, spared a glance for the dark window of his second-storey bedroom, and was grateful the bathroom had been built a floor below. As soon as he was clear of the garden, Neil picked up speed, his instincts leading him towards the sound of buzzing traffic where he would hopefully be opportune enough to hitch a ride. His chest throbbed dully under the fissure in his ribs and his lungs ached for a break far earlier than he would usually need one, but not once did he glance back at the house he had left behind. There was no family for him there any longer.

Last minute tickets to the States weren’t cheap, but Neil had the luxury of having spent almost three years under one identity and the money saved was a godsend. The flight passed in mild discomfort, and Neil took to reciting exy stats to distract himself from the pain in his lower chest. Somehow, it kept him sane.

By the time he stepped out of Upstate Regional Airport into the chilly air of South Carolina’s winter, it was mid-morning on Christmas Day. Activity was sparse in the airport, but not entirely dead. Neil switched on his phone, his thumb automatically hovering over the speed dial. Andrew’s name was first, Wymack’s blinking just underneath, followed by the other Foxes one by one. He flicked the phone shut before he could tap any of them and moved off to hail a taxi. It was Christmas, after all. They were probably busy.

Fox Tower was empty when Neil let himself into the dorms to drop off his duffel, but he knew the way to Abby’s house by memory. It was a longer trek by foot than he had imagined—he started out at a jog but his ribcage screamed bloody murder until he relaxed into a casual stroll—and his injuries were a little worse for wear by the time he arrived. He paused in the driveway, an attempt to collect his composure from where it dragged at his heels masked under his need to catch a breath. The sitting room curtains were pulled wide and, through the bay windows, Neil could make out Andrew’s lot splayed across the room. He watched them for several precious minutes, a softness growing in his stomach, forcing its way through his chest, and cascading up his throat in a bubbling urge to tear up. They five of them (Neil included) had been planning to spend the holidays in Germany with Erik’s family, but had pulled out last minute to stay in South Carolina with Abby and Wymack. They never spoke about it, but they didn’t have to for Neil to know it was because of him. Because this is where he would come if things fell apart. Because he had returned alone from a broken Christmas once before and they would not let history repeat itself.

It took more effort than it was worth for Neil to force his gaze away from them and make the final few steps to the front door. He rang the doorbell, though he knew it would be unlocked, in a sudden bout of self-consciousness. He would always be welcome, he knew that, but it was too much to expect them to open their arms when he let himself be torn open time and time again. He would not walk in unannounced, and if they wanted him gone he would go.

It was Wymack who answered the door, half turned over his shoulder as the tail end of an insult left his lips. His smile was good-natured, fond even, and Neil felt all the worse for forcing his inconvenience upon it. The expression slipped as Wymack turned his full attention to the doorway, replaced by rigid fury and barely-visible concern concealed under a glare.

“Christ, Neil. Not again.”

Neil knew the others were listening in, because the house went still the second his name was thrown into open air. Wymack dragged Neil inside with a firm grip on his shoulder the same instant as Andrew barged into the hallway, Nicky, Kevin, and Abby hard on his heels with Aaron trailing behind. Wymack was smart enough to drop his hold on Neil when Andrew approached and moved to hang back with the others. Neil barely noticed them out the corner of his vision—he was caught in the webs Andrew was spinning with furious eyes. They stared each other down, neither moving nor speaking. Andrew lifted a hand to hover over the burn on Neil’s cheek, but didn’t touch the tender flesh. His eyes flicked over Neil’s body, searching for further impairments.

“Where else?”

Neil raised his right arm, displaying the matching scar still fresh on his wrist.

“My ribs too. Something might be broken.”

“Shit,” Nicky breathed, somewhere to the right. Nobody else spoke. Andrew’s gaze continued to set itself on fire.

“Abby,” Andrew finally said into the thickened air. Abby squealed at the abrupt mention of her name but disappeared almost instantly in search of a First-Aid kit. Andrew lifted his arm again, brought it this time to hover over the back of Neil’s neck.

“Can I—?” he asked. Neil nodded—a little too quickly, a little too eagerly—and Andrew dropped the weight of it onto the juncture between Neil’s shoulders. For the first time since Mary’s unexpected appearance, Neil discovered that he still remembered how to breathe. All his jagged edges flowed out of him as Andrew steered him into the sitting room, leaving him raw and empty but finally with enough space to fill his lungs.

Andrew climbed onto the back of the couch and forced Neil down in front of him, his knees pressed just beneath Neil’s shoulder blades and his hand a constant presence pressing on Neil’s neck. Abby shooed the crowded Foxes out of her way as she hustled back through with the First-Aid kit in hand. She started with his burns, methodically dressing and wrapping them with gentle fingers. She was too familiar, had patched him up like this too many times. Neil watched the grey clouds passing over her face as she worked, and thought she did not deserve to look so grim. He hated himself all the worse for causing that expression too often to count.

When she moved on to press a gentle hand over his ribcage, the others mysteriously drifted out of the room, murmuring something about checking on the roast. Neil let Andrew tug his shirt up over his head, gasping a little at the pain it took to lift his arms so high, and Abby carefully prodded at the points where it hurt to breathe. Neil didn’t think about his mother’s smile when she saw him in Heathrow Airport, her hips swaying as she chopped potatoes in the kitchen, her eyes darkening as she slammed a rolling pin between his ribs and hissed at his mentions of family other than her. He focused instead on Andrew’s palm, flat and hot against his skin, and on the repetitive nature of his breaths. In. He was here, in this moment, in this house, not there in another. Out. He would not have to see Mary’s twisted scowl ever again. In. He was safe as long as he had this roof over his head, as long as he had this hand on his neck. Out. He was a Fox and he had a family who would always welcome him home.

Once Neil was fully clothed once again, the others crowded the room with platters of food and cheer just a little too buoyant to be believable. Wymack cast a cursory glance over Neil’s bandages, searching out answers in a silence that he knew better than to break.

“We will talk about your necessity to put yourself in unpleasant situations,” he said at length, “but right now, it’s Christmas. Let’s eat.”

They tucked into Abby’s usual spread, chatting around mouthfuls of food and swigs of wine. The elephant in the room that was Neil’s past was left untouched, but Andrew didn’t move from his position at Neil’s back and, bit by bit, Neil found his breath returning to him.

***

Boxing Day saw the two of them bundled in their matching coats, legs dangling off the side of the rooftop and breaths clouded around puffs of smoke. They had spent the morning at Abby’s, lazily cleaning the previous day’s messes and forcing Neil into another check-up, before they were released back to the Tower.

Now, they sat in silence and watched the sun disappear behind the hazy sea of buildings laid out in front of them. There was a question somewhere between them, unvoiced and ignored but it disrupted the air with its awkward presence. Neil watched Andrew smoke his cigarette to a stub, crushed his own into ash, and stared out at the rapidly vanishing horizon.

“I just wanted to go home.”

Andrew gave him a funny look at that, pressing the cherry of his cigarette into the roof beneath them absentmindedly. The whole world felt a million miles away when he shifted to face Neil properly. And Neil would climb through a thousand bathroom windows with a thousand broken ribs from a thousand jealous mothers for this moment. When it was just him, and Andrew, and the ground four storeys below.

“You are home,” Andrew said, then grabbed his chin in both hands and kissed him into the dying sunlight.

#the foxhole court #all for the game #aftg exchange #my words #maz.dox #andreil #aftg #tfc #honestly with timezones idk if it's still too early to post this but ? i leave for a flight in a few hours so ?? #oOPS u might be getting this a little early #abuse // #violence //