#(how he could be having an honest open moment with somebody and the instant it was his turn to do so he'd lie or evade noticably or not) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

asterjennifer · 2 years ago

Text

Mark

Fandom: Mystic Messenger

Pairing: Saeran & Saeyoung (& V)

Word count: 2,599

After so long apart, it was inevitable for them to me again.

He resigned to the idea that's been feed to him. However, his other half isn't exactly thinking the same.

The moment they stood together in front of the big doors forced his heart to swell up into his throat. The wodden color of warm brown reached his consciousness only in vague shapes, he couldn't really focus on a specific detail on the door. He stood as straight as a candle; unsure how to approach the entire situation.

“Do you need some more time?”

Jihyun's voice was soft when reaching out to the younger man beside him, stiffer than he'd like to admit. His voice was welcoming, warm even the moment he noticed his distress, however, he only shook his head.

“No, no… I am okay. Let's go inside.”

Mint colored hair fell forward after Jihyun titled his head to see his face better; much to his displeasure. He breathed through before rocking back to his heels for a second, taking in more air. It would be fine and it's nothing that's having business leaving his heart to almost hammer out of his chest.

The two, big hands on his shoulders caught him off guard. Turned with ease in order to be face to face, and Jihyun looked at him the way he'd done quite a lot lately. Fresh determination inside his shining eyes that paired ever so well with the new found calm he'd claimed over time. Yet a honest expression of strict feelings that kept his face wrinkle free.

“I mean it, Saeran. If you feel too nervous then we can go in a little later. This small amount of time won't do anything.”

He hushed his racing brain one more time. For a moment he's speechless, wondering how often that actually happened over the short years he spend alongside his old guardian. It's not that he's not wanting to see these familiar faces, it's everything evolving around them. He didn't know what's changed about them specifically. He sighed when closing his eyes, reaching up to put his hand over Jihyun's.

“I'm okay.” He promised firmer. “Please… Just go in first, that way I have a second to process my surroundings.”

Jihyun kept his eyes straight as if trying to see through his soul for any particular lie. But Saeran meant it; he's ready despite his nerves threatening to snap. The older one took in a deep breath, patting his shoulder much too gently and finally letting go of him.

“Okay then. Let's meet them.”

Without another exchange of looks or words, Jihyun grabbed the doorknobs and turned them open. The noises of the party broke through immediately and the atmosphere did a one-eighty considering the smell of food, drinks and people hit forcefully. The lights inside the big hall lightning up the main floor brightly, a little too bright in Saeran's opinion.

He blinked at the pain it caused, lifting his hand up out of reflex. He didn't expect to find so many people in the room, he'd suspected perhaps hundred. Two hundred maximum. But this easily could've been a doubled number of faces, it caused his hands to shake from the pressure he's suddenly finding himself under.

“Don't worry.” Jihyun's voice reached out between the million others.

Saeran watched how he offered his hand in the middle of public. The smile lingering on the older one's face between doting and considerate, could be both at once for all he knew. It's embarrassing given some of the strangers already turned their attention to the scene he's involved in. Although it's maybe childish in some sense he's unwilling to see, he took Jihyun's hand tightly.

It's an instant reassurance that he's not alone right in the heat of the moment. Jihyun had strangely developed this trait of providing him his hand when seemingly overwhelmed. Not that Saeran complained, it's a nice gesture of care. It's difficult to get used to regardless. He's more than grateful though, it's not something somebody has given to him that openly before.

Jihyun began to lead them through the mass skillfully, like he knew exactly where to go. The people's voices lingered in his ears as the shimmer of the stage at the right side of the room kept attacking his eyes. The red curtains fit perfectly well to the red carpet running along the entire floor. The walls a golden touch, exactly like the lights and pattern in the ceiling.

He felt out of place by how fancy everything appeared. It's not quite right he was going across this hall. This very building he'd sworn to tear down one day, bury the dust deep into the ground right next to its occupiers. Days became blurry afterwards and now it could be laying back centuries ago, on the other hand it's just yesterday where he thought of demolishing it all.

“Wait here, Saeran. I will announce your presence as soon as I spoke to them.”

Fuzzy feeling, he thought to himself. His own steps came to an standstill, Jihyun let go of his hand altogether and suddenly he stood by himself behind the stage inside the darker part of the party. Ironical, a little fainted voice in the back of his head mumbled, quickly he suppressed it.

He peeked around the corner due to his insatiable curiosity. His hand against the wall's burning and he's certain the place itself is already flaming independently. But finally he could see them all in the very center of their successes.

Jaehee and Jumin stood with their usual professional attitude when discussing something that must've been important as usual. Yoosung and Zen lending an helping hand since the blond college student carried a list of his own. They looked… carefree. Happy. But there were two faces that had oxygen pressed out of Saeran's lungs right away.

She's present, too. He'd not seen her in what felt like an eternity. Eternity? Eternal...? The memories bubbled up to the surface when seeing her smile beam underneath the artificial light. She wore a pink dress, exactly how she did the day she arrived at Mint Eye two years ago. A lot more fancy today, of course. Her hair's braided back, showing the every inch of her face which hadn't changed in the slightest.

She was still pretty. Still the girl owning positive vibes, lovely attitude with her hands always being busy in some way or another. He'd not expected to feel his cheeks get warmer at the sight of her; especially now where the issue at hand wasn't his territory to play in. She's not the only face leaving his knees to wobble, though.

That red hair of childhood struck harder than prayed; the string of bitterness rose into his mouth. He wore these glasses he didn't even need in the first place. That happy suit in a lot more brighter shade than any of the two ever preferred. They both liked dark clothing most. It's true, his brother was an adult now. Simultaneously he's stayed the boy that he'd been since forever.

So many feelings woke up in a single second, just watching them laugh, speak and interact that easily with each other's concerning. They acted as themselves without a care in the world to play pretend. The RFA truly reminded of a close family.

“I've been waiting for this moment.”

Jihyun told her, to which she gazed back in confusion at first. Not long after her face shifted into pure shock, all their reactions were similar when thinking about it. Saeran's hand on the edge of the wall had strengthen the grip drastically until the tips of his fingers turned whiter than his skin.

No, he couldn't do this. Seeing them this way, peaceful and complete, where's his right interrupting this for the countless time? V assured he's wanted numerous times throughout their recovery together. Telling him they were searching, praying he survived in order to meet. Was it true?

Right there in the shadows of the greater good, far away and known by only the cloak of invisibility, he was home. All his life he's spend time in the dark by himself. There was too much light that it burned his retina, the warmth of the room letting sweat run down his back uncomfortably. This wasn't his home in the past, it wouldn't be in the presence and never be in the future.

The urge to turn on his heels and run until his body broke down filled his veins. He couldn't meet them like this, they shouldn't see him. He remembered well what exactly he'd done to the members of the organization and no matter how much time passed; this couldn't be his life. It implied so much happiness. That's nothing he's confident believing in. He couldn't be that happy without consequences.

“I have a news many of you wouldn't have expected – I'd like to introduce a new member of the RFA.”

Jihyun's tone of excitement tore him from spinning thoughts circling around his head. His body took a step back due to fear; he's aware what's about to happen. He didn't want it. He could not want it.

“I should have discussed it beforehand with the rest, but time was not so gracious with me.”

The short hint of a chuckle made Saeran's stomach sink. He couldn't smile at them if they were to find his presence soon. Should he shake hands with them? Apologize for all the destruction he'd done? Be silent and simply stand in the corner like decoration? He didn't know. Unconscious, his scar itched until he scratched it slightly.

“A new member...? But he did not discuss anything with us..” Jumin questioned.

Yoosung followed with a suspicious hint to his voice. “I think my skin is crawling right now..”

He swallowed, it's not that easy making out their words despite the short distance. People shut their mouths one after another; he's feeling the tips of his ears pulse the longer he was conscious of his body. He pressed a fist out of pure helplessness against his chest, hard and tight.

“Please give a round of applause for our newest member.”

And suddenly people were actually clapping. Saeran knew they're waiting for him, his mind went completely blank when acting on auto pilot, coming forth from the wall into the lightened side of the party hall. A variety of eyes staring holes through his tense limbs; there's not a single thing on his mind other than staring back.

He grazed the RFA, not one without wide eyes coming back. However, the second he met the ones oh-so very familiar, he's stuck in a slow motion. Saeoyung stood right there in front of him, mouth hanging open it what he assumed to be bewilderment.

“Saeran!!!”

“..!?”

It scared him to the bone. Hearing his own name being shouted by a voice he'd never imagine would even remember his existence. His ocean colored eyes widened in a different kind of shock as his older twin brother urged forward clumsily.

“You're Saeran, aren't you? It must be you!”

He yelped way too loud, way too emotional. His amber started getting wet once the tears reached the corners. Saeran felt torn, unable to keep his eyes at one point of the other's face. Exactly like before, he was left speechless. The hug that followed only added oil to the flames. His arms shot up instinctively; out of unwell emotions he'd rather forget about.

“You're alive. Thank you so much for being alive.”

The hug's strong and content, the grasp of his brother something he's sure he couldn't ever escape. His body continued to have grown a few inches taller than him, a little bigger than him, a little healthier and stronger. Nonetheless, Saeran wasn't sure who of them was weaker in that second.

“...See? I told you there is nothing to worry about.”

Jihyun tried talking to Saeran, affirmation of that kind he's not yet used to. He started shaking from head to toe, then. That scent knocking him over internally, reminding him of the ice cream under the sunny sky they shared in the past. That weird unconditional love he gave up shamefully quick.

“It must be you. Say something, Saeran...”

He pulled back to take him by the upper arms, for a brief thought he worried Saeoyung would shake him. Instead he stared in obvious desperation. What could he say? What should he say? It's luck he's standing on his feet right now and didn't fainted in the middle of the charity event.

“Saeran. It feels like you'd go away if I hold you. Don't go away! Don't you ever leave me now!”

God they pierced through deeply, each and every single world of that stupid man across from him. He shook his head slightly; unable to think of anything or find an action that could prove he's not mentally absent. Saeoyung's torturing stare finally broke away because of Jihyun, who stood behind him with the rest.

“Thanks, V. You have my gratitude for eternity.” His voice slipped at the edges.

“You saved my brother, didn't you?”

Jihyun's warm smile twisted into a painful one. “…I'm sorry I hurt him in the first place.”

He only received half of their conversation, busy scanning his other half closely. The last time he had seen his brother's face that up close was...

“.. You remember me. Even though my face is like... what it's like now.”

The second the meaning fell over his lips, he felt stupid. Supposedly should've said something touching or real for the thick air to finally dissolve. Saeyoung's head snapped back, eyebrows rising as high as they could as his grip tightened to the point of edging on hurtful.

“What are you talking about? Of course I remember my brother.”

Why did this hurt so much, but at the same time got this immense weight of doubt and shame falling down his shoulders in featherlight manner? Why did hearing that connection coming out of the other's mouth had him want to cry his soul out of his body? Why was he cursed to be melancholic even in the moments of true happiness?

“Let's never part again. Now let's stay together, safe and sound.”

Saeyoung pulled him into another hug, almost more aggressive then the one previously. Saeran this time managed laying his arms around his brother in return; to actually take hold of him after he's been unreachable for years. An emotional flame right there underneath his skin, immeasurable in comparison to a wildfire.

“...Saeyoung.”

There. He said the name out loud. A name so very conflicting to his heart. Going from the most precious word, to an insult to his faith and back to something soothing. The looks of the other RFA members filled to the brim with empathy, sadly Saeran didn't realize. He registered his own tears that ran down his cheeks, becoming more and more the longer he held his brother.

“It IS you...”

Feeling the nod, Saeyoung buried his face into the crock of his neck. The shaking of his shape unmistakably a sign of a silent cry with which Saeran was more familiar with than enjoyable. Instead of thinking over past memories, he gave the tears a pass since they're liberating. Hugging back and hiding into the suit of his older brother, mimicking his doing, almost too close to breathe properly. Yet neither could care one bit.

They stood there for mintues inside each other's arms. Hours? He didn't need to know. All he needed was to internalize the fact he finally go back the one thing he's been craving all his life. Looking for, fighting for in the first place. Crying out for endless times.

His family.

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slasherhaven · 3 years ago

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Hi! Can you Do a Bo Sinclair soulmate imagine where the reader meets him while she’s with Carly, Wade, Nick, and the rest? Maybe where you feel your soulmates pain, or something. Sorry if this is too specific lol.

Bo Sinclair X Reader

Soulmate AU: shared pain and shared scars:

You had been friends with Carly for a little while now, which was how you got invited on the group’s road trip. You weren’t a massive fan of football and didn’t care much about the game you were going to see but you thought that getting away could be a little fun.

It was the night before the game when the group decided to camp out for the night and keep driving in the morning. After setting up the tents, you all sat around with drinks, talking among yourselves.

As the group talked and laughed, you held your wrist in your hand, gently tracing the faint scarring with your thumb, an absentminded habit you had developed years ago.

“Damn, they look nasty” Nick’s voice made you look away from the others and towards him, seeing how he eyed your wrists.

“Leave her alone, Nick” Carly scolded her brother, already knowing about the scars you had received due to your unfortunate soulmate.

“Are they yours?” Nick asked, completely ignoring his sister. You weren’t sure whether he was genuinely curious or actually trying to get under your skin.

“...no” you answered honestly.

“Unlucky bastard” Nick muttered before turning his attention back to his drink, like your conversation never even happened.

With everyone’s attention going back to more light-hearted conversation, you looked down at your scarred wrist and sighed.

Carly had once asked you if you held any resentment for your soulmate, as have others in your life, and you had been perfectly honest with all of them. You held no resentment, you weren’t angry with your soulmate, you were nothing but sympathetic towards them. It wasn’t their fault that somebody hurt them like this, you just hoped that they had been able to get away from it.

Though, you doubted it. The injuries aren’t as frequent as they were in childhood, however they still occurred and they could be pretty bad. Once, you had even woken up in the middle of the night, bleeding from what looked like a knife wound.

“Here” Carly’s voice brought you out of your thoughts, making you look up to see her standing beside you with a smile. You returned her smile and accepted the can of beer she held out to you.

Opening the can, you hissed slightly as your thumb slipped and you cut yourself on the sharp metal, cursing your own clumsiness. You brought your thumb up to your mouth before lowering it again, taking a sip of your drink.

“Ah shit” Bo quietly cursed at the sudden stinging sensation in his thumb, it wasn’t particularly painful, just a shock.

He lifted his hand, noticing the slight cut on his thumb, and sighed. His soulmate must have done something stupid but he couldn’t find it within him to feel annoyed about it, not after everything he must have put them through.

He would probably be returning the favour pretty soon, since Lester had informed him of a group camping out nearby, they should be coming into town pretty soon.

After the car broke down and everyone decided that there was nothing they could do to fix it, a man named Lester had offered to take three of you into a nearby town so that you could visit the garage there. So, you, Carly, and wade ended up walking into the town that Lester had left you on the outskirts on.

Walking under the hot Louisiana sun, you had to pull your jacket off and tie the sleeves around your waist. The three of you headed straight to the garage, which was easy to find, but found that there was nobody there.

“Maybe there will be someone in the church?” Wade suggested, nodding towards the church at the end of the street.

“I’ll stay here in case someone comes back” you offered, thinking that the owner that Lester mentioned could be back any minute.

“You sure?” Carly asked, not too sure about leaving you alone in a strange place.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” you shrugged.

Carly and Wade nodded before heading to the church to find somebody who could help while you waited at the garage.

You sat down on the curb, glancing around the street. From where you were sitting, the church was just out of sight but you could see the top of the Wax Museum in the slight distance. Ambrose was a small town, extremely quiet. It almost seemed empty, only the sound of birds flying overhead breaking the silence.

After a little while of waiting, you started to wonder why your two friends hadn’t come back. Surely they would have found somebody by now and if they hadn’t you thought they would come to tell you that. You were just about to go looking for them when footsteps caught your attention. You looked in the direction of the church, seeing a man in a full black suit walking towards you.

You paused for a moment, just staring at him as he approached. It felt like the air was sucked from your lungs, like the earth stood still just for a moment. The strange feeling was all consuming, you didn’t notice the falter in his steps that suggested that he might have experienced something similar. The sensation reminded you of the description Carly had given you when she was explaining what it’s like to meet your soulmate. Though his casualness in his following question made you doubt it.

“Can I help you?” the man asked with a charming southern drawl.

“Do you work here?” you asked as you stood up, dusting off your shorts.

“Own the place” he nodded before walking over to the garage and unlocking the front door. “Are you here with two friends? I didn’t catch their names” he asked, nodding at you to follow him inside.

“Yeah, Carly and Wade. You saw them?” you nodded as you followed him into the garage, feeling some relief to be out of the harsh sun.

“Said they needed a fan belt, I sent them up to the wax museum to kill some time before I could help them. Didn’t realise they left someone else waiting here” he explained. You frowned a little, it would have been nice of them to have let you know rather than just leaving alone on the curb.

Shaking the thought away, you put another smile on your face. “I’m Y/n, by the way” you introduced yourself politely, holding your hand out for him to shake.

“Bo Sinclair” he introduced himself and took your hand, giving you a firm hand shake. His charismatic smile remained on his face, something closer to a smirk than a friendly smile. His name spoken in that alluring southern accent. You simply couldn’t help but be a little charmed by him.

His smirk faltered for a moment as he glanced down at your hands, noticing the scars that wrapped around your wrists. He paused for a moment, holding your hand a little too long as his gaze lingered on the scars.

Bo didn’t comment on it, so the small feeling you had that his man could possibly be your soulmate left your mind. There was no way he didn’t recognise them if he had the same ones. They were too unique.

In that case, you figured his staring was just because of the scarring. You had experienced people staring at them from time to time, wondering how you got them, but you never let it bother you. You weren’t ashamed of them.

Bo plastered the smirk back on his face as he released your hand. He couldn’t help but catch himself stare a little. You didn’t hide the scarring like he did. Yours were also a little fainter than his, probably because you had them tended too properly unlike him and they healed better. The intense, all consuming, feeling from earlier and now seeing the scars so similar to his own. It couldn’t be a coincidence...

“You seem a little over dressed for a mechanic” you commented to break the awkwardness, understanding the tension that had developed but the two of you seemed to move past it relatively easily.

“I was at a funeral before you’re two friends crashed it over a goddamn fanbelt” Bo told you, irritation clear in his voice. You couldn’t blame him in the slightest.

“Oh...I’m so sorry” you apologised on behalf of your friends, now feeling a little bad for dragging him away to fix up your car. “Who did you loose, if you don’t mind me asking?” you asked, hoping to be sympathetic without prying too much.

“My mother” Bo told you, making you even more apologetic.

“I’m so sorry...about my friends and that you have to fix our car” you frowned, feeling even more awful than before.

“Ain’t your fault, darlin’“ Bo assured you, truly not seeming angry with you.

You couldn’t help but blush a little at the petname, you just couldn’t deny feeling an attraction towards this man. Having felt an instant connection to him. It was strange, and you were already finding yourself a little longing, knowing you’ll have to leave once the car was sorted.

“C’mon, let’s see if I can find that fanbelt for you” Bo’s smirk quickly returned as he gestured you to follow him further into the garage. “One of your friends told me what size you needed” he informed you as he started searching through his supply of fanbelts. “And...we don’t have it” he hummed.

“You don’t? What now?” you asked with a frown, having no idea what you were supposed to do now. Where the hell were Carly and Wade?

“Don’t worry, no need to frown, sweetheart. We have the rest of the delivery up at the house, we’ll have the right size for ya” Bo assured you with a charming wink.

“You could have lead with that” you chuckled to yourself, feeling relieved and trying to ignore the way he had winked at you.

“C’mon, we’ll go up to the house and get it for ya. I’ll get my brother to tow your car and we’ll get you all sorted” he told you, quickly putting you at ease and making you feel like everything was going to work you.

“Thank you so much, Bo” you sighed, giving him a sincere smile.

“It’s not a problem” Bo nodded. “We’ll take my truck, it’s just outside” he informed you, placing a hand between your shoulder blades as he guided you outside.

The two of you got into his truck and Bo started driving towards his house. Normally this would be something that you would be suspicious about but something about him put you at ease.

“Those scars of yours...they’re pretty intense” Bo finally commented on them, he needed to know what you had to say. “They yours?” he asked, reminding you a little of your talk with Nick the night before.

“No, they’re my soulmate’s” you told him, gently rubbing your wrists.

“You must have really ripped into him when you met them, huh?” he joked half-heartedly, something in his tone that made you curious.

“Oh, I haven’t met them...but I wouldn’t rip into them” you frowned at the accusation. “I’ve had these scars since childhood, which means they likely did too...it’s not their fault somebody hurt them. I’m not angry at them at all” you shook your head, clearly meaning every word you said.

“I’d be pretty pissed” Bo scoffed before his voice softened slightly, “but you’re probably a good person.”

“They were hurt by somebody, how can I be angry at them for that? I’m angry at whoever did it to them...honestly, I just hope they’re alright now” you confessed. “Just wanna give them a hug, y’know?” you laughed lightly.

“I hope my soulmate feels the same as you, they’ve probably been through hell because of me” Bo told you.

You weren't sure what that meant, of course. You didn't know what Bo had been through to worry about his soulmate's reaction to him like that but you were sure your soulmate had some similar concerns and you didn't want to pry further.

“They won’t be mad at you” you promised him with a smile.

Bo gave you a slight smile as he pulled up outside of his house, the way he looked at you leaving you curious. You couldn't quite explain it.

As Bo and you climbed out of the truck, Bo knew that you were his soulmate and that he couldn't let you go. A part of him had been relieved to hear that you didn't harbour any resentment towards him but he knew that if you didn't hate him now, you certainly would by the end of the day.

Still, Bo was selfish. He could let his soulmate, especially such a good one like you, slip between his fingers. You were his, and you had come home. He wouldn't be letting you leave any time soon.

#bo sinclair x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x reader #slashers #slasher #my writing

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rumblelibrary · 3 years ago

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Okay this may sound like an oddly detailed request but can you do a Laszlo x reader where Laszlo has been courting the reader for a while and has never met her father, because her father is dead or abandoned her at a young age or something like that and she never told Laszlo, but Laszlo is instant on meeting him for some reason or something like that?

Sorry if thats a weird request

Unofficial Meeting [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader]

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: a bit angsty, mention of old fashioned ideas

Author’s note: I hope you will like it and I respected your wishes <3

"Miss?"

The voice of your chamber maid called you distracting you from answering some correspondence.

"Yes?"

She smiled so widely as a bouquet of white roses and peonies was presented in front of you. She giggled as she was just so happy for you. You have been courted by Dr Laszlo Kreizler for some time now, but he never missed to send you flowers on a Saturday morning, it was his ritual since you two became serious.

"Those are so beautiful, miss"

She said excitedly before leaving you to read the note, she was probably living the romance through you which was quite weird but cute to witness.

You opened the card, Laszlo usually was a brief but intense poet, but this time the message was clear. Can I tempt you with a lunch at Delmonico's?

You frowned lightly before looking out of your window, his dark clothing making him strikingly visible in the greenery of the park in front of your house, he raised his hat for you and smiled.

Damn him and his top level courting.

You put your letters away and got ready spraying some perfume on you before going out, your maid helping you with your coat and hat.

When you stepped out of the front Door Laszlo was waiting in front of your gate.

"You could have called"

He smirked at you "it wouldn't have been a surprise" he concluded simply.

You smirked as it was true and you have also learned to admire the extent of Laszlo'd courtship. He was attentive and respectful, he knew when to trace a line to forbid any kind of bad talks. He was already famous for being a maverick and he didn't want to put that stigma on you too.

You obliged him as you walked your way together to the restaurant, he never failed to ask you about your day and your plans. he was very attentive and you reserved him the same tenderness asking him about his patients or latest articles.

Once you arrived at the restaurant you were brought to one of the best tables, Laszlo taking upon himself the honour to move your chair back behind you and then back toward you for you to sit comfortably.

"Thank you Laszlo"

He smiled proudly taking it as a compliment, but he looked rather stiff and tense for his usual mannerism toward you.

Once you ordered your meal he toyed with his glass of wine a bit attracting inevitably your attention.

"What is wrong?"

He looked at you surprised by your question, but he smiled because you sort of alleviated him from the weight of beginning what he wanted to ask.

"I was just wondering when I will be able to meet your father" he said just as directly as your question was "I met your grandmother and your uncles and aunts, I am missing somebody"

He said it quite easily as your mother had left this earth early for the standard and you regret she won't be able to see what an amazing man you met.

"You don't need to meet him"

He stared at you puzzled, what really concerned him wasn't your refusal, but more the hardness you showed into expressing it.

"I think I do"

You glared at him, your conversation briefly interrupted by the waiters landing the plates in front of the two of you.

He thanked them before looking back at you, your stern look still there.

You had discussions before but never of this size and also as much as he tried before to hint the theme of your father he wasn't acknowledged at all.

He also noticed how the rest of your family followed that same guideline, acting like they found you under a tree.

"I think it is something I have to do sooner or later"

You glared at him again.

"Stop it"

It was hard for him to stop. He was already launched on the theme and he was worse than a wild animal when he got fixated over a theme in particular.

You pushed some common ground theme while you ate. Like John or Sara's agency or other mundane things, but you hated to see the intensity in his look.

That question over and over into his mind.

You never hated to be with him as much as you did now.

You declined the offer of a dessert pretty quickly just wanting to go away.

Laszlo obliged and lead you back outside escorting you to your place.

"I don't mean to be invasive.."

"But you're" you confirmed to him "thank you for the lunch, I can walk myself home on my own”

You left him there moving after your house's gate.

He stood there biting the inside of his cheek nervously.

You didn't contact him any further on that day or the ones that followed, to be honest you avoided him and his flowers and attentions. You even stayed at home instead of attending places you were supposed to be, but where he also might find you.

Until your grandmother called you and you furiously ordered your maid to call the doctor and make him come at your place.

He arrived quicker than you expected. He was worried something happened, maybe you were ill and nobody told him.

When your maid showed him the way to your study and closed the door behind him he tried immediately to politely ask you about your state but your eyes burned holes like bullets in him.

“How dare you?” You growled at him. He stood still in front of you, his back straight even if you didn’t fail to notice the frown on his forehead.

“How dare you to call my grandmother? To ask her something I specifically told you I don’t want to share or talk or even mention? What is s hard about it? What makes you rightful to come bashing into my life asking for answers? “Y/N”

“No, no Y/N, you doctor, should learn to put a line between when you’re an alienist and when you’re a decent human being” you were being extra hard on him, but just earring your grandmother worried voice was enough to make you snap his neck.

He took your rage like a champion, even if he clearly was suffering it.

“Why is so important Laszlo? Why to see your mind at ease? It is just a man, somebody that doesn’t belong to my life, why you have to push it? Why you always have to push it?” “I just hoped..” “Hoped what? Hoped that a man that abandoned a pregnant woman while courting her was worth my time and thoughts? That I need to share my own life with somebody that wasn’t there? That never asked to meet me, or even see the woman he swore to every wind that he loved? That put my mother in the position of being considered a whore? How my grandma had to pretend I was hers to try give my mother a good shot at life?”

All those truths hit Laszlo like a bag of bricks, he was overwhelmed and saddened. Those situations were the ugliest in those times. Women always paying off the debts of the lust of men. The simple promise of a marriage just to gain something that could be tasted forever with a little more of wait. Just the human need to break a rule, just one, that revolutionary feeling that only losers at heart have. Because nobody makes a revolution over the expenses of a loved one.

“I had no idea” he concluded

“I hope you are satisfied now, your scientific mind has now all the puzzle pieces, now leave and let my family alone”

You could see his shoulders fall as you said that to him, his face paling in fear and sadness. He pressed his lips tight against each other, his jaw hurting as he didn’t know if at this point was really worth it to explain why he insisted so much. He ruined it, he tried to treat you with the white gloves and instead he hurt you even more.

“I apologise” he said staring at you, you letting him speak for the first time “I never meant to put you in such a position, I really just meant to be close to your family and I couldn’t see the fault in my own desires”

He admitted it but you didn’t wince, he crossed the line, he went too far and he needed to learn to respect the limits of others, not everyone needed to be under his care.

“I said you may leave”

He looked out of your window searching for words. Your anger was waving down as he looked so upset, and he should be.

“I am also a victim of our society in my own means, even if my behaviour is not excusable in any way, I stupidly fixated on the idea of doing things right with you and some things… Well, they teach us boys some things have to be asked to a father first”

You looked at him with a frown, you shook lightly your head as you didn’t understand his point and you were five seconds away from throwing him the vase with the latest flowers he sent you when you looked at him pul out a little velvet box from his inner pocket.

“The times are modern now, it was silly of me to try move past you like that” he leaned the box on your desk. He nodded at you respectfully leaving. You were left alone with that little box, you stared at it for a moment before moving closer to it.

You looked out of the window as you heard the gates closing and you watched Laszlo’s figure walk away.

Your eyes darted from his back to the box in front of you slowly opening it to find the ring of the dreams of any girl.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief@thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl @obsidianlaszlo @alindeluce @zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahling

Let me know if you want to get tagged to my publications too <3

#laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler #dr kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler x you #dr kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler fanfiction #laszlo kreizler imagine #laszlo kreizler x y/n #laszlo kreizler headcanons #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x you

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from-a-reckless-writer · 4 years ago

Text

They were fighting.

In the DEO.

Again.

“Moms fighting again?” Nia casually leans on the desk next to Brainy, who is currently hunched over some screen.

“It appears so,” He answers, not really paying attention. In the distance you can hear yelling and the tell-tale woosh of a cape.

Nia had removed her comms the moment Supergirl spotted Lena Luthor on the field. She’s pretty sure half of the agents did the same. They all knew what was coming.

And well, if the approaching bickering were any indication...

“I had it covered!”

“Yes, because an on-coming missile with your name on it was you having it covered, clearly.”

“I saved ten lives today, Supergirl. Jealous you only saved three?”

“It isn’t about that and you know it.”

Nia sees Alex stride in, obviously going in for an attempt to pacify Supergirl.

And also because it was partly Alex’s idea to send Lena with the Alpha team, in her defense Lena was the only person she could trust enough not to tamper with the device.

“Come on, Supergirl, Lena is more than capable in the field and she volunteered. She saved the day, you kno—”

“Butt out of this, Alex.” Supergirl grits out, too busy staring Lena down to even spare her sister a glance.

“Sorry?” Alex scoffs, shocked at how easy she was brushed aside. She was tempted to pull rank and use the ‘I’m the Director, here.’ card, if she was being honest.

“No, Alex is right,” Lena points out, “I did save the day. Time for you to acknowledge that the both of us are just as capable as the other. And if saving the day means getting in the line of fire, then so be it.”

“This isn’t about you being incapable-”

“Then tell me what exactly is it about?”

Supergirl licks her lips, swallows and Lena braces herself for another retort but instead she fixes her with a stare that only Supergirl reserves for the bad guys and coolly states, “You are not to go out in the field and that’s final.”

She turns to walk out but Lena’s temper just skyrocketed tenfold.

“Wow. You did not just say that to my face.” There was something in the way that Lena Luthor’s voice dropped that made Supergirl turn around. DEO agents are openly watching on now, not even bothering at subtlety anymore. The two women fighting in front of the whole agency certainly haven’t tried subtle at all.

“Let’s make something clear here, Supergirl,” Lena fumed, “This is my life and I get to call the shots. You don’t get a say in what I decide to do or not to do. Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I don’t have a say? Rao, sorry my mistake! Forgive me for thinking that my sharing a last name with you means a cent to you as much as it does to me. You’re right, who the hell am I anyway? Sorry for wanting to keep you alive.”

Supergirl is breathing heavily two inches away from Lena’s face. Heat and anger rolling off the both of them in waves. They’re in a world of their own now. A world in which Lena is having trouble deciding on whether she should scream some more or pull Supergirl’s lips into her own.

“Im sorry- Last name?”

The voice wakes them to reality. A reality that makes both of them sober up and realize they’re in the middle of a very exposed DEO headquarters; makes them aware of the collective gasp that has just happened.

Supergirl backs away.

“Please, fucking tell me that I heard you wrong. Or I swear to God-”

Alex heads straight for Supergirl and Lena quickly realizes the implications of what Supergirl had just said. She essentially confirmed to the entire place that they’re—

“Alex, I can—”

“Yes or no, are you or are you not married?”

So, this is how Alex Danvers makes criminals confess. Lena had never seen Supergirl cower before, but by the looks of it, if Lena had been the one in the hero’s boots she’d also be shaking.

“Yes.”

Oh, no.

“Alex, listen,” Lena starts and Supergirl looks at her—no, not Supergirl, Kara—Kara looks at her and Lena sends her a reassuring gaze that screams, ‘I’m with you.’

In that instant it must’ve looked like a switch had been flipped. From Lena attacking Kara to Lena defending Kara in a split second.

“Listen, we were going to tell you. It isn’t like what you think—“

“Oh, no no,” Alex quickly dismisses Lena, “I’m not going to listen to you. This is between me and you,” Alex hissed not even looking at her, directly glaring at Supergirl instead.

“Alex, just—” Lena tries but she does the mistake of moving her shoulder in an attempt to put an arm on Alex and she cuts off with a, “Fuck.”

The Danvers sisters look up at her yelp of pain, concern flickering through their faces. Supergirl swiftly speeding to her side, and the shoulder wound she was so trying so hard to keep Kara from seeing, is now out in the open, bleeding profusely.

“You’re hurt.”

“Fuck,” Lena says again as she tries to take in a breath, pain shooting down her entire right side.

“Take her to the Med Bay,” Alex orders, eyes briefly tracing Lena’s shoulder before turning to Supergirl again, “If you think this discussion is over, you’re sorely mistaken. You and I have a lot to talk about. And I fucking mean it.”

Lena watches as Supergirl swallows in fear at the sight of the DEO director walking out.

“Everybody, back to work! Show’s over, morons!”

As if somebody had hit the play button, a buzz resumes almost exaggeratedly; DEO agents immediately flailing to get back to work, embarrassed at being called out so blatantly.

Lena tunes back in to Kara, “C’mon, hold on to me,” she mumbles, quickly bending down to put an arm around Lena’s knees and pulls her to a bridal carry.

She doesn’t point out that it’s her shoulder that was injured, not her legs; doesn’t point out that she can walk absolutely fine. Lena can clearly see how Supergirl needs to be as close to her as possible right now.

So, she clings tightly and presses harder back against her chest.

***

Lena’s mind is running a mile a minute right now, she needs to know what’s going in her wife’s mind and she needs a plan on how the both of them are going to do damage control.

Kara lays her down softly on a Med bed and without a word Lena strips herself off.

Both of them silent as Kara gets supplies on a nearby table. She sits behind Lena and cleans the wound wordlessly. She’s patched Nia up in secret, way too many times, to know how many stitches Lena needs.

“I’m still mad at you.”

Are the first words that Kara utters.

“Good. I’m still mad at you too.”

She hears Kara sigh and she doesn’t need to turn around to know that Kara’s face is scrunched up in a pout and a crinkle.

“But...that doesn’t mean I won’t protect you against Alex.”

“I don’t need protection from Alex.”

“Really?”

“Okay, fine she scared me a bit.”

Before Lena can reply she hisses in pain and Kara brings her lips near the wound and “Sorry,” she whispers.

“We have to talk about this don’t we?” Kara sighs out, finally addressing the elephant in the room.

“Yes, darling, we do.”

“We also have to reach a compromise about this, don’t we?”

“Yeah, Kara, yeah we do.”

Lena hears another sigh and she can guess what Kara would say next.

“Just so you know, I hate this. I hate this very much. If I could have my way, we’re not having this discussion and you’re staying put and staying safe and not running off to danger. Hell if I can have it my way you won’t even be stepping inside the DEO. But...I can’t have my way can’t I?”

“No, darling, I’m sorry.”

Kara sounds so helpless and Lena just wants to make all the complications in their relationship go away. But that’s not how real life relationships work. Relationships are hard and messy and work. God, they are so much work, but being with Kara is worth all the work in the world. They’ve come a long, long way for this.

If this had happened two years ago, the both of them would not even think about compromise. Kara would just push through with what she believes is the best way to keep Lena safe and would have insisted on keeping Lena locked in a safe house somewhere. And she guesses past Lena wouldn’t even consider the merits of communication with Kara, either.

“I just want you safe.”

“I know.”

“Never want to see you hurt.”

“I know, baby. But Kara you can’t always keep me safe, do you understand that?” Lena says carefully, she wishes she could turn around right now and cup Kara’s face.

“I know it’s hard for you, but this is what the both of us signed up for. Do you think I’m happy whenever you fly off to God knows where, when I see getting shot at in the news, when you leave in the middle of the night? I’m just as scared as you are, Kara.”

But that’s the price the both of them have to pay for falling in love when one is a super hero and the other is a world saving genius.

Kara bandages her neatly and Lena turns around to face her, moving a bit up in the bed and pulls gently at Kara’s wrist to join her.

“I know,” Kara breathes into Lena’s hair as she positions herself, “I’m sorry. For fighting, for yelling, for...accidentally telling everyone that we’re married.”

Lena tries not to laugh at how Kara pouts at the last one.

“Forgiven already. I’m sorry too.”

“I love you, you know that?”

She feels more that hears as she fits herself underneath Kara’s chin, tucked tight beside her.

“I love you too, so, so much. So much that I agreed to a secret wedding,” Lena tells her, “And as much as I would love to continue our little heart to heart, I really think you should go to your sister now.”

“Nooo, Lena noo,” Kara groans out, “Come on, we can just stay here and cuddle and I can kiss your shoulder better and maybe you can give me a kiss too and I don’t have to talk to Alex.”

“Oh, but you do.”

“Have I mentioned I also hate when you’re right?”

“Once or twice.”

“Mmph. Fine. But half an hour of cuddles first and then I go talk to Alex, deal?”

“Deal.”

Lena agrees, greedy for Kara’s warmth and also thinking that Alex certainly needs more than half an hour to cool off. Kara certainly needs more than that to think about the words she’s going to tell her sister. She’ll probably die by the end of their conversation but at least she died knowing that the whole world knows Lena Luthor is her wife, right?

***

“Alex, I know you’re mad-”

“Oh, I’m not mad, I’m livid, Kara. Livid.”

Maybe it was a bad idea to talk to Alex in an empty DEO training room where her sister could easily turn on red sunlamps and deck her for keeping things secret.

“What, did it not occur to that, oh I don’t know? ‘Oh I’m having a wedding maybe I should text my sister an update? Leave her a note maybe? Dear Alex I’m getting married today!’” Alex roars and Kara flinches. Rao how could she be this stupid?

“Anything would have been fucking nice, than to hear about it in the middle of a heated fight. Tell me, if you didn’t slip up just now were you even going to tell me?” Alex tries to coat the words in anger but she doesn’t miss the way it wavers on fear and insecurity.

“Rao, yes of course I was going to Alex! I- we-” Kara tries.

“Save it.”

“Alex please,” She begs her to listen as she steps in front of her and reaches to hold Alex’s hands.

“When?” Alex snarls and Kara gulps because her sister definitely would not like the answer.

“Remember that time that Lena and I broke up? Then we ran to each other in the rain, made up? And then two weeks later she got assassinated by those CADMUS wanna-be’s and we had to use the Fortress’s tech to track her down?”

Alex remembers that one so clearly. It was funny at the time, how Jess had caught them making out in the middle of an ‘interview’. How Kara was so happy that she won Lena back.

“Yes and?” Alex quips, eager to know the answer.

“And well, remember how I asked to have some time alone with Lena once we rescued her? And made all of you guys leave?” Kara croaks out, fear apparent and Alex just stares at her clearly impatient at how Kara rambles.

“Well, I uh-kinda suggested we get married on the spot because I didn’t want to spend another day not being married to her when people want to kill both of us, every day.”

Alex lets out a heavy, shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“You know this is the part where I say, ‘Not even surprised.’” She states dryly, “Of fucking course you’re the kind of people who would pull this kind of shit.”

Kara tries to get a word in but, “You fucking owe me a wedding and Mom and J’onn and Alura-”

“Oh my god! Kara! Your Mom deserves to see the daughter she whisked off to another planet, get married! You fucking owe Clark a wedding-”

“Actually…” Kara starts off sheepishly, knowing full well Alex will explode from what she’s about to say.

“Oh for fuck’s sake! Clark knows doesn’t he?!”

Kara flinches again. Good thing her superhearing is dampened here.

“Well, uh,” Kara wrings her fingers when she realizes there are no glasses to fiddle with.

“Lena said she wanted a Kryptonian wedding so we had Kelex call Kal and uhm he officiated…”

Alex doesn’t say anything to that, just clenches and unclenches fists at her side.

“I’m sorry!! Okay! I was going to tell you immediately but we kinda got carried away sneaking around and then it just completely slipped my mind because you guys keep pointing out how we’re an old married couple anyway! And and and—“ Kara is grasping for words, anything just to make this all better.

“Damn it, I messed up haven’t I?” She whispers, realizing now that the only thing to make this better would be them admitting their mistake and going for amends.

“Yeah, you did, Kara.”

Kara feels shame course through her.

“I am so mad at you right now for denying me the privilege of seeing you walk down the aisle. You know I don’t even want that, I just wanted to see you have your dreams come true and see you have what I have with Kelly, god damn it Kara, I love you and I wanted to be there.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I hate your pout. I hate your stupid pouty face. Your billionaire wife better pay for a grand wedding for all of us.”

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“Mom’s not going to let you down easy though.”

Her sister doesn’t really need to point out the obvious.

“I know. Could you maybe be the-”

“Nuh-uh. No. You tell her yourself or have Lena tell her. I’m not doing that shit for you.”

“Fine.”

Kara will take what she can get.

“I love you, Alex.” She breathes in relief when she sees Alex affectionately roll her eyes at her.

“I love you too, you stupid alien.”

***

“It’s official then? We guys get to call you Moms now?”

Lena never really expected that to be the first words Nia says to her when she enters the Med Bay.

“Yes, Nia. And also, yes, you’re a bridesmaid,” She answers immediately knowing that Nia was going to ask.

Nia lights up and Lena shakes her head at how similar she and Kara beams.

Yeah, ‘Moms’ really is a fitting term.

“Alex making you do another wedding huh?”

“Yes, she is.”

Nia snorts, “You say that as if you don’t want the world to know Kara Danvers is wholly and solely yours.”

Well, she isn’t wrong, not that Lena is ever going to admit that though.

“Can I please plan your wedding? I have prophetic dreams. I can totally tell you what would look perfect on that day oh, oh, oh! I can even tell you if it’s going to rain, if you want an outdoor wedding that is. Oooh, maybe I could even see who’d catch your bouquet— “

“Nia, slow down,” Lena mutters before Nia plans out the whole wedding then and there.

“Kara and I will talk about it, but I think she’ll agree, you don’t really need to convince us.”

“Yes-yeah uh right sorry, you should definitely do that. Sorry it’s just I’ve been shipping you and oh my this is so exciting!”

Trust Nia to say ship is now endgame in regards to their marriage.

Nia jabbers on as Kara walks in and gives the both of them a big grin, Alex trailing behind her.

“I guess, congratulations are in order, Danvers.” Alex rolls her eyes and it takes Lena a moment to realize that she was referring to her.

She tries to calm down the happy flutter in her heart and the emotions bubbling out of her as she utters a weak, “Th-thank you, Alex.”

“Actually, Luthor-Danvers, we hyphenated,” Kara clarifies, which really doesn’t help the happy flutter at all, just adds to it.

Alex just sighs and mumbles an ‘Of course you did.’

Before walking towards the bed and surprising Lena with a tight embrace.

“You do know, now you have two Danvers worrying for you every time you walk out in the field now, right?”

And Lena just laughs. Because for the first time in forever she’s got people genuinely wanting her to exist. To the point that they’d do anything to keep her safe.

She’s got family now and if it means overprotective Kryptonians and fierce blaster wielding older sisters, she really wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

They’re fighting.

In the DEO.

Again.

“Moms fighting again?” Nia doesn’t really know why she keeps asking, this is like a daily occurrence now. Agents don’t even bat an eye when bickering echoes off the halls, nowadays. Apparently, this is what happens in the CatCo bullpen and L-Corp offices too.

Alex appears next to her.

“You know you really should stop calling them that, especially since—“

“WE ARE NOT NAMING OUR KID, POTSTICKERS!”

#the idea of them secretly getting married is just so funny to me #and kara accidentally telling everyone is even funnier #i guess to those people asking for a follow up to the magazine story uh this is it guys...#they get married in secret and then they get married again and they bicker a lot but they love each other a lot too #hope u guys liked that #happy valentines!#supercorp endgame!#the reckless writer writes #a supercorp fic #of sorts #rcklss writes

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masquenoire · 2 years ago

Note

Send “talk about” and a name…

“Tell me about Bruce Wayne.”

"He’s the same as the rest of them, fake.” Roman sneered, barely paying attention to the psychiatrist on the other side of the room. He didn’t usually. They rarely stuck around for long, either frightened off by his volatile temper or preferring to hand his case over for some other overworked and underpaid shrink in this nuthouse to deal with instead. However, he wasn’t referring to the man in glasses waiting patiently to hear his answer. The instant Doctor Crane (or whatever the fuck he was called) mentioned that name, Roman’s attention immediately became fixated on the topic. Bruce Fucking Wayne. How he detested that name. The sound of his knuckles cracking was audible as he clenched his fists in familiar hatred, not unlike the last time he’d been dragged into this very room before his ire had gotten the better of him, resulting in their little ‘session’ ending early. If the new guy had heard anything about that, he didn’t seem bothered at all. Maybe they’d learned their lesson from his last outburst, finding somebody made of sterner stuff. “Perfect little Bruce Wayne, Prince of Gotham. That son of a bitch is the Prince of Lies if you ask me! I knew him years ago and I’ll tell you he’s every bit the same, scheming piece of shit as he was back then just like all the other socialite scumbags sitting pretty at the top of the food chain. My parents actually wanted us to be friends, can you believe that??” Roman scoffed, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he struggled to relax in his seat. Had the good doctor mentioned literally anybody else, he might not have allowed himself to get so flustered but the name of the one man he loathed to his bitter core was akin to waving a red flag before a raging bull. And just like that sorry bull, Crane’s flag proved too irresistible a target to ignore. He remembered that day they’d met, the first time he’d been allowed to meet somebody his own age. That face. The hair. The manners. Bruce had it all, always did, even the love of his parents as they ushered their boy into the Sionis’ family hall. Mother had acted graciously just like she always done while entertaining finer company, his parents called it, her manners impeccable as she fussed and fretted about their ‘guests’ in a way she’d never done when it came to her own flesh and blood. It had been an eye-opening experience, the moment when Roman realized everything he’d ever known was all bullshit. ”Who am I kidding? Of course you don’t, but we were a big name back in the day when all the Waynes were still alive and kicking. Yeah, I could tell you a thing or two about that...” He said in a voice calmer than usual, dark gaze flickering towards the other man’s face as as he finally paid attention to Doctor Crane. Blue eyes. The man had blue eyes, startlingly reminiscent of when he’d known a younger Bruce Wayne. At the time, it baffled Roman why his parents wanted so badly for him to be friends with Thomas and Martha’s golden boy when behind closed doors, the things they said about the family would have made a sailor blush. He knew better now, of course; his parents had only cared about the prestige, hoped maybe they’d become something more one day. All he’d wanted was this intruder out of his home, to send him packing along with his fake, perfect family. Instead he’d been forced to play along with the delusion, to show Bruce his room including his collection of masks to which the boy only seemed politely interested about. It was ironic how none of them understood that the masks they wore every day was what was truly strange instead of the ones he collected. Roman might have said something similar out loud in that moment, his parents overhearing with a gasp while Bruce pretended he’d heard no such thing. He clenched his fists again, glaring at Crane as though it was the psychiatrist’s fault that had happened way back then. He’d simply been honest about his dislike of Bruce and for exposing the truth, he’d paid most dearly indeed. After the Waynes left, only then did his mother finally remove her own mask, unleashing her pent-up vitriol as she screamed and screamed for hours at Roman. Her fury at his refusal to play along with their false narrative was so great she’d even slapped him, causing the man to subconsciously press a hand to his cheek as he recalled the sharp, sudden sting of her punishing touch. But he wasn’t here to think about that bitch, was he? He was here to talk about Wayne. "Breaks my heart that dear old mom and dad didn’t get to live long enough to see what he’s really like, buying out the family business for a pittance when it was most vulnerable. Some friend he’d have made. You think Old Bruce did that out of the goodness of his own heart? Like hell he did! They’re all in it for themselves up there, pretending to care when all they want is more! People think he’s so wonderful just because he’s rich, that he lost his parents as a kid. Wasn’t enough that he had it all but then he had to go steal MY legacy too? And they call him a humanitarian?? Fuck that!!!” Roman screamed, slamming his fist down on the table as hard as he could, relishing the pain doing so caused his hand. Fuck Bruce Wayne, and fuck Arkham too for that matter.

#arkhampsychiatrist #memes ;; talk about #( 💀 ♮ IMMACULATE INTERESTS ♮ | musings )#( 💀 ♮ UNMASKED MALICE ♮ | headcanons )#I'm so sorry Ciar #And sorry to Jonathan too having to deal with this shit #I kind of went on a spiel so don't feel obliged to answer since it was a meme #Just Jonathan asking his questions and Roman possibly oversharing because it's one of THOSE topics #And he can't shut up when he's angry

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kaylaxwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Street Kid

Pairing: (platonic!) Frank Castle & Reader Words: 1.9k Request: “hi :) can you do a platonic frank castle imagine where he is in a fight and looses alot of blood and end up passing out in an alley but a street kid (16/17 yo female) stitches him up and saves him and later he runs into him and they develop a father-daughter relationship? thank you so much!” (anon) A/N: I don’t know if this is what you wanted, and my mind blanked half way through when trying to come up with some father/daughter scenarios, so that aspect of it probably isn’t the best. But!! even though requests are technically closed, I’ll also some father/daughter requests for if you have any specific situations/scenarios you wanted to see. Just because I feel really bad that I couldn’t write what I wanted to see so it’s probably not what you wanted to see lol

Warnings: reader has an ambiguous background of being kicked out by her parents and she’s homeless and also somewhat-graphic description of stitching somebody up. but it’s a punisher fic, so you know

You ducked through the alley, taking the shortcut you always took. You stumbled to a halt when you noticed a body laying on the ground. Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, you thought as you inched closer to the man, letting out a breath when you noticed the rise and fall of his chest. You hesitantly leaned over him, toeing him with the edge of your shoe. “Buddy…uh, you okay there?” you asked, nudging him a few more times. It wasn’t until the fifth nudge until he finally gasped awake, wildly swinging at you the instant his eyes opened.

“Woah, woah, woah,” you called, stepping back several feet. “Chill, dude, you’re fine.”

It was a few moments for him to calm his breathing and gather his surroundings. “Who’re you?” he grumbled, words almost slurred.

“Uh…Y/N. I was just walking by and I saw…” You noticed his wide away of injuries then. He was so bruised and bloodied, you weren’t sure where one wound ended and another began. Blood obscured his face so you couldn’t make out any details as to who he might have been. But the skull on the chest was a dead giveaway. The Punisher. “I think you need a hospital.”

“No—no hospitals.” He stumbled to his feet but crashed into a dumpster, unable to find his balance.

“Uh, yes. Yes hospitals.”

“M’fine.”

“Uh-huh. Is there…is there anyone after you? You look like you got the shit beat of you. They won’t be coming back, will they?”

“No. No.”

You sighed. “Glad that’s settled. So if no hospitals, you got anyone I can call? You got friends?”

“Look like I make friends?”

“No.” You looked around and sighed. “Well, I wouldn’t feel like a good Samaritan if I left you all by yourself. You wanna follow me or…?” He huffed something that almost sounded like a laugh, but hesitantly shuffled behind you after you started walking.

You kept pace with him as you navigated to your home. No, house? No…place you slept. The abandoned building that acted as the roof over your head wasn’t much, but it was all you had. After your parents had kicked you out a year and a half ago—and your subsequent emancipation—it was the best spot you could find. The shelters were always overcrowded and no landlord in their right mind would lease to a sixteen-year-old, so you settled. At the very least, you were able to spend money earned from your two fast food jobs on things other than rent. Like food. And a nice sleeping bag. And, useful in instances like this, a well-stocked first aid kit.

You held open the gap in the chain link fence for the man to wince his way through. In any other instance, you’d feel hesitant to let a stranger—a grown man, no less—into what acted as your home, but this was the Punisher you were talking about. Even though he…killed…people, you read enough in the news to know that his moral code—however skewed it was—wouldn’t let him hurt women or kids. As you fell squarely into that category, you figured you were safe.

You kicked open the door to your building and led the Punisher up the stairs to the room where you camped out. You directed him to sit on the dusty table at the center of the room. You pulled out the first aid kit you had, as well as a couple clean towels you had nicked from work. You set those on the table next to the Punisher before pulling the 48-pack of water bottles out from under the table. You wet a towel with one of the bottles and handed it to him. He started cleaning his face until he could finally see clearly through the blood.

“You live here?” he asked after taking in the room fully. You noticed his eyes lingered on the sleeping bed and mat framed by battery-operated string lights in the corner of the room. Then he finally took in your appearance. “Jesus, you’re just a kid.” And your age, apparently.

“I’m eighteen!” you tried to defend yourself. Frank arched an eyebrow, eyes sliding to your stuffed animal still propped up on your pillow. You sighed, looking down. “Sixteen. And a half,” you added after a moment. As if it would help your case.

“Where are your parents?”

You crossed your arms defensively. “It’s a long story.”

“Fair enough.” He looked around the room once more. “You got a mirror I can use?” You nodded and slid a half-shattered mirror from behind the door. He nodded his thanks and stepped over to the mirror, sliding his shirt and vest off with a grimace.

You puttered around while he did whatever he needed to fix himself up and clean himself off. You tried to avoid looking over at him, the blood making your stomach queasy. You were able to ignore him until he caught your attention half an hour later.

“Kid,” he called. “Kid. Hey, kid!”

It was the last one that startled you to attention. You jumped and turned to face him. He was cleaned and stitched up. For the most part. He definitely looked a lot better than when you saw him for the first time. But you still thought he should go to the hospital. Punisher or not.

“I need your help,” he continued.

“How am I supposed to help?” you asked.

He turned to show you a gash on the back side of his ribcage. “Needs stitched. I can’t reach it.”

“And you want me to…” You gulped.

“You got anyone else here to help out?”

“Well…no.”

He gestured you over and then pressed a needle and tweezers in your hands. You eyed the curved suturing needle warily. “I’ve already sterilized everything. I just need you to close it.” He braced himself against the wall with his opposite arm.

“I—I don’t know what to do.”

He pulled your hands so they were against the wound. “You gotta pinch it closed then about half a centimeter from the edge slide the needle in and straight across.”

You followed his directions and gagged at the feeling of the needle sliding through skin. “Oh my god! That is disgusting!”

“Yeah, yeah, keep going.”

You gagged again as you pulled the needle through the opposite edge of skin. “Now what?” you asked, breathing heavily.

“Double knot it and cut it off. And then go every quarter inch or so until the end.”

You did as he said until the entire would was sealed off. You raced to grab a bottle of water to pour over your hands. You never wished more for running water so you could thoroughly wash the blood off your hands—and the memory of feeling the sutures pull against skin. “Please tell me that’s the only one,” you said when your hands were the cleanest they were going to get.

“Yeah, that’s the only one.”

“You do that often?”

He chuckled. “More than I should.” He shrugged his bloody shirt back on, seemingly preparing to leave. “You stay here by yourself?”

“For the most part,” you answered. “I mean, sometimes there’s a few kids who hole up downstairs, but for the most part, it’s just me.”

Frank looked conflicted, as if he wanted to leave but didn’t feel right leaving you here alone. After a few moments, he seemed to make up his mind. “I should probably lie low for a little while. You mind if I stay out in the hallway?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I don’t…I don’t have, like, any extra pillows or anything to give you, though.”

“Trust me, kid, I’ve slept in worse places than that dingey hallway.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I probably should…be getting to bed,” you said. You weren’t anywhere near tired, but you don’t want him to feel like he needed to hang around you any longer. You passed him two water bottles as he stepped outside of the room. “Well, uh, goodnight, Frank.”

He tensed as you said his name. “How do you know my name?”

You almost rolled your eyes. “Uh, it’s not exactly like you’re incognito. The Punisher logo on your vest kind of gave it away.”

“Right. Night, kid.”

“Goodnight.”

You smiled and shut the door, moving to curl into your little bedspace. If you were being completely honest, you felt the safest tonight sleeping here than you’d ever had. Logically, you knew the Punisher was supposed to be some big, scary man, but deep down, you knew no harm would come to you with Frank Castle sitting just outside your door.

The sunlight slowly woke you the next morning. You squinted into the light that poured in from the broken window above your sleeping bag. You turned over and tried to fall back asleep, but it was no use. You rose from the makeshift bed, wincing as your joints popped, and made your way to the hallway. You looked down each end, but Frank was gone. It didn’t surprise you that he left at some point in the night, but you couldn’t say you weren’t a little disappointed he wasn’t there. You shuffled back into your room, freezing when you saw what was on the table.

Breakfast.

A hot, steaming breakfast.

You weren’t sure how you didn’t notice it earlier, what with the smell now wafting towards your nose. Instantly, your stomach rumbled. You rushed over to the takeout container, eager to find what was inside. A sticky note on top simply read “Thanks, kid,” but you set it aside. Your mouth watered the instant you opened the container.

Pancakes.

This was probably the single most happiest moment of your life. You hadn’t had a hot meal—let alone a hot breakfast—in who knows how long. The platter spread before you seemed like a feast. You dug in happily, savoring every bite until it was gone.

That was the last you expected to hear from the Punisher. You stitched him up, he bought you breakfast the next day as thanks, that should be it, right?

Turns out Frank Castle was a man of many surprises.

Nearly every single day from that point forward, you would find a takeout container centered on your table. Sometimes, he left you breakfast like that first day—sometimes pancakes, sometimes omelets, but all from the diner a few blocks down the road. Other days, he’d bring you dinner, leaving Chinese takeout containers piled high on the table or a Tupperware container full of homemade spaghetti. You weren’t sure who made the spaghetti—you couldn’t exactly picture Frank in the kitchen—but it was incredible, nonetheless.

Your favorite days were when Frank lingered after dropping the food off, eventually going as far as to sit and eat with you when he could. Those days left you feeling the happiest. Dinners with Frank happened more and more until he offered you the small second bedroom in his rundown apartment. “I’m never gonna use it,” he said, “and I’m not gonna bust you out of jail if you get caught for trespassing.” You eagerly grabbed the opportunity with both hands—you wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, especially if that horse would get you out of this rat- and cockroach-infested hellhole. Living in an actual apartment would be a dream.

Thinking back on everything, you weren’t sure when the feeling began, but one day, you realized…you felt like a family. By all means, the relationship you had with Frank Castle was far more familial and paternal than any you’d ever had with your biological family. With each passing day, you couldn’t be happier that you’d stumbled across a half-dead Punisher in the alley that night.

#Frank Castle & Reader #frank castle x reader #frank castle & you #frank castle x you #frank castle imagine #tagging x reader bc I don't even know if anyone follows & reader #but it's platonic #so #mine

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madamewriterofwrongs · 3 years ago

Note

I have thought long and hard about your AU prompt post and o have decided on bringing your attention to a Buddie singer/songwriter AU. Professional or amateur, either way, my soul aches for one of them seducing the other with a love song they made themselves. I am w e a k.

I knew instantly this was the scene I wanted to write and I finally got there.

Prompt Me with AUs

A Syncopated Heart

Read on Ao3

This was a bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea the moment it entered his head – as most of his ideas were what Hen called “too impulsive to be recorded, do you want to get me fired?” – and yet, nodded as the sound guy gave him his thumbs up. It was time.

If he were being truly honest with himself, ‘time’ was six months ago, when he met a prodigy of a guitar player wanting to join his band. ‘Time’ was five months and twenty-nine days ago, when he got over his own ego and realized that the player (though he had less experience in the industry) could definitely teach him a thing or two when it came to professionalism and technique.

‘Time’ was four months ago, when a bad case of bronchitis made him question whether he’d be able to sing again, but his new friend refused to look at him any differently. ‘Time’ was three months ago, when he was introduced to his best friend’s son by saving him from a falling stage light. ‘Time’ was two months ago when his producer told him to write a song to launch his solo career and he was faced with the notion that he would be leaving his family forever.

‘Time’ was one month ago, when he called Bobby in the middle of the night, frantic because he couldn’t figure out why the words wouldn’t come. ‘Time’ was two weeks ago, when he finally understood what his old mentor had meant when he told him that ��he was missing what was right in front of him.”

‘Time’ was ten days ago, when his best friend informed him that he would be leaving to sign with another company who could “give him what he needed”. ‘Time’ was six days ago, when he’d shown up on his friend’s doorstep and begged him to stay – but when it came time to explain why, the words still wouldn’t come.

‘Time’ was two days ago, when his producer had asked him to perform his new song at a live event downtown, despite having never heard it. ‘Time’ was twelve hours ago when he’d finally put pen to paper and written the lyrics to his song – their song.

‘Time’ was sixty minutes ago, when his sister had asked him, for the fortieth time, if he was certain about his next move. ‘Time’ was two minutes ago, when he’d checked his phone, only to find no news of whether his best friend would be attending his final performance.

‘Time’ was now: stepping on stage with the first guitar he’d bought with his own money, and a head full of words he hoped would explain everything he wanted to convey.

The lights were blinding and the scent of stale beer and old plywood filled his nostrils. It was soothing, really, to be surrounding by such familiar sensations as he stepped over the precipice into the unknown. He had dreamed of the floodlights and the mumbling crowd since he was a kid (or, that was the story they’d told the media, but he hadn’t picked up a guitar until he was in his twenties). Regardless of when he’d discovered his love for music, it was the one thing that gave him joy. Whenever everything else was falling apart in his life, he could still feel a song sitting on his chest, just above his heart. Sometimes, it would press down until he could barely breathe; until the notes had to be played or he might burst. Other times, a melody would follow him for days. He liked to imagine a nymph floating beside him, whispering tunes into his ear to keep him occupied. His own personal muse.

He wouldn’t be using her tonight. He had new inspiration. And he prayed it would be enough.

“Hey folks.” He coughed into the microphone and it filled the bar. His eyes began to adjust under the lights, slowly revealing the audience to him, like a wave of vaguely buzzed shapes.

“You all know me as ‘Buck’ but that’s not my real name (obviously).” The few chuckles floating into the air were drowned out by the thrumming in his ears as he searched the crowd for a familiar face. “My real name is Evan Buckley. Before we get started on our set, I wanted to sing a song for you all. It’s a new song, actually, one I wrote for…” He cleared his throat when the words pressed harder on his chest, refusing to come. “For someone special.” Even over the pounding of his heart, he heard the murmurs of curious audience members, knowing the rumour mill was about to start spinning. But none of that mattered. No. The only thing that mattered was the next three minutes.

“Here it goes.”

The first strum of his guitar released the stranglehold the words had on his heart. In his more poetic moments, he would swear he could hear his muse gasp with the beauty – not of the notes, but of his intentions. In truth, he could barely feel his hands. They played of their own volition, moved to dance in a pattern they’d never rehearsed.

When the melody pulled so strongly, he would normally close his eyes and surrender to the music. But tonight, there was more than just him and the music. Though his eyes burned under the penetrating lights, he kept them trained on the audience, constantly looking for the one face he needed to see.

He had always been very proud of his singing voice. Though it was relatively untrained, he had done countless hours of research to make sure it was as healthy as possible. Like his guitar, he wanted to keep his voice finely tuned – lest someone realize he was merely a replaceable vessel on the ocean that was the music industry. After his bronchitis, he had taken extra care of his body but tonight, he felt like a novice – stepping out on stage for the first time, hoping his voice didn’t crack under the pressure.

The lyrics were the thing he held most precious in this journey. They contained within them the story of his life – of what he hoped would be his future. It was the story of a boy who wanted to make something of himself. He wanted to be somebody so badly that he made it to adulthood without becoming anything in particular. Then he picked up a guitar and thought he’d met the love of his life. All that changed when he met someone who made every note fall flat. And now, the boy finally realized how much he needs that person. How much he wants that person. How much he loves that person.

“And I will follow you around I will wander through the darkness that we made There is nothing else I want except for…”

His eyes connected with Eddie’s and the shock of it stole the words from his mouth. His fingers fell away from the strings and for the first time since they’d met: there was silence between them. Eddie’s expression was warm and open, looking up at Buck with what he hoped was affection and not pity.

In his mind, he watched Eddie shake his head and walk out the door at the back of the bar, the two of them never to meet again. Instead, he stood motionless as the man he’d wondered about for so many months slowly strode through the crowd towards him. With each step, he replaced the resignation in his mind with caution, and then, disbelief, and finally optimism of the smallest margin. Some peripheral awareness not centered on Eddie realized that people had noticed when the lead singer had stopped and all eyes were split between Buck and Eddie.

And why shouldn’t they be? Here were two souls meeting on the center of the stage, Buck making space for Eddie beside him without really thinking about it.

“You came.” He found himself speaking irreverently; a prayer he never believed would be answered.

“You invited me.” Eddie’s smile could still melt his heart in an instant.

“Yeah but… you came.”

“Of course I did.” As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I thought you’d be in Texas by now.”

“I cancelled my flight.”

Buck blinked, if only to reassure himself that he was, in fact, still awake and staring at the man who was going to leave but chose to stay.

“Why?”

“Buck, you know why.”

Did he? Did he know the truth between them? Or was he simply hearing the words he hadn’t realized he needed to hear until it was too late?

“The song.” He swallowed his pride. “Did you like it?”

“You haven’t finished it yet.”

“I’m not sure if I should give it a happy ending.”

When Eddie grasped his fingers, slowly threading them together with his own, Buck couldn’t contain the gasp that left his mouth. The look in the other man’s eyes was so gentle and open, his heart burst with the hope he hadn’t let himself feel.

“It should definitely have a happy ending.”

When their lips met, a symphony erupted in his mind – he would realize later that it was, in fact, the noise of the crowd cheering them on. The kiss was electric, crowded, and utterly perfect. Buck’s smile nearly broke them apart but he kept their lips connected until he was overpowered with the need to breathe.

His lips tingled with the memory of their kiss and his chest hurt for the guitar pressed between their bodies, but his mind had dissolved into simply memorizing every sensation from the moment their eyes had met until their lips had parted. Over and over. There was nothing else.

“You came.”

Eddie’s chuckle was added to the lexicon of sounds Buck would replay for the rest of his life.

“I think we already established that.”

There was only one thing that Eddie still had to know. One thing that could sway the end of their song. “I’m staying.”

But then his partner smiled and whispered: “Me too.”

And Buck kissed him again with more fervor than before, the desperation and excitement of the moment finally seeping in. Eddie was staying here, with him, and their song would finally get a happy ending.

And if his manager forgave him for ending the concert early because their kiss went viral, all the better.

What mattered most was Buck, Eddie, and the music.

#911 on fox #911 fox #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fic #911 fic #musician au #alternative universe #getting together #cj writes things #cj answers things #florenceandthemachine #love flo

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villainess-apologist · 4 years ago

Text

island

fandom: will & grace

ship: karen/grace

summary: karen walker is an island, or so she seems, but there are many things hidden beneath the mask she always wears. one day, an argument with grace brings all secrets to the surface, even ones that could ruin their friendship.

read it on ao3!

~~~

“sometimes I’m not even sure you like us,” grace says at work one day, shattering the peace with a few out of the blue words.

to tell the truth, karen wasn’t really paying much attention to her boss as she rambled on about her boyfriend, or wilma, or somebody, but those words caught her attention, pulling her away from the magazine she was flipping through. karen looks up at grace, tilting her head to the side. “what?”

“well, I mean, I was just thinking about the other day, when you insulted will’s shoes and laughed for a solid three minutes and twenty-six seconds. I counted. you can just be, well,” grace says, “really mean. it feels like you just hang around us to have people to make fun of.”

a weird emotion rises in karen’s chest that she can’t really place, and she sets down her magazine. “honey, do you mean that? is that really what you think of me?” hearing those words from grace hurts more than anything stan ever said to her, but she’s not going to cry. not about this, not over some girl who doesn’t have the critical thinking skills to dress herself properly, let alone understand why someone would build up walls and pretend to be mean when beneath the surface is just. just. just karen. just a vulnerable girl.

“well,” grace says, and she thinks she’s completely in the right, you can tell. karen can tell. there’s this lift in grace’s voice that means she feels superior, but she doesn’t think karen pays enough attention to know these kinds of things. she’s wrong. “it’s just that you don’t seem to need us.” grace shrugs, still focused on the paper on the table. “I mean, isn’t karen walker an island?”

she laughs, because what else is there to do? “oh, lord, honey, is that how I seem?”

“karen. those are your words. I’ve heard you say them multiple times.”

“and you believed me?” karen asks too fast, her voice too soft, too vulnerable. she turns away, reaching for the cool glass of her drink as grace turns to stare at her. and she continues to stare at karen even as she gulps down the drink.

“isn’t it the truth?”

she smiles, a trace of sadness lighting across the red curve of her lipstick. “oh, honey…” karen sighs, and her gaze cuts over to the beautiful redhead, to the curious look on her face, to the horrible puffy blouse she’s wearing, to grace. her grace. but the sadness written on her face disappears in an instant when karen grins. “speaking of islands, land ho, matey!” she tosses her head back and laughs to try to feel more like herself again, to feel like the version of herself that she likes, to force herself back into some place of normalcy.

but grace doesn’t flinch. she doesn’t glance down at her blouse, uncertainty doesn’t fill her eyes. instead, there is a curious look within them. “karen?” she asks, taking a step toward her assistant. “what’s the matter?”

“the matter with what, gracie?” she asks innocently, as if she doesn’t feel grace’s piercing stare on her skin. a feeling is bubbling up inside of karen, a desire to let grace in. to break down a wall, or at least part of one, and allow grace to see her like no one had seen her in years, not even her husband when they were still pretending their marriage worked. especially not her husband. it was grace, after all. the girl who made karen feel alive, who had caused her heart to beat again, who had lit a feeling in karen’s soul that hadn’t been felt since she married stan.

but. but, then again, didn’t grace already have too much of her? didn’t she hold too much of karen’s aching heart in her hands, without even knowing?

it would be better if karen kept her distance, if she became the island that grace thought she was. but grace continues to walk toward her, a determined scowl on her face, and karen could never escape from her when she’s looking at her like that.

“karen,” grace says again, and her tone is deadly serious.

she sighs. “oh, honey, come on! I’m hardly ever serious. everybody needs someone, and-” and you’re that person for me, she wants to say, but she doesn’t. “and god knows that person isn’t stan! not anymore! not that he ever really was,” karen says.

grace is standing right in front of her desk now, and karen can’t breathe. “listen, kare, I’m- I know that we’re important to you, but sometimes it’s hard to believe it, and-”

“I told you I was lonely,” karen snaps, her tone sharp and broken. “when stan was in prison, I told you, but you didn’t really listen, hmm?”

her eyes grow wide. “after- after nathan dumped me?” grace pauses, furrowing her eyebrows. “I could barely think after that. god, I was still so in love with him.”

karen almost screams, almost pours her heart out right there. she almost tells grace everything, but she holds her tongue. “still, how can you say I don’t need you? and jackie, and, lord, even will sometimes. especially now, after the divorce.”

“you’re just so-” grace stops and looks at karen helplessly. “you know how you can be. like you said, you’re hardly ever serious, and I never know when you’re joking or actually hurting. and I wish-” she cuts off, breaking eye contact. “I wish you’d be more serious with me sometimes.”

karen lets out a dry laugh, running her finger along the edge of her glass. “believe me, I would love that.”

“then why don’t you, karen? come on, we’re friends, you can tell me anything-”

“but I can’t really be honest about everything, now can I?” she says, sharply setting her glass on the desk and standing up abruptly. she closes the distance between her and grace, and karen is so tired of pretending. “we’re friends, but if I say anything that ruins what we have, then I’m screwed.” karen laughs, looking up at grace’s face.

“what do you-”

“grace,” karen says, drawing out the name with a long sigh. “you have will. you’ll always have will. it seems like our entire friend group is based off your marriage, and you know as well as I that if something happens between us, and we fall apart, then I’ll be-” karen breaks off, a flash of hurt crossing her face, and she avoids grace’s stare. “I’ll be the one cut out, and I honestly don’t know if I can deal with that right now.”

grace takes another step forward. “what are you talking about?��

her breath is warm, her eyes are soft, but karen juts out her chin. “you have no idea,” she breathes, “how much I rely on this. on you, grace adler. what would I do if I ruined it?”

“we’re friends,” grace repeats. “I really mean it, kare, you can tell me anything. it won’t change us.”

but karen just shakes her head. “lord, honey, don’t you understand? what if the things I wanted to say to you would send you running for the hills? back to will, back to safety- away from me. because I know how I feel. and sometimes I can almost imagine that you feel the same, but- I-”

“you what?”

karen pauses, wishing her drink was back in her hands but unwilling to turn away from grace. maybe if would be better if this conversation never happened, if they could just forget about the entire thing. finally, she asks, “can we just drop it?”

“no, we can’t,” grace says, furrowing her brow. she tilts her head, a question in her eyes. “if this is about… about not really liking leo, or something like that-”

karen purses her lips. “I don’t like leo.”

“oh.” grace blinks. “well, I don’t think you’ve really had a chance to get to know him yet- but anyway- that doesn’t matter,” she says, her voice soft. “you never like my boyfriends. if that doesn’t mess up our- our weird friendship, then what can?”

and grace is very close now. only a few inches separate their faces because, of course, personal space has never been a concept in this office. because why would it bother grace? why would it bother karen? and she briefly considers just covering everything up with a joke or a lie, anything to avoid the way she feels about grace. but a part of karen feels sick at the idea of walking away from grace when the truth lay just beneath the surface, and, god, she was tired. of hiding. of keeping her feelings secret.

and so, with gentle hands, karen reaches up to touch grace’s cheek, her fingers brushing against warm skin. she leans closer, almost completely closing the distance between them, and grace doesn’t pull away out of her reach. karen meets her gaze in a silent question, and grace gives the barest of nods, her eyes questioning. and then karen was kissing the beautiful redhead, just like she had wanted to do for what must have been years.

grace’s lip gloss tastes like heaven, and her lips are so soft beneath karen’s, who dizzily thinks, god. thank god. her eyes flutter shut as she savors the moment, trying to memorize each second of the kiss. the feeling in karen’s chest is close to bursting, and so she just sinks into the way grace gently kisses her back. it’s not the first time they’ve kissed, but this feels more real. more solid. but then karen pulls away, and she opens her eyes to see only confusion written on grace’s face.

a forced smile comes to karen’s lips. “that,” she says in a voice tinged with regret, “can ruin a friendship.” and she turns away to walk out of the building, to run away from everything, especially the girl who had her heart.

grace, whose kisses will linger in karen’s thoughts for the foreseeable future. grace, whose smiles make karen ache with longing. grace, whose footsteps clatter against the tile floor as she catches up. “wait,” she says, “wait, wait! karen!”

her eyes sting as tears rise, so karen tries in vain to blink them away as she turns to face her. “grace, honey, I’m so sorry-”

but grace pulls her into another kiss, one a bit less gentle, and karen melts into her embrace, and god, is this the happiest she’s felt in weeks? months? her entire lifetime?

“jesus, karen, you could’ve given me three seconds to process what was going on before sprinting out of here,” grace says when they pull apart again.

karen blushes, biting her lip. “noted,” she says. “oh, honey…”

and grace just looks at her gently, in a way that she hasn’t been looked at in a long time. “I- oh, god, I need to break up with leo,” grace realizes.

“you really do,” karen says, reaching up to tuck a stray lock behind grace’s ear, “but not just because of me, honey.” she’s never liked leo. karen leans her head on grace’s shoulder, thankful that their confession happened it was too late, before grace and leo became serious, or married, or something.

grace sighs. “he has a good heart, I think, but he can be a bit of a jerk.” she smirks at karen, nudging her jokingly. “I guess I have a type.”

“oh!” she gasps in mock offense, pulling away from the embrace. “how dare you, grace adler? I ought to leave and never see you again.”

“but you won’t,” grace says in a sing-songy voice, reaching out to grab karen’s hand.

“but I won’t,” karen agrees, squeezing her hand softly.

grace smiles in return. then, after a second of comfortable silence, she asks, “so… what exactly are we doing?”

a beat passes, and karen pulls her thoughts together. “gracie, I just want to be with you. that’s all I’ve wanted for a while,” she admits softly, meeting grace’s steady gaze.

“how long have you known?”

she hesitates for a second, and then says, “well, after you broke up with nathan, we kissed. I’m not sure if you remember it, but- god, it was the best kiss I had in a long time. and then, when you met leo, you kissed me to show me way that leo floored you, and I knew I was screwed.”

grace leans closer, slipping her hand into karen’s. “kissing you that day… I think I knew I was screwed in more than one way. I just couldn’t figure out why.”

“because you’re oblivious,” karen says. “I had to actually kiss you for real to show you that I had feelings for you, even though I’m really not a subtle person. anyway, it took me a while to figure out what I felt too. the first time that I felt something between us,” she says, dropping her voice as if telling a secret, “was when you walked in wearing the most godawful outfit I’ve ever seen, and you still looked so beautiful.”

“you poet,” grace teases, closing the distance between them to kiss her on the cheek, and karen’s heart felt so full. the moment was perfect, better than anything she could have ever pictured, before a gasp split the moment. “oh my god, what’s will going to think?”

and karen laughs as she rolls her eyes. “wilma loves us, don’t worry.” but grace still looks worried, even if she doesn’t have reason to be, and karen loves her for it. she loves her, she really does, so karen smiles as she leans in for another quick kiss, watching the worry in grace’s eyes change into a tender look of happiness once again.

#angst #unrequited crush (or so it seems)#confession during an argument #friends to lovers #karen and grace really had the greatest potential for this trope #honestly karen is one of the greatest characters in general #and she was so in love with grace <3 #emotionally closed off character x oblivious character #grace adler x karen walker #karen walker x grace adler #grace adler/karen walker #karen walker/grace adler #will and grace #will & grace #karen walker #grace adler #fanfiction

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mihidecet · 4 years ago

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Sbi&CO d&d AU: Don’t Keep me Waiting (2/?)

I’m back! Chapter two is finally here and, as promised, it’s a bit of a beefy one!! I do hope you’ll like it!

A special shoutout to Cassie and my sister, for basically creating the newly added character, and that anon who totally didn’t guess who was coming a week before I posted the chapter xD

The noise inside the tavern hits them like a tidal wave the instant they open the heavy looking oak doors: a cacophony of people talking, friends cheering, music playing and orders being shouted from one side of the room to the other.

On one hand, it makes Wilbur flinch and recoil, his ears ringing with the sudden switch from being in the quietness of a mostly desert street to this; the good thing is nobody really pays any particular attention to their group entering. They do of course gather some looks and stares - they're a big group after all, most people here are either in small, four-people groups or even smaller.

But Techno's trademark pink hair is safely hidden under a hood, in order to allow him to walk around without getting constant stares - respectful, fearful or otherwise. They're here to have fun, not pick fights; at least that is what they had decided on before signing up for the tournament. Except for Tommy: to quote the little demon, they were there to win.

Nevertheless.

Wilbur is there, at that moment, in that tavern, to play and to share his music with a willing audience. So, while most of the others hurry to grab a big enough table and some extra chairs, Wilbur makes his way towards the innkeeper's desk, tail swinging back and forth, mind already running with ideas on what to play for this specific audience - adventurers are a picky sort, they either like your song or they boo you out of the tavern, and he wants to give a good impression especially with the tournament coming up-

The innkeeper sees him and Phil approaching, his eyes darting to his brand new splendidly hand carved guitar - he will never ever ever be able to repay Tubbo - before he lets out a tired sigh. Which comes crashing down onto Wil's mood like an avalanche, covering instantly all his bright ideas and expectations.

It's Phil's hand on the small of his back that brings him back into focus, prompting him to regain the sway in his step - no time to mope, they're here for at least another month.

"I don't suppose you have a spot open for tonight?" He asks, putting on his best vendor voice, and he can see the tiredness in the eyes of the person in front of him.

"I do not. You can have half an hour in two days. Name?" The person asks, voice flat with the face of somebody who's had to repeat this process so many times just tonight. So Wilbur swallows down his protest - half an hour in two days is a horrible deal - and nods amicably.

"Wilbur, Wilbur Soot." The innkeeper looks to be thinking intensely for a moment - a spark of hope shines in his chest as he hopes for a moment that his name will be recognised, since he's spent the past years building up his fame by working tirelessly -, then they shake their head and write down something that vaguely resembles his name next to some numbers. Wilbur smothers the irrational, embarrassing disappointment that threatens to rise in his throat.

"You have my thanks, good sir!" He adds enthusiastically, voice pitched a bit too higher than normal, because a part of him feels for the poor soul who has to deal with people of all sorts, and swivels on his feet.

Phil's hand on his shoulder brings him out of his own mind as he's definitely not storming away from the poor innkeeper's table. He doesn't even need to say anything: Wil deflates instantly, tense shoulders sagging instantly and a long sigh leaving him as he leans into the elf.

"I really wanted to play." Wilbur grumbles as Phil's hand moves from one shoulder to the other, effectively bringing him into a half-hug and ruffling his hair with a chuckle.

"I know, and you're going to." The elf replies, tone calm and reassuring, and Wil can't help but ache a little, feeling like a kid all over again and not liking it even a little bit. Once, he would have stayed quiet and stewed into his own brooding mood, but he knows now that he can rely on the others for situations like these. So he ignores how awkward he feels at protesting for something as silly as this, and lets himself pout.

"Half an hour is so little, though. And since we're not taking any jobs for a while it could help with paying for the tavern." Phil quietly hums in response and experience tells him that he's pondering over a good answer. Wil's eyes scan the tavern - bigger than he first realised - looking for Tubbo's bee, as he figures it's going to be the easiest thing to recognise in the literal sea of adventures of all kinds.

"You know we don't need it. And I'm sure once they hear how good you are, they'll be asking you to play every night." Phil comments, starting to guide him towards what he thinks is the right direction, but Wil is a bit more preoccupied with preening, slightly flustered, due to the compliment. One would expect him to be used to them, but the thing with his friends is that praises from them always feel a little more true, a little more honest, and they always hit him in the best way possible.

When they join the rest of the team - clustered around a single medium sized table - Wil's mood has significantly improved.

There's food already waiting for him and as soon as he sits down a fox jumps in his lap and curls up, snout raised towards him to slowly blink at him before he buries his head in his tail.

Wilbur starts digging into his meal with gusto, lightly scratching behind Fundy's ear as the shifter decides to take a nap.

The tavern is, overall, a nice place. It's cool to see so many adventurers gathered together, and hearthwarming to be able to see many new friendships blossoming.

After the team announcements that same morning, there are some people that have found themselves needing to look for strangers basing themselves only on names - or worse, nicknames.

Wilbur figures that the people that are in the best position to find their teammates are those who have been paired with bards, as there have been half a dozen different people performing ever since they sat down to eat.

Luckily for him, his own team has no such problems. Tubbo, Niki and Fundy, on the other hand, are still waiting to learn who their fourth is going to be. Since the training grounds will soon be open for team practices, starting from the next morning in fact, they plan on looking for them there.

Tymora, or Lady Luck, has apparently other plans for them.

It's nearing midnight when a short man with only one eye and a thick Draconic accent walks up the stage for what seems like the hundredth time that night. In his hand, the same piece of paper that has been progressively getting more and more ragged as the evening went on. He unfolds it as he walks up, thanking the tired looking bard that is leaving the stage, and it rips in half - his only reaction is a sigh and a shrug.

He squints, putting together the parchment and pursing his lips as the two ripped halves slowly mold back together, then calls out, somehow magically raising his voice over the sound of the tavern's clients talking and clapping for the leaving bard.

"Next up: Quackity! Come up the stage!"

Fundy's fox claws suddenly dig into Wilbur's legs, making him wince in pain and choke on his sip of mead. A split second later, he's got a lap full of disgruntled mage.

Tubbo, on the other side of the table, is standing on his chair in order to see the stage over a firbolg's shoulders - holding himself up by using Tommy's head, who is extremely unwilling.

"A bard?!" Fundy exclaims, prompting Wilbur to move his eyes from the stage towards him with a frown.

"What's wrong with bards?!" He asks, helping him get off of him and into his abandoned chair. Before Fundy can find a way to put his rebuttal into coherent words, Wilbur's eyes snap back toward the stage as people are starting to give a quiet, tentative clap for the newcomer.

The kid looks human, probably about Niki's age, and he sits down a bit awkwardly on the stool he brought with himself before plucking a couple of strings on his guitar. They're sitting quite far from the stage, but Wilbur's trained eye still manages to catch the fact that that is an old and well used one - his heart squeezes just a bit at the thought of his former source pride and joy, the guitar he travelled with ever since he left home.

Wilbur knows, viscerally, of the fear that always precedes a performance, especially in front of a new crowd. Especially in front of adventures, whose tastes are ever changing and easy to sway from the crowd's perspective: adventurers either like you, or they don't, and if they don't you're not gonna have a good time.

And yet.

After checking his guitar, the kid looks up with a bright smile and a confident expression and starts playing - no buildup, no further introduction, no boisterous announcements of his titles or fame.

And by the gods does he play.

He's good, but he's not just technically good: he's an entertainer, plays with his guitar as much as he plays with words and with the crowd - clearly making up verses for his songs to fit what happens around him, bantering with the adventurers that step up to his plays of words. Sometimes he bursts out laughing mid verse and despite that his fingers never stop flying over the cords, his laughter becoming part of the song itself.

Halfway through, he catches Techno's eyes: the shifter raises an eyebrow and Wil simply nods, so Techno nods back

The tiefling is glad to know that they both think he's good, they had been worried about leaving the three newest additions to their team alone with a random stranger.

And if the enthusiastic way the rest of the team is clapping for him, they're going to get along more than well.

Half an hour later a flushed and visibility sweaty Quackity makes his way down the stage, followed by a thunderous applause and some occasional claps on the back; one passing adventurer even thrusts a pint of ale into his hands, prompting what looks to be a flustered reaction from the bard as he quickly makes his way out of the tavern.

Either that or he needed some air, which was completely understandable, especially after such an active performance.

Wilbur is about to comment on the stellar introduction they just received when the sudden noise of hands slamming onto the table - their table - makes him jump in his skin.

"We have to go and say hi!" Declares Tubbo, still standing on the chair - now with Niki helping him not fall to the ground.

Tommy nods enthusiastically next to him and even Fundy seems to be about to agree. To be quite honest, Wilbur wants to join in too and is therefore about to stand up when Phil raises his hands to get them to slow down.

"You're gonna scare him if you all corner him outside. How about his three teammates go, on their best behaviour?" The elf concludes, shooting Fundy a pointed look.

The shifter gapes, looking extremely insulted, then he starts to protest and finally he sighs with a pout. Ah, the wonders of people arguing with Phil.

"Alright, no pranks and no scamming. Pinky promise." Fundy huffs out, crossing his arms over his chest and slouching down into his chair. Wilbur does his best to chuckle under his breath, because he's not any better, he's just not the target of the reprimand for this time.

Then, Phil's stare turns to his left.

"You too, Tubbo. No scams." He states, prompting Tubbo to almost fall over as he agitatedly protests, spluttering out indignantly.

Exiting into the coldness of the night is almost a shock, especially when compared to the almost too warm air inside the tavern.

The sounds coming from inside are almost completely silenced, and when they close the doors behind them the stillness of the night is all they can hear. Fundy shudders for a moment, his body struggling to adapt to the lack of heat, when his instinctive reaction would normally be to morph back into his fox form. He snaps his fingers together, conjuring a small flame in his hands to keep himself warm, and sees Tubbo moving closer to him before he remembers that ah, right, the kid can't see in the dark.

Still, it's not hard to find their objective - their future friend, as he's already been dubbed by Tubbo. Quackity is leaning on the outside wall, right next to an illuminated window, pint abandoned on his side as he looks at the night sky, one foot tapping on the ground as if following a silent melody.

In the beginning, the plan had involved Niki leading the way, so that she could introduce the three of them and they could all make arrangements to meet the next morning at the training fields, so that they could all be friends and hang out and win the tournament.

Said plan is instantly scrapped the instant Tubbo lets out a small gasp, eyes going wide as he hurries to duck around Niki, swiftly avoiding Fundy’s hand reaching out to grab at his shirt. The young human scrambles to reach the sitting bard, who naturally flinches and stares in confusion at the kid running towards him.

As Tubbo finally gets close, he stops and points at Quackity’s head.

"Hi! You have a moth on your head."

Fundy’s groan is so loud, it reaches the two of them even though he is currently a couple of steps behind and hiding his face in his hands. Niki’s high pitched giggles follow suit, and are soon joined by a shocked burst of laughter - loud, bright, just like his music - from the human sitting in front of Tubbo.

"I- Hi! I do?" Quackity asks, voice tilting upwards as he looks up, as if he could be able to see his own head by rolling his eyes into his skull.

Tubbo giggles seeing him go cross-eyed, and reaches up to gently take the moth in his hand. The little bug’s wings flutter a little as he is moved, apparently not glad to be disturbed from his perch, but he seems to begrudgingly accept his new spot since Tubbo holds him close to the light coming from the tavern’s window. His wings are very pretty, a light grey with black streaks into them that look like the splatters of ink that cover the pages of Tubbo’s various notebooks - his ever growing collection of plans and schematics for new and old projects. According to Tubbo's admittedly limited experience with moths, this one is smaller than one would expect. Very tiny and friendly - "just like you!" Wilbur would probably say if he were there.

"Aw, look at him! Isn't he cute?" Tubbo coos at his new friend, prompting a slightly awkward chuckle from Quackity as the man moves just slightly away from the insect.

"I'm not a fan of bugs, but, uh- he does look fancy." Q eyes nervously the other two, but Tubbo ignores it, too taken with his new little pal to take care of trivial things like introductions. Niki just smiles warmly and opens her mouth to do so - possibly to also reassure the poor human - , but Tubbo is already speaking again.

"My friend can speak to bugs! He said moths always think of food and light." Quackity is once again seemingly stunned, stuck between the awkwardness of not knowing who the people surrounding him are and the confusion regarding the topic of discussion. He blinks, shooting a look towards the bug in Tubbo's hand before quickly looking away with a light grimace, choosing to focus on Tubbo himself.

"Well, little buddy better not get hurt trying to reach a flame!" Q jokes, letting out a small chuckle. Tubbo's face turns from awed to serious in a split second, his other hand moving to cup around the moth.

"That won't happen, I'll protect him!" He answers determinately, nodding solemnly towards Quackity, who can only gape for a moment before bursting out laughing again, shaking his head a little.

"So, uh … Is there a reason why you've cornered me, or are you just fans?" He asks after a moment, once his chuckles have died down, turning a raised eyebrow towards Fundy and Niki, still standing a bit awkwardly behind Tubbo.

"Oh, we are your teammates! We recognised your name and figured we should say hi." Niki explains with a smile, moving to crouch next to Tubbo so that the young human can move the moth closer to her.

"You- oh! Oh! -" Quackity exclaims, eyes widening and suddenly looking at them with less confusion "-That's good to know, what a coincidence!" He comments, chuckling to himself as he wipes a hand over his face, grimacing at the dampness that comes away with it - he really needs to wash up.

"And yet! The gods smile upon us." Niki says with a smile, watching as the moth flutters his wings to move from Tubbo's hand to hers.

Nobody seems to notice the unimpressed look that Quackity shoots towards the night sky, but Tubbo's eyes snap towards him the instant he lets out a deep sigh.

"I guess so. Anyhow. I'm going to pass out on my bed, I'll see you tomorrow morning?" The human asks, tone a sweet mixture of enthusiastic, hopeful and exhausted as he moves away from the wall - his guitar in one hand and the untouched mug of ale in the other.

Tubbo nods enthusiastically, grinning widely at him; next to him, Niki smiles kindly, while Fundy goes for a much more noncommittal nod of his head.

Quackity's eyes linger on the three of them for just a moment more, as if trying to figure something out, then he nods to himself and raises the mug to mimic a toast in their honour, opening the door to the inside of the tavern.

"Don't keep me waiting!"

#sbi&co dnd au #sbi dnd au #now sbi&co #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza #ph1lza #tommyinnit #tubbo #nihachu #itsfundy #quackity

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let-it-show · 4 years ago

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The Importance of Words

Looks like I’ll be running a day behind but WOW I’m tired. Surprised I’m not asleep in my chair to be honest. Here is the fic for the prompt of Healing, set just after the events of the first film. I’ve wanted to explore this pain for a while. Have some emotions!

If only. Anna curled in on herself, holding her stomach as a familiar ache took over. Her being felt hollow as she tried to swallow wave after wave of dull pain unsuccessfully. Having suffered it night after night she thought she'd be able to get past it and be okay. That's the kind of person she was, wasn't she? Always optimistic, always able to move forward.

If only there was someone out there who loved you.

The words Hans had spoken so close to her lips sliced through her heart like a knife. The moment it happened she had been too cold and too mentally numb to process what happened. Her sister had thrown her out. Kristoff had left her off even if he had seemed hesitant to do so. Did no one want her? She could only process that for a split second when Hans had gone on his monologue about his dark plans.

Did anyone love her? Anna's breathing hitched and she tried to curl in further on herself. She was being foolish, of course they did. Kristoff was her friend who definitely had a little crush on her. Olaf had even said he loved her, but he kind of loved everyone. And Elsa? She appeared to love her, with the way she held her when she froze and how much she tended to touch and hug her since the thaw. She hadn't actually said those words to her though.

Would she ever? Or would she one day tell her she had been happy to see her, but didn't really love her?

Nevermind wondering if someone out there loved her - did anyone in the castle love her?

Anna choked out a sob and turned to lay on her stomach as she sobbed into her round, pink pillow. She'd been trying so hard to keep from crying but the sob opened the gates and her tears flowed. Until she met Olaf, no one in her life had said "I love you, Anna," since her parents left for the journey that drowned them. That was three years.

Three years of feeling utterly alone with a door and some portraits on the wall. Kai and Gerda were very kind to her but she didn't have those sort of emotional talks with them, her mind focused on Elsa most of the time.

Elsa.

Anna sniffed and cleared her throat. She was getting snot on her pillow. Elsa did love her, she knew that, she really did. But she hadn't said it. Anna wanted to hear it so much.

A fresh batch of tears welled up and she sobbed again - then suddenly hushed as there was a knock on her door, and Elsa's voice. "Anna? Are you awake?" she asked softly.

It was late in the night and Anna was surprised that Elsa was up. She rolled over and sat up, wiping the sleeve of her pajamas over her nose. It was gross. She cleared her throat and answered. "Yes. Come in!" Her voice didn't sound right and she cringed at herself.

The door opened immediately and Elsa slid in, clad in her light blue nightgown and holding a candle. Her hair was in her usual braid and she had blue slippers on her feet. She closed the door behind her and then merely stood there. "Your voice sounded odd. Are you alright?"

"Are YOU alright?" Anna asked, not wanting to answer. Besides, Elsa hadn't knocked on her door before.

"I suppose. I could not sleep, so I wondered if you had stayed up late reading again," Elsa answered, stepped away from the door to approach the bed. "But I can tell that's not the case. Why are you still awa-Anna!?" The candlelight hit her face and Anna knew Elsa could see she was a mess.

She imagined her eyes were as red and puffy as they felt, cheeks red and nose disgusting. "I um-my stomach hurt." That wasn't untrue.

"And that is why you've been crying? It must have hurt quite a bit...." The tone indicated Elsa didn't believe her.

Anna bit her lip and looked down at the bed. "I was thinking, that's all."

Elsa sat on the edge of the bed by Anna's thighs, facing her. She reached for Anna's arm and stroked a finger down it, luckily missing the snot-zone. "About?"

How should she answer? Anna was sad and a wreck, but she felt too tired to lie. She didn't like to lie anyway, when she talked to Elsa through the door she was always honest. She just always chose to omit that she didn't feel loved. Then again, it had never stabbed her as hard as it did since the thaw. Anna wished she could be satisfied from Elsa's touch and her concern.

She needed more.

"Um, Hans." There. That was good enough to start with.

She could hear the scowl in Elsa's voice. "Ah, that human shaped pile of...well, what about him? What of him is worth crying over? I know the idea of marriage excited you but really-"

"Th-that's not it." Anna cut her off and kept looking down. It was embarrassing to put it into words. Anna voiced everything, though, and she didn't want to keep it hidden. "It's...something he said. Back when - before I found you again on the fjord."

Elsa shifted closer, her hand finding Anna's. "Go on, please," she prompted softly.

"I...it's...Hans-he said-well, he implied-well that no one loves me. Or loved me then, you know, whatever." She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed out more sad little tears. She was embarrassed. Her heart hurt.

At first she was met with silence. Anna sobbed again before she could catch herself and then slapped her hand over her mouth. Any minute Elsa would...what? Leave? She didn't think that would make sense...

Then she felt fingers combing through her hair. Elsa shifted, closer it felt like, and her hair was still being stroked. It lasted some seconds and then she felt cool hands on either side of her face, steering her to pick it up. Soft thumbs stroked her cheeks. "Anna, open your eyes sweetheart. Please open your eyes." Her voice was just above a whisper.

Slowly, Anna obliged. When she did she was met with a soft glow. It wasn't of the candle, but several icy orbs surrounding her bed emitting a calming blue light. She let her face be turned up so that her gaze met with Elsa's. The minute their eyes locked on each other's, her heart began to settle. Elsa's eyes held nothing but adoration in them, along with a soothing effect that made Anna relax her shoulders while she let out a shaky breath.

"You know what that terrible man said, you know it's not true, right?" Elsa asked as her voice stayed quiet. She kept her palms on her face. "He wanted to hurt you."

"He did. He said that and left me in that cold room..." He left her there to die, she thought, and a shiver ran through her. Elsa started to drop her hands but Anna suddenly raised her own to cover them. "No, I'm not shivering from you, I was thinking of how creepy he was. But he succeeded."

"Anna, you are so loved. You know that was swill, right?" Elsa asked studying her.

"Well...Olaf said it but he also says it to bees. No one has said it to me since-since Mother and Father..."

"..." Elsa blinked, as if realization dawned on her. "Of course...and I never said it, even if I felt it with every fiber of my being. Everything I did, I did for you, but I-I went about it all so wrong. I didn't even think about you couldn't possibly know, I was so..." Elsa took a deep breath. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to Anna's forehead. "I love you, Anna, I really do. I love you more than anything, more than anyone. I'm so sorry I've held those words back from you. I should have echoed them back to you the moment I heard them from you on the fjord.” She kissed her again and moved closer, pulling Anna into a hug.

Anna clung to her and she cried. She knew she was being ridiculous, but she cried. She held her tight and sobbed into her shoulder. All of her sadness and all of her insecurity poured out of her, shoulders shaking and all. Elsa's arms were actually warm and in them Anna felt cared for. She felt cherished. She couldn't remember the last time she truly and honestly felt like that. Not even when Hans had proposed had she felt like that.

"I'll do better, Anna. I'll keep showing you I love you, I promise. I might not be great at it right away but I'll show you, and you won't hurt like this again," Elsa told her and Anna believed her.

It took a few minutes for her to get a word out. "Elsa?" she asked, still clinging to her.

"Yes, Anna?" Elsa pulled back just enough to see her face. Anna could see her eyes were wet.

"Would you stay in here with me tonight? Please? I think it might help," Anna managed, sniffing.

A little smile appeared on Elsa's face. "Of course. I'll stay here tonight and every night after if it will assure you that I do, indeed, love you oh so much."

First Anna paused - but then she pulled Elsa back into the hug. Her heart wasn't mended in that instant, however a weight had been lifted. Her stomach had ceased its painful pulsing, and her eyes while still sore suffered the effect of tiredness rather than tears.

She was loved. Somebody did love her; she'd heard it herself. She wasn't about to be left to freeze, but she was going to be joined and kept warm in soul and body. "Thank you, Elsa, so much. I love you so much."

Elsa squeezed her and it was clear she wouldn't be letting her go soon. If Anna listened hard she wondered if she could hear her purr. Instead, she heard something even better:

"I love you too Anna. I always have - and I always will."

#Elsanna week #fanfic #Elsanna #Elsa #Anna

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a-girl-must-have-a-new-name · 4 years ago

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Best One Yet

Gendry choked as he opened the Tyrell’s front door and a fog of dried ice assaulted him. However he waved it away and gallantly held the door open wider so that Arya could slip under his arm and enter.

“Wow Margaery really outdid herself again this year didn’t she!” It was more fact than question, one Gendry didn’t bother answering as they took in their surroundings for the evening. Margaery Tyrell had gone all out this year and had decorated her house as if it were a mausoleum, if mausoleums were underground vampire clubs of course. Columns that Gendry was at least seventy-five percent sure hadn’t been there before, now lined the entrance and into the ballroom of the estate. Instead of twinkling lights or whatever it was that they usually used for parties it seemed like Margaery and Loras had acquired a couple hundred sconces to light the house in a flickering candlelight. Gendry hoped that when the eventual fire would start Arya and he would be long gone. Though it seemed as though Arya had no such plan, eyeing the “mood lighting” in absolute delight.

“This is amazing! Robb had said Margaery had been going crazy the last week or so with planning, but even he has to admit it was worth it!”

“I don’t know, I kinda like last years theme better.” Last year had been a pumpkin carving party with tons of alcohol involved.

“That’s just because you enjoyed seeing Joffrey accidentally cut himself with a carving knife.”

“And you didn’t?”

“Well lets just say I wasn’t boo hooing as his goons dragged him to the hospital for stitches.” Arya smiled as she thought back to Joffrey almost fainting from the sight of all his blood.

“Arya, Gendry! I’m so glad you came!” Margaery Tyrell was on them in an instant hugging and kissing both on the cheek before pulling away to look at them.

“Love your costumes by the way! Please tell me that you’ll both enter the couples contest!” Margery spoke over the music. Arya looked up at Gendry coyly and shrugged. This year they had decided to go as Batman and Catwoman. Not the most original costume idea they’ve had but one that suited them fine nonetheless. In fact Arya was rather proud of the look. Having decided to go with a more vintage looking Catwoman, taking her inspiration right from Julie Newmar.

Arya had begged Sansa for months to make the costume and after promising to cover Sansa’s chores for the rest of the year. (As well as forking over the money for materials needed and a little extra for service) Arya couldn’t be happier! How Sansa had gotten the pattern needed and an almost exact type of fabric she couldn’t say but damn was her sister good at what she does. Sansa had even offered to help her do her hair and make up, styling it like Brigitte Bardot.

Arya had thought Gendry would go with the Nolan batman costume or something of that nature. To show off his stature and muscles, also because it was overall just bad ass if she had to say so. However, to her surprise Gendry showed up to her house in the Adam West Costume eyebrow mask and all. Once Arya could stand up straight again after laughing too hard she asked him why the choice?

“Who doesn’t want to be Adam West? Besides the other costumes made me look strange with all the extra padding sewn in on them.” Gendry did mention off-handedly, obviously a little embarrassed at the explanation but Arya couldn’t see why. Gendry had a great fucking body, one that was constantly on her mind if she was honest. He was well built from years of sports and hard work, lifting and carrying car parts and tools at his job at Mott’s Garage. He wasn’t crazy muscular like Dany’s Boyfriend was but he was still fit buff. In Fact with him wearing the batsuit she was reminded of vintage photos of American football players.

Shaking away her thoughts she turned back to Margaery admiring her own costume choice, Margaery had opted for a vampire look, befitting this year's theme. She was wearing a long flowy black sheer and laced corset dress with black and red roses adorning her hair in a makeshift crown that ended up cascading strategically down the back of her hair in smaller roses.

“Margaery your costume is great, I can see why Robb spent so much on his costume!” Arya

“Hey from what I heard my costume didn’t cost anything near what yours did. Hey Gendry what’s up? Batman nice!” Robb had joined the little group, greeting Gendry with their usual hug and leaned over to try and muss Arya’s hair who expertly dodged. Robb’s costume was very similar to Margaery's having an almost Victorian design with the same details sewn into the dress cape he wore. The group talked a little longer but Margaery had to excuse herself having hosting duties and Robb being the ever dutiful boyfriend followed her. Arya turned to Gendry eyed him up and down a glint in her eyes as she spoke

“Mr. Wayne would you care to dance?”

“Only if you call me Batman when we are out in public, Don’t want to have my identity known.”

“Purrr-fect.” Arya jokingly said as she grabbed Gendry’s hand and excitedly led him to the dance floor. Where a dark techno beat was blasting. For the next hour or so they danced. It was truly an eclectic set Margaery had put together. one moment it was a haunting waltz music which unsurprisingly for the group that had gathered all knew. (products of their upbringings) Gendry was a little nervous only having learned these dances later in life but Arya gently reminded him as they went and soon it was no problem at all for him, even surprising her once or twice with twirls and dips.

There were also the songs where they pull each other closer, moving rhythmically to the slowed hypnotic beats. A growing frustration at wanting to be even closer to each other, often forgetting where they were and getting caught up in the moment. Only getting a warning click of disapproval from Jon once, before his girlfriend Ygritte dragged him away.

While jumping along when rave music blasted. After one final dance, one that was exceptionally energetic, Gendry pleaded for a break and both moved towards the refreshment tables. Gendry in search of food and drink for them while Arya looked for a place to sit.

“Arya come sit at my table!” Sansa’s voice rang out clearly but Arya had trouble placing it until a wild hand beckoned her forward.

“Sansa is that you?” Arya was shocked instead of seeing her normal long Tully red hair Sansa was wearing a short dark black wig. Styled in a classic men's side part. It was jarring to see her with dark short hair. Arya thought rather enviously that it suited her even better than when Arya sported a short cropped hairstyle all those long years ago. Sansa’s delicate features were highlighted even more. And was it possible that Sansa’s blue eyes looked even brighter because of the dark color? Life was unfair.

However, Arya didn’t dwell on it like she would have years ago instead she smiled widely and approached Sansa who for her part was lounging at the table she had acquired and was looking around the room from time to time.

“This is great isn’t it? I think it’s even better than junior year's Rocky Horror theme!” Sansa exclaimed as Arya plopped down beside her.

That year had been a karaoke party while the film continuously played on loop on one of the dance floor walls. Sansa had been dragged up to the mic to sing and pretty much stole the show. Well at least she had until Olenna Tyrell walked down the stairs for a drink and came face to er- Renly Baratheon's gyrating hips as he danced drunkenly on one of the tables.

It had been a night to remember truly. Especially when Olenna surprised everyone and grabbed the mic from Sansa’s hands and with a strength that a woman of her age shouldn’t have possessed pulled Renly down from the table and had him singing along with her in no time.

“That was a pretty great party.” Arya admitted remembering Sansa’s scandalized face at the time.

“Hey Arya I grabbed a whole bunch of different things to eat! I even snagged a goodie bag for dessert. I figured we can grab a few more later. Margaery isn’t going to notice- Oh hey Sansa almost didn’t recognize you! Great costume but I thought Arya said you were going as the little mermaid?”

“Oh I am, however somebody made a better case that they should be Ariel” Sansa replied casually with a conspiratorial smile forming across her lips as she looked behind them.

“Sup Bitches! Gendry I love what you’ve done with your brows!” Theon shouted loudly as he placed two bottles on the table, a water for Sansa and a beer for him.

Gendry who had taken a bite out of his cupcake once again began to choke, though Arya couldn’t be worried at the moment as she grinned wildly at Theon reaching over the table to give him a high five. Theon had a long red wig on and a purple seashell bra that was slightly skewed. His bottom half Arya was happy to see covered by a mertail. Which was connected to a stick so he could move it around.

“Alright I give up, Gendry I don’t think we are going to win the costume contest.”

“That’s fine with me, if you guys don’t win it, the contest is rigged!”

“Come on now, I think we’ve got a good shot to win this year” Ygritte's voice came from behind as everyone turned to look at them. Ygritte and Jon looked absolutely ridiculous in their Scoops Ahoy costumes.

Jon had absolutely refused at first, saying there was no way he’d walk around looking like that. Contest or not.

However, it was no surprise to Arya that, that evening as she was walking through the hallway she spotted Jon meticulously adjusting the sailor hat to sit perfectly on his locks. Jon having caught her looking only sighed defeatedly and shrugged his shoulders. As if to say “what can you do?”

Everyone moved around so that there was more room at the table and Theon nodded his head regarding the newest members of the table looking them up and down before his normal sly smile crept across his face.

“I’ll give it to you, you’ve got the upper hand in terms of popularity at the moment. But what Sans and I’ve got is pure classic nostalgia, and humor. Though I do have to admit Snow, those shorts are a riot!”

“Not to mention you really nailed the hair Harrington!” Robb joined the conversation plopping on the only chair left at the table next to Jon and ruffling his hair. Causing Jon to curse moving out of reach and adjusting the hat once more.

“Where’s Margaery? Sansa asked, looking around for her.

“She’s setting up for the runway right now.” Robb answered as he swiped Theon’s beer taking a sip for himself while Theon went to go get more drinks for the table.

“She got a runway for this?” Gendry asked in disbelief, rich people never stopped surprising him.

“Hey at least it’s not a haunted mansion like she rented three years ago.” Robb offered knowingly. Patting Gendry on the back.

“But Harrenhal was awesome. I want to go back!” Arya defended. Gendry looked visibly ill at the thought. That was back before they had become a couple, they had decided to go to the party with their friend Hot Pie. It was not a good night for Gendry who up until that moment had been able to keep his fear of jump scares and ghost to a minimum. It also didn’t help that some pretty boy named Jaqen had gone along on their group's tour, walking with Arya and laughing at the scare actors and tour guide as they went.

The only thing that made the tour bearable was after one close call of Gendry nearly hitting a worker with his Thor hammer. Arya having realized what was wrong, left the front of the group to walk side by side with him the rest of the night. Taking his hand in preparation for the next scare, and squeezing it to reassure him before letting go again. At some point in the night Gendry just kept a hold of her hand. And within the week they were going out. So yeah maybe Harrenhal wasn’t as bad as he remembered. But still the thought of the creepy burnt house and all the ghost and ghouls that were there was enough to keep him away for a lifetime

The rest of the night ended up staying for the most part at the table, laughing and reminiscing on Halloween’s past. Theon caused everyone to cry from laughter as he retold highlights of his tricks as a child. How he had successfully tee-peed old Walder Frey's house and never got caught. To which Robb added that he never got caught only because Robb was blamed for it instead. It cost Robb a month of cleaning and yard work at the man’s house to make up for it.

Arya had moved from her chair at some point to sit on Gendry’s lap and leaned into the crook of his neck enjoying the feeling of his body laughing at her brother’s wild antics. It was nice to see the usually stoic man open up and enjoy other peoples company. But Arya knew it was only because this was her crazy family and he’d known all of them just as long as she’d known him. He was just as much a part of the stories as anyone else.

The group ate and drank the rest of the night, Robb having left half way through to go help Margaery once more, and soon the contest had begun. The crowd cheered as each couple walked the runway. Margaery and Robb walked first after having explained they wouldn’t be competing but still thought the costumes deserved to be appreciated. They looked like quite the power couple. Then after a while Jon and Ygritte had their turn. Both laughing as they walked, people screaming their character’s names and quoting the show as they went. As they sat back down Jon winked at Arya.

“Beat that.”

“Oh trust me, we will!” feeling her competitive streak rise up Arya hopped out of Gendry’s lap and grabbed his arm dragging him along. After quickly consulting with each other on what they were going to do Arya ran back stage to hand her phone to Margaery asking her to play it on the sound system. By the time Arya got back to Gendry it was almost their time to walk. And as soon as the original batman theme started playing the crowd went wild. Gendry ran out on stage karate chopping and punching the air in wild broad strokes in time with the music. Meanwhile Arya waited until he was about two thirds of the way down the runway and then she was going. Thanking her parents for all the years of gymnastics she had taken Arya carted her way down. Twisting and flipping perfectly down the line. Before landing perfectly next to Gendry. Both grinned like idiots as they took a sweeping bow. Confident in their spot they hopped off the Stage Gendry catching Arya easily in his arms which added more fuel to the fire as the crowd laughed and cheered even more. Walking back to their table Arya eyed Ygritte coyly before asking.

“Still think you're winning?”

“No, no we know when we’re beat.” Ygritte laughed.

“I just hope you know when you Are.” Jon said with a chuckle as he pointed to the stage where Sansa and Theon were alreadying posing. And once the regular music started once more. Both started to strut the runway. In tandem looking like ridiculous models. At some point Theon somehow was able to wrap the part of the tail that was attached to a stick around his neck dramatically like a scarf before ripping it free at the end of the walk. Sansa for her part pulled out a sword from a hilt and started brandishing it. Arya quickly realized it was her prized fencing sword Jon had bought her. But couldn’t find it in herself to be mad. Instead she threw her head back wolf whistling as Theon turned “seductively” around showing the complete costume. In the end it really was no contest. Sansa and Theon won by a landslide. And after a long winded and completely unnecessary acceptance speech on Theon’s part. (which Arya was very sure she heard Jon muttering to himself that he wished Theon would actually lose his voice.) The party had drawn to a close. The group separated all feeling like the night wasn’t quite over. Gendry hummed in content as he and Arya made it back to his apartment. Having ditched the costumes for more comfortable clothes Arya was snuggled up on the couch in one of Gendry’s large t-shirts, as Gendry flipped through dvd’s before finally settling on one. Quickly putting it in and turning off the lights he sat on the couch as well, gladly letting Arya into his space as she leaned against him once more. Arya laughed as the title menu for the batman show lit up the screen.

“Not tired of it yet?”

“No way gotta pay homage to it right?”

“Right, and what better way than a marathon and candy?”

“Oh shit I forgot to get the goodie bags!”

“I know, that’s why I swiped them, when you were asking Robb if they needed any help cleaning.”

“Why you crafty little thief there’s like 10 bags here!” Gendry laughed as Arya pulled her bag she had taken for the night out and revealed all the treats she had grabbed. Arya merely shrugged, pulling two out and tossing one to Gendry.

“ What can I say? I really wanted to pay homage to Catwoman.”

This was hands down Margaery’s best Halloween party yet.

#gendrya fic #arya x gendry #asoiaf fic #game of thrones #arya stark #gendry waters #gendrya

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wickedmilo · 3 years ago

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ASK ME ANYTHING | MILO & HARSH

PLACE: Harsh’s apartment TIMING: A couple of months before ‘Sweet Summer Child’ SUMMARY: Milo begrudgingly accepts the fact that if you don’t know, sometimes you just have to ask WRITING PARTNER: @notsoharsh CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of overdosing, needles, and drug abuse

Milo stared down at his notebook, his hasty, and cluttered handwriting making it difficult to spot any spelling mistakes or inconsistencies. Not that it would matter, really. He had no plan on actually letting Harsh see his work. But it felt important to appear at least semi-composed. He was already making himself vulnerable, embarrassing himself by showing his blatant lack of understanding. He knew Harsh would be kind, and patient. The man had yet to show any sign of regretting his decision to take him in, something that was both a comfort, and a concern. It was forever looming over his head, the thought of the older vampire growing bored of playing mentor. But he knew he couldn’t live in fear. Either it would happen, or it wouldn’t, and right now, what was important was his distinct, and disorienting lack of knowledge. Hopefully, by the end of the night, he wouldn’t feel so lost, or confused. He might finally get some answers.

People had been helping him, Harsh in particular had made him feel safe, and secure in a way he could never have anticipated. But there was so much to learn, and it was very rare for information to come up organically. He was learning, that much was undeniable, but the pacing was slow, and eventually he had come to decide the best course of action would be writing a list. A list of everything he felt he had missed, everything that wasn’t about to come up in conversation, every question that hit him at 6 in the morning, every worry, every passing query, every fact that Rio wouldn’t know. Harsh would be there for him, in the same way he had been there for him since the moment they first crossed paths with each other. So he saw no harm in presenting him with said list, of asking him outright in a bid to know more.

The overwhelming scent of human food told him he would find Harsh cooking in the kitchen. It was something he did an awful lot considering he wasn’t able to enjoy the food, but the sound of somebody cooking, the smells, and routine that came with seeing his roommate busy over a stovetop, was something he genuinely enjoyed. It made the apartment feel more like home. Slipping out of his bedroom, and making his way into the hall, his socked feet were soft, and quiet against the apartment’s hardwood flooring. When he finally arrived at the kitchen, he hovered in the doorway so that he could watch for a moment before making his presence known. No doubt Harsh was fully aware he had an audience, he was very good at staying vigilant, but he pretended otherwise so it felt polite to announce himself. “So…” He started, trying to ignore the sudden spark of anxiety that ignited within his chest. It was an unhealthy product of his academic upbringing, but he hated not knowing. If he needed to know the answer to a question he had always been encouraged to search for it himself, which made it very easy to pretend he had automatically known the answer. This was different. Harsh was him searching for information, only to get it, he first needed to admit that he didn’t have it. Something that didn’t come naturally to him. “What’s on the menu tonight?” He asked, leaning against the door jam, offering an affectionate smile.

There was something strangely comforting about having a roommate again. No, comforting wasn’t quite the word. Settling, balancing maybe. Harsh didn’t care to get hung up on the particulars. He knew what he was like when left on his own too long, had been there too many times. He got reckless, he got sloppy. Even before he had turned, before he had thrown his soul away, he had been impulsive. It was worse now. Though he had learned from two hundred years of mistakes, there were still times he slipped, fell into old, bad behaviors. It was so easy. Instant gratification. That was the name of the soulless game and it was one he had played for two centuries. He liked to think he played it well, but there had been close calls and plenty of them. Now though, there was someone else to worry about. A couple of someones, if he was honest with himself now. He had friends, people who gave a shit. And he wanted to give one too. It was weird, the feelings scraping up the hollow where his soul should be. Wanting one wasn’t the same as having it, not by a long shot, but he had been pretending for a while. Fake it till you make it, the words had served him pretty damn well so far. What was a bit more?

Harsh didn’t take his eyes off the sizzling pan in front of him as Milo made his way down the hall. The kid was learning. Stealth wasn’t part of the vampire package, but it was necessary to know to make it out there. Still, Harsh hadn’t made it this far without knowing when someone was sneaking up on him, when he was being watched. But he kept his eyes on the food before him. Neither of them needed to eat, but it was a habit he had never quite managed to shake. He remembered it vaguely how much he had liked to cook when he was alive. Though the tastes had faded off his tongue, the fun hadn’t. He grinned as he flipped the vegetables, tossing and catching in the searing pan. Glancing over his shoulder at Milo’s question, he grinned. “Stir fry, I found this new recipe I wanted to try. Extra spicy, careful around the garlic though, makes your fangs pop out if you get a big bite.”

Grabbing two dishes from the cupboard, he plated up the food smoothly and slid one across the counter to Milo. The apartment wasn’t huge, but it was big enough to suit their purposes and had a landlord who didn’t look too closely at references. The kitchen was separated from the living room only by a half wall sort of island, a bar stool on either side. Harsh sank onto his after grabbing a mug of blood out of the microwave. “You want a cup?” he asked. “There’s more in the fridge. Should last us a couple weeks.”

Milo eyed the vegetables as Harsh flipped them, looking back up at the man in time to catch his easy grin. It was so obvious he enjoyed cooking, though he had never thought to ask why before. Was it something he used to do a lot when he was human? Maybe he had been a chef in some past forgotten life. “Wait- you put garlic in there?” He asked, moving forward to peer into the pan, his notebook still clutched to his chest. “That’s really a thing? Like, vampires and garlic?” He couldn’t hide his skepticism though he definitely wasn’t about to demand any kind of proof. He figured that was one question he would be able to tick off of his list. Leaning against the kitchen counter as Harsh moved to ready two plates, he couldn’t help the way his expression brightened at the prospect of blood. He had always been self-indulgent. If something made him feel good, or he enjoyed it, then he wanted more. He wasn’t in the business of denying himself simple pleasures, and thanks to his new life, blood happened to be one of them.

He had kept note of his roommate’s eating habits, he knew vampires only really needed a moderate amount every couple of weeks if they wanted to get by without descending into bloodlust. But much to the detriment of Harsh’s supply, he had been drinking far more than he needed to. Why not? If Harsh was happy to let him then he saw no reason to hold back. “Sure!” He enthused, picking up his plate of food and setting it down opposite Harsh so that it would be ready for him when he got back. Leaving his notebook beside it, he moved to pull a blood bag out of the fridge. Using a pair of scissors from the cutlery drawer to cut open the plastic, he looked back over to his company as he began to empty the blood into a mug. “Did you have a good day- I mean, night at work?” He absentmindedly corrected himself, still not used to the shift in scheduling. “Anything interesting happen?”

“Oh yeah, a whole bunch. I know it’s weird.” Harsh shot Milo a grin as he drew closer, glancing at the notebook. Huh, he was actually trying to do homework on this whole vampire thing. That was probably smart. “It is… sort of. It doesn’t hurt us or anything, but it makes it pretty hard to pretend to be human. Try a clove and see what happens,” he said, passing one over. “I just eat them like popcorn sometimes. They actually taste like something. I go a little crazy seasoning things sometimes.” As much as he swore by the perks of being undead, he couldn’t really deny that not being able to taste things properly was sort of a pain. After two hundred years, he was used to it, but playing around in the kitchen, trying to find something that would cut through the dullness never quite got old.

The blood wasn’t going as far as it used to, but that was to be expected. Sharing with a roommate, and a newbie at that, was going to make things a little tighter than usual. Oh well. If they started running low on blood bags, Harsh could just go eat a couple joggers. He slid onto a stool at the counter, popping a large forkful of food into his mouth. Decent, but he could do better. “Well, Dr. Gnick killed three people in surgery today and made his interns talk to their families, so that was kind of a shit show. They seriously need to take that guy’s medical license away. If you ever want a watch though, let me know, he loses his in patients all the time. They’re nice ones too. What about you, man? Finding stuff to do around here?”

“Everything about this situation is weird.” Milo countered, throwing the empty blood bag into the bin before putting his mug in the microwave. Setting the timer in the way he had been taught to, the drink should be body temperature by the time the alarm eventually sounded. Just the fact that he knew how long to microwave blood for inarguably supported his statement. That was not normal information to retain. Turning around to lean back against the counter behind him, listening to the quiet hum of the appliance, he wrinkled his nose at the thought of eating garlic cloves like popcorn. He knew as he tried to imagine doing so he was remembering the overpowering taste that came with being human, but it was still a difficult habit to understand. Hesitantly reaching out to take the clove offered to him, he held it up to his eye level, analysing it quietly before deciding he had nothing to lose. Popping it into his mouth, it definitely wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, and Harsh was right about being able to taste… something. But it was only a matter of seconds before he could feel his fangs protruding. They made him feel clumsy, and awkward as he continued to chew. After forcing himself to swallow, he reached up to prod at them with the tip of his finger, raising his eyebrows at his roommate. “So that’s what happens?” He asked. “It doesn’t hurt us but it stops us from looking human?”

It was kind of depressing to think something as mundane as an ingredient could reveal what he was now, draw this monster out of him against his will, but he tried not to dwell on that fact, focusing instead on the microwave as it beeped to alert him that his drink was ready. Once he was comfortably hugging the mug to his chest, he settled into the chair opposite his friend, a quiet laugh escaping him at what he sincerely hoped was a joke. “No he did not.” He countered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Though honestly, shit like that would probably go unnoticed in a place like this.” If doctors could steal blood bags, and he could forge his father’s prescriptions, then people weren’t exactly being vigilant. “I can’t say I’m in the market for a watch,” he admitted. “But I’ll take one if it’s got a gruesome backstory.” Faltering at the question of how he was spending his time, he realised it was the perfect way to change the subject of their conversation. Move it over from lighthearted small talk to something heavier, and more difficult to discuss. Chewing on his bottom lip for a moment, his fangs sharp and uncomfortable against the skin there, he pulled his notebook back towards himself. “Actually…” He tapped his fingers absentmindedly against the page facing upwards. “I spent today coming up with a list of questions.” Offering Harsh a sheepish grin, he watched him carefully for any sign of judgement. “If- if you don’t mind me asking, I mean- I guess his is probably the last thing you want to do after work.”

“Eh, after you’ve been doing it a while, it doesn’t seem that off.” Harsh hardly even thought about it anymore. Drinking blood was just one of those things, like showering or brushing his teeth. But then, he did have about two hundred years to get used to it. He snagged a couple cloves of garlic for himself, not so much as blinking when his fangs jutted out. It took a moment’s focus to get them back in place. Though he didn’t need to. Not like Milo was going to care about it. “Pretty much. So if you’re ever hanging around humans, just make sure you skip the garlic bread.” Garlic usually didn’t prove to be too much of a problem, though Harsh had encountered a couple humans over the years who had tried to slip him some, just to force the fangs out, to prove what they were already certain of. “It would be worse if we could still taste things. I would miss Italian food way more if it still tasted like something. If there’s any kind of food you miss though, I can try to make it. I like playing around with recipes, see what I need to do to make it actually have flavor.”

Harsh laughed, one shoulder rising in a shrug. “Is pulling a watch out of a dead guy’s guts gruesome enough? I swear, the stuff you find in bodies at the hospital is wild.” He had a small collection of things that had been found by the unlucky doctors dealing with the patients who didn’t make it. Maybe it was stealing, but he was pretty sure that no one wanted any of it back. “Questions?” Harsh blinked, caught a little off guard. He shouldn’t have been though. It made sense. When he had first turned, he had probably driven Eleanor crazy with all his questions. “I don’t mind. Better you ask me than try to find vampire forums online, people always make up the weirdest shit. So go for it, kid. Ask me anything.” Hell, this would probably be a better way to spend the night than just watching whatever mindless crap was on TV.

Milo could understand that. Even though on occasion he still caught himself doing something and was inevitably struck by just how strange that something was, his more vampiric habits were slowly becoming second nature. How long until he did things without thinking? Without remembering a time where he didn’t need to? Taking a sip from his mug, washing away the taste of the garlic, he watched Harsh as he retracted his own fangs. It wasn’t the first time he had seen him do it, but now felt like a very good time to ask him how it was possible. “How do you do that? Make them disappear?” He offered a sheepish grin, hiding behind his mug to avoid acknowledging his embarrassment. Maybe no matter what he did, he was going to feel ridiculous for asking so many questions. Maybe he should simply embrace that fact. “Noted.” He laughed quietly at the mention of garlic bread. He wasn’t sure there were many humans he needed to worry about eating around, so it wasn’t very much of a concern. Still, he was willing to take any advice he could get his hands on. “Italian food is your favourite? What was Italian food even like… two hundred years ago? How old are you again?” Making a mental note to think back on any food he missed that Harsh might be able to recreate, he wrinkled his nose at the mention of objects being found in dead bodies. Of course he had ended up with a roommate who liked to collect said items.

“I actually don’t want to know, I’ve changed my mind.” He teased. “I can’t believe you have a collection. Have any ghosts followed you home demanding their shit back?” He was only half joking, he definitely wouldn’t be surprised if the answer ended up being yes. Feeling a little more confident in himself now that the conversation was flowing easily, he nodded, grateful for no longer being able to blush. “Oh, jeez. Thanks for the heads up. I’ll, uh… I’ll stay away from the internet.” Offering his company a genuine smile, he took one more sip of his drink before begrudgingly setting it down. This was going to require his full attention, he couldn’t afford to get distracted. Pulling his notebook towards himself, he let out a huff of breath. Why was it this hard? It shouldn’t be this hard. Especially when Harsh made him feel so comfortable. “Okay, so you know I wrote a list… I’m just going to- I’ll start with the first question.” It was only going to complicate things if he jumbled them, so he swallowed his nerves, steeling himself to rip off the bandaid. “So… why can’t we sleep?” It was something that had been bothering him an awful lot, as of late. He could almost sleep, achieve something that passed the time and felt similar to losing consciousness. But it wasn’t the same. He missed the comfort, and the warmth. He missed the dreaming. “It’s like I can, but I can’t- if you know what I mean. I don’t get it…”

That was a decent question actually. Harsh hesitated, trying to think about it. There was so much that was just automatic now. He had spent so long learning to blend in, how to make himself seem more human, it was something he barely thought about. “You have to kind of relax your mouth. Think un-bloody thoughts. Just let them sink back in. It’s… kind of an instinct thing when they pop out sometimes, y’know? So you have to train yourself to just let them slip back in when you don’t need them. It’ll get easier with time.” At least, that was the hope. If Milo couldn’t figure it out, well… that was going to be a problem for later. He considered the question for a moment, shrugging. “I don’t know if it was my favorite. It depended where you went. I travelled a lot before I turned, everywhere had their own special dish. I’m 262… wait, I might be 263 actually. I sorta stopped keeping track of birthdays a while ago. They seem less special after the hundred year mark.” The date hardly mattered. If he really sat down and thought about it, he could probably remember, but there didn’t seem to be much of a point. It was easier to keep track of the years ticking by.

“Hey, it’s not like I just keep them for the hell of it. Loose watches and rings sell for a lot if you know who wants to buy.” It wasn’t something Harsh technically needed to do, the hospital job paid well enough and he had a decent amount saved. Still, a little extra spending money never hurt. Watching Milo’s posture shift, Harsh sat up a little straighter. So the kid was serious about this. Good, that was good. The more he knew, the better he would handle things out in the world. Huh, that was actually a pretty good question. Harsh rubbed at his chin. “Yeah, I know what you mean. The short answer is that we just don’t need to. I… think when we turn, things in our brain kind of shift a little bit. You don’t need that deep sleep to recharge anymore, so we just… don’t. It’s weird. It’s one of those things that gets easier over time. I think another part of it is… well, humans are kind of wired to sleep at night, but that’s the only time we can really go out and do anything, so we need to be awake for it. If you really miss sleeping… I know a couple people who might be able to help with that.” It wasn’t a guarantee, but hell he had seen spellcasters do a lot more than just put someone to sleep.

Milo glanced down at the blood in his mug, it was tempting him even as they spoke. Maybe thinking ‘un-bloody’ thoughts would need to wait for another time. “Hm, you keep saying that.” He pointed out. Though he had no doubt the words were true, sometimes he felt too impatient to wait for things to become easier with time. Why couldn’t they become easier now? Falling silent again, genuinely intrigued by the answer to his question, he couldn’t imagine how different travelling was back when Harsh had been human. Did he use a horse and cart like in the movies? Or ships, maybe? What other modes of transport were there? A quiet laugh escaping him, he did his best to avoid dwelling on his roommate’s age. It was fun to joke about every now and then, but the reality of it was terrifying. He had gone from feeling certain he probably wouldn’t reach the age of fifty, to knowing he might very well live to see his two hundredth birthday. What were you supposed to do with that information? How were you supposed to come to terms with that? “I guess fitting more than a hundred candles on a cake is pretty impossible anyway.” He teased.

His smile growing as he realised Harsh sold the items he took from the morgue, he wasn’t sure whether that was more or less reassuring. It could definitely be considered economical. Watching as his company sat up a little straighter, he felt another wave of gratitude wash over him. He didn’t need to be taking this so seriously, but apparently he understood how important it was. How desperate he was just to understand. His smile faltered as Harsh began to explain the way their bodies worked, but it didn’t take away from his appreciation. He wanted to say he wasn’t disappointed, that he had inevitably drawn the same conclusion. But he was disappointed. He was never going to have the feeling of waking up next to somebody again. He was never going to be able to drift off in the morning knowing he didn’t need to be up for anything. It was an opportunity to escape reality, to just enjoy being comfortable, and it had been taken from him. Stolen like so many other things. “You- you do?” He asked, unable to hide the sudden spark of hope he felt ignite within his chest. “Like actually sleep? Because I already know from experience I can still drink myself into oblivion.” Taking a quick sip from his mug before picking up his pen and crossing out question number one, he tapped the top of it against his notepad, already thinking over question number two. “Okay…” He continued, making it clear he was moving on. “So how can we be killed? There has to be more than one way, right? And we can get injured, so if we get injured enough, can that be fatal... or is it only if we’re injured by wood?”

“Ah, yeah, sorry. I don’t mean to be a broken record. It’s just… you’re still pretty new to all this, man. You’ve gotta give yourself a break. There’s no rush, y’know? You’ve got a couple hundred years to figure shit out if you play your cards right.” It felt lame to say, but Harsh knew he had been repeating himself. That didn’t make it less true. There were so many things that he had just stumbled onto as time went on, things that just became natural the longer he spent as a thing that went bump in the night. Honestly, some of Milo’s questions kinda threw him. He hadn’t thought about his fangs in such a long time. They were just part of him. It was like asking about how his tongue moved when he was eating something. It just… did it. But that wasn’t a helpful answer. With a laugh, he nodded. “I tried to put a hundred on a cake once. It wasn’t really worth the joke, the whole thing got all waxy and gross. It’s easier to just get those number shaped candles, cheaper too.” The thing about birthdays is that you needed people to celebrate them with. Harsh didn’t always have those. But… maybe he should look into it. There were people in White Crest, his friends, they might like that kind of thing. It was weird to think about.

“Yeah, I do.” Harsh sort of did. It was… maybe a weird ask, but that was probably something Nell could whip up, or maybe he could track down someone a little shadier and ask. It wasn’t as though he had never dreamed as a vampire, though the few times he had, something magic had definitely been at work. So it was possible… probably. He had never actually figured out what it had been that caused all that dream sharing stuff, but it hadn’t been all that important. At least not for him. “Actual, real sleep. It… might get a little weird, magic can do that, but I think it would be more like what you want.” Magic always had its risks. He wasn’t anything close to a spellcaster and he knew that much. Onto the more intense questions then. That was a pretty smart ask though. “There’s a couple ways,” he said, nodding, “stake through the heart is the most popular. You probably know about the sun thing, if you stay out too long, it’s bad news. We’re also shockingly flammable, so I would avoid campfires and arson. And getting your head cut off, but I’m pretty sure that kills most things. Most other things we can heal from, and we heal fast, but you don’t want to get too reliant on that. Bullets and knives still hurt like hell, and if you haven’t had blood in a while, you heal slower.” Harsh didn’t exactly have the scars to prove it, but he could remember more than a few times where he had gotten a little too cocky and paid the price.

Milo smiled at Harsh, silently assuring him he didn’t need to apologise. Especially not for trying to comfort him, even if he did use the same lines on occasion. He was right, although the reminder of his new lifespan still made him nervous. He had time to figure things out, time to become comfortable with what he was, and the strange world he had been thrown into. He was already feeling far better than he had when Harsh first crossed his path, and that was largely due to his help. In a few more months he might even be happy, there really was no way to know. “Hm, but those number candles aren’t anywhere near as dramatic.” He pointed out. “Isn’t a hundred kind of a flex?” Wrinkling his nose at the thought of biting into icing only to realise it was actually wax, he couldn’t deny the inconvenience. But then, did vampires even eat cake? Making a mental note as the conversation shifted back to sleep, he didn’t want to forget. He longed to know who these people were, who he could go to and ask for some spell or potion that might allow him to replicate sleep. But that wasn’t what he was here to discuss. There were more important questions demanding his attention. “I can handle weird.” He assured his roommate, although he had a feeling there might be a lot of evidence to prove otherwise. Until recently he had been a mess, and they both knew it. Only with Harsh’s support had he been able to brush himself off, and hesitantly begin to deal with the loss of his human life.

Pushing away the thought, he focused on his mug of blood, nearly half empty now as it sat on the table in front of him. He picked it up, taking another sip before it was able to get cold. Nodding to show that he was listening to what was being said, he considered the new information. He was more than familiar with people trying to force a stake through his heart, but the mention of fire surprised him. “Wait- we’re flammable?” He asked, his mouth open slightly as he stared in indignant disbelief. “What, so every time I pull out my lighter I could literally fucking die?” As far as he was concerned, he would much rather take the inconvenience of wax on a cake over being scared of the candles. “You’re saying smoking can still kill me…” He added, pouting petulantly as he began to realise how frustrating navigating his smoking habit was going to be. “Shit.” Finishing what was left of his drink, he undeniably did feel better after putting his mug down again. Blood, like so many other substances in his life, was proving to be a wonderful aid when it came to avoiding his problems. “Okay, so…” Letting out a huff of breath, he turned his attention back to his notebook, scanning the questions he had written there, searching for the next one on the list. “You said if I haven’t had blood in a while then I heal slower? How much blood do I need to survive? And what happens to me if I don’t drink it?”

It was a pretty big adjustment, going from expecting to croak in fifty years to knowing there might be hundreds to go. Harsh had been pretty thrown when he had realized just how much time he had. Sure there was that distant deadline, four hundred years, but even that wasn’t an end. It was… a change, but one he wasn’t really eager to think about. Even though he was getting closer to that than he was to a normal human lifespan. Still, not his main problem right now. “Kinda, yeah. I definitely made a pretty big deal of it when I hit triple digits. But the second century seems a little more meh, y’know?” Though maybe that was just him. By the time he had started getting close to two hundred, everything had started to seem… less than it used to be. The hollow inside had started to grow, nothing ever filling it. Nothing lasted, nothing mattered. Huh, were souls a thing on Milo’s list? Harsh was half tempted to ask. Nah, probably better not to touch that unless the kid brought it up. “Alright, I can ask. Do you--have you messed with anything magic before? We can’t do it, at least I’m pretty sure we can’t. But there’s kind of… a lot of it just going off around here.” Milo was from the area, he had to have noticed some things weren’t quite normal in town. How anyone didn’t know that White Crest was a supernatural hot spot was beyond him. Denial was a hell of a drug.

With a little laugh, Harsh nodded. “Yeah. I mean, you’re probably not going to go up in flames if you drop your smokes on you, but… you might just want to be a little more careful with them. Just in case.” He had seen a few vamps catch fire before, it wasn’t pretty. Still, it didn’t usually happen by accident… usually. There had been a few idiots here and there who had landed themselves in rough shape. “It’s possible,” he said, shrugging and shooting Milo a sympathetic smile. “Just be careful and you shouldn’t have a problem… but I might stay away from bonfires if I were you.” Ah, blood, of course. It always came back around to that. Harsh hardly thought about it now. But the questions were good ones. “Yeah, and it’s not just healing. If I go too long without blood, I start getting antsy, it gets harder to focus on anything except for when I’m getting that next blood bag.” He fought down a slight shudder as he spoke. It had been ages since the last time he had gone too long without a drink, but the times he’d stretched his supply a little too thin always stuck in the back of his mind. “It depends. You’re still new, so… I wouldn’t go more than a week without a pint of blood. Once you adjust more, you can probably stretch it to two weeks, maybe three, but it starts getting risky around then. If you don’t get any… for me, I start feeling a lot less like a person. It gets to where it’s all you can think about. And, if it gets really bad, you might kind of lose yourself until you get another drink, and at that point, you’ll probably do anything you have to to get it.”

“Hm, the second century…” Milo echoed, amused by the absurdity of the statement. He could only imagine being that old, but one day he wouldn’t need to. One day it would be him reaching the triple digits. “Have I- no.” He answered, caught off guard by the unexpected question. “I mean, I don’t even know anybody who can do magic… I don’t think I do, anyway.” It was still strange to consider how many people from his life had been living in a secret, supernatural world. If he was being entirely honest he probably did know a witch or two. They just hadn’t told him about what they could do. “Why? Is it like, dangerous or something? Are you going to tell me it’s more trouble than it’s worth?” He almost dreaded the words, not because he would heed any advice Harsh had to offer, but because it would be another element of his life that came with risks, strings attached, people worrying over his safety, and growing restless when he refused to listen to them. He already had enough of that without turning to magic as a sleeping aid. “Yeah, no shit.” He added. “Ever since I died this place seems to get weirder by the fucking day…” He missed the days of blissful ignorance, the days where he could leave the house without worrying whether a Slayer might be waiting at the end of the street to stake him. Picking up his mug again, he sighed, clutching it to his chest as he listened to his roommate.

“If I did careful then I wouldn’t be a vampire.” He pointed out. Though they both knew he would be careful knowing the risk fire now posed to him. Not as careful as any sane person, but given his record any level of vigilance was commendable on his part. Paying closer attention as the conversation moved back to blood, he finished what was left of his drink, carefully savouring the taste of it. “I guess I kind of know that feeling…” He admitted, thinking back on every time he had ever been forced to go without his pills, or his cigarettes, or abstain from drinking alcohol. It was never an enjoyable experience. “I, uh… don’t think stretching is for me.” He realised as he said the words that maybe sometimes stretching would be his only option. Blood wasn’t exactly easy to source in an ethical manner. Without Harsh’s connection to the hospital, he didn’t know where his supply might be coming from. He wouldn’t let himself dwell on the thought. Swallowing as his company began to tell him about the risks of not eating properly, he lowered his gaze, tapping his fingers against the ceramic in his hands. He already knew what it felt like to lose himself, he never wanted to suffer through that again. “Like when you wake up… after you die...” He asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Would Harsh even be able to remember waking up? It had happened to him so long ago.

Forcing down the memories of his first, and only attack, he stared at his notebook, at the questions still written there demanding to be vocalised. “You mentioned healing…” He murmured, determined to change the subject, although he knew his next question was going to be a difficult question to ask. Harsh was more than aware of the fact that he liked to indulge, the man had even walked with him to pick up on the night they crossed paths with each other, but he still worried he could end up facing judgement, or the specific brand of sympathetic concern that still managed to set his teeth on edge. “This is hypothetical,” he started, knowing his lie would be obvious but feeling the need to insist upon it all the same. “But with the whole… the healing faster than humans thing, do you think I could still use, y’know- intravenously?” Glancing down at the marks on his arms, scars from long ago that were apparently going to forever blemish his skin, he forced himself to press on. “I guess I can’t OD anymore, right? Is that something I still need to worry about?”

That sort of made sense. Most people didn’t believe in magic until they saw it right in front of them, and sometimes that wasn’t even enough to do it. Harsh shifted his weight from foot to foot, a slight frown on his face. The question here was just how much to tell Milo. “More like it’s just literally not a thing we can do. Something about undeath and magic just doesn’t seem to mix. I don’t really know much more than that, honestly. I’ve heard people kind of lose their mojo if they turn like us. They’ll try to do a spell and just, nothing. I tried to mess with some a while back and never got anywhere.” He kept his tone light, casual, hoping Milo wouldn’t ask just what he had been trying to do. There were a dozen things he could make up, a few that weren’t even that far from the truth. “It’s also dangerous as shit if you don’t know what you’re doing. I won’t tell you not to mess with magic or spellcasters, I’m not the boss of you, but that stuff can go wrong and it’s not pretty when it does.” It was only just now getting weirder for him? Well, maybe that made sense. Milo had sort of been thrust into the thick of it.

With a soft laugh, Harsh nodded, holding up his hands. “Fair enough.” He couldn’t really argue with Milo on that one. Careful and becoming undead didn’t exactly go hand in hand. He nodded. “That’s probably better honestly. What really gets people in trouble is when they think they can make it on just a sip of blood every month. You’ll be a lot better off if you stay regular with it, especially if you’re not always drinking human blood.” He was still going to have to teach Milo how to hunt. It wasn’t exactly necessary at the moment, but two vamps meant a few more blood bags needed to go missing every month. Harsh had gotten good at keeping a low profile over the years. Milo though was still new, and new vamps weren’t exactly predictable. With a grimace, he nodded again. “Just like that. It’s… rough. People do a lot of things they regret if they go hungry for too long. I’d try just to not let it get to that point.” Easier said than done, honestly.

Ah, that. Now that was a bit of a hazy area. Harsh smoked and drank here and there, but he had never dabbled much in stronger stuff. It had never really appealed to him. A blood addiction was enough as far as he was concerned. But it was still worth asking. “Right, so… I’m not exactly an expert on that. But I think you could. You’re probably going to have to jab a little harder and you might need a stronger dose than before if you want to feel something.” He paused, letting his thoughts drift back for a moment. Though he had never messed around with anything beyond a few pot brownies, he had met a couple vamps over the years who hadn’t been able to leave their old vices behind. “I did have a few buddies a while back, they said they could still get what they needed if they fed from a human who just used. I don’t know if you’d want to do that, but… it’s an option, I guess. It sounds kind of risky to me though.” Drugs and drinking straight from a human sounded like a combination that was bound to end in disaster, but hell, Harsh had never tried it himself so what did he know. “I don’t think you need to worry too much about OD’ing now. I’d be more worried about someone thinking you OD’ed and sending you to the hospital. It’s really hard to explain waking up in a morgue.”

Milo made a mental note to avoid magic when he could, although toying with it didn’t necessarily interest him. He was looking for a way to replicate sleep, if that wasn’t possible he wasn’t sure staying away from potions, and spells would be difficult. Part of him was curious to know why, and how Harsh had been involved in spellcasting, it was becoming increasingly clear he was speaking from experience, but the older vampire was always so open when he wanted to be. If he wasn’t volunteering the information there was definitely a reason. He was under his roof, drinking his blood, picking his brain for answers to his never ending list of questions. The very least he could do was respect his privacy. “I’m not about to try and learn, don’t worry.” He insisted, hoping to alleviate some of his company’s concern. He had far too much going on to invite more chaos into his life, especially for something as simple as a good day of sleep. Smiling at the sound of Harsh’ laughter, he enjoyed the fact that the conversation felt casual, and calm. Any embarrassment, or vulnerability was fading away, replaced by a familiar sense of comfort. It was a reminder that he was safe in Harsh’s company, a reminder that for some unknown reason, the man wanted him to be okay.

“Is it good for you?” He asked, unable to help himself. He had never once considered the nutritional value of his diet, what his new body needed from it now. “To drink both?” He thought back to his nights spent on the edges of town, chasing aimlessly after every animal moronic enough to cross his path. Sometimes he got lucky, sometimes he actually managed to catch something, but the animals were usually weak or injured. He knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against a healthy creature, one determined to escape him. The blood couldn’t compare to human blood, but it had still tasted decent, and more importantly, it had kept him sane. Would he ever have to go back to that? Should he never have left it behind? Chewing on his bottom lip, fighting to keep his expression neutral, he didn’t want to talk about his own experience with losing control. He wasn’t ready to discuss that with anyone, not even Harsh. So he stayed silent, nodding quietly in response. It was only as Harsh moved on to his next question that he finally looked back up to catch his eye again.

A stronger dose. He wasn’t exactly against the notion, although he could hear his wallet adamantly protesting the news. He really should start thinking about going back to his job, but that part of his human life felt so out of reach, impossible to even consider. Not yet. Not now. Not after everything. “You did?” He asked, immediately desperate to know more. There were people out there who understood what he was worried about, who knew everything he needed to know if he wanted to continue supporting his habits. Where were they? How could he find them? Just as quickly as a sense of hope washed over him, it was replaced by a chill that seemed to shoot up the length of his spine. He couldn’t remember very much of his death, but his hazy memories were enough to make his friend’s words sound uncomfortably familiar. So he could give somebody drugs, and get high through drinking their blood? Apparently that particular strategy ended with people bleeding out on the floor of abandoned buildings. He suppressed a shudder, trying not to think too hard on the subject. He didn’t know that was why he died, and until he did he was determined to forget the details of his death, forget the trauma that he couldn’t seem to shake. “Yeah…” He murmured, reaching up absentmindedly to press his fingers against the base of his throat. “It does…” Forcing a smile again at the mention of waking up in a morgue, he had seen enough tv shows frame the situation as a joke to be able to glean some humour from the warning. Lowering his hand, he leaned forward to pull his notebook closer towards himself, scanning the list, surprised to realise he was nearing the end of it. “Okay,” he said, brushing off the previous questions, ready to be replaced. “How do you make somebody a vampire? What do you have to do for them to, you know… change? Obviously I’m not asking because I want to... I just… I can’t remember what happened to me. I want to know what was done to me.”

It was sort of a relief that Milo didn’t ask. Because if he did, Harsh would tell him. Maybe he should anyway. Was there anything about souls on that vampire question sheet? He almost wanted to sneak a peek at it. It wasn’t exactly… uncommon knowledge, but he had run into plenty of vamps over the years who had never even thought about their soul, let alone getting rid of it. He gave Milo a little smile. “Probably better that way. There’s plenty of witches hanging around town if you need some magic done anyway. It’s actually pretty cool if you watch someone who knows what they’re doing.” Cool and terrifying. Even when a spell was going right there was a chance it could go south at any second. Harsh sort of liked that rush… and he wouldn’t be that surprised if Milo did too.

“Yeah, a while back. I can try looking them up if you want.” The offer was one Harsh might not be able to cash in on. It had been ages, and those buddies weren’t really the type to have a consistent phone number or address… if they were even still around at all. “You might be able to find some people who know more about that down at this club called Teeth. You heard of it?” It probably wasn’t the sort of place he should send Milo to alone. He didn’t go there much himself, but he could chaperone now and then. God that was a weird idea, being the responsible one. When the hell did that happen? He was going to have to go out and make some dumb choices after this. Being responsible felt off. He had been trying to fake it, force it, for years. The fact that it was just kind of… happening now was weird. Unnerving.

Oh… now that was a question. Harsh let his fingers drum on the counter for a second. “Yeah, I get you.” It was understandable, wanting to get a grip on what had happened to him. “It’s not that complicated… mostly. You have to drain someone till they’re almost dead then get them to drink your blood and they should turn.” He paused, lips pulling into a grimace. “But you’ve got to be careful with it. Sometimes people turn, but… they don’t end up like us. Have you heard of spawn before? They’re… still vampires technically, but they’re not people anymore, not like we are. Some vampires make spawn on purpose, but it’s pretty messed up.” He should know, he’d done it a few times for shits and giggles. It had never turned out as funny as he had thought it would.

Milo resisted the urge to let out a huff of breath, of course White Crest was filled with witches. It seemed as though you could roll a dice on supernatural creatures and run into one the second you opened your door. “It sounds pretty cool.” He admitted. “But I can’t think of any reason why I might need magic… apart from the whole sleeping thing.” And maybe he should hold off on that for now. If magic could come with complications, didn’t his life have enough of those already? Humming softly as he considered the offer, he shot Harsh a sheepish grin. He was grateful he wasn’t being judged, or even reprimanded for his blatant intentions, but he hadn’t been expecting such a genuine level of support. “You’ve already done so much for me… I mean, only if it isn’t too much trouble?” Teeth. He felt sure he would remember visiting any place with such a distinctive name. “Uh… no,” he said, hoping to prompt a further explanation. There weren’t many establishments in White Crest he hadn’t frequented at least once before. And now he was incredibly curious to know more.

Feeling the atmosphere shift, becoming more serious as Harsh considered his latest question, he watched his fingers as they drummed against the surface of the table, the noise was quiet but incredibly distracting. Hearing the words, feeling them wash over him as his brain began to process what they meant, he had to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth. “I… drank somebody’s blood?” He asked, repressing a shudder. Drinking blood now was part of his every day routine, but he had been human then. Had he willingly taken it, or had his attacker forced it upon him? “Spawn?” He nodded, a frown creasing his brow as he looked back down at his list. The question ‘What does Spawn mean?’ jumping out at him in his clumsy, familiar handwriting. “Someone mentioned them to me once… but I didn’t know what they meant.” Feeling his stomach jolt as he realised he could have become the something other Harsh was talking about, he wondered what his chances had been. Whether he should be considering himself lucky for waking up as a vampire. “How do you make them? Is it the same… process?” He asked. If they could be created intentionally then surely there was a technique. “How do you know what somebody is going to become?”

“You never know. It’s pretty helpful if you lose something.” Harsh wasn’t about to list off his big reason for needing magic. But he should. Milo should know. He should tell him the truth. No… there was no reason to scare the kid. And it wasn’t like he owed him that information. Souls were personal. If Milo found out about them, Harsh could tell him then. Why was he even so hung up on it? It wasn’t like it mattered. He was faking it perfectly fucking well. No reason to go and throw all that away. “It’s no problem, kid. I don’t get out enough anyway.” Probably better to have someone around for Milo’s first big vamp outing. There were a lot of bad influences out there. Harsh should know. He used to be one of the worst. Plus, if Milo went on some kind of drug fuelled blood bender, that would just make things more difficult for everyone. “We can hit it up this weekend if you want, see if it’s your scene.”

Huh, so Milo really didn’t remember any of it. That was… rough. Harsh could still remember his. Well, parts of it at least. He hadn’t been alone. Eleanor had held his hand as the world went dark around him and been there when he woke up desperate to feed. Poor kid didn’t have any of that. “Yeah, that’s… kind of how it works,” he said, with a little wince. So he had at least heard of spawn, that was better than nothing. “Spawn give us a bad name. They’re the ones slayers should be dealing with.” He nodded, arms crossing over his chest. “Same process. I… don’t know exactly. I’ve always thought of it as an intent sort of thing. I know it can be done on purpose.” No need to tell Milo he knew at least partially from experience. “When you turn someone… it’s kind of this whole… thing. Siring someone isn’t something most people do lightly. I guess I’ve always thought of it as kind of a willpower and focus sort of thing. When you sire someone, you have to mean it, you have to want it. And if that’s not strong enough… it can go wrong. It gets easier to turn someone else properly the longer you’ve been at it. I’ve known some people who just turned who try to bring their family along for the undead ride and… it doesn’t usually go well.”

“I don’t have all that much to lose these days.” Milo admitted, thinking about the meagre collection of belongings he had managed to salvage from his friend’s house. He should probably go home, he still needed clothes, his laptop, and maybe there were even a few comic books he couldn’t live without. But the task felt so daunting. Watching Harsh, noticing the shadow of an emotion he couldn’t quite place, he wondered whether the older vampire had ever lost anything. Maybe one day he would ask him. “I, uh…” He shifted uncomfortably, thinking about how ready he was to walk into a room full of vampires. His killer could be there and he might never even know. “Maybe… I’m still getting used to going out again, period. It’s a- it’s a weird adjustment.” He offered a smile, letting his roommate know he was incredibly grateful for the offer. For everything. He wasn’t sure where he would be without the man sitting opposite him, who worked in a hospital, and liked to cook human food just for the fun of it. He cared about him, in an altogether unexpected way. He had been saved by Harsh. It was undeniable at this point.

“From the way it sounds they don’t mean to give us a bad name.” He pointed out, feeling a strange pang of sympathy for the monsters being described. It was a horrifying thought, becoming twisted, and warped in a way that forced you to lose who you were forever. At least he was still Milo, at least he could cling to the things that made him exactly who he was. “So… the person who did this to me, they wanted me to become a vampire. They cared enough for this-” He gestured vaguely to his neck, wrinkling his nose as he remembered the scars there. “To be successful, just not enough to stick around, I guess…” Letting out a huff of breath, he tried not to look affected, finally picking up his fork and taking a mouthful of his stir fry, if anything just for something to do. Glancing up again at the mention of people turning family, he couldn’t imagine that thought ever even crossing his mind. Maybe because he refused to acknowledge the way his future stretched out before him. Maybe because he didn’t want to admit the fact that one day his parents would no longer be there for him. Everything about the idea felt wrong, somehow. Dooming your family simply because you yourself had been doomed. He was never going to be that person. “M’kay…” He hurried to swallow, turning his attention back to the notebook, to the final question written at the edge of the page. “The last question is probably dumb but… you know the whole sunlight thing? What does happen if we stay out in the sun? When I first… y’know, I was in the sun for a while and I started to feel... I can’t explain it, I just knew I had to find some shade. Do we just get ill, and weak, or is it something more than that?”

A weird adjustment period was putting it pretty mildly. Even more than a hundred years later, Harsh remembered the shift being rough. He returned Milo’s smile easily. Milo was a good kid. He didn’t ask for any of this shit, not like Harsh did. The fact that he had been left high and dry to figure it all out on his own… even without a soul, it rubbed Harsh the wrong way. At his very worst, he had still stuck around to make sure the vamps he sired knew what was up. It was just the thing to do. “Don’t worry if it takes you a while. It’s better to be safe than sorry with… everything. But you’ve got time now, man, you don’t have to rush it.” That was a pretty big perk of the whole undeath thing. Milo had at least a couple centuries before him if he wanted them… and if he was careful. But that was always a pretty big if with new vampires. If Harsh was smart, he wouldn’t get attached, wouldn’t get invested. Harsh had never really considered himself particularly bright.

“They don’t,” Harsh said, sighing. “They don’t mean to do anything but feed. It’s not their fault really… spawn can’t really think like we can. Everything gets stripped away except that hunger.” It was pretty bleak if he actually thought about it. Usually, he didn’t. That was easy, not dwelling, not thinking. But Milo wasn’t like him. Milo still had his soul, he still felt for people. Now that was an interesting question. Did whoever turned Milo actually care? What were they after? Why him? Harsh nodded slowly. “They meant for this to happen. Whoever it was, whatever reason they had… they wanted you to be this way.” Probably. Harsh had heard of plenty of people accidentally creating spawn. But he had never heard of someone accidentally siring someone if they meant them to go the other way. Sunlight, that was another good question, even if it had Harsh fighting down a wince. “You don’t want to test it, trust me. If you stay out too long, you start to burn. Remember how we’re flammable? Think of the sun like the biggest lighter out there. It just takes a while to get the fire going.”

“Yeah…” Milo agreed, despite feeling as though maybe he was taking too long. Had Harsh been this shaken up when he first became a vampire? How long did it take him to stop feeling nervous, and scared? But he did have time, an awful lot of time, and somebody willing to be patient with him. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe, for the first time in his life, he was being forced to process change in a healthy manner. “Thank you…” He added, struck by a sudden sense of gratitude. “I mean, I know I say that enough for the phrase to lose all meaning but I do still mean it.” Taking another mouthful of stir fry, chewing it for longer this time to see if he could bring out any more flavour, he used his fork to push the food around his plate, listening as Harsh began to elaborate on Spawn. The subject made him uncomfortable for so many reasons. Because it made him anxious knowing he could have become one, because it upset him to know other people were suffering, because there was no way to save them, or teach them how to live again. It was over. It was a fate worse than death.

Letting out a quiet huff of breath, he hesitantly glanced back up at his friend. They meant for this to happen. It was one thing to draw a conclusion himself, another thing entirely for Harsh to tell him he was right. There was no room for doubt, his roommate was speaking the truth. But that only left him with more questions, questions he might never find answers to. “Yeah, well… fuck him, right?” He muttered, wishing he could say the words and miraculously let go of his trauma. Even though speaking them did offer him a degree of satisfaction, it was never going to be quite that easy. Raising his eyebrows as Harsh seemed to wince at the mention of sunlight, he was so relieved for the distraction that he found himself resisting the urge to laugh. It wouldn’t exactly be appropriate until he understood the context, until he knew what Harsh had been through to warrant such a reaction. But a vampire being so averse to sunlight that he didn’t even like somebody mentioning the sun was amusing. He couldn’t pretend otherwise. “Right,” he nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Like an ant under a magnifying glass, jeez…” Repressing a shudder, he made the conscious decision not to dwell on the information. He could truly consider everything he had learned in the morning, when he was curling up in bed, alone, and safe underneath his comforter. Now he only wanted to enjoy an evening with Harsh, his roommate, his friend… his mentor? It was true, he wasn’t sure where he would be without him. But he did know, all things considered, that he was more than content with where he had ended up.

#drug abuse tw #drug use tw #medical blood tw #drug manipulation tw #overdose tw #needles tw #milo and harsh #c:harsh

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joe-mazzello-archive · 5 years ago

Text

Doofus

A Ben Hardy x Fem!Reader fic

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: lil bit of angst, but mostly just pining and fluff

A/N: Happy Valentines Day @fallingprincess! This is my gift to you for @dtfrogertaylor’s Somebody to Love event! I hope you enjoy it. Sorry it’s so ridiculously late, I recently got a new job and the training has taken up all of my time! This was my first time writing for Ben so I hope it’s okay :)

You couldn’t roll your eyes harder if you tried. The walls of the meeting hall were covered in tacky red and pink decor; you might have thought the organizers had bought every heart-shaped decoration in town. You were nursing a shitty beer as you watched the people around you mingle with borderline desperate enthusiasm. The whole event was a cringefest and you were unlucky enough to be a part of it.

Going was your best friend Grace’s idea. You had both found yourselves single for Valentine’s Day and when she saw the post about a singles event on Facebook, she wouldn’t shut up about it. You had politely declined, but she practically begged you to accompany her, insisting you needed to put yourself out there more. You had shrugged at her reasoning, arguing that you were in no rush to meet anyone right now. You were young and more focused on your blossoming career; you had plenty of time to meet someone and eventually settle down. But Grace had pushed and pushed, and you finally gave in (mostly to get her to leave you alone).

You glanced across the room where said best friend was chatting up some tall brunette who was waaaay too attractive to be at one of these things. You sighed, shaking your head as you leaned against the high top table and took another sip of beer. No one had come up to you in the last ten minutes and you couldn’t have been more relieved. You had hoped your annoyed expression would act as a deterrent long enough for either Grace to meet someone and leave with them, giving you an excuse to make an exit, or the event to end.

“You look almost as miserable as I am,” said a husky voice next to you. You turned to find a blonde with piercing green eyes mirroring your stance at the high top table next to yours. You gave him a quick once-over before smirking. Another guy at the event who was way too good-looking to be single.

“I can assure you, most people here are miserable,” you countered. “They’re just pretending not to be. I am, however, embracing it.” You gestured to yourself with your beer. The blonde chuckled before moving to stand next to you.

“I assume you’re not here by choice,” the blonde commented. “Let me guess. Friend dragged you here?” You smiled and turned to look at him, almost thrown by just how gorgeous his face was.

“You too, huh?” you asked. The blonde returned your smile before nodding towards the other side of the room.

“The tall, gangly, brunette lad over there trying to shoot his shot with that girl who’s out of his league,” he replied. You threw your head back in laughter, causing the man’s eyebrows to shoot up in surprise.

“Small world, blondie,” you joked. “Your ‘gangly’ mate happens to be attempting to flirt with my best friend, Grace.” The man took a sip of his beer and leaned on the high top, copying your stance once again.

“Gwilym and Grace. It’s got a ring to it. Maybe they’ll fall in love, get engaged, and we’ll drink shitty beer together as best man and maid of honor,” he suggested with a wink. You snickered and rolled your eyes.

“Here’s hoping. Then we’d never have to get dragged to one of these dumb things again.”

“I’ll cheers to that.”

You clinked your bottles and each took a sip before sharing another laugh.

“I’m Ben, by the way,” he said, sticking out his hand. You told him your name and returned the handshake before turning your attention back to the couples sprinkled around the room.

The two of you spent the rest of the evening people-watching and exchanging commentary about the people around you.

“Dude, check out that guy’s pit stains!” you pointed out, nudging Ben with your elbow.

“He hasn’t stopped talking for a second to let that poor girl speak,” Ben replied. “You can see the light in her eyes slowly dying.”

The banter went on for another hour, until eventually the room started to clear out as the event ended.

Gwilym and Grace didn’t fall in love and get married. In fact, Grace didn’t even leave the event with anyone’s number, declaring the entire venture to be a letdown.

You, however, left the event finding yourself a new friend.

You and Ben clicked instantly, and you quickly found yourself hanging out with him on a regular basis. The two of you would watch trashy tv shows and add your own commentary, making each other laugh until the late hours of the night. Weekly lunch meetups became the standard every Friday, the two of you determined to explore the entire culinary scene of the city.

Ben became your best friend quickly. Well, another best friend. You adored Grace, but hanging with Ben was less…exhausting. It was like the two of you had known each other for years. You felt comfortable telling him things you didn’t even trust Grace with. You had even given him a copy of your apartment key, claiming you were too lazy to get up and let him in yourself every time he came over.

It seemed like Ben had embraced your instant connection just as much. You were the person he called when he needed a plus one to a family wedding. You were the person he trusted to watch Frankie when he was away for work. You were the person he called if he was having a rough night, and you were always there in an instant.

You didn't know when it happened. There wasn’t an “aha” moment. It just crept up on you slowly. Your normal excitement for hangout sessions with Ben turned into anxiety and giddiness. You started to care more and more about how your hair looked or what you were wearing when you were going to see him. What used to be friendly, platonic hugs and touches started to cause your stomach to flutter and warmth to travel to your cheeks. You started to count down the hours between each time you were to see him.

Plain and simple: you had developed feelings for your best friend.

You convinced yourself it wasn’t a problem. You were pretty good at compartmentalizing. Was it healthy? Probably not. But you figured you’d either get over it or meet someone else and lose interest in Ben. The only thing you cared about was preserving the friendship. The thought of Ben suddenly not being in your life anymore was painful to think about. So you went about your business, silently pining from afar, and everything was fine.

Time passed quickly as your friendship blossomed, and suddenly it was the beginning of February again. You couldn’t believe it had almost been a year since you and Ben had met. It seemed like just yesterday, while at the same time it didn’t feel like you had only known him a year.

It was a Monday morning. You were at work looking at your calendar when you realized your weekly lunch meetup was set to fall on Valentine’s Day, giving you the perfect opportunity to spend your “Friendaversary” together. You pulled out your phone to text Ben.

You: we still on for lunch as usual on fri?

Ben: of course! i think it’s your turn to pick a place :P

You: let’s go to that italian place that we keep walking past and saying we’re gonna try it and never do

Ben: perfect, i could go for some pasta

You: you always want pasta

Ben: let me LIVE, doofus

You chuckled and shook your head lovingly at the nickname Ben always called you. You felt your stomach flutter again at the interaction before you started to put your phone away, but it buzzed again.

Ben: OH i forgot to tell you! i met someone!

You felt your heart skip a beat.

You: someone?

Ben: a girl! i asked her out tonight and she didn’t run away in terror! her name is chloe

Chloe. Suddenly you hated the name. Your stomach churned unpleasantly at the thought of Ben seeing someone. All this time, you assumed you would meet someone or simply move on from your feelings for him. You never even entertained the notion that he would be the one to meet someone first.

But you had to play the part of the supportive best friend. Ben would know something was up if you didn’t.

You: nice! you’ll have to fill me in on how it goes

Ben: obviously. wish me luck!

You locked your phone and shoved it into your desk drawer with a huff.

You spent the rest of the day moping around the office, barely getting anything done. You couldn’t stop thinking about Ben and his dumb date that night. Your mind raced with questions that you almost didn’t want to know the answers to. How did they meet? When did they meet? Was she pretty? Did she make him laugh? The morbidly curious side of your brain wanted to know every detail, but the logical side of your brain knew that the less you knew, the better.

That night you found yourself bitterly chomping on chips and spinach dip as you watched some random cooking show. You were trying desperately to distract yourself from Ben, but nothing was working. You hated how jealous you were feeling. Why did you have to get this stupid crush in the first place? Ben was an amazing friend, and here you were feeling sorry for yourself instead of happy that your friend had met someone.

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table. You groaned when you saw the notification: a text from Ben. You didn’t open it, but the preview was all you needed to see.

*New Text Message* Ben: tonight was amazing! i think we really hit it off…

Of course they did. Who wouldn’t hit it off with Ben? He was charming, attractive, and funny. If you were being honest, it was surprising that in the almost-year you knew him, he hadn’t been on any dates until now.

You let out another groan and grabbed your phone, heading to your room to call it an early night. You hoped a good night’s sleep would cure your crabbiness.

The next few days went by in a blur. You focused all of your energy into work. The number of unread texts from Ben grew and grew, but you couldn’t bring yourself to open them. By the time Friday morning came around, you had sixteen unread messages from the man. It suddenly occurred to you that there was a possibility that Ben had cancelled your lunch meetup in one of those texts. You finally bit the bullet and pulled your phone out to open the texts.

Ben: tonight was amazing! i think we really hit it off. i might ask her out again this weekend. or is that too soon?

Ben: what even is a good second date activity? is cooking dinner for her too much?

Ben: i assume you fell asleep early. call me sometime tomorrow so i can fill you in!

Ben: hey doofus! text me back! i know you’re bored at work!

Ben: ready to die of cuteness?

Ben: [picture of Frankie on her back with a toy in her mouth]

Ben: you okay dude?

Ben: seriously i’m starting to get worried

Ben: did i do something? or not do something?

Ben: i don’t know what’s going on, but i’m going out with chloe again tonight if you want to hang out after

Ben: please talk to me, i want to fix whatever i did

Ben: i honestly have no idea what’s going on, you gotta help me out here

Ben: i’m really worried about you, doofus. i texted grace and she said you’ve been kind of down lately. did something happen?

Ben: you usually always talk to me about this kind of stuff

Ben: you haven’t even opened any of these

Ben: just let me know if you’re okay

Your heart broke at the desperation in his messages. Here you were pushing him away for such selfish reasons. To Ben, you were disappearing out of the blue. He was genuinely concerned for you, and all you were doing was being a jealous asshole. So you decided to finally respond.

You: sorry bud, i’ve just been having a bad week. i’m sorry for making you worried. i’ll explain it all at lunch later.

You shook your head and sighed as you hit send. You owed Ben an explanation. And while you cringed at the thought of telling him how you felt about him, you couldn’t keep acting this way. At the end of the day, Ben was your best friend, and you should be happy for him if he found someone who made him happy. Your phone buzzed almost immediately.

Ben: shit. i didn’t realize what day it was. i have tickets to a matinee movie with chloe in a few hours. raincheck? also good to know you’re still breathing doofus, i missed ya :)

You could literally feel your heart sink. He was cancelling your weekly lunch meetup for her. The two of you had never missed a weekly lunch meetup. And of all weeks to miss. It was your Friendaversary for fuck’s sake. He probably didn’t even remember. He was probably taking Chloe out for Valentine’s. How could you be so stupid? Your days-long mini temper tantrum had driven him right into Chloe’s arms.

You didn’t respond. You left him on read and shoved your phone into your desk drawer. You watched as your coworkers received Valentine’s Day flowers and chocolates and other gifts while you sat there moping.

When the time came for your lunch break, you had zero appetite.

Later that night, you were grumpily watching one of your favorite movies and drowning your sorrows in a bottle of wine when you heard the jingle of keys outside your door. You furrowed your eyebrows as your front door opened; Grace was out of town for the weekend so you weren’t expecting her back until Monday.

Your confusion was sated as soon as you heard a familiar husky voice call your name. Ben.

You sighed and slumped even further into the couch. Right, he had a key.

“In here,” you called. Ben appeared in your living room, a look of concern on his face.

“What’s going on? Why aren’t we friends anymore?” he asked suddenly, a twinge of anger in his voice. You sat up, taking a deep breath to calm your pounding heart. He crossed his arms, waiting for your answer.

“We are friends,” you replied, your voice small. You weren’t ready for this conversation, nor were you prepared for him to be angry with you.

“You sure about that? Because you’ve stopped talking to me almost entirely,” Ben snapped back. “Was it something I did?” There was desperation in his voice. The same desperation you felt through his texts.

“It’s complicated,” you answered. To say you were unprepared was an understatement. You hadn’t once thought about exactly how you were going to tell Ben how you felt about him.

Ben moved to sit next to you on the couch. Your heart was practically beating right out of your chest. Between the fact that you were about to confess the only thing you’d ever kept secret from him and how fucking close he was sitting to you, you were surprised you didn’t pass out.

“We tell each other everything,” Ben stated. “What changed? Just tell me so I can fix it.”

“You can’t fix it!” you suddenly burst out. Ben shifted back, clearly surprised by your sudden change in tone. He didn’t say anything, he simply waited patiently for you to continue, that look of worry still painted on his face. You took a deep breath before speaking again. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been handling all of this very well. I just…” You drifted off, unsure of how to phrase it. Your eyes met Ben’s bright green ones and you felt your resolve slipping.

“I have feelings for you,” you explained, looking down at your lap so you could avoid Ben’s stare. “Beyond friendship. I’ve felt like this for awhile, and I figured it would either go away, or I’d meet someone and move on. I never thought about what would happen if you met someone.” You let out a small sigh of relief. Now that the words were out there, you felt slightly better. When Ben didn’t say anything, you continued. “I’m sorry for disappearing on you. I was jealous and handled it like a child. But you’re my best friend and I want you to be happy. If Chloe makes you happy, then I’m all for it.”

Ben still didn’t say anything. You finally looked up at him and were met with those familiar emerald eyes. His face was unreadable and your heart sunk for what felt like the tenth time that day. Panic set in, and you could feel yourself getting worked up.

“Please say something,” you whispered, trying desperately to keep yourself from crying.

Ben shook his head, a look of disbelief on his face. He gently placed a hand on your cheek. You froze at the touch, biting your lip as you waited for his next move.

“You are such a doofus,” Ben stated before crashing his lips onto yours.

You were still frozen in slight shock, but after a few seconds you relaxed into the kiss, massaging your lips against his. It was better than you had ever imagined. You reached up to weave your fingers into his blonde locks as you deepened the kiss. The two of you moved like that for what felt like hours but was probably only seconds. You pulled away gently to catch your breath, but Ben kept his forehead pressed against yours. You couldn’t help but laugh, and Ben joined you as the two of you sat there holding each other on your couch.

“I have been practically obsessed with you since we met,” Ben finally said, pulling away to look at you.

“And I’m the doofus?” you joked, earning another laugh from Ben. “How come you didn’t say anything?”

“Never in a million years did I think you’d ever see me that way,” he replied, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“Guess we were both doofuses,” you countered, earning another laugh from Ben.

“Guess so,” he agreed before leaning in to press his lips to yours once again. After a few moments, he pulled away suddenly. “Oh! Happy Friendaversary!”

“You remembered?” you commented, nudging him with your shoulder.

“Of course I did,” Ben answered, as if he was offended you’d ever suggest the opposite. “How could I forget the anniversary of meeting my favorite person in the world?” You felt heat in your cheeks again as you beamed back at him. A thought occurred to you, giving you pause.

“What about Chloe?” you asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“I ended up canceling our movie date because I was stressing about you,” Ben confessed. “I like Chloe, but I didn’t see it going anywhere anyway. I was too caught up on you.” Your smile returned and he mirrored it. “Come here, you.” He pulled you closer to him, moving your legs to drape across his lap.

You instinctively reached for his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. The two of you had always been touchy with your affection, but never this much. But now it just felt right.

“Sorry for being such a doofus about everything,” you said before bringing Ben’s hand up to place a gentle kiss on his knuckles. Ben’s face lit up, giving you a bright smile.

“That’s okay. You’re my doofus.”

Permanent taglist: @queenlover05

#ben hardy #stl event #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x you #ben hardy fluff #ben hardy fic #ben hardy fanfic #joemazzmatazz

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