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alicedopey · 4 years ago

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Dreams, Dreams, Dreams

Fandom: Vikings

Pairing: Ivar x plus-size reader

Genre: Modern AU, Smut, Romance

Words: 3034

Warnings: Smut, oral (giving and receiving), self-depreciation

Summary: Working with Ivar has triggered something in your mind, especially at night.

A/N: This was supposed to be posted for @flowers-in-your-hayr ‘s birthday but is now my contribution to her 650 followers celebration. (Moodboard is her own creation) Enjoy !

“Mr Ragnarsson, I…”

“Ivar, call me Ivar.”

It seemed accurate, since he was balls deep inside you.

“Ivar”. You were painting. “I’m going to come.”

Your words made him thrust deeper into you. “Then come, Y/N. Come on my cock.”

His hips were snapping madly. He was close to his release as well. You could tell by the way his brows were tightly knit or his mouth was making this sexy pout you liked so much.

You raised your hips to meet his, he viciously grabbed your thigh and dived even deeper into you, touching your cervix in the most delicious way. A scream fell from your lips.

Eyes wide opened, you woke up in your bed. Sweat was dripping down your bed. Letting out a frustrated sigh, you rolled on the side to check your alarm and your eyes widened even more when you realized you had overslept again. Fifteen minutes was not much but it was still a lack of fifteen minutes in your morning routine before going to work.

You jumped out of bed and into the shower. The hot water helped your muscles relax. Those dreams were driving you crazy.

They had begun a few weeks ago when you were assigned to work with Ivar Ragnarsson on a very important contract. Since you spoke many languages fluently, the Ragnarssons considered you as one of the most valuable employees in their firm. When Bjorn had offered you to work alongside his little brother, you were flattered. Scared, but flattered. After all, Ivar had grown quite a reputation and the last thing you wanted was to end up like his personal punching ball.

Yet, working with him had revealed itself to be quite an adventure – and not in a bad way. Ivar was witty and passionate. He was sometimes treating you like an assistant, especially in front of his brothers but he was bearable most of the time.

The real problem were those dreams that had been haunting you during your sleep for a while now. Of course, they were mostly about sex: him taking you on your bed, in his office, against the wall, in his car…

The first time it happened you had laughed, figuring it was just a fantasy. He was quite a sight, after all. Second and third times were annoying. Then, it took place once or twice a week…and it started affecting the way you were behaving at work. A mere glance his way and you instantly became an awkward mess. Ivar would mostly get irritated, which made the situation worse and he ended up looking at you as if you had grown two heads.

If only you could make them stop but the more you wished for your crazy mind to leave you alone at night, the more you dreamt about him. So much that you had to admit to yourself you were falling for your boss. A boss who, according to flawless creatures he took to his bed, would certainly not glance at you for one second. You and your curves, you and your fat��.no, definitely not his type you thought as you straightened your blouse over your wide hips a few minutes later before leaving for work.

Ivar was not there yet when you arrived at the office. You almost ran to the conference room in order to get everything ready for the presentation. It had to be perfect or he would throw a fit. Every brother would start yelling at the others and you would be blamed by Ivar in the end.

“Everything ready?”

You jumped, hearing Ivar’s voice and turned your eyes towards him. He was nonchalantly leaning against the doorframe.

“Yes”, you let out in a whisper.

His eyes scanned the room to check how you had everything settled. “You did well.”

“Thanks.” You squeaked nervously.

Ivar chuckled at your reaction. A shiver rand down your spine. “Don’t be nervous, everything will be fine. We worked hard on this.”

If only he knew what you were really nervous about…

His brothers arrived shortly afterwards. Thankfully, Bjorn didn’t have the glorious idea to invite his mother to join the meeting or Ivar would have already been in a very bad mood.

They all took place around the table. You started the presentation to explain your line of work. Then, Ivar introduced the society you wanted to merge with and what the Ragnarssons’ firm could benefit from it.

As you listened to Ivar’s voice, you couldn’t help looking at his hand moving on the board. His strong firm hand…

“Sill here?”

You looked up, Ivar was eying you up and down, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you crossed your arms in front of you so that Ivar would not see too much of your curves.

“Yes. Your brother asked me to get some things ready for the big meeting with your uncle tomorrow. “

You thought he would leave after that but he kept staring at you while you stood there awkwardly.

“Need some help?”

“No, no…I’m almost done, thanks.” You stammered. Ivar never offered help to anyone.

He took a few steps towards you and took one of the files you had put on the meeting table to read it. “Looks like you worked hard. Bjorn will be glad.”

He smiled. A real smile that made your heart flutter in your chest.

He let go of the file which landed back on the table and set his eyes on you. The look he gave you made your heart flutter in your chest again. Lost in his mesmerizing eyes, you noticed he was closer when he put his hand on your hip. Your breath quickened. The heat radiating from his simple touch set your body on fire.

“I’m glad as well. Good job, Y/N.”

You did not hear the words, just watched his lips moving. Those plump tempting lips. Unable to resist the temptation to taste them, you kissed him. Ivar was not surprised. He kissed your back fiercely, his hand tightening its grip on your hip. He made you walk backwards until your thighs touched the table so you could lean on it.

You hiked up your skirt and spread your legs without even realizing it. Your body was acting on its own, all too eager to succumb to desire.

Nonetheless, Ivar did not move an inch and remained still as a statue. He was watching your body like a hawk as if he trying to remember every part of it. If only he could touch you the same way he was looking at you.

“Mr Ragnarsson, please.” You whimpered helplessly.

Ivar just smirked at you and played with the hem of your skirt. Your heart was beating so fast you had the feeling it would get out of your chest any minute now. You wanted him to put an end to your misery so desperately. He knew it and apparently loved watching you squirm, all needy and turned on.

When he finally sneaked his hand under your skirt, you bit your lip to prevent yourself from eliciting a sigh of relief.

His rough fat fingers stroked your skin until they finally reached your panties. His thumb touched your clit through the soft and soaked material. Your lower body lunched forwards, your teeth dug a little deeper in your lip.

“Oh, sweet Y/N…” Ivar whispered in a mocking tone. “Don’t damage those perfect luscious lips. That would be a shame.” He let go of his crutch, his body leaning a bit more on yours. Then, he inserted his thumb between your lips before saying. “Suck this. Pretend it’s my cock. Show me what you can do.”

Your lower lips clenched around nothing at his words. His other thumb pushed against your clit once more, eliciting a whimper to fall from your lips. You started sucking his finger greedily, pretending his cock instead as he had suggested.

“Good girl.” He praised lustfully. “I knew you could do it. Show me how well you can suck my cock.”

His motions on your sensitive nub accentuated and you took his thumb deeper in your mouth. Ivar groaned but ended up retrieving his fingers from your mouth. The two of you exchanged a lustful gaze before he attacked your lips with his mouth. His pace on your clit had become more urgent now. You pulled him against you and embraced him feverishly. Ivar kept kissing and pleasing you. Your body was completely on fire and yet, you were craving for more. So, you embraced him stronger, trying to get as much contact as possible between your two bodies.

Your lower body clenched, your breath quickened and you convulsed against him as you came. Ivar did not let go and made you ride your orgasm until you went limp in his arms. He chuckled, a deep chuckle that sent shivers running down your spine. “Ready for more?”

“If you are…” You whispered against his lips, congratulating yourself at the fact that he shivered because of it.

Emboldened, your palmed him through his trousers. Ivar groaned, pushing his cloth-covered dick into your hand. You rubbed him a few times before undoing his zipper and freeing his erected shaft. It was inviting to the touch, already glistening with pre-cum. But you did not touch him this time. Instead, you hiked up your skirt even higher to reveal your already damp panties that you led slid down your legs.

Ivar licked his lips. He was looking at your body as if he wanted to devour your body in one bite. A whimper left your lips. “Ivar, please…”

“Hmm?” He took his shaft in his hands and started pleasuring himself. “Did you want something?”

“You know what I want.”

“I want you to say it.” He rasped, still playing with himself. “Come on, Y/N. You can do it.”

You tried but no sound came out of your mouth. It was as if your brain did not want to give your body what it was craving.

“Y/N, I’m waiting.”

Once again, you opened your mouth to talk but did not produce any sound.

“Y/N, talk. Y/N ! Mrs Y/L/N !”

Ivar’s snapping voice made you startle. Several pairs of eyes were watching you; some expectant, some irritated. Well, Ivar was irritated.

You felt your cheeks heating under their stares, realizing you had been sex dreaming during a professional meeting.

“I’m sorry. I was…distracted.” Ivar’s glare intensified. He was probably going to strangle you. “You were saying?”

Bjorn explained patiently which points Ivar and you would have to work on. The meeting was adjourned after that. Ivar signaled for you to wait until everyone had left. Once they had, he closed the door and advanced towards you, each step making him grunt.

“We have some changes to do and we have to do them as fast as possible.”

He explained sharply. “Tonight. 7PM sharp. Your place. I’ll bring the wine.”

Then, he got out without waiting for an answer. You stared at his head until he had disappeared, realizing after a few minutes that your boss – who you too often dream about – was going to come to your place.

To say that you were nervous was an understatement. You left as soon as you could, went to the grocery store and started cooking dinner the moment you got back home. Once you were finished, you took a shower. Your door bell rang as you were just finishing getting dressed. You threw a last glance in the mirror to check your appearance: leggings and a flowery blouse, casual but not too much. You ran to the door and took a deep breath before opening it.

Ivar had played the casual card as well, wearing dark jeans, a white shirt and a dark jacket under his usual coat.

“Please come in, Mr. Ragnarsson.” You invited him to take off his coat. “I’m going to put this in my bedroom. Make yourself comfortable in the meantime.”

On your way back to the living room, you took some glasses in the kitchen. Ivar was on the couch, the bottle of wine was already cracked open, the files were out. As usual, Ivar did not lose any time so you started working right away, only taking a small break to each the chicken, pasta and salad you had cooked.

“This was nice. It’s been a while since I ate some real food. Drawbacks of being a busy businessman. Guess I need a real woman in my life.”

He smiled genuinely, which made you heart flutter for a second as you remembered your dream from this morning.

“Is there a man in your life enjoying your food?”

You shook your head. “Just cooking for myself.”

“That’s a shame, if you ask me.” He replied casually. “Any man would be damn happy with this. Don’t even cook for my brother Hvitserk or he won’t leave your side.” He smiled again.

Your cheeks heated under the praise. You had heard things about Ivar’s charming power but he rarely showed it at work – which was for the best or you would always be as red as a tomato.

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

“Yes.” You barely whispered and shook your head to clear your mind.

“Are you sure? Because you have been quite distracted lately, just like this morning during the meeting when you completely zoned out.”

“I’m just…tired.” You answered, slightly surprised Ivar was expressing some concern over someone else, especially an employee.

“Troubled sleep?”

Your eyes widened a little. His seemed to twinkle with something else than casual curiosity and you wondered if his question had a deeper meaning for a second before answering.

“You could say that.”

“Hmmm.” He stood up with the help of his crutch. “Well, since we are done here, I’m going let you get some sleep. May I have my coat back, please?”

His question made you realize you might have stared at him for a bit too long.

“Of course.” You almost jumped up from the couch and the both of you headed towards your bedroom.

Once there, you bent over to reach his coat on your bed. When you stood up, your back bumped against Ivar’s chest. Embarrassed, you turned around abruptly and handed him the piece of cloth to your boss. He took it gently from your hands before glancing at your bed.

“So, this is the famous place where you have been having all those troubling dreams.”

Your eyes raised up abruptly to meet his. “There are some things you should definitely not talk about some topics at work, where anybody could hear what you are saying.”

He knew. Of course, he knew. That sexy asshole knew everything about everyone even though you had mentioned it once to one of your closest coworkers.

“One could say you are obsessed. Well, your mind is at least.”

He gave you a teasing smirk which caused your heart to make a somersault in your chest.

“Mr Ragnarsson, I don’t know…”

“Shhh…” He put one finger on your lips and you were reminded of your earlier dream again. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, believe me. Quite the contrary.”

He took your chin between his fingers. His eyes intensely stared at yours.

“Tell me in your dreams, what are we doing in that bed? Are we fucking nice and slow? Or are you making me sweat for it?”

“It depends.” You gasped at your own words.

“Is that so?” Ivar hummed against your lips. “How many dreams did you have, you naughty girl?”

“A few.” You whispered before Ivar took your lips ravenously.

His hands slid down your body to squeeze your plush bottom and push it against your pelvis. In response, you embraced his upper body and dug your nails in his back.

He had awoken a fire in you, you were not even aware you possessed. It was more powerful than in the dreams and so much better that you did not want to it stop.

Breathless, Ivar’s lips left your own to attack your own. Your head fell backwards, heavy pants left your mouth.

“Mr. Ragnarsson, I...”

“Ivar.” He cut you off. “I definitely want you to call me Ivar when you come on my dick.”

That elicited a deep moan to leave your mouth. You dug your nails deeper in his skin and Ivar groaned.

“You were having one this morning, hmm? What were you doing in that dream?” He pushed his erected cock against your core. “Tell me.”

“You were…you were eating me out in the conference room.”

“I like that.” The tip of his tongue tickled your neck. “I can easily picture myself buried between, your thick thighs. What do you say we reenact some of those dreams?”

He was now rubbing himself against you.

“Yes, please.” You whimpered. Nothing was more important now than being under him, screaming his name.

He delicately pushed you backwards until the back of your knees met the bed and you had no choice but to fall on it.

Ivar took off his clothes, you hastily did the same. The two of you exchanged a fiery look, trying to remember every inch of the other’s body. For once, you did not feel ashamed of yours. On the contrary, Ivar’s eyes on you were making you feel like the most desirable human being on earth.

Ivar let his crutch fall on the floor and his naked body finally met yours. You became away right then and now of what was going to happen, meaning sleeping with your boss.

Ivar sensed your discomfort. “Don’t worry.” He smiled. “Nothing bad will come out of this. I’m going to make all your dreams come true.”

Tagging (please tell me if you want to be added or removed): @naaladareia @flowers-in-your-hayr @gearhead66 @tephi101 @therealcalicali @peaceisadirtyword @ivarswickedqueen @ivaraddict @akamaiden @mblaqgi @captstefanbrandt @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @elenarogersbarnes13

#vikings #fanfiction #ivar x plus size reader #ivar x reader #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #flowers-in-your-hayr #Smut #romance

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princess-of-inarizaki · 4 years ago

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Hello... this is a bit of an emergency request cuz I feel like sht rn... bit of a backstory, I won a contest in our school. They’ve given me prizes, praises, etc etc... but I still feel disappointed and self conscious, like what if they take that back? What if I didn’t really win and it’s all just a mistake? It’s because I am so used to losing and now that I’ve won something, I feel like I don’t deserve it... can you do hcs about inarizaki and nekoma about their manager who feels exactly like that? Like they feel like they don’t deserve the praises she’s given? Thank you so much❤️

Anon-chan!! I wasn't planning on posting today but as soon as I saw your request, I could not help myself!! This is an absolute emergency, I hope you're hanging in there, love.😭😤💖

I know this might be out of the blue, but you are lovely, talented, and wonderful, and you really do deserve all the praise you're receiving for your win! I'm so proud of you, congratulations!! and I'm so happy to have such a talented and wonderful individual reading my work and supporting me.

If you need to chat about this, my DM's are open. I love you, Anon-chan, and I hope you enjoy these soft comforting headcanons I've written for you.

(these lil fishies are rooting for you too!!)

Comforting their adorable manager

Characters: Nekoma X fem! manager, Inarizaki X fem! manager

Warnings: none, maybe mentions of self depreciation.

Nekoma

Let's start with our favourite cat team :) You've entered a competition in school, after our sweet Yaku signed your name up.

“Ku? Why'd you do that?” you asked him. You were apprehensive about joining the competition because you weren't sure if you could handle the disappointment of losing.

But one look at Yaku's excited face and warm smile made you reconsider.

You handed in your submission, with support from the entire team, and promised yourself not to think of it, eventhough it silently bit away at the back of your mind.

Days had passed, and finally, it was the day of the awards ceremony, which the entire team insisted on attending.

You tried persuading them not to come, but they wouldn't hear of it. “Kitten, we're here to support you, just go out there, and believe in yourself the way we do, okay?” said Kuroo with a soft smile on his face.

You nodded, but you didn't really think you might be the winner of the competition.

The principal finally announced the name of the winner, and the words "y/n, l/n" left his lips. You were in disbelief and shock. Did you really win this?

The excited cheer from your cat babies confirmed it, as you walked to the stage to receive your prize.

Yamamoto wrapped you in a hug, and he was joined by the rest, quickly forming a group huddle, with you in the middle. “I'm so proud of you, y/n!” said Yaku with a knowing smile.

You didn't know why, but you felt empty. Unworthy. What if it's all just been a mistake, and I don't actually deserve all of this? These thoughts ate away at your happiness and you felt yourself feeling upset, and turning rigid in the group hug.

Kenma immediately noticed, and rubbed your shoulder in a comforting way.

“Are you okay, kitten?” he asked you in an affectionate way, which was rare for him. You felt so comfortable in the boys' presence that you broke down in tears in front of them.

They steered you away and out of the auditorium. Kai gently wiped your tears. He felt horrible, knowing you felt sad, and desperately wanted you to smile, and be happy again.

“What's wrong, sweetheart?” asked Yaku in a warm tone. He engulfed you in a hug, and gently rested your head in the crook of his neck. “Is everything okay?”

You confessed to him, and the rest of the team that you felt unworthy of receiving the prize, and your fear of it being taken back at some point, which left you empty and insecure.

Inuoka softly ruffled your hair. He wanted to cheer you up desperately. “Y/n-chan, I think you deserve it. You've been working so hard on your submission, I would've been surprised if you didn't win.”

“Yeah! You're talented and dedicated, not to mention extremely hard-working. The school board doesn't make mistakes when selecting winners, kitten.” said Kenma with a straight face.

It cheered you up, when you heard their words, especially Kenma's. You knew he'd never lie.

Yamamoto pushed through and effortlessly placed you on his shoulders, “let's buy ice cream to celebrate our nekoma queen's well deserved win!”. He had replaced the comforting atmosphere with one of energy and happiness.

“yes, let's.” said Kuroo with a grin. The team followed behind you and Yamamoto, eager to spend more time with their precious manager.

Kuroo bought your favourite ice cream up to you when you reached, and Yamamoto let you off his shoulders whilst he went to buy his own.

He laughed when he saw you got some on your nose, and wiped it away gently, giving you a small kiss after he was done.

“you deserved your win today, my little kitten” was all he could say before giving you a wink and stealing some of your ice cream. “and you'll win again, okay? We believe in you.”

Inarizaki

It's the last match of your competition, and you're filled with energy and adrenaline. Your entire volleyball team is at the bleachers, there to motivate and support you.

It's finally a match point, and the whole gym goes silent as you earn the final point, thus making you the victor. The twins are exploding with happiness, and Suna's recording it, determined to capture this priceless memory forever.

You happily wave back at them, until a feeling of fear and unease rushes over you, causing you to lurch, discomfort evident on your face.

The team picks up on it immediately, and wait for you to receive your prize before rushing over to you to congratulate you.

Atsumu picks you up and spins you around before peppering kisses over your face. He's like an enthusiastic puppy, and you forget about your unease for a little while.

“Congratulations, y/n-san”, says Kita. He's so proud of you, and looking into his eyes, his feelings reflected in them, you begin to sob quietly.

The team gets very protective of you, and Aran scoops you in his arms as the rest of the team follows him out, forming a protective circle around you.

“What's wrong, oni?” (btw!! headcanon that Osamu calls y/n, "onigiri", "oni" for short, because he loves y/n, and he loves onigiri :D)

You tearfully look up at him and express your fear at not deserving the prize or your win. “What if they recount the matches, and I'm not actually the one with the most wins? I feel so empty, and I'm not used to winning, this feels so strange and beautiful, I'll be heartbroken if it's taken away. I'm not worthy of this...”

Their hearts squeeze at your confession. How could you, their precious, beautiful, talented manager ever doubt herself?

Suna is the first to speak, and he leans down to you and wipes your tears before they fall. “If only you saw yourself the way I see you, y/n. Then you'd understand how talented and worthy you really are.”

You blushed at Suna's words, but Kita continued the momentum. He wanted to make sure you understood. “You won, y/n-san. It's evident that you're the best here, and you deserve every single congratulation and word of praise you get.”

Aran is just patting comfortingly on your shoulder and giving you the physical affirmation to let you know that he is there for you.

Osamu then feeds you an onigiri, and smiles. “Let's go home, Oni, we'll have a cheer-up session there.” the team's main objective now is to have a relaxing and soft afternoon, whilst taking care of their tired and demotivated little princess. They can't bear seeing her sad.

Atsumu takes your hand in his and you guys make your way to the twins' house.

When you arrive, Atsumu carries you and places you on the couch. Osamu is hunting for food in the kitchen, as Aran finds a blanket to wrap your legs with, seeing how you get cold easily.

Suna rests his head on your blanketed lap and falls asleep immediately, and you quicky follow suit, sleeping on the couch.

“Yer not gonna believe what—” announces Osamu, but he's cut off by the team, noticing you and Suna asleep. They're all silently seething with jealousy, and Atsumu makes his way beside you and leans on your shoulder.

“Nap time, I suppose. She must be tired. Being the best is hard work, after all” says Kita fondly, as he cuddles up to the other side of you.

Osamu settles down next to Atsumu and glares at him, he wants to be near you too, but he suffices by gently holding your hand. I want to be closer, but this is enough for now, I think. He too succumbs to slumber, next to his twin.

The last, Aran, wraps another huge blanket on the team, and positions himself next to Kita. The team enjoys a peaceful afternoon with you, reminding you of a silent message that you'll always have them.

“I think you're so amazing, and I hope someday, we'll show you exactly how amazing you are”

Taglist: @k-sakusa-old @osamusriceballs

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trekscribbles · 3 years ago

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Triple Threat: A Stones Triplet Fic

Fandoms: Leverage/Leverage Redemption, Librarians, and Almost Paradise Cross-Posted: Ao3 and FF Summary: So I shared some ideas about this fic here, not intending to actually write it. And then people asked for it and I have zero self control, so here you go!

Of course it never works out that way.

She's used to Alex interfering with her cases, but she didn't even tell him about this one. So how did he end up with the smuggler she was supposed to be meeting, and why doesn't the seem to know her?

Or: Eliot and Jake are both in the Philippines for separate jobs that turn out to be related. Kai takes the existence of Alex's brothers as a personal attack on her mental health. Ernesto happily goes along for the ride.

Chapter One: Déjà Vu

A simple smuggling case. That was all this was supposed to be—just a smuggler looking to set up shop on the island, some place where he'd be able to store and ferry goods to the United States without attracting too much attention. Ocampo hadn't even asked Alex for help, even though they suspected drugs were involved. "We need more information," Ocampo told Kai. "Just meet with him and see what you can find out." No need to involve the most annoying man on the island.

Kai didn't tell Alex about any of it. It was only the third time Ocampo trusted her to go undercover, and though she wasn't above using Alex's help when it was necessary, this was something she could handle on her own. Ernesto would be monitoring the meeting from nearby, ready to come to her aid, but she was confident in her skills. It was a simple case. She could handle it.

She made contact with the smuggler, telling him she could get a cargo plane for his use and ensure the attention of the authorities was elsewhere when he was ready to load it. The meeting had gone well, well enough that he asked her to join him in his hotel room the following day to hash out the details. Ocampo had been thrilled, and she'd gotten the proud grin from Ernesto that always made her feel like she could take on the world. "Wrap this up, Detective," Ocampo said, already planning the press release for the end of the case. One more meeting, and it would all be over. A swift ending to a simple case.

The next morning she found the hotel fifteen minutes before their appointed time and knocked on door 211, letting herself in when a voice yelled, "We're on the balcony." The we made her nervous, but she told herself it didn't matter. Once she found out what the cargo was, she'd have enough to arrest him.

But then she walked onto the balcony and found her contact raising a toast to Alex Walker, and it took all of her self-control not to break character and strangle him right there.

The smuggler stood up with a grin. "Ah, Ms. Navarro," he said, motioning for her to be seated next to Alex. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No," she choked out. "Thank you."

He shrugged and swept his hand toward Alex. "This is my American contact, Marc Rosen. Mr. Rosen, my associate Nicole Navarro."

Alex gave her a polite smile, and his eyes seemed to laugh at her.

"Mr. Flores," she said tersely. "I thought we'd agreed to keep this meeting between us."

Robert Flores shrugged and again gestured to the chair beside Alex. "I assure you, Mr. Rosen is essential to this operation. He has already arranged a buyer in the United States. All we need from you, Ms. Navarro, is to follow through on your promise with the planes."

Kai sat, forcing her tensed shoulders to relax. "The flight is already secured," she said. "But I need to know what it is I'll be transporting."

Flores smiled. "All in good time."

"Time is the problem," Kai said. "We only have three days before the plane is scheduled to depart, with or without your cargo. I can't prepare properly until I know what we'll be loading."

"I will take care of that. Three days is plenty of time."

"Then... once you've made your payment, I will tell you where to bring your cargo." She managed this with only a single glance (not a glare) at Alex, who had returned his attention to Flores. A sand-colored fedora was pulled low over Alex's eyes, shading a face that seemed paler than usual. In an instant her irritation turned to worry. Did he know Flores from his time as a DEA agent? Had he arranged the meeting, or had Flores contacted him?

Why couldn't he just tell her before he did stupid things like this?

"I am glad to hear it," Flores said. He was still standing, and Kai bristled at the imbalance—he towered over them in a position of power while they literally sat in his shadow. "Mr. Rosen was just telling me that his buyer is anxious to get his hands on this shipment."

Alex huffed a nervous laugh. "Well, you know how it is when the guy in the big office wants something. Patience ain't exactly a virtue for my boss."

"Luckily for you, I have what he needs," Flores said, lifting his glass with a chuckle.

"Is that Alex?" Ernesto asked through her earbud. "What's he doing there?"

Kai chanced another glance at him, wishing she could reach over and wring the answer from his throat. His body language was all wrong. His shoulders were drawn in, the fingers of his left hand fidgeting against his palm. His voice had been different too—almost hesitant, self-depreciating. Usually Alex played a loud character, brash and confident, always pushing to keep his mark off-balance. This... this was just another pencil-pusher running an errand for his boss. Insignificant. Overlookable.

And it was working. A hard, greedy glint flashed in Flores's eye as he swallowed the rest of his drink, his gaze lingering on the trembling glass in Alex's hand. "Well," he grinned. "There is much to be done. Wait here. Your payment is in my adjoining room." He set his glass down on the balcony railing and strode into the hotel room. Kai watched him go, but as soon as the door closed she rounded on Alex.

"I'm going to give you ten seconds to explain yourself."

He blinked at her. "What?"

"Why are you here? Did Ocampo tell you about the case? Did Flores contact you?"

"Did—what? Why would—?"

"Or do you just like messing with my life? Because I swear, Alex, when this is over I'm—"

The hallway door opened before she could finish, and two men in black jackets entered the room. Neither of them was Flores. "Your payment," one said, holding out an envelope.

"Oh... thank you." She stood and entered the room, aware of Alex trailing behind her. He stepped to her left, covering her weak side as she reached out for the payment.

But the second her fingers brushed the envelope, Alex flashed past her to strike the back of the man's outstretched elbow. He screamed, staggering, and Alex pulled him away from Kai and hurled him toward the wall. The other man lunged into the room, but Alex met him with a neat punch to the jaw. He dodged a swing and caught the man's wrist, bashing his elbow into the side of his face. The first man had regained his balance by then, steadying himself against the wall before squaring himself to the fight.

That was when Kai reached him. His attention was on Alex, so it was easy for her to get close and grab his forearm. She drove her knee into the man's stomach, using the momentum of his fall to throw him to the ground. She turned as Alex ducked another jab and slammed his fist into his opponent's cheek. The man dropped, sprawling at Alex's feet and lying motionless.

"What the hell was that?" Kai demanded, stomping down on her man's back to keep him on the floor.

"Kai?" Ernesto said in her ear. "Everything okay?"

Alex knelt to pick up the envelope. "They were gonna kill us."

"He was handing over the payment!"

He tilted his hand so she could see inside the empty envelope. "Flores knew you were coming," he said, running his hands over his fallen opponent's waist and producing a long serrated knife. "He should have had the payment ready."

Damn it—she hated when he was right.

"He must have guessed you're a cop," Alex went on, taking off his hat and dragging a hand through his hair. "Probably one of your first undercover assignments? You know what you're doing, I'll give you that, but you pushed too hard for the cargo. You have to let the mark think he's in control."

"What are you...?" Kai started, but she trailed off when Alex put his hand down. Freed from the hat, his hair fell over his forehead and down around his ears, long enough to brush his shoulders. "Are you wearing a wig?"

"Am—am I—?" he sputtered. "Look, I don't know who you think I am, but—" He broke off, eyes widening. "Wait, you called me Alex before. Alex Stone?"

All at once, her vision seemed to shift. The man before her had Alex's face, but now that she looked closer, she could see a handful of inconsistencies. A scar over his eyebrow that hadn't been there before, a leanness about his jaw, a shadow she'd never seen in his eyes. Ernesto kept talking through the earbud, but she was only half-listening.

She stared into the face of her friend, and a stranger looked back.

The door burst open, breaking the tension that had paralyzed the room and tearing Not Alex's attention from her. Ernesto came in with his gun drawn, not quite pointing at the imposter, but not aimed at the men who'd attacked them either.

"Your partner?" asked Not Alex. His voice was calm, but so gruff she could barely understand it. She motioned for Ernesto to put his gun away. He swept a shrewd look over her, checking for injuries, and then knelt beside her man on the floor and pulled a pair of handcuffs off his belt.

The imposter cleared his throat. "Do you know Alex Stone?"

For a moment Kai considered lying, but the sharpness in Not Alex's eyes had softened. The look he gave her wasn't quite pleading, but it was clearly a request. She heard the please in his eyes as clearly as if he'd said it out loud.

So, in a voice that sounded more confident than she felt, she answered, "Alex Walker."

A snort of laughter blew through the imposter's nose. "Walker? He could have picked anything, and he went with Walker? At least I used a family name."

"No," Ernesto said to himself, shooting Kai with a look that somehow contained astonishment, delight, and trepidation all at once.

Kai echoed the denial in her head. This couldn't be happening.

"My name is Eliot," the other man said.

Don't say it. Don't—

"I'm Alex's brother."

No. No no no no no.

There were two of them.

#fanfic #leverage #leverage redemption #librarians #almost paradise #stone triplets #the terrible triplets #eliot jake and alex are triplets #and poor kai has to deal with them #thanks for enabling me by reading this

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skellebonez · 4 years ago

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Smoke, Flasks, and Unfinished Tasks: Chapter 10

AO3 Link!

Chapter 1 Link!, Chapter 2 Link!, Chapter 3 Link!, Chapter 4 Link!, Chapter 5 Link! Chapter 6 Link! Chapter 7 Link! Chapter 8 Link! Chapter 9 Link!

Summary: While the trio and Jin are in the Calabash, the family they left behind try to figure out what to do without falling apart at the seams.

Warnings: Mentions of mouth related injury, self depreciation and negative self talk.

Author’s note: Happy Season 2 premier in a few hours from posting this everyone!

Chapter 10: In The Meantime, Stay With Me

When Iron Fan had said she could get them everything they needed, Pigsy was not expecting that to be a nearly literal statement.

It had taken no time at all for the bull clones to set up a a veritable base of operations for them to use. Long rectangular tables set up and pushed together to make one large enough for DBK to maneuver things on a map, various types of technology that clearly had red Son's handiwork on them around the edges of the map. They used pieces from a mahjong set to mark spots on the map, barring the bonus tiles of seasons and flowers which would be used should they run out of others (and if they did they would allow themselves the worry they were pushing deep down for the moment) and the three dragon tiles. Green for Mei, Red for Red Son, and while Pigsy felt the White tile wasn't the most fitting for MK it was easiest for cohesion.

They had everything laid out in front of them, each location they checked marked off with a numbered suit tile (all bamboo used up first, then moving on to dots, and once those were finished they would use the characters). The 4 winds marked the four major locations they felt needed to be tracked, barring Flower Fruit Mountain as they eliminated the possibility of anyone reaching there outside of PIF, Wukong, and MK themselves: The Bull Family homestead, a temporary place reminiscent of Fiery Cloud Cave just outside the city where they were currently pooling all their resources. Pigsy's Noodles, the obvious place for the trio to go if they managed to escape themselves. The tea shop that the Spider Queen made them aware of.

And one final tile left sitting to the side, ready to be placed should the tea shop lead them somewhere else. They had doubts that the trio would still be there, though did not discount the possibility, since it would be risky to not take them to a secondary location if they knew the Spider Queen had prying eyes. And most everyone who could have pulled this off must have known that to an extent.

Pigsy wished that they could have used some of Red's tech instead of a too large map and mahjong tiles... but most of his tech was locked up tight and none of them really knew how the tech he left with his parents worked anyway. Not even they had a good handle on it, he was the one who typically ran everything when they were all together and he had programmed the operating system to his own needs. While they would have been able to figure that out in time, and Sandy was doing his very best to work out how to unlock some of the devices and would eagerly transfer everything they had on the tables into whatever programs they could access, they knew time was not in their side.

As DBK and PIF and Wukong mulled over who to send to the tea shop and where else they could look if they weren't there, Tang was nose deep in his own phone. Signal was shocking good here, all things considered, and once everything had been established he had started to scroll through social media once again just like he had when the search began. One site, another site, refresh, scroll back up, another site, back to the first, refresh refresh, scroll again.

He hadn't stopped for almost half an hour... and nothing had been found, Pigsy could tell by the shake in his hands and shoulders and the frown on his face.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Tang jumped, too immersed in his search and easily startled before he realized who was talking to him. "Come on, I... I don't think we're gonna find anything like that."

"I have to do something, Pigsy," Tang said firmly, refreshing the page he was on once again and grimacing.

There was an edit of the trio someone had posted, a news photo, filtered in bright colors and emoji hearts. "Our Heroes!" laid out on top. Tang almost threw the phone down on the table, just barely managing to slam it down instead and drawing the shocked attention of everyone else as he buried his face in his hands and took a deep calming breath.

Pigsy waved them all off with a frown, and only turned back to Tang when they turned away from them both,

"Tang, this is just makin you upset. You-"

"Have to do something," Tang repeated, shaking his head and looking back up at Pigsy. He looked so tired. They all were, he supposed. "I'm just me. I can and I will help look for them and fight, and you will not be able to stop me, but I can't do... anything else here. I'm not a strategist, I'm not that good with tech, you don't need grunt work done with the Bull Clones around... the best I can do it recite stories about the Monkey King to help us figure out who this could be. And the person who did this might not even be an old enemy!"

"I ain't doin much either," Pigsy rebutted, gesturing over to the unlikely trio of ancient beings across from them. "They may be deferring to me for the final say, but I'm relying on what they tell me to make that choice." He moved, sitting beside the scholar without taking his hand off his shoulder. "So lets distract each other. Work on something else. Maybe whoever did this isn't an old enemy of ours, but maybe they are. Think of anyone who might still be around to hold a grudge and tell me their story."

Tang sat still for a few minutes instead of answering, just leaning into Pigsy and looking down at his shaking hands before they saw the shadow of a Bull Clone fall over the table. Pigsy recognized this one, the only one dressed in attire. A cape to be specific. PIF had introduced him as General Ironclad 2.0, one of the many recommissioned Bull Clones that had to be rebuilt after... The White Bone Spirit.

He placed a tray in front of the duo, two hot cups of tea and two sticks of Tanghulu candied fruit between them (and that was a strange sight, here in this cave, and Pigsy wondered if it was DBK or PIF who had a taste for the treat enough to just have it available like this). Like all the Bull Clones he said nothing, at least nothing that Pigsy or Tang could understand, and bowed before taking his leave.

Pigsy chanced a glance over to the working trio, catching DBK watching them from the corner of his eye. Wukong had a sad smile on his face as he talked while Iron Fan looked... well, he couldn't really tell. She didn't seem annoyed or frustrated, more confused than anything else as she glances up at her husband. DBK gave them a small nod before turning his gaze back to the map.

It was bizarre to him to see them like this. Sun Wukong without his overly enthusiastic smile and laugh or battle roar grimace. Princess Iron Fan without a scowl or a evil smirk of victory and cruelty. The Demon Bull King without his frustration and anger. Now working together for the first time in centuries, possibly ever to his knowledge as he had no idea whether or not Wukong and PIF ever actually did anything together with DBK before he was trapped under that mountain. He... he should have asked the person he once considered to be as close as a brother more about his life before. During the journey they took, before he vanished never to be seen or heard from for 500 years before showing up again just to give the kid he considered his son his mantle.

Maybe... maybe he wouldn't have left if he had.

There was no point dwelling on the past like this, however. Not now. Instead he picked up one of the tea cups and held it in his hands, the warmth not needed in the heat of the cave but still welcome. As welcome as the heat against his shoulder as Tang stayed leaning against him. In time he felt the man move in the same way, holding his own tea cup before taking a sip and sighing.

"You know..." He started slowly, reaching out to take a piece of candied fruit off the stick. The crunch was loud in the quiet of the cave and he spoke with his mouth full. "I have been thinking... Jin and Yin..." He swallowed, frowning. "They shouldn't really be here based on the stories I have learned. The Spider Queen too, I thought for the longest time she died with her sisters, until a few years before meeting her anyway And MK told us about... Macaque." Pigsy frowned deeper at the name, remembering those few days when the Monkie Kid had been run ragged and seemed easy to anger and more eager to please than usual making the tea taste bitter in his mouth. "And he shouldn't be around either. I have my theories, immortality and desires to return to what they were doing before their defeats and all that. But I was wondering..."

Tang paused, sipping his tea before choosing his words carefully.

"Maybe even more of your enemies.... aren't as dead as everyone thought they were?"

Yin scowled. That was the most he could do in his current state. Scowl at the door he was trapped behind.

If he tried he could have probably broken it down. But Princess Jade Face hadn't left. She could have, but he doubted it. She could have done a lot, but every time he tried to guess she hadn't.

He was so stupid...

He hadn't tried to talk his brother out of this arrangement, he hadn't stopped him from making her mad enough to use the smoke, he hadn't thought to check to make sure she was gone when they tried their escape plan.

He could have done so much but hadn't.

He wished his brother was there. It didn't feel right to be alone. They'd been together for as long as he could remember, they were twins after all. Sure, they had spent time apart, but never like this. Not like this. And Yin was cold and alone and Jin wasn't anywhere he could reach.

Yin was alone and he hurt everywhere.

It must have been the smoke itself. It wasn't like a truly hurtful pain, he was able to go about whatever he needed to do. It was a dull pain, like his entire body had been grabbed to harshly and squeezed all over. But he could do what he needed to, like eat. Princess Jade Face had even been "nice" enough to even give him food and water. Good food, surprisingly, meat buns that filled him up nice and good and made his stomach stop aching like it was going to devour him from the inside out.

That made him feel guilty. Jin hadn't eaten as long as he had. He hoped that she hadn't deactivated the part of the Calabash that would trick the person in it into thinking they weren't hungry... or maybe he should hope she had. He didn't like the idea of his brother slowly starving to death while he was filled up with good treats. If he hadn't remembered his brother yelling at him not to let good food go to waste all that time ago, before they managed to open their business and find something they were actually good at, the nausea he felt at that would have made his throat burn.

He wondered if she only fed him to keep him quiet.

It was pointless to think about that right now, though. It was pointless to worry about his brother.

He had to think of a plan. One that had more than two steps. One that actually worked for once in his damned life, one that would actually help them and get them somewhere than hurt and cold and alone and sad and in pain. Unlike all their other plans. Like with Sun Wukong. And MK in the Calabash. The race, though that one was fun.

The only other plan that had ever worked out for them was their job selling tech to other demons, but look where that got them now.

Yin winched as he grit his teeth and pain shot through his upper jaw, reaching up to the spot where one of them was now missing. Jade Face had come in to check on him and found him holding it. He had apparently hit himself hard enough on the way down to knock it out the last time she administered the smoke to his face.

It had already been chipped, weakened from another scrap the twins had gotten into with another demon. Yin wondered if his reflection would make him look like the younger twin he was now, with the gap in his smile.

Yin shook his head, curling in on himself and scowling at the door again.

He was so stupid...

But he would think of a way to get his brother back.

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #gen fic #whump fic #sfaut #smoke flasks and unfinished tasks #relationship hint but no shipping

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ellz9800 · 4 years ago

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A Spideypool Drabble

An excerpt from an unpublished spideypool/avengers family fanfic and wondering if I should get around to finishing it and posting on AO3

“Why do you kill people?” Peter asked suddenly, feet dangling over the edge of the building and Wade’s body slowly healed back into its proper shape. At first, he didn’t notice the young Spider; didn’t expect anyone to wait with him while he healed. The decapitation was bloody and stomach churning to say the least.

“Why do you kill people?” Peter repeated. “You saved that guy tonight. We both know he didn’t deserve it. Why didn’t you kill him?” Wade sighed as he cracked his bones back into place.

“Yeah he was a bag guy, Spidey, but he isn’t the worst. I only kill the worst.” Wade said as if it were his duty.

Peter sighed and stood up, not saying a word.

[He’s mad now. This has to be a record for fastest fuck up since dying.]

‘Oh great,’ Wade thought, ‘you’re back already.’

[Bingo bitch]

Wade watched Peter get up and walk the edge of the building, too deep in thought to even look at Wade.

“What if we made a deal?” Peter asked suddenly. Wade looked at him.

“As nice as that ass is, Webs, friends with benefits isn’t really my style.” Wade couldn’t help but joke. He watched Peter trip over his own foot before bouncing off the ledge and in front of Wade.

“No,” Peter sighed, shaking his head. “I mean, a... hero deal.” He amended.

“You want to patrol with me, right?” Peter asked. Wade nodded slowly. God, patrolling with Spider-Man sounded like a dream.

{Imagine the places we could have sex!}

[yeah, like he’d go for that.]

“What if I let you patrol with me but only if you stop killing?” Peter asked. Wade looked at him as if he was more spider than man.

[Fuck that. He’s pretty but not that pretty.]

{Meh, I’m still down for it.}

“Hot Cakes, I don’t know how new to this you are, but mercenaries kill. It’s what we are literally paid to do.” Wade said. He watched Peter nod.

“Yeah but why are you a Mercenary?” He asked Wade shrugged.

“Someone’s gotta get those fuckers off the streets.” He said. Peter nodded.

“We aren’t that different, you know.” Peter commented as if he was letting Wade in on a secret. The older man scoffed loudly.

[Oh really? Ask him to show us his scars! Or better yet, have him jump off the building and go splat to prove his healing abilities!!]

{Calm down, White. Asking him to strip for a full body inspection is perfectly fine.}

“How so?” Wade asked. He watched Peter shrug.

“We’re both doing what we can with what we got to make the world at least a little bit of a better place?” He phrased it more like a question than Wade suspected he meant to.

“Look,” he backtracked, “I know you don’t like killing people. You do it because you have to because you think it’s all you’re good at. But that’s not true. You saved someone’s life today. And you didn’t even kill the bad guy! Let me help you keep doing good. I know you liked it.” Peter finished. Wade didn’t really know what to say. Help him? Nobody has ever helped him in his life.

[Stopping us from killing isn’t helping.]

{Neither is pointing out all the depressing shit. Shut the fuck up, White.}

“Spidey, as fun as that sounds, I’m kind of a lost cause.” Wade said. Peter shook his head violently.

“No, you’re not! You think you are but you’re not. Everyone thinks you’re this horrible killing machine, but you aren’t. Let’s show them that you can be a hero. That you are one.” Peter said earnestly. His and Tony’s argument about Deadpool being too dangerous started floating back into his mind and all that did was push Peter harder to convince Wade that he wants to help.

“What’s in it for you?” Wade asked suddenly. Peter shrugged.

“You mean besides stopping you from killing people and helping to add another hero to New York City?” He joked.

“Yeah,” Wade said seriously, “why are you so hell bent on me not killing people?” Wade asked. Peter shot him a clear look of ‘are you kidding me’ and even through the mask, the eye roll was loud and clear.

“I’m not going to lie and say stopping you from killing isn’t a driving force in this,” Peter paused. “But you aren’t like the Avengers. You make your own rules and do your own thing. You make a difference even if I don’t approve of your methods.” Peter shrugged.

{There’s more to it than that. Get him to tell us.}

“So you admire what I do but not how I do it?” Wade summarizes. He saw the Spider shrug.

“I started this whole superhero thing when I was young. Probably too young. Sometimes I feel like all the Avengers see is that kid who just got his powers last week and can’t make his own decisions. You don’t treat me like that. With you I’m an equal, not just some kid.” Wade was silent. He didn’t really know how to respond to that. It was pretty low on the severity scale of self-depreciation—

[You wrote the fucking book on self-depreciation.]

—but that didn’t mean Wade was impartial to the feeling of inadequacy. In fact, it was probably his best friend.

“Sorry,” Peter said suddenly, as if snapping out of his daze of self pity. “I just dumped that on you when I probably shouldn’t have. I mean, I don’t know what you’ve been through but I heard it wasn’t by any means easy. You probably think I’m pathetic; complaining about how the Avengers don’t like me. As if that’s as bad as the end of the world.” Wade shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I think the Avengers are the pathetic ones here.” Peter scoffed.

“I want to help you, Wade.” Peter whispered, looking back out over the nightlife of the city. “I know you’re a good guy and I want others to see it too.” He said. Wade looked at Spider-Man. It was the first time he ever said Wade’s actual name.

[Don’t do it.]

{Do it.}

[No!]

{Yes!}

“Alright, Baby Boy. Let’s say I agree to your little deal—“

[Fuck you, Wade.]

{Yes!}

“—what does it entail, exactly?” Peter shrugged.

“We patrol together, basically. And you don’t kill anyone.”

“That’s it?” Wade asked. Where’s the catch?

“Yeah, pretty much?” Peter shrugged. “When word gets out you’re teaming up with Spider-Man, maybe people will start realizing you’re not such a bad person.” Peter shrugged. Wade nodded.

“And when the news outlets start reporting their pure innocent Spider-Man is getting corrupted and brainwashed by the evil Merc Deadpool?” Wade asked. He heard Peter snort.

“Have you read the Daily Buggle? Jameson wants my head on a stick. He’d probably spin it so you’re the hero the city needs and I’m so horrible for stopping you.” Wade snorted.

They were silent.

Streets were still bustling below despite it being nearly dawn. People weren’t joking about New York being the city that never sleeps.

“So what do you think?” Peter asked suddenly. Wade leaned back on his heels and clicked his tongue.

[Wade think about this. No more killing means no more money. No more money means no more fun expensive toys to blow shit up with.]

{Idiot, he’s already got millions in the bank. Quitting now isn’t going to make that shit disappear.}

[Its a bad idea.]

“You got a deal, Webs. Don’t make me regret it.”

Wade suddenly felt the pressure of a hand in his. He looked up at Peter who kept his head down and squeezed the fabric covered palm. Peter squeezed back. And for the first time since Vanessa, Wade felt content and the voices didn’t speak.

Lots of love <3

#spideypool #wade wilson #spiderman #avengers #fanfic #deadpool #tony stark #mcu #drabble #peter parker

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years ago

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Snowed In p6

This gave me such a hard time but I needed this conversation to happen for like 50% of the plot shit down the road, plz forgive me.

Pairing: Geralt x fem!reader

Warnings: hella awkward convos, pining, self depreciating undertones?, talking about sex? idk yall im tryinna tag these with everything i can think of but if i miss something plz let me know!

Summary: (Last part was pure smut, but for those who skipped, it was basically them justifying a good roll in the hay bc it would help them sleep) The day after some completely pragmatic and not at all monumental sex they’re figuring out where to go from there. Boundaries and such?

__________

part 5 here!

You woke slowly, uncomfortably warm and… sticky?

As reality came into focus you realized the stickiness was sweat from being plastered to Geralt's bare chest as you slept. You wriggled a little, loosening his hold on your hips so you could scoot back and see his face. He was still fast asleep, hair sticking to his stubble and mouth slightly open. He looked so much more innocent, almost juvenile when he slept. It made you want to protect him, as ridiculous as it sounded.

Your hand reached up on its own to brush the strands of hair away from his face. When he didn't stir you trailed your first two fingers down his jawline, gently dragging the backs of your knuckles up over his cheekbones. You knew he could wake up at any moment, and it would be uncomfortable to explain why you were staring at him like he alone breathed life into you every day, but you continued tracing the peaks and contours of his face.

If you let yourself think about it, he technically did. He got you up every morning, did anything you asked to help you, and everything you didn't have the stones to ask. This man made space for you like no one ever had and accepted the mess you brought with you, going so far as to help you sweep it into a manageable pile.

You swallowed back the lump forming in your throat as you realized just how much of a mess you'd made for yourself this time. You'd fallen in love and set yourself up for nothing but pain.

The snow would melt, you two would join Jaskier on the other side of the pass, things would go back as they were, and you would fall asleep alone.

You took a slow deep breath in and savored the peace for the last couple of moments you could before your heart would burst. Gently lifting Geralt's arm, you rolled up to sitting as slowly as possible, watching him the whole time. When he still didn't wake, you snatched up your clothes and tiptoed to the bathroom.

He was still asleep after a towel bath and meticulously braiding your hair, softly snoring now. You couldn't help but feel a little proud of yourself for tiring him out so thoroughly.

Sitting down next to him you squeezed his shoulder, "Geralt. Hey, wake up."

He grumbled something about it being early and patted the bed where he thought you were supposed to be before his eyes snapped open.

"There he is." You cooed, reluctantly pulling your hand away.

He squinted and furrowed his brow against the morning sun, pushing himself up on one elbow, "You're up. And dressed."

Now, you knew you were manufacturing the disappointment in his words, but it still hit you just as hard. You sprang to your feet, kicking the contents of your bag back toward the corner with a little more vigor than necessary, "Woke up hungry. C'mon, get up."

"Alright, alright." He grumbled, rolling over and reaching for his neatly packed bag.

Breakfast was uncomfortable, to say the least.

Geralt didn't lean his knee against yours and you weren't sure if you missed it or were relieved he spared you the adrenaline rush. Though when he brushed against your arm reaching for the salt and you nearly jumped out of your skin. The neighbors sat across the table from you and one of them winked at you, almost making you choke on your oats. As soon as Geralt was done with breakfast you cleared both your plates and made a beeline for the door.

You lead the way out to the barn, excited to see the caverns in the snow your fight had left the week before were still uncovered by fresh snow. You fumbled with the latch, not entirely paying attention, so Geralt reached over your shoulder and flicked it open himself. He was so close you felt his breath on your neck and the heat coming off of his chest. Everything in you wanted to lean back into him, but that might be breaking a rule and these rules were becoming ever more nuanced.

You went about your usual business feeding and examining the horses and were about to leave, but Beau looked so sad and bored. Poor guy hadn't gotten more than a walk up and down the breezeway in a month and you could see the pent up energy in his eyes. You sighed and grabbed hold of his mane, swinging up onto his back and laying back over his haunches while he ate. This felt like a good place to slow down and examine your options with this whole "friends" business.

"Y/N?"

Or it would have been.

"Stall." You answered, not sitting up even when you heard him slide the door open.

"What're you doing up there?" Geralt's voice had that same confusing, unidentifiable tone he'd used when he'd left you in the bath.

"He looked so lonely. You don't just spend time with Roach?" You spared him a glance, noting how casually he leaned against the door, arms crossed so that his collar slipped down to show the marks from your nails digging into his skin.

He shrugged, "She gets tired of me."

Beau walked across the stall to sniff Geralt’s pockets and nudge his hand when he smelled what he was after. You shifted to stay balanced on his back, absolutely no intention of coming down any time soon.

The silence between you that crept on and on was in no way comfortable. You fidgeted while Geralt pet Beau, giving him a treat here and there when he smiled for him. Normally you’d be amused, now you were just angry at yourself.

You swung a leg over Beau’s withers, spinning to sit sideways facing Geralt, “You’re rather quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

You shook your head, frantically searching for the words you needed, testing the waters,“I ah… I had a good time last night.”

He quickly glanced at you before focusing back on Beau trying to eat his gloves, “Mhmm... Haven’t slept that well in months.”

There was a beat where you debated leaving it there, but you were never one to quit while you were ahead, “This doesn’t have to be weird, does it? I don’t want things getting tense.”

Geralt finally locked eyes with you, searching your face for something, “No… if you’re uncomfortable-”

“Which I’m not.” You interrupted.

He tilted his head, a softness taking over his face that you rarely saw, “You’re my best friend. As long as you’re okay with it, I am too. It’s just sex, after all.”

You nodded, “Just sex. Yeah. We- heh, we didn't even kiss...”

“Exactly. What are friends for?” Geralt playfully swatted at your boot, giving you a grin.

What are friends for…

You plastered a smile on your face, changing the subject before the emotions bubbling in your chest boiled over, “Jaskier is gonna kill you when I tell him you said I’m your best friend.”

He moved to stand in front of you, crossing his forearms and resting them on your knees. His touch was calming, grounding you back into reality as he usually did.

He squinted up at you, “That’s if you tell him.”

You patted his hand, “Oh, I’m definitely telling him.” you teased.

He gripped your wrist and quickly spun to face away from you, pulling you forward and off Beau's back. You squeaked and gripped onto his shoulders when you landed on him. He laughed, giving a little jump to get you higher on his hips and get a hold of your knees. A giggle slipped from your lips, partly due to surprise, but partly because his grip on your knees tickled.

"I'll tell him it was you who dropped the sword on his lute strings." Geralt made his threat halfheartedly, carrying you out of the barn only to have you steer him back to grab your gloves that you'd left on the hay. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, taking your opportunity to hold him close to you as possible, resting your chin on his shoulder. His warmth and his scent lulled you into a state of content as he took his time meandering back to the inn. Just before he reached the door you noticed a fresh snowflake on your elbow.

"Motherfucker." You shouted, "It's snowing again."

"Shit! Y/N, you're right in my ear." He tried to turn to look at you but you tucked your head against his neck, hiding almost like a child.

"Sorry. I forgot…" you whispered, more out of embarrassment than anything.

He hummed, the vibrations permeating your whole body from where you were perched as he yanked the door open and stomped inside. You wiggled, communicating you could once again walk just like a toddler, but he just hoisted you up higher and trudged up the stairs. You bit your lip, hiding a smile on the basic principle of not wanting to feel it, not necessarily because anyone important could see you.

When you reached your room Geralt rather unceremoniously collapsed onto the bed, sending the two of you bouncing for a bit before he came to rest with his shoulders on your hips.

"Tired?" You asked, fighting the urge to rake your fingers through his hair.

"Exhausted." He made no effort to get up but rested his hands underneath the outsides of your knees.

You sighed in agreement and rested your hands on his shoulders, "Post breakfast nap sounds nice."

I can handle this. I know the boundaries. Just don't kiss him. That should be easy enough ...

__________

part 7 here!

gotta edit bc im a scatterbrain and forgot to tag! If you want to be tagged plz let me know!

@ab-haya @fire-in-her-veinz @cavillhavoc

#geralt of rivia #the wticher #geralt of rivia fic #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x reader fic #geralt #geralt x reader fic #geralt fic #geralt x reader fanfic #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fan fiction #the witcher fic #geralt x fem!reader #fucking yearning hours yall #thats damn near all im good for

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lovelivingmydreams · 4 years ago

Text

Okay so here is part two of this promt of mine to thank my now almost 250 followers. First part here. Enjoy!

Remus had a lot of fun stating the facts to the others. When they finally put everything together their faces will be even more hilarious! For now the others remained clueless though. For a little while Remus thought they'd all be old and grey by the time anyone figured it out.

Luckily they did get a clue about a week after Remus learned the exciting truth.

It was the evening before the premier of a project they'd been working on for ages. Roman was going over everything in the common area with everyone else as practice audience. Remus was playing heckler. No one asked him. He just did. He probably should have noticed Virgil tensing up with each comment. But he didn't. After Remus shouted something about a possible wardrobe malfunction Virgil shot up. "We have to cancel. We're not ready!"

Everyone looked up at Virgil in surprise. It'd been a long time since last he demanded skipping or postponing any type of commitment. It was always an option to him, but this wasn't a suggestion. It was a demand so strong that Thomas actually was thinking of what to tell Joan already.

No one knew what brought this on or how to resolve it. But Roman was still going to try.

"What do you mean? I'm sure we can see to any doubts you have and blow everyone away tomorrow."

Virgil balled his fists and shook his head. "Too much can go wrong..." he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Certainly. But we mustn't let down our audience for mere chance of failure.," Roman countered gently. "You think I'm being paranoid?" Virgil snapped accusingly.

Roman looked taken aback. "Virgil you are overreacting. I am merely trying too help!"

Virgil huffed, threw his hood over his head and stormed off to his room.

"Virgil!?" Roman called after him, but he didn't follow him up the stairs. He remained behind until they all cringed at the sound of a door slamming shut.

The prince's shoulders slumped and his head lowered dejected. "I'm... I'm going to reread the lines again..." he muttered before heading to his own room.

Patton reached out to Roman's retreating frame but came up short on things to say. The silence remained until a gentle click signaled that Roman had entered his room.

"That was fun," Janus muttered sarcastically as he got up, intending to talk to Virgil.

"Snakey, he just had his first fight with his boyfriend. He isn't up for 2 lies and maybe a truth," Remus pointed out. "Just like how my bro isn't going to appreciate playing tag with me."

Everyone stared at Remus, surprised he was capable of such insightful comments.

"Well that leaves us Lo," Patton observed looking up towards the private rooms tensely. Roman and Virgil argued a lot. Even now that they were all friends. Such was their nature. But those arguments were usually loud and full of Virgil's quips and Roman's dramatics. This one was unnervingly quiet in comparison.

"It would appear so. You should check on Virgil, I shall attempt to reason with Roman," Logan suggested. Patton nodded and together they headed to the opposing rooms. "Good luck," Patton smiled at Logan before knocking on Virgil's door.

"Virge? Mind if we chat for a bit?" A moment of silence before the door was opened. Patton hadn't heard him walk over... had he been by the door?

The question was forgotten when Patton saw Virgil's make up was running.

"Come in Pat..." he whispered softly, though he wasn't looking at him. Or rather past him at Logan.

Once more that puzzle was put asside in favor of cheering up his kiddo.

They sat on Virgil's bed, V curled in on himself Patton Indian style.

"I know I shouldn't have ran off... and that Roman wasn't calling me paranoid. So if that's all you wanted to say..."

"Actually," Patton started, interrupting Virgil before he could even start whatever self depreciating train of thought he was starting.

"I wanted to ask why you are so worried about this performance. It's not a big event and we are well prepared. Remus was only trying to get Roman of balance you know?"

Virgil dug his fingers in his hair in frustration. "I know! But what if it happens for real!? Roman'll get hurt!"

Patton blinked in surprise. He expected Virgil to be worried about Thomas first and the rest of them second. Prioritizing Roman like that... was Remus onto something? Patton always thought Virgil and Roman would make an absolutely adorable couple.

Virgil sighed and wrapped his arms around his legs to pull them tightly against his chest.

"Ever since you guys accepted me... I've been patching Roman up when he got 'bruised'. And even before I tried to check up on him... it's my fault when he gets hurt Patton. Because I didn't push Thomas hard enough, or too hard... anything I do wrong ends up hurting him. He was right to hate me. And when he realizes that I'll lose him and then you guys will stop talking to me and..."

"Kiddo hey... you're spiraling buddy." Logan said it's important they tell Virgil when he's trapped by his own head and how. "Breathe."

Virgil nodded and took a few deep breaths while wiping at his eyes.

"Virgil, none of us would ever blame you for trying your best."

Not even Roman. He knows you always act with our best interest at heart. And if you tell him you were worried for his safety, the whole thing will be forgotten," Patton assured the anxious side gently, secretly hoping that getting Virgil to open up towards Roman this way might help them get closer. Prinxiety just might set sail after all.

"You think so?" Virgil asked, not convinced.

"I know so. Take it from your old man kiddo. Roman cares about you. He has a funny way of showing it sometimes, but he does."

Virgil's face relaxed his eyes softening and his lips pulling into the tiniest smile.

"Yeah... I'll talk to him," Virgil nodded getting up and walking to the door with Patton.

Logan frowned, confused by the strange look Virgil had cast at Roman's door. Fearful yet almost longingly...

He must be mistaken. Emotions were not his area of expertise after all.

Instead of pondering the question any further, he turned and knocked on Roman's door.

"Roman? I wish to discuss something with you,"

A moment passed. "It's open."

When Logan entered he found Roman sat at his desk, his notes in front of him and his hands in his hair.

"I... can't figure it out Logan... I turn the conversation over and over in my head... what should I have said?"

When Roman looked up it was evident to even Logan that he'd been crying though he was doing his best to hide it.

Logan sat down on the bed his body angled towards the desk.

"Virgil was not mad at you Roman. It would seem something triggered a negative thought process in his mind which he tried to hide as not to disturb us. In doing so though the thoughts were not addressed and instead were left to build up tension which got released all at once. Even if you said exactly what he needed to hear, he was not in a mindscape to accept any of it. I am sure Virgil regretted what he said as soon as he said it. I theorize that he took distance in order to calm down before talking to you again," he explained.

Roman nodded allong to that. "So... I haven't ruined everything?" he asked almost timidly.

Logan shook his head. "You know I am not good with feelings. But i have observed that you and Virgil have grown close since he got accepted. Especially in recent weeks he is calmer and less prone to negative thinking when he interacts with you. Likewise he has clearly helped you be more focused and keep a level head, some of the time at least. You two have built something strong. And one fight like this won't end that."

Roman was tearing up again, but this time he was smiling.

"Truly? You believe I am good for him?"

Logan nodded his head, eyeing Roman curiously. He might be wrong but it almost seemed like...

"By Neptunes swimtrunks!" Roman exclaimed wide eyed. "I thank you for your aid Logan but I must make myself presentable and talk to my Emo post haste!"

His emo? Logan almost wished he was wrong. If Remus was right in any capacity he'd never let any of them live it down. But Roman and Virgil finding happiness with each other might just be worth it.

Logan let Roman push him to the door and let himself out as Roman was already hurrying to his bathroom. In the hallway he found Patton being led out of the opposing room by a nervously shifting Virgil.

"Is Roman mad at me?" he asked nervously.

"Of course not. He is worried about you," Logan assures his friend warmly.

Virgil relaxed at that. "Thanks guys. I think we'll be fine," he told them as he headed to the door. Logan got the hint and led Patton down the hall. He heard Virgil knock at the door an call out Roman's name. If he or Patton had turned back they would've seen how Virgil kissed Roman as soon as he opened the door.

Roman kissed his boyfriend back as he walked them both inside and closed the door.

"Not that I'm complaining but... what if someone saw?" Roman wondered quite happy actually with the bold gesture of affection. Virgil's role usually made him extremely cautious, which made his bouts of impulsivity even more surprising and delightful.

"Well if they did then I get to take you out to make it up to you," Virgil shrugged.

Roman chuckled. "You have nothing to apologize for mi corazon. But the thought is greatly appreciated. Want to talk about this over pizza and Disney?"

Virgil smiled and nodded. "You pick the first movie."

Logan and Patton voiced their suspicions to one another as well as Janus. All three agreed to wait with intervening and giving the two a chance to figure things out for themselves.

The tipping point came when they had a scheduled meeting with Thomas to discuss an upcoming colab he was nervous about.

First Roman and Virgil weren’t to be found anywhere. And then when Thomas pulled called them up by force they looked… disheveled.

“Good timing Thomas. One second later and… I honestly don’t want to think about that,” Virgil muttered as he straightened his hoodie and hair out.

Roman looked rather sheepish as he tugged at his sash and combed trough his hair.

“Where did you two come from?” Patton asked astonished.

“Imagination,” Virgil huffed as he turned to Roman, avoiding everyone else’s eyes subtle enough to be considered a coincidence.

“I told you we should have waited until after the meeting,” he told him, though he didn’t seem to be as mad as he was trying to be.

“I didn’t think we’d take that long,” Roman tried feebly.

“I did! You have no self control! Always have to go the extra mile don’t you?” Virgil pointed out. Roman looked back at Virgil now, a lot more confident.

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” he pointed out with a smirk.

Virgil rolled his eyes, but stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down. “I was kind of distracted,” he admitted.

“It’s no matter, we are here in one piece and there are more urgent matters at hand. Shall we, my stormy knight?”

Virgil sighed dramatically. “You are lucky you are so cute.”

Everyone in the room looked on incredulously. How were these two so clueless?

When the meeting ended, Roman and Virgil picked up their hike where they left off. On a blanket on top of the hill, ignoring the sunset in favor of making out.

“They need help Logan. Desperately! I am all for letting my kiddo’s take their time but this is too much! They are obviously in love!” Patton pleaded.

“Even I can’t stand watching them make eyes at each other any longer. Virgil is… taken with Roman. And Roman appears to be returning those feelings,” Janus admitted reluctantly. Virgil’s eyeshadow had been lilac more often than not when around the creative side. Only a complete idiot would keep denying it at this point.

“Told ya!” Remus grinned.

“Okay, fine… So how do we go about ‘setting them up’?” Logan relented.

Remus giggled manically. This was going to be so good.

“We make them spend time together! They have to realize they are meant for one another if they spend time one on one!” Patton exclaimed.

“But they are already together most of the time?” Logan objected.

“They are always working though. We have to pull them out of their comfort zone!”

Janus and Logan exchanged looks. “I’ll give an example,” Patton decided.

“Kiddo’s will you come down please!”

Roman and Virgil appeared almost at once, side by side, smiling brightly at Patton, Virgil’s eyeshadow bright and shiny as any of them had ever seen it.

“s'up pops? Virgil asked casually.

“Family picnic. You two take care of deserts!” Patton grinned brightly. “me and the others are going to put a basket together. Kitchen is all yours.”

And before either of the happy couple could respond Patton had pushed Janus and Logan out, followed closely by Remus. “have fun you two,” the green twin winked before rounding the corner.

“Are they seriously setting us up?” Roman whispered in astonishment.

“That’s hilarious,” Virgil grinned before turning to the kitchen counter where a cookbook laid open on a cake recipe. “Think you can handle this clever scheme o unconquerable prince?” he teased.

“Oh ye of little faith. It is I who shall thaw thine frozen heart with true loves kiss,” Roman grinned back.

“Do you think they've confessed yet?” Patton wondered as he placed nervously in Logan's room ten minutes later. The room calmed him down mostly but not near enough to be considered calm.

“Let's find out!” Remus exclaimed. Before anyone could stop him he was gone.

“That'll end well.” Janus groaned as he followed behind with Patton and Logan. To everyone he’s surprise they found Remus watching the kitchen rather discreetly. They joined him and were left speechless.

Roman and Virgil were both wearing aprons and chefs hats that matched their styles perfectly, both disregarding their usual top attire for simple t-shirts. Which was a good thing because there was an abundance of flower, chocolate and egg all over them.

Virgil was currently scolding Roman who was trying to take the mixing bowl from him. Neither was cross with the other though. In fact, both were nearly dying of laughter.

“Truce! Truce!” Roman called out as he managed to get a hold of himself. “Let’s compromise. Lest we get poorly mixed batter added to our canvases. How about I show you what I mean?”

Virgil relaxed his protective hold on the bowl and let Roman step behind him. Roman adjusted Virgil’s grip and laid his hands over his aligning their arms. He gently guided Virgil in mixing the batter.

“See?” Roman asked softly after a bit.

“um… wait almost. Show me that last bit again.” Janus quirked a brow. That was a lie. And if that was a lie, then Virgil just wanted… Oh boy his ray of stormshine had it bad.

Patton was nearly vibrating. Surely they'll realize…

“and there. Now it can be baked and we can get clean!” Roman declared satisfied as he stepped away. Virgil nodded and sighed in relief. “Finally, I’m more beat than the batter,” he joked. Roman snorted but he wasn't the only one.

“Oh hey Padre!” Roman greeted innocently. “ The cake will be done soon!”

Logan was up next. He reasoned that the key was physical proximity. He had observed that as light as the two acted about it afterwards it had clearly gotten to them. Remus suggested locking them in a closet until they ‘made out’ but Logan was sure he could be more subtle than that.

“What? But organizing the thoughts is your job!” Roman complained.

“It is and I apologize. I've been falling behind on my duties. Please, I am sure that if the two of you worked together it will be done quickly.”

Both Roman and Virgil sighed. They knew this was a set up, so they'd get away with more flirty behavior. But it was also work. And the room where the thoughts were being kept was so full of cabinets and boxes that it was near impossible to move around on your own let alone… oh.

If Logan thought he was being more dignified than Remus would be by disguising it as an accident he was wrong.

Roman wasn't even surprised to hear the door click shut as soon as Logan was “out of ear shot".

He was surprised to find that Logan had arranged the cabinets and boxes in a manner that would make them topple over and trap him and Virgil on the ground. Virgil on his chest as he'd pushed Roman to the ground and his arms wrapped protectively around his body to cushion his fall as much as possible.

They were stuck in that exact position for as long as Logan seemed necessary.

“Do you think either of those schemes would've worked if we weren't already dating?” Virgil wondered. Roman thoughtfully played with the hairs at the base of Virgil's skull for a bit.

“Not sure. We can both be stubborn. I’m kind of glad that I’ll never know,” he confessed.

Virgil sunk deeper into his embrace. “Me too.”

It wasn’t as fun as the baking scheme, but it was nice to cuddle with nothing else to do. Virgil usually got fidgety after a few minutes, even if he wanted to stay forever.

Roman wasn’t much better at staying still. But this… This might just convince the both of them to do this more often.

“I don’t hate this,” Virgil sighed after laying in silence for a while.

“I do make for a handsome pillow,” Roman joked as he pulled Virgil in closer.

“You do. But I mean… Usually silences are terrifying to me. But this? I don’t mind. I don’t worry about what you’re thinking. Or that I’m supposed to say something. It’s just… us and that’s enough. You know what I mean?”

Roman thought it over for a moment. “Yeah… I do. This is… As close to perfect as life is going to get,” he sighed contently.

It was something close to 30 minutes before they heard the door open and a moment later the room rearranged itself. “Tell me this isn’t something we could’ve done this entire time!” Virgil groaned as he got up, not showing his reluctance to do so.

“This is Logan’s domain. He maintains order in here. I have no power,” Roman huffed pretend offended, he was less successful in hiding how perfectly content he‘d been with their predicament.

“Indeed I do,” Logan agreed, flanked by Janus and Patton who both saw the look on Roman’s face. Again almost but not quite. What would it take?

Logan apologized for their predicament and assured them that he would complete the task. If they’d bought into the ruse for even a second this would have definitely tipped them off. But they let Logan think he was successful at least in hiding his intentions.

Janus initial idea was to simply impersonate either of the boys and using that form to get the other to confess. He never tried. And if he did he wasn’t found out almost right away.

So his second attempt he didn’t disguise himself or his intentions. Not to Roman at least.

And so the theater was left to fade away. It’s purpose fulfilled in an unexpected way.

“What exactly are your intentions with Virgil?”

Roman looked up from his vanity comb still in hand.

“After what you tried to pull yesterday, I’d say you know what my feelings are. As for my intentions… I won’t do anything that’ll make him uncomfortable. Don’t you worry,” he said as he returned his attention to the mirror and hummed ‘Once upon a dream’.

“So you are in love with him,” Janus drawled studying his nails. Though he glanced up to see Roman’s face flush. “Well…” the prince hesitated for a moment but then a blissful smile broke free and he leaned back with a sigh. “Yes,” he confessed dreamily.

“So tell him.” It was not that hard! He was the romantic side wasn’t he? Shouldn’t he be all for grand gestures like this?

Roman pursed his lips and shook his head, sitting up again and returning to his beauty routine.

“I’m waiting for the perfect moment.” Their first official date actually. If the other’s hurried and put the pieces together, they might be able to go on one for their 2 month anniversary.

He might already have something planned out. He had little doubt he’d be the one to crack first.

“I thought you’d say that. Come on, he’s waiting.”

Roman shot up. What was Janus planning?

The serpentine side led him to the imagination where a theater was set up. They entered stage right where Roman saw Virgil was waiting on stage.

“What is this about Jan?” the emo growled, eyes darting towards Roman and to the audience. Patton and Logan who looked about as confused as Roman felt. Remus was behind them just munching on popcorn.

“Remember the valentine’s episode?” Janus asked, everyone nodded, still confused.

“Well Virgil never got around to showing you all how he’d go about wooing someone. So I figured he could show us with Roman as an example crush. Thomas is getting ready to ask Nico to be his boyfriend. Might as well have all the possibilities out there. Direct, from the heart, grand gesture… You two have already shown that my methods of evasion and deception won’t work on Nico. He seems to find Thomas charming when he’s honest about his flaws, so we aren’t even going there.

Virgil, you have the floor,” Janus smirked smugly before getting of stage and joining the others in the audience.

Virgil took in a deep breath and glanced up at Roman as he let it all out.

Clearly he was nervous.

“Okay… So first…” He took hold of Roman’s hand. And it wasn’t the first time, this shouldn’t be a big deal. But doing it in the open, with this unexplained tension in the air, and his own confession in his head, it made Roman beyond flustered.

“Is this okay?” Roman pulled his eyes away from their joined hands as Virgil gave his a squeeze, looking at his boyfriend’s face instead. He looked so nervous.

“Of course,” he sighed breathlessly smiling warmly at the boy who completely owned his heart.

“Good… Roman… You know I blow at putting my thoughts in words. But this is something I need to say. Because just showing you feels like it isn’t enough.” Virgil took a deep breath and tugged at Roman’s arm, turning them to face each other.

“I like you,” he murmured, looking down “I like everything about you even the parts that drive me nuts. I like the way I feel around you. I like arguing about stupid things and laughing about it later. I like making messes with you and not worrying about cleaning it up. I like how you make me forget how scared I am sometimes. I like being myself with you, and feeling like that’s enough. I…”

Virgil might have a lot more to say than that but Roman wasn’t giving him the chance.

He pulled Virgil in and kissed him soundly. Virgil didn’t even pause before returning the kiss.

There was a loud wolf whistle, Remus clearly, but other than that complete silence.

After an infinite moment they pulled apart and smiled at each other.

“You can’t say things like that and expect me to just not kiss you mi amor.” Roman could hear the loud gasps from their audience.

“Wait! Are you saying…?” Patton started.

“We’re official,” Roman confirmed excitedly before returning his attention to Virgil.

“And that means, I shall be planning our first date. Be ready at six this evening, wear something semi-formal. No ties no monkey suits. But something nice. Understand?” Roman checked, not wanting Virgil to worry too much about what to wear, but needing him to not wear the hoodie just this one time.

Virgil nodded. “I think I can do that.”

Roman turned back to their audience. “I’d almost forget. Padre, may I take Virgil out?”

Patton was still in shock but nodded. “Of course, um have fun.”

“Told you all!” Remus shouted satisfied.

“How long?” Janus demanded, not a fan of secrets he isn’t privy to.

“Almost two months,” Virgil smiled making everyone go back in their head and see their interactions in a new light. They could see the moment they thought ‘How did we not figure this out,’ crossed their minds. Oh they’d been right. This was hilarious.

Roman chuckled fondly at their friends’ faces, before gently gazing down at Virgil and stroking his bangs out of his eyes/

“As much as it pains me to part my darling. I must prepare our evening.”

“Wait! Wait! You two… You two are boyfriends!” Patton exclaimed vibrating with excitement as that discovery finally registered. He jumped out of his seat and rushed over to the stage to hug them.

“Oh my goodness I’m so happy and proud!” he gushed. Both of them chuckled.

“Well, while I wish we had not wasted time on attempting to help you, I too am glad you have found happiness with each other,” Logan allowed.

Janus remained stubbornly silent, realizing Remus had known and had not told him at the very least.

“Thanks guys, that means a lot. And we were just messing with you guys, we weren’t keeping it a secret cause we didn’t trust you,” Virgil assured them as Patton finally let go and Roman put an arm around his waist, both excited that they could now do this in public.

“Oh you rascal! You really had us good. You have to tell me how you got together now though!” Patton insisted.

“Perhaps, once we return from our date Padre. Which I’ll have to start preparing for,” Roman reminded them reluctantly. He let go of Virgil’s waist and took his hand to place a kiss on it.

“I will count the minutes,” he muttered to his knuckles and exited stage left.

It took everything Virgil had not to start squeeling.

“Oh M G! We are going to pick out an outfit!” Patton giggled dragging Virgil along.

“I’ll lend you a hand. Obviously I have the most style,” Janus insisted as they too left the theater.

Logan sighed as though resigning himself to his fate. “Roman is bound to skip over practical details. I better ensure the date is a success or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Just admit you want to be part of it Nerd. That’s what I’m doing,” Remus grinned as he pulled Logan along.

#prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #All fluff #fluff

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ephemeral-afterlight · 5 years ago

Text

Mourning at Midnight

(UwU so Hey. i’m back with some more trash)

Word Count: 7480

Summary: It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

He doesn’t want to look up, to face the suffocating silence that’s fallen over the room. He doesn’t want to see their faces, their disappointment, their anger, their contempt. He wants to yell. He wants to sleep.

Logan sinks out.

Warnings (could potentially be small spoilers, nothing too big, but if you don’t have any triggers I’d suggest you skip reading this!):

There are no u!sides in this, nor does anyone have malicious intent, but the other main three (Virgil, Patton, Roman) and Thomas, to a lesser extent, treat Logan unkindly (not on purpose) and don’t realize their errors. This will be resolved! Just… not yet OwO

Being ignored/talked over

Mental/emotional breakdown

An unidentified illness with symptoms including: [extreme persistent nausea (lots of mentions), vomiting (once), bile, weakness/weariness, shaking, lightheadedness, double vision (once), headache, body aches/pains, breathing difficulties]

General negativity including: [self-doubt, self-deprecation/depreciation, feeling worthless or unloveable, self-hatred]

Anger management/temperament issues

Unintentional self-harm (not anything like c-tting, Logan gets a bruise as a result of an angry outburst)

Separate small, vague allusion to self-harm, but it’s not outright and not detailed in the slightest. Could be read as not even talking about self-harm

Potentially triggering descriptive imagery (metaphors and similes to describe how a character feels or percieves a situation, not anything that actually happens) including but not limited to: [glass, sharp things, blood, injection, live wires, loud noises, screaming, general mentions of pain, masochism, sound torture, knives/blades, wounds, drowning/suffocating, pressure]

Temporarily unresolved tension between Logan/Deceit/Remus and the other sides/Thomas (there will be a happy ending in the next fic, though, don’t worry!)

A few vulgar threats of violence (somewhat explicit, be careful) to the other sides from Remus (out of protectiveness; Remus means well but he does Not express it in a healthy way) that is not carried out or even humoured

Remus’ morning star and descriptions of its destructive capabilites

Loceit as a romantic pairing (for now…. UwU)

Sympathetic “dark” sides

That should be it for warnings! Let me know if I need to add anything!

A/N: So! This is finally done :D !! I’ve been working on it on and off for the past week or so, and although I know it could be way better, I think this is where I’ll keep it! This is technically a sequel to my other fic Tea at Twilight and it takes place in the same universe, and although you don’t need to read that before this to understand the story, I strongly suggest reading that first to get more of a feel for the dynamic!

This is inspired by @illogicallyinclined and her absolutely amazing Disaster Trio™ headcanons/au, and was prompted by this post so I just started writing! I meant for it to be a bit shorter, but of course my brain would Not let it go, even despite my ADHD, executive dysfunction, and massive amounts of writer’s block.

This is also unfinished! It is the second of three main works, all happening chronologically in the same universe. The first one is Tea at Twilight as stated previously, then this one, and there will be a third and final installment added to finish off this short little trilogy! I’ll be adding this to the series on AO3, so when the final fic is up, it’ll all be together for an easy reading experience. It is also possible that there will be other small fics in this universe (UA, as has been recently coined) that operate outside of the timeline of the main story, so be sure to watch out for that!

Thanks to Jay once again for creating these lovely headcanons that haunt my dreams every night, and for inspiring me to get back into my writing groove despite a writer’s block that’s lasted for over three years! Hope this isn’t too terrible, Jay! ilyy <333</p>

Also, a huge thank you to @illogical-anxieties for being such a good cheerleader/enabler! You really do help to keep me motivated and on track (and keep my ADHD in check), which is probably why this was even able to become a full-fledged story rather than a WIP to be buried where unfinished fics go to die T~T Love you tons <3</p>

(If I’m being honest with myself, this is just an excuse for me to live up to my IRL title of “Living Thesaurus”, coined by a friend many years ago and has since spread around to other friends and family. My title is thriving, and I suppose that means I should actually have proof of it, so there’s that.)

(Cross-posted to AO3)

(Read Part 1 here)

He can feel it building.

There’s far too much left to be desired when it comes to frustration. The natural helplessness that makes way for anger when you try so hard to do something or be something for someone and you’re pushed down by anything and everything between ignorance and antipathy. The fear that nothing you can do or say will ever be good enough. The buzzing, ticking, pinpricks upon pinpricks of heat injected into you until your blood and heart have been replaced with glass, fragile as a crumbling stone wall. It’s not as if he hasn’t had his outbursts before, spurred on by the familiar sharp pulse of rage that courses through him in a split-second whirlwind. It builds inside him, and he can feel the pressure in his limbs expand until it feels like his muscles are being squeezed out of existence and then he snaps like a rubber band that’s been pulled too taut. He’s not in denial of the fact that his impulsive, blinding reaction when met with frustration is not okay, and only detrimental to the demeanour he’s trying to retain. He knows it’s childish. He knows it’s immature, and pathetic, and wholly invigorating, at least until the adrenaline has worn off and he’s in the aftermath of his knee-jerk reaction to the tension coiled in his arms and legs and head.

It doesn’t mean that Logan is particularly in control of it though, despite his self-awareness being far above the level that most people with anger management issues are at. Maybe there’s a certain quality to it that allows for growth; it’s not as if Logan stays angry, or that he wants to hurt people. He loves the others, painfully so (as much as he loathes to admit it), to the point where he’s so desperate for their approval that he tampers down his passion, that spark that used to drive him to learn and speak and be happy just to avoid being cast out and abandoned, alone in the way he never wants to be. He wants to find a way to temper the fall into those dark, consuming waters, a way to mute the buzzing and ticking. He wants to seal those exposed live wires and release the tension to the point where he never lashes out ever again. He wants to, and he doesn’t know how to, and that fact infuriates him in an ironic, endless cycle of self-imposed and self-directed enmity.

Logan still thinks on this often, even now, wracking his brain for solutions to problems that realistically won’t be solved as easily as he wishes they would. Excerpts and quotes and data and statistics from many different studies about anger and temper management and irritability and everything in between seem to figuratively run amok through his brain, a screaming crowd of witnesses to the chaos and failure found in his ability to filter through the nonsense and come to a satisfying conclusion, any conclusion at all. He notices how his fingers tremble as they slip into the handle of his coffee mug, endures the dull ache in his mid-to-lower back from falling asleep at his desk for the majority of the day under the guise of work so important he holed himself up in his room to complete it. He ignores the way his head pounds, how he feels so dizzy that he might fall over and pass out any second from lightheadedness. He suffers through the loud conversations between the other three that are typical to the dinner routine that Logan cannot deal with today, not with this headache poking at him like figurative needles in his head.

When he senses the summons from Thomas stirring up the familiar but nonetheless odd ticklish sensation on the back of his neck, Logan can feel the tension knot up his muscles, and the combination of the two just makes him want to growl in irritation. The others, having also felt the summoning, seem to get impossibly louder, ringing and stinging and singing in his head. He still persists, despite the fact that he knows he shouldn’t be out doing anything today that’s likely to exacerbate his sickness, because Thomas is important, more so than Logan himself. No matter how much he wants to hole himself up in his room and sleep the day away, his host needs him, so Logan simply forces his mask of indifference to melt into steel. He refuses to budge, not for the first or last time, and he rises up in the real world standing straight and rigid and as put together as he’s always expected to be.

When he’s finally settled into his usual spot, as still as he can possibly be to not exacerbate the roiling nausea disquieting his stomach, he’s able to take in the other four arranged in their usual positions in Thomas’ living room, already having begun a conversation that Logan has missed the premise of entirely through his all-eclipsing, obfuscating malady. His vision doubles, like broken fractals of glass reflecting onto themselves, and then it pulls back together, merging back into something visible, something manageable.

“Well, I’m sure Danny likes you, too! You just gotta ask him, kiddo!” Patton exclaims, high voice pushing through the heavy, suffocating cotton in Logan’s ears, and the words snap the bespectacled side to attention. He needs context, needs to know what they’re talking about, needs to be able to help for once. Maybe he has to endure the bad to be able to put out the good, and this is where the climax is, the top of the rollercoaster at such a high altitude that oxygen is thin and dispersed before he shoots down the tracks in a rush of fresh air, relieving and calm and sanguine as he’s finally able to ground himself. A shiver runs through Logan’s body, between his shoulder blades and down his hip and through his leg, and his eyes flutter under the weight of consciousness. It recedes, the flow is ebbed, and his head clears to a more sustainable level.

“Oh, that’s so boring, Padre! Thomas should hire a band to play! And we can rig up streamers and confetti and there can be a cake and dancing and a party to celebrate!” Roman crows, throwing his arms and hands up into his signature pose to match his full, booming tone. Patton squeals, clutching his cardigan in his hands to pull excitedly at the sleeves as he bounces giddily on his feet. At the suggestion, as the polar opposite to Patton’s reaction, Virgil grimaces, hunching over even further in his jacket as he protests with every way he can think of that the situation could go wrong. Unsurprisingly, Roman takes personal offense to it and refutes Virgil’s points with the same intensity and fervour that’s been present in himself and his interactions with the anxious side since day one. Logan sort of understands, can infer that they’re discussing how to ask out Danny, a new friend of Thomas’ who has very quickly turned into a crush. In that case…

“If I may interrupt? While I don’t share all of Virgil’s worries, I do agree with his position in regards to the fact that there isn’t a need for such extravagance. It might embarrass Danny, for one, and for two, there are many ways such an excessive venture could backfire, such as technical difficulties or general human error. The idea is, while exciting, frankly outrageous,” Logan says, his role as the voice of reason renewed once more. It’s his job to sift through the conversations they have and get to the important parts, and he likes his job. He’s good at micromanaging, mediating the chaos, good at storing information to sort and consider and veto and bolster. It’s how he operates, how he copes. “We can think of something else to–”

“Oh, shut it, Pocket Protector. We all know you don’t care about romance, but this is important! Thomas wishes to find love with the second most handsome prince in the world! After me, of course,” Roman exclaims, in that boisterous, self-aggrandizing way of his, the way that hides his real insecurities he buries so deeply in himself he doesn’t know how to find them again. Oddly enough, it’s not Roman’s defense mechanism that throws Logan off, it’s the way that Logan stopped talking almost reflexively to allow the other side to finish his statement, as if the prince’s words were more important than his own, and it speaks as testament to how much Logan’s been conditioned (or maybe he’s conditioned himself all on his own) into putting everyone else before himself, even when it hurts him or Thomas. Logan is ignored in the face of his implicit trust, and he hates that even as it pours salt in the open wound, he finds himself taking a depraved, spiteful comfort in the familiarity of it all.

“That’s not what I–”

“Awe, c'mon, Logan! Thomas deserves to have a happy relationship and someone he can live out the rest of his life with! Doesn’t that sound nice, to grow old together with someone you love? Isn’t that romantic? Oh, it just makes me so warm and fuzzy thinking about it!” Patton interrupts, hands clutching each other over his heart as he swoons. Logan knows Patton doesn’t mean to be rude, but he still can’t help but be a little hurt by it, especially since he’s now been ignored twice consecutively. He’s just trying to help, and if that means reigning in Roman’s exorbitant ideas that border on egregious at times, then Logan knows it must be done. Although he encourages Thomas to seek a relationship to improve his mental health and provide more financial stability, there is a limit to how much he can disregard himself and others in doing so, and that doesn’t mean that Logan is the bad guy for pointing that out. He knows that. He knows that, so why does the dismissal still feel so sharp in his chest?

“Yeah, romance is cool and all, but what if it doesn’t work? What if Danny actually hates us? What if we ask and he laughs at us or says no and then we’ll be standing there like an idiot and then he’ll never wanna talk to us again because he thinks we’re pathetic and stupid and–”

“Hey, now, don’t be such a Debby Downer, kiddo! I’m sure it’ll go just fine! We’ll just ask him. The worst thing that can happen is he’ll say no, right? Shouldn’t we give it a shot?” Patton consoles before Virgil can go into a spiral. Although his well-meaning reassurances are meant to be comforting, his voice just grates on Logan’s ears, tinny and hollow and misdirected.

“That’s what I’m afraid of!”

Logan wants to keep listening, he really does, but the noise is rising to levels where it’s too much to handle. He’s already sensitive from his illness, but the discussion that is very quickly turning into an argument falls in pulses through his head, sound torture to the broken, hopeless masochist. He’s barely holding onto himself at this point, consciousness like a dangling thread that swirls and dances and twirls with even the tiniest breeze, a hint of movement sending it shivering and quivering as it spins. It wouldn’t take much for the thread to fray from the weight pulling it down, or to saw through it in a clean slice that leaves it floating feather-light upon air currents, petals spiraling to the ground.

Petals. Flowers. Thomas could bring Danny flowers! It’s perfect! Danny is especially predisposed to gardening, and he frequently talks about different flowers and what they mean based on the type and colour. His interest in botany could make this a sweet gift, to show that Thomas pays attention to what Danny enjoys, and can be the perfect segue into asking him on a romantic outing. Yes, this could work! It would appease Roman’s inclination to classic romanticism while still being practical and not unreasonably expensive, give Patton his ideal relationship fantasy (and a “warm and fuzzy feeling”, apparently), and allow Virgil a little more breathing room, so-to-speak. This is something they all should be agreeable towards, and that confidence is enough to supply Logan with enough energy to push past his lightheadedness and offer a solution. He’s proud of himself for taking the others’ feelings into account, something he knows he’s not always been the most proficient at, and for coming up with a compromise that will likely satisfy everyone’s wants and needs.

“What about bringing him flowers?” Logan asks, pleased and antsy as he feels hope well up in his chest. He doesn’t push it down this time, and he thinks maybe, just maybe they’ll finally listen to him, that they’ll tell him that he did well, that he’s being considerate and maybe even say thank you–

“How would you even know, Roman? It’s not like we just go out and hire mariachi bands every Saturday!” Virgil says with furrowed brows, and Roman huffs in indignation, and Patton sighs as he looks between the two of them, and Logan’s words fall on deaf ears. They didn’t even hear. They didn’t listen. They didn’t care they didn’t care–

“Uh, hey, Virgil, what if–” Logan tries once more to speak, nausea rolling angrily in his gut, head spinning dizzy round and round and round and round and Virgil flinches.

He flinches. Because of Logan.

Virgil hasn’t been afraid of any of them for a long time. Sure, in the beginning, when they fought one another on nearly a day-to-day basis, there would be a moment before he could pull on his figurative mask that a flash of fear would go through Virgil’s eyes, and the sadness kept within wouldn’t subside even when he growled and snapped and blustered whichever side had the misfortune of picking a fight with him during a time where his first instinct was to keep away the pain and longing and loneliness the only way he knew how. Over time, that flash of fear dulled, morphed into something more manageable, more trusting. The sadness never really went away, but it was met with warmth, a soft contentedness that danced in his eyes when he realized he had a family to turn to. He hasn’t been afraid for a long time. And yet, he flinches away from Logan, just from him speaking.

Is he really that bad?

Does even simply the sound of his voice have such a negative association for Virgil that it prompts genuine fear and discomfort? Has he really scared Virgil that much? What did he do? How can he fix this?

Maybe he shouldn’t.

Logan’s felt disconnected from the others for quite a while now. He loves them, of course he does, but he doesn’t feel like he fits. He’s the metaphorical jagged puzzle piece, the one that should snap into the final vacant space but is so broken beyond repair that it doesn’t fit quite right. He wants to belong, to feel at home whenever he’s with them, but he doesn’t. He yearns for the acceptance that Virgil earned, the support that Roman is held up by, the respect and adoration Patton seems to acquire so casually and naturally that it’s like he doesn’t even have to try. Logan wants to be like them. He wants to be loved, but… that isn’t really his place, is it?

Love is not an inherent thing. It’s something that’s earned, by doing good things and being important enough to someone that they give it freely. It’s something Logan doesn’t understand, but despite that, still desperately, painfully yearns for. He wants to be loved, the way he loves the others. He wants to be a part of their famILY, to have that implicit trust in each other that only comes from acute, profound, deep-seated love. He wants that fondness directed towards himself, that devotion borne from hapless, radiating appreciation. The humbled esteem, the maudlin, theatrical longing, the passion and yearning and helpless, acquiescent love that bursts from the seams in a manner that will never diminish or fade. He wants that. Badly. And he’s finally ready to accept that he will never have it. He’s okay. He’s okay. He just needs a moment. He just needs to breathe.

The others must have continued with their arguments long ago, seemingly unaware of anything outside of themselves. Logan supposes he shouldn’t really berate them for that since he often falls victim to getting lost in debate as well, but something is wrong with Thomas, going by his expression and demeanour and the logical side can’t ignore it anymore. It’s highly unlikely that the other three will come away from themselves for long enough to notice, and it doesn’t sound like they’re anywhere close to coming to a conclusion amongst themselves, so Logan is perfectly fine with bearing that responsibility upon himself to check up on his host and make sure he’s okay. He’s the most important one here, after all, and it’s Logan’s job to help him, guide him in his life and decisions.

“Thomas? Is there something wrong?” Although the words come out clear and precise as usual, Logan’s throat burns, and he can barely breathe. He wants to sleep, he wants to sleep, but Thomas needs him, and that doesn’t happen often nowadays, so Logan does nothing but wait impassively. His host bites the inside of his cheek, then sighs as he stares off at the wall, lost in thought. Since he says nothing, the logical side assumes he will continue to say nothing for a few more moments, and decides to give him a once-over to gather more information and any possible context. Thomas’ eyebrows are furrowed, and his posture far from adequate. His expression is troubled, and his arms are crossed loosely, a pointer finger scratching at his elbow unconsciously. There is no obvious cause for his confusion and/or upset in himself or anywhere in the room, apart from the current dilemma, but he was fine before, so something must have changed to distress him now. Logan cannot ascertain what Thomas needs simply from observing him, so he concludes that the best thing for him to do is wait.

So he does. And he does so for a minute, two, five. Every second that ticks by feels like a needle is being shoved into his eyes, his brain, his legs, his everything and it takes more effort to stand than he’s used to. Breathing is difficult, but that isn’t exactly a new development, so at least he knows how to ignore it. Eventually, ten minutes pass with only the sound of the other three arguing in the background, and it doesn’t seem like Thomas is really all there. Although the action makes him want to throw up, Logan shifts forward, moving out of his usual spot and into Thomas’ own. He still doesn’t acknowledge any kind of input outside himself, so Logan lays a hand on his host’s arm gently, which snaps him out of his trance in a slow, unhurried kind of way. Thomas gives him a glance when his logical side sighs, tampering down any audible signs of his nausea in a manner that is unbeknownst to the host, but returns to staring at the wall without a second regard.

“Thomas?” Logan murmurs, bile rising in his throat and shoving his hidden suffering even closer to the forefront of his mind, as though it hasn’t been there all along. It’s hard to think, through all of the white noise and weary irritation and the tiniest sliver of hope that he crushes immediately, but thinking is his job, and he needs to help. “Are you alright? You can talk to me.”

And then Thomas is shrugging him off, turning away as he tells him he should “just stop” with piercing words, that he “can’t do anything to help”, and the rejection feels like a metaphorical knife has been shoved into his gut. Logan can feel the pain and the heartbreak and the insecurity materialize into a cold blade, twisting and twisting just to make him hurt more. Logan is ignored for the fourth time today, by the person it hurts to come from the most, and he can feel the sun whipping and screaming in his chest. His breath is stuck, sucked down into his throat, a sharp pain localizing in his neck, and he can’t help but bring his hand up to rub at the spot with trembling fingertips as he unsteadily lurches back to his regular spot. The others don’t notice, of course, or if they did, they don’t care. Then the nausea he’s been fighting against surges like a violent wave at full force, drowning him and the hurt is forcing its way into his mouth, his throat, his lungs, and he can’t breathe–

His fist flashes down from his neck to the banister, punching the railing so hard it echoes in the reverberation created from his vicious, angry snarl.

It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

Logan sinks out.

There’s a very short window of time where the logical side rushes into the en-suite bathroom after rising up in his bedroom, trembling legs aching with exhaustion. Barely a second passes between him falling to the floor and emptying the meager contents of his stomach into the toilet, the bile burning in his tender throat as a reminder of his failure. The floor is cold and hard beneath him, ridges of tiles pressing unrelenting into his knees through his wrinkled jeans. His head spins, unbalanced as it whirls through itself, words and thoughts and ideas that mean nothing and everything simultaneously existing hollowly in a falling echo. There is pain, and aching, and soreness, and exhaustion, and Logan wants to sleep.

It’s hard to rise to his feet, head throbbing and knees shaking as he wipes the spit from his mouth on a folded square of toilet paper. The pain nags at him, persistent and irritating in its attempts to shut Logan out, almost clear in a way that belies the foggy haze blanketing his nearly incoherent thought process. Marking a clear vantage, a faultline to anchor onto is no easy task, and all Logan wants as he stumbles over to his bed is a landmark to pinpoint and find his way back to. He careens toward the mattress once he’s close enough, finally letting his legs give out underneath him when he’s as near as he can bear. It’s so difficult to stay upright in stiff misery, pangs and twinges of sharp pain coursing through his limbs and his back as his muscles are forced together under pressure.

In another familiar, frustrating bout of anger that seizes his breath before it can escape his lungs, Logan shoves his fingers in the knot of his tie, yanking it forcefully even as the motion jerks his own head forward uncomfortably along with it. His fingers run down the length of the fabric, and it falls apart at the end of its cycle, much like Logan has, and he snaps his arm back to chuck the dark blue, silky length to the ground in a motion that does little to relieve the rage built up inside him.

He can feel it building. The buzzing, the pressure, the glass in his veins running on shards. He feels the pinpricks upon pinpricks, the fire burning in his lungs, and the stone crumbles, and tumbles down, and he’s like a rubber band pulled taut.

He cracks, shrill pressure in his knuckles and head and torso, and nothing happens.

Then Logan hears the telltale squeak of his door swiveling on mildly rusty hinges, and a familiar voice echoes right through his bubble, shatters the stone wall like a bulldozer running at full speed, and then the wetness spills over his lashes and over his stony, impassive face.

“Oh, Lo,” Deceit murmurs, sad and tender as the breath rushes out of him and Logan can’t do this. He wants to throw out his fist in a wide arc and pummel the wall next to him until his knuckles are raw and bloodied and bruised beyond repair. He wants to scream until his throat is torn and his voice is gone, lost in the uncaring, empty void that coldly swallowed up his passion. Happiness has never seemed further away, and he knows he deserves it. But then he remembers all of the times where the pressure in his limbs and the buzzing in his brain forced him to lash out, to hurt others, and he thinks that maybe it’s okay for him to hurt right now to even the score. With the last of the metaphorical wall around him in tiny pieces, fragments of a life he never wanted to live but he desperately fought to keep, he lets his guard down for the first time in years.

Logan’s face crumples under the weight he’s burdened his being with, body immediately drooping under the heaviness that he’s forced himself to fight through. He finally submits, and the tears come in an endless stream over his cheekbones, itchy and hot and terribly, mindlessly relieving. It feels so good to finally let the negative emotion he’s pent up inside him out, to fall out of his cage he’s lived in high above a swirling ocean of release and fear and freedom. And he’s so, so lucky because he has someone to save him from the fall.

Deceit’s kneeled down in front of him, wiping away the tears as they fall with uncharacteristically degloved thumbs, and Logan can feel the smoothness of the scales twisting and trailing down his fingers. Every so often, Deceit’s pointed thumbnails catch lightly on the skin of Logan’s cheek, and it just causes him to cry harder. The vulnerability in the room is palpable, a wispy breath of worry and insecurity and trust trailing over their skin, blanketing the room in a warmth that runs even warmer when Logan reaches up to gently lay his hand over Deceit’s own. He shows his appreciation through tactility when the words he so desperately wishes to say are lost in his throat, blocked by the barrier that separates his newfound submission and the part of him that’s still clinging to the feeble grasp at acceptance he craves so dearly.

Logan can barely tell what’s in front of him through the kaleidoscope in his vision, but he doesn’t really need to see to throw himself forward off the bed and bury himself in Deceit’s chest, of whom lets out a surprised noise but doesn’t hesitate a single second in wrapping his arms tightly around the other side. He strokes Logan’s back comfortingly and offers him whispered reassurances through the heart-wrenching sobs and broken, croaky whines that disappear into his cloak, hand coming up to cradle his head in the overwhelming reflexive instinct to keep the logical side safe and happy. It feels like a dagger has gone through Deceit’s chest at the knowledge that Logan has been suffering for so long and hasn’t been able to let it out or just simply be held, the self-preservation that is at the core of his function as a side going off like alarm bells with every sniffle. Logan curls into the first person who’s ever offered him physical affection and emotional safety, and his fists clench the fabric at the snake-like side’s shoulders as tightly as he would if he were to never, ever let go.

Logan is out of breath even as his heart begins to calm, beating and beating in his ribcage and in his lungs. The lump in his throat prevents him from speaking, but he figures it’s okay to not be heard audibly, just this once, and speak with his actions. Although he doesn’t know what he’s saying when he pulls back and wraps his arms around Deceit’s neck, laying his face in the crook of other side’s neck like a small child would, not really, he hopes that his intent still comes across in some sort of intelligible, hopeful way. Deceit seems to take this as a request, a promise, and slides his grip to a point where he can hoist the smaller side up in his hold, carrying him just like a parent carrying their kid to their bed after they fell asleep during a visit to a friend’s house. This situation is much more loaded, stained with impurities and unsure withering, but it’s just as raw, just as real, and Logan finds himself feeling safer than he ever has before.

At some point, they end up on the bed, Logan having been manhandled into a more comfortable position for both of them, which is laying across Deceit’s lap without ever having let go of his neck. The logical side feels small and vulnerable, something that he would normally hate, squash down, bury so deep within himself that he doesn’t even have to acknowledge it. But honestly, right here, right now, he’s so goddamn exhausted, and forcing himself back into the state of repression he’s been in for so much of his life would take too much of a toll, more than he already has on himself. The wetness rolls down his cheeks, bold, blue precipitation falling in droplets onto his skin and the fabric of Deceit’s cape, sinking and spreading and thinning out into airy nothingness. And the nothingness enraptures him, pulls him in even as he breaks and whimpers and spills wisps of forgotten feelings into empty space, at least until his bedroom door opens once more with a loud click, because nothing Remus ever does is truly quiet.

“Hey, are you guys having a sexy party without me? How c–… are you… crying?” Remus asks, suggestive tone split and watered down into something confused, and surprised, and angry. The younger twin kicks the door shut behind him with his foot, more out of muscle memory than conscious forethought, something that stands with nearly every action Remus executes. Logan turns his head wearily, not lifting it from where it rests on Deceit’s collarbone. The latter of the two takes that chance to clear away some of the tears that didn’t get absorbed into his clothing, hoping that since the stream is slowly dispersing, his cheeks will stay dry this time. Remus slowly approaches, body tense and eyes piercing as Logan’s face is wiped off for the nth time, offering no other sounds or words as he crouches down to examine how the bespectacled side’s skin is rubbed red and sensitive.

Logan just whines softly, stare falling to the bedsheets, observing nothing in particular as he tries to figure out why words are failing him. Something that’s such an intricate part of himself, the communication of thoughts and ideas and knowledge that defines so much of who he is and how he exists, it’s dwindled and diminished into nothing. Deceit seems to understand, he always does, and reads him so perfectly it’s a wonder the two didn’t become closer in the beginning, with how much they truly are alike. A scaled hand makes it’s way up to Logan’s head and cards through the soft, disheveled hair there, scratching lightly at his scalp in a motion that seems to draw the aching tension caused by his distress out of his body, leaving his muscles to relax and melt into the chest that holds him upright.

“Something happened before I came in here. I assume it has to do with the others,” Deceit murmurs into thick, heavy air, stale with shame and tired hopelessness. Remus’ eyes flick to Logan’s own, actively searching for some sort of confirmation or denial. There’s a beat of silence, and Logan’s eyes flutter in a fatigued attempt to stay awake, and the nausea creeps its way into his stomach once again like a predator stalking its prey. Deceit repositions himself quietly, pulling the smaller side impossibly closer, as if he knows that he’ll need the added comfort. With his body squished into a protective embrace, and his tie laying flat on the floor below, forgotten and scorned for what it represents, Logan swallows hard around the sharp block in his neck and nods through his nonverbal affliction.

At the minimal admission, something in Remus’ eyes darkens, bathing the bright craze that typically resides there in something hateful, and vicious, and dripping with chemical absolution. He shifts away, rolls onto his haunches in a way that doesn’t read as entirely intentional, as though he’s been physically forced back with the weight of the confession. There’s so much there, in the way his breath comes out shallow and gravelly and low like a beast biting and snapping at the bars that contain it, fighting against the cage it’s locked inside. Nostrils flare, and jaw sets, and fists clench white as bone, and Remus straightens up to his full height, intimidating and looming and dangerous.

“Who?” he spits, venom coursing through the single word in molten streams. It’s a protective fire, serious in a way Remus rarely is, and the storm in his eyes and aura only becomes more turbulent and intense and solid as he reaches behind himself to slowly seize his morning star from where he keeps it at the ready. Pulling it to the front of him is an unexpectedly slow event, yet still ferocious in its quiet, cold fervour. The silver weapon swings in a steady arc around the side of Remus’ body, catching the dim light in a threatening glint, the gleam alluding to its deadliness in a way that’s almost unexplainable. The spiked mace finally comes to its resting point, hovering in the air just beside the fierce side’s leg, unassuming and ready to drive its way into an unlucky antagonist’s skull.

“I’ll cut their fucking throats. I’ll rip off every single limb from their bodies until they’re nothing but a pile of flesh and blood. They’re gonna pay for this,” Remus snarls, each threat bathed in acrimony and malice and choked by fury ripping through the tempest. Logan stares through misty eyes, half-lidded and concerned but too out of it to muster much of a coherent thought. Thankfully, Deceit is still there, soft and warm and well-equipped to deal with Remus and his behaviour. The snake-like side sighs, reaching out to just barely snatch up a frilly black sleeve, tugging him closer and meeting surprisingly little resistance despite the rigidity of the tallest side’s posture. Each breath from Remus comes out like a bullet, brisk and arduous and punctuated by a pang of impermeable guilt.

Even as Deceit motions Remus to lower himself onto the bed in front of them, the latter of the two is still apprehensive, terse movements and restless eyes that flit between anything and everything they can to avoid stagnation. It’s almost fearful, in a way, primal in its aptitude to think, and cultivate, and vindicate a wrongdoing that was never his fault or responsibility in the first place. Logan hates that they need to save him, hates that he doesn’t truly believe they actually care. There’s a level of certainty with himself and with others that the logical side hasn’t reached yet, and it feels too close and yet too far, kept obscure and secluded and almost clandestine in the way it’s ostensibly unreachable.

With the help of Deceit’s hand to guide his way, Remus slowly lets go of his morning star, tossing it to the side with a pensive, trembling swallow. It clatters to the ground, metallic clang resounding in vibrations, tilde-shaped waves that bounce off the façade and yell out to one another. Muted shrieks upon perfect, flat, neutral paint, sepulchral oscillations attacking the drywall.

“You can’t hurt them. I know you’re angry. I am too. But hurting them won’t solve anything, Rem, you know that more than anyone,” Deceit says meaningfully, smiling in a way that’s sad and distant but caring and compelling and relaxing for the tension wrapped so tightly around the three of them. The snake-like side lifts the hand that’s not in Logan’s hair and reaches out to grab Remus’ own, firmly but gently as he squeezes his fingers in a way that reassures, and consoles, and reprimands, not unkindly. He admonishes, and breaks that anger and frustration, and builds up positivity and alleviation and reprieve from everything that allows that buzzing, ticking, those pinpricks upon pinpricks. His care and concern washes over you, paternal in a different way than Patton operates, and it’s why Deceit is so comforting to be around. He manages a respite from vexation, a refuge in sanctuary, discreet freedom for the flawed, defeated dreamer.

“I’m mad. I’m mad that they hurt you, Lo-Lo. I want them to feel the pain you’re feeling,” Remus mutters, frigid and defeated, head bowed and gaze distant in that transparent manner of his that easily broadcasts all of his thoughts and feelings and wishes. Logan feels the pride welling up in his chest without even realizing it, quietly delighted at the progress Remus has made in being clear and forthcoming with his emotions and impulsivity. A weary grin makes its way onto his face, predictably aggravating the soreness in his cheeks, yet he finds himself indifferent to it, unperturbed by the plight that’s ravaged his body for the day, and probably longer without his notice. He wants to reassure the younger twin, to smile and laugh and brush all of it off, but his eyelids droop, and a pathetic mewl is the only thing able to escape his lungs. Of course, since there’s something Logan wants to say, Deceit somehow knows how to communicate it, just as prompt and courteous and perceptive as always.

“We can talk about this later after Logan has slept. Don’t worry too much, Rem, and don’t do anything stupid. If you get angry again, please go to your paints instead of your legs,” Deceit instructs, more of a suggestion than a demand, but he hopes Remus will listen and be mindful anyway. The latter of the two bounces his leg anxiously, grumbling unintelligibly under his breath as he stands up in one swift, fluid motion. As Remus makes his way over to exit the room, Logan nudges Deceit’s hand with his head gently, trying to bring his attention back to the massaging motion that ceased sometime during the conversation. The snake-like side’s eyes flick downward to meet the smaller side’s own half-lidded, teetering gaze, and he huffs a laugh after a moment of searching. Logan doesn’t know what he finds, but he realizes that he doesn’t really care that much about worrying over every little interaction anymore.

Remus finally turns and glances back as he swings the door open, brows still furrowed and shoulders still hunched, but simply shakes his head and leaves. The door closes much softer than before, thankfully, so as not to be too harsh on Logan’s migraine, an unusually conscientious thought from someone that rarely shows consideration to the needs of others that the logical side appreciates that much more. As the sound of Remus’ footsteps slowly fade with his retreat down the hallway, the two of them left are bathed in silence, one that is marginally less heavy and thick than before.

A small while passes afterward, only punctuated by soft breathing and light scratching noises from nails trailing through messy hair. Logan feels like he might pass out any minute, what with the comfortable, quiet understanding the two have come to rest at, but some part of him says to wait, to push through the mind-numbing exhaustion for just a little while longer. That part of him is probably just being considerate toward Deceit, who Logan can’t imagine would be very comfortable with another side falling asleep on him and laying on him for an extended period of time, but he figures that it’s a good of a reason as any. It’s not about him feeling like a burden. It’s not.

Eventually, Deceit must start to get tired as well, or maybe he’s sore from Logan’s weight on his legs, so he sits forward, apologizing quietly for disturbing the peace, and he moves them into a more comfortable position. The new arrangement is far more snug and cozy than the previous one, Logan thinks drowsily, as his head hits the pillow across from Deceit. They lay there on top of the blankets but make no move to pull them up, just content to stare lazily at one another in the dim, ambient light cast by the desk lamp in the opposite corner of the room.

“Why?” Logan finally asks, and although he loathes disrupting the silence, he needs to ask. The words are scratchy in his tender throat, a charcoal whisper on a steel canvas that scratches and sketches away with nothing viable left to keep through the wind that blows the dark dust off the surface. “Why are you helping me? Why do you care?”

Deceit just hums, sending Logan a weak, distracted smile. He mulls over the words, tossing about the meaning and possibilities in his head and on his silver tongue, rushing in an uncertain river through valleys of golden sand.

“I am self-preservation at its core. I exist to keep Thomas safe and healthy and thriving, and that also means you and the other sides by extension. But… it’s not just that. Even though I feel physical pain whenever one of you or Thomas is hurt, I specifically want to help you because… I care about you, Logan. I love you, and want to see you healthy and happy. I haven’t really been doing a good job of that lately,” Deceit mutters, gaze somewhere on their shared pillow, and there’s a quality to his tone that’s bitter beyond the line of frustration. Although Deceit doesn’t expand on it, doesn’t offer up a single clarification despite the heavy air and his resigned demeanour, Logan gets it. He understands, and he wants to prove him wrong.

So he does.

And that comes in the form of surging forward, fighting against the current, the pinpricks in his stomach and shoulders and abdomen, disregarding the exhaustion for just a little while longer so that he can let Deceit’s lips meet his own. Logan’s so close he can feel the shocked rush of air leave Deceit’s nose, feel the vibrations through the air as his body trembles in fear and anticipation and relief. The other side eases in, sinks closer, closer, and finally moves his lips in a careful, emotional dance that leaves Logan dizzy and breathless, for entirely different reasons that have plagued him for the past day.

“Lo,” Deceit breathes, low, wanting, and he pulls back to give Logan a chance to catch up. A scaled hand comes up to caress the logical side’s cheek, a soothing, cool balm for the raw skin beginning to heal there. “I didn’t… I didn’t think…”

“I love you,” Logan breathes, the words he’s refused to say, to acknowledge, to confront welling up through his throat and for the first time, he lets them spill out. The dam has broken, debris left to descend and submerge in the depths of the sentiment crashing through in a roaring, passionate rapid at the narrowest point yet. The words come, and they don’t stop, and Logan almost can’t believe how right they feel on his tongue. “I love you, I love you, I–I love you so much, Dee.”

Logan is like a rubber band, pulled taut and still and trembling under the pressure. And maybe he’ll split, shoot apart, torn in two pieces that will never fit back together again. But maybe he won’t. Maybe instead of snapping in half, he’ll snap back, and that thought alone gives him a quiet comfort that he’s not used to allowing himself. He’s waiting, hoping, and he’s okay enough for now.

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mystic-scripture · 5 years ago

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Prolific Scene: Grief Assessments

Continuing off my post from here, I’m making my way through the ten week time lapse. I’m still not sure If I’ll do anyone as in depth as this one or her one for Spencer, but I do want to make an attempt at going through all the team. Nothing has really jumped at me for Rossi or Garcia (ironic given their family, but it’s explained in this) and I don’t think Wendy would have that much of a relationship with Ashley. Anyway, enough rambling, and on to the writing.

Wendy sat on Hotch’s couch, her knee bouncing and her arms crossed as she glanced at him across the coffee table. She knew she was reading as closed off, and that it would be recorded along with everything else. He was profiling her before they even spoke about the elephant in the bullpen so to speak. That was, in fact, the entire point of these mandatory grief assessments. Except, traditionally speaking, it was something the whole team underwent, and Strauss was the one to conduct them.

So why she was sitting in front of her SSA, she didn’t know. If anything it strengthened her arguments that she’d been having with herself. She hadn’t forgotten about the suspicious behavior between him and JJ. So, while he was having his go at profiling her she was doing it right back, or at the very least attempting to. Unfortunately, he had been at this a lot longer than she had, and everything she learned was from him. It was part of the reason she was stubbornly waiting for him to initiate, trying to parse out who could stay silent longer. The answer came after she took a sip of the offered tea without breaking eye contact.

“I suppose I’ll start with answering the question you're making a point not to ask.” He said, stating the obvious first. “Why am I doing this instead of Strauss?”

“That would be because I know that every member of this team, present company included, finds her to be an evil that isn’t necessary at this time. More accurately, she’s a dragon that we don’t bother unless we really have no other options.” She quipped, offering a shrug as she put the tea down and returned her arms to their crossed position.

“That is,” he cleared his throat, trying to control the smile that tried to twitch at the corners of his mouth. “Certainly one way to put it.”

“Well I figured it was more diplomatic than ‘Heinous Bitch’.” She offered a half smile of her own. “Probably would look better on paper, too.”

She felt her smile grow as she earned one, paired with a small chuckle from her boss. She always felt a swell of bride in getting him to smile, aside from being Jack, it was rare to achieve it. She didn’t let it show though, raising an eyebrow as if to challenge him to contradict her. They both knew he wasn’t going to, the point to break the tension between them.

“Besides, given your need to control this team with everything you have…” She mused, swirling her mug slowly in one hand. “And how close to the vest the team plays it amongst each other, let alone any perceived outsiders; you were the logical solution.”

She watched the subtle twitch in his eye as she called him out for his alpha male personality, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he focused on her, allowing his attention to shift ever so slightly where she could slip past his walls. It was a blend of Rossi and his teachings; lighten the mood then attack the subject’s pride. He nodded slowly, his eyes shifting up and down her face. His face was set into the neutral, yet stern expression. Lips and eyebrows were straight, and to the point, much like his speech patterns. From what she could tell, everything was annoyingly familiar. The pause broke as she sighed, deciding that getting to the point was best for both of them.

Wendy pulled her lips inward, biting the middle before puffing them out. As he refocused his gaze, she stated the truth. “Denial and Anger.”

“What?”

He shook his head, as if he didn’t understand. She knew that he did, of course, it was just a ploy to make her comfortable enough to continue talking. Blue eyes met brown in annoyance, rolling slightly when they found nothing.

“That’s where I am right now.” She clarified, unable to stop her hands from twisting with each other. “Five stages of grief and all that? I mean yes I’d agree that I’m depressed, as well, and there has been plenty of bargaining. Hell, I wouldn’t be lying if I sat here and said I still feel all of them aside from acceptance. But Denial and Anger...those two are the most prevalent.”

“So what do you do?”He relaxed with her familiar babbling, but only slightly, his hand moving along the lined pad of paper in his lap. “How do you rationalize it?”

“Well, Denial is self explanatory and common in cases like this.” She recited, her voice taking a clinical approach.

Her body, however, betrayed her as she started picking at her fingernails. She’d only started the habit after the funeral, but it was oddly comforting to her. Whether or not Hotch noticed it, wasn’t shown in his face, but indicated in the new writing on his pad. She didn’t pause, pushing forward as she felt her knowledge push away her feelings, if only for a moment.

“This can’t be happening, I can’t believe she’s gone…” She placed the tea back on the table, rotating in his direction. “This has to be some twisted nightmare, so on and so forth.”

“But the anger?” Hotch pressed, his eyes not leaving his notes. “Where would you say that is currently placed?”

“I could lie to you and say that it’s hard to pinpoint.” She stated, picking her words carefully. She knew that in order to get something from him, she was going to need to give. However, her methods were all she had against him. “Doyle for his part in it, Emily herself for running away, Me and Derek...but that is mostly logic and the aforementioned bargaining talking more than my actual feelings.”

“Why Derek?” His face softened with curiosity. “Was there a shortcoming that wasn’t mentioned in your reports, something that he did wrong?”

“No, we played it straight, it’s nothing like that.” Wendy sighed, standing up to pace, her hands weaving her thought process in front of her. “He did everything he was supposed to, he stayed and tried to stabilize her, clearing the room before stopping. It was me who messed up. I pushed forward leaving in a futile attempt of hubris. We didn’t both need to be there, and he had backup, so I ran down the hall, trying to track Doyle.”

“But he was gone,” She paused, her hands freezing along with her legs. “I hadn’t seen the extent of her injuries, he’d gotten to her so quickly. When I heard him call out for help, I doubled back so fast I’m surprised I was able to stay upright after. I’d foolishly thought she was fine, I thought-I don’t even know what I thought, all I could do was stand there and stare after calling for the medic.”

She gulped, blinking so as not to focus on it. She’d refused to do a cognitive interview for this very reason. She hadn’t wanted to think about it, her mind compartmentalizing it behind a wall of facts. She hesitated, she froze, and she hated herself for it. Having let the truth out for the first time, she felt a knot twist in her gut. She hadn’t even told Spencer about that, and Derek told her not to mention it. They’d done the best they could and that was what mattered on paper. But paper didn’t keep the nightmares at bay, and paper didn’t twist into her everyday thoughts to shame her.

A silence fell over the room as she slowly slumped back onto the couch, cradling the teacup in her hands. It wasn’t particularly hot anymore, her hands barely feeling the heat within, but it was something that kept her hands busy. She’d given up on her own hunt into Hotch’s mind, her thoughts circling around her confession.

“Wendy…” She turned to meet her mentor’s gaze. “Are you in any way qualified to help with the sort of injuries Emily sustained? Do you have a medical degree?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m the on field tech support.”

“If that’s what you need to hear, the yes.” He tilted his head as if to accept her self depreciation. “So, what could you have possibly done to help in that situation.”

“Look, I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work.” She mumbled, setting the tea down to level her gaze at him. “Intellectually, I get it, I shouldn’t blame myself, we did everything we could. Everything was done right.”

She grit her teeth watching the pen scratch across the paper, eyes barely leaving hers.

“But with all due respect, Hotch you weren’t there. I deserve to feel like this, to let this guilt fill me. When it really mattered most, I cared too much about the suspect than I did about my own teammate. I left her bleeding out on the floor while I chased a lost cause. I was too focused on my job to worry about my friend.”

“I may not be as smart or have a steel trap of a mind like Reid does, but I still could have worked something out. Looking back there are several ways I could have helped. I should have known, something, anything that could help. But instead, I froze, and just stood there: useless. Sure I called for Medics, sure I told Derek not to pull the plank of wood she had sticking out of her stomach, but what did that to in the end?”

“Morgan did the only thing you could have done.” Hotch raised his eyebrows at the look she gave him. “Think about it, he applied pressure, and was there for her until someone qualified showed up. You did the right thing.”

“Again, logically, I am aware of that.” She sniffed, rubbing at her nose stubbornly. “But the stupid chemicals in my brain that control emotions that have a different idea.”

“Then let’s talk about how you’re coping with that.” The pad slid onto the coffee table, his entire focus on her now. While she didn’t meet his gaze, she could feel it, the usual intensity of it gone as concern came to the forefront. “How is this affecting you and Reid?”

“I can’t provide an answer for that.” Wendy stated, averting her gaze just as quickly as she met it.

“Can’t or Won’t?”

She bit her lip in thought, debating the answer. How could she tell him that it was both? She knew it would come up eventually; it was inevitable. Ever since the hospital, things had been strained between them, Wendy watching Spence slowly slip away from her. This was different than when Gideon left, different from when he was using. They’d been uncharacteristically distant and she didn’t know how to help him. Usually, she was instant on her presence, and letting him know she was there. This time though, this time that was only met with deflection and him pulling away. If she was to be honest, this was the part she really didn’t want to talk about.

“Let’s just say things aren’t quite normal at the moment.” She stated, doing her best to keep her body language as neutral as possible. “And answering your question would require me to interact with him enough to form a diagnostic for you to interpret.”

“So you haven’t seen each other? What about Garcia?” His brow furrowed, lips falling into a slight frown. “You’ve at least seen her and talked to her, have you?”

“She’s my cousin, obviously I’ve seen her.” She snipped, offended by the implication that she was isolating herself on purpose. It made the guilt of trying to read his expression dissipate a little, especially when she recalled some microexpressions when she recounted the incident they were here about. But only a little

“And I’m not providing any profiling of her.” Rushed out of her lips, a little harsher than she intended. “She’s pretty easy to read as it is, you don’t need insider trading.”

He let out a ‘hmm’ of interest, making her look up at him quizzically. “There’s no need, I’ve already assessed her. Though, she did the same thing, maybe with a little less hostility. She also knows that she can’t read you.”

“Not for lack of trying on her part. She even tried to take me to a couple sessions of the group she runs.” Wendy rolled her eyes. “Trust me, it’s better for everyone involved that I not participate in group therapy scenarios.”

She thought there was an ever so slight wince at her words. If it was in regards to how she reacted to Penelope, or if it was the use of ‘trust me’ she wasn’t sure. But there was no denying the pull to his lip, almost like she’d said something that disappointed him. She didn’t look at him head on, acknowledging her solidarity in the feeling. Nervous about what he wrote, she instead focused on him from the corner of her vision, playing with her mug again.

A part of her thought it was an appropriately nice and thorough gesture on Hotch’s part; grabbing one of her own mugs. It showed his care in his team outside of the professional scope. Wendy felt a slight uptick in her pulse, a physical manifestation of anxiety, when he spent a few more seconds than previously on his notes. She kept quiet though, sipping at her drink as she kept a subtle gaze on him. When he was done, she tilted her head in tandem with him, ready to continue.

“Maybe you don’t grieve in the same ways, but have you talked to her?” She shook her head slowly, causing him to push on. “But isn’t that what family’s for, comforting each other in times of loss? Why build up the walls?”

“Because I know Penny, and she is going to push all her own stuff aside to focus on someone else.” Wendy placed her drink down with a sigh. “And that is a distraction to the team that we can’t afford. I also know that while she means well, when it comes to things like this, her comfort is ineffective. At least with me, anyway. She has enough raw emotion on her own without lumping my emotions and relationships into a loss that affects both of us.”

“So there is something you’re avoiding telling me about your relationship?” He held up his hands, putting the pad down. “Saying this as a friend, not your supervisor, but that rings an opposing tune to your deflection earlier.”

“Doesn’t necessarily make it an invitation to pry.” She defended, smiling despite her blunt tone.

She couldn’t help it; it was challenging to be so guarded around Hotch. She hated herself for harboring these suspicions, knowing he has and will always put the team first. The man lost his wife long before she was killed by his enemy. However, his line of questioning was a little too pointed for her to ignore. Not that she was. She wasn’t crazy, she saw Hotch and JJ talking in the hospital, she saw the looks they shared at the funeral. It wasn’t her grasping at straws, it wasn’t her grief making up illusions in her mind, she was sure of it. She knew how to separate emotion from reality. Or so she thought, but seeing the culmination of his efforts to make her feel comfortable gave her doubts.

“While that’s a fair statement, there’s a part of you that wants to discuss it.” He said, pulling Wendy from her thoughts and back to the conversation at hand. “What’s on your mind?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, fighting against his soothing tone. “Whether or not you asked him anything regarding our personal relationship.”

“Deflect all you want,” He said, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “But it’s your subconscious that keeps circling back to it.”

“Don’t know why, there isn’t much to tell.” She picked up the mug to take another sip of tea. “I already told you; we haven’t really seen each other much.”

“But he’s your partner, in more ways than one.” Hotch reminded her, “Which makes that unusual for the pair of you, correct?”

“We’ve worked three cases, in which you’ve been pairing me with Rossi or Morgan, each had our own parole consults, and I’ve been helping Penny narrow down cases to take on.” She deadpanned, “We may have lost a team member, but the killers didn’t slow down.”

“That never seemed to stop you two before.” He mused, raising an eyebrow. “You two have been here later than me sometimes when I know neither of you had particularly heavy work loads.”

She paused, not willing to give into him with that. Yes, they were rather physical for a lot longer than they were together, but that wasn’t what he was asking. The emotions were something they still worked on day to day, and that was all she was going to discuss with her coworker. Unfortunately, her face warmed, and her eyes widened in surprise, giving him everything he needed anyway.

“Well, now that you’ve confirmed it, thanks by the way I owe Rosse twenty bucks.” He gave her a look where he had a half smile, but his eyes challenged her to call him on his bluff. She decided on laughing humorlessly, rolling her eyes.

“Not that it’s any of your business, either of yours, there’s more to it than that.” She explained, tapping her foot a couple of times. “You know what, okay, I’ll admit it, I’m worried about him. Ever since the hospital and the funeral it feels like he’s pulling away from me even when he’s there, but that’s grief. I’m not going to force him on the issue when I know that JJ’s been helping him. When he needs me he knows where I am so that I can do my part, until then, I can’t really do or say anything else at the moment without sounding callous or jealous.”

“What about, your needs?” Hotch said, sounding genuinely concerned for her. She avoided his gaze, not wanting the confirmation. “You suffered a loss as well, and we’ve spent this entire conversation circling it outside of your confession that you’re angry at yourself for something you couldn’t control. It hardly seems fair for you to help anyone without processing your own feelings.”

“I know, but that’s pain.” She stated, shrugging her shoulders slightly. “As the Dread Pirate Wesley said: ‘Life is pain. Anyone who says different is trying to sell you something.’”

“On that note, I think that’s where we’ll stop. For today, at the very least, I may call upon you again.” Hotch stood, moving to open the door for her. “Until then, know that my door is always open.”

“Technically you just had it closed.” She teased, stretching upwards and taking her empty mug with her. “But thank you, I do appreciate it.”

He gave her a quick smile, nodding to her as she made her exit. Wendy offered a half smile in return before starting the walk down to the bullpen. A part of her wanted to throw him a bone, tell him that maybe she was jealous. JJ was in the picture far longer than Wendy had, and she knew about his crush. Their similarities had always been a source of insecurity. That is until she paused on the stairs, to glance back at him.

She doubted he was even aware of it, but she watched him, his figure moving ever so slightly as released whatever tension he was holding. If he was going to keep secrets from her, it was more than fair that she do the same.

Wendy Tag: @abbyarcxnes @raging-violets @perfectlystiles @curious-kittens-ocs @starcrossedjedis @foxesandmagic (Want to be added, hmu!)

#oof I love this dynamic so much #Wendy Durant #fic: prolific #fd: criminal minds #arron hotchner #hotch x wendy feels #BAU Team angst #scriptures of the mystic

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whereyoursoulresides · 5 years ago

Link

Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with me this far for this fic!! There’s only one more chapter remaining (and it’s the epilogue). But! I may possibly have good news if people would be interested in reading more from this universe - let me know in the comments below!

Chapter Title: The First Understanding

Chapter Summary: Our first tale arrives to its conclusion (though an epilogue is to follow).

Full chapter under the cut, if you prefer not to click the link:

The next time Izou arrived at the coffee shop, he was still exhausted and emotionally spent. It was Thursday. On this day, he would have met with Saitou-san to go over his practice exams a final time. A twinge of pain stabbed Izou’s heart then and he quickly turned to the counter, facing away from the corner booth. If Saitou-san was there, he’d walk out, he wasn’t ready to speak to him yet.

“Izou-chan?”

Izou lifted his head and was met with the pretty face of one of his colleagues. “Ah, Mi-chan,” he said, trying to steady his voice. “Sorry, I was just wondering if I could have a copy of the schedule? I’d like to see when I’m working next.”

Mi-chan’s eyes brightened. “Of course! How are you feeling?”

“Better, thank you.”

“Don’t overwork yourself,” Mi-chan chided worryingly, handing over a sheet of paper. “We’d be glad to cover your shifts until you’ve fully recovered!”

“Thank you, but I’d rather work,” Izou insisted, scanning the sheet for his hours. “It’ll be good for me.”

“Is Izou-chan not meeting with Saitou-san today?”

Izou tried not to let the grimace on his face show. “No, I’m afraid not…”

The petite girl with short cut hair propped up on her tiptoes and pointed to the booth. “He left you something on the booth table earlier today. I think it’s still there. Hana-chan tried to put it in the backroom, but we didn’t have enough space.”

Surprised, Izou glanced over his shoulder again towards the booth, but it was hidden by the corner of the counter. He thanked Mi-chan and prepared himself for what he was going to see.

As he turned the corner, the booth came into view. On its table was a thick manila envelope with a bright yellow post-it note, next to what looked like a potted plant wrapped up in a brown paper bag. It wasn’t until Izou reached the table that he realized it was the same plant he had scolded Saitou-san about. He glanced down at the envelope and picked it up to read the note.

To Izou,

Enclosed are your practice exams from last week. A blank set is also included if you want more practice.

I thought the plant may still be of use to you during your studies. They say greenery is good for your eyes.

For the sake of transparency, the plant is to sprout miniature roses. If they are not to your liking, please do not feel obligated to keep the plant. Regardless of what you choose to do with it, I trust it will be in better hands than mine.

I am confident you will pass, and wish you all the best in your endeavours.

From Saitou Kunihiro

Izou blinked and quickly opened the heavy envelope to pull out the contents. True to the notes’ words, the only items inside were the two sets of tests, one blank, and one that read 94/100 . No other notes, no thank yous or I’m sorrys, no follow-ups or give-me-a-second-chances. No other indicators that anything had happened between them, apart from the fact that today, they would have done the last test together.

Izou closed the envelope and glanced back at the note again. He re-read it, over and over, like it was written in a language he had never seen. Eventually, the words sank in.

If they are not to your liking, please do not feel obligated to keep the plant. Regardless of what you choose to do with it, I trust it will be in better hands than mine.

I am confident you will pass, and wish you all the best in your endeavours.

He dropped the note to his side, and unable to help himself, his eyes grew hot and wet. Although he had pushed Saitou-san away, the man was still trying to help him. He hadn’t even asked Izou to return to him, or to see him. He had willingly cut himself out of Izou's life, but had done so with the great grace, respect, and....

A care for Izou, he realized to himself. Kunihiro cared about him as Izou.

Quietly, Izou slid the items back into the envelope. Hands shaking slightly, he brought the package close to his heavy, warming heart. He could not explain what he felt then, with so many emotions churning through him like the waves of a tumultuous sea. But one sensation he could distinctly identify above all the rest, and it rang through him clear as a well-struck chord of music. A sound of truth.

When the tears welled back up, they were tears of love.

---

Weeks bled into summer. As the trees shifted from soft-pink blossoms to bursts of brightly-colored leaves, Kunzite had still heard nothing from Izou. As per the boy's request, Kunzite had done his best to steer clear of him, and ensured their paths had not crossed since. Instead, Kunzite threw himself once more into his work, but a sense of perseverance detained him from being consumed by it: he had to be there for Zoisite. Even if Zoisite had moved on, he still had to be there, on standby. It was the least Kunzite could do in this lifetime...he had failed at all else.

When he was not working, Kunzite would pore over the plethora of books that now filled his shelves. He disappeared into new worlds of knowledge ceaselessly. As soon as one subject was finished, another was cracked open. Consuming pages of domestic laws, philosophies that were both ancient and modern, and various religions allowed him to stave the gnawing feeling in his chest that ached for the companionship he had lost, and the bitterness of self-depreciation. Knowledge, he fooled himself, would prime him better for his next chance.

He was lost in such an act when a knock came on his door one afternoon. Thinking it to be the mailman, Kunzite put his book aside and opened the door with dull expectation. Much to his surprise, the person standing before him was…

Izou.

The boy was holding a reasonably-sized, metal cookie tin but Kunzite hardly took notice of it. He wasn’t even entirely sure he was awake. “I...Izou.”

Izou smiled faintly. “Kunzite-sama,” he greeted quietly.

He said my name. Kunzite’s mind began to race. Did this mean he had all his memories? Was it Izou he was speaking to, or Zoisite? A million questions flashed through his mind at the speed of light, but they all came to a halt when Izou presented the box to him.

“Er...this is for you. In thanks for the lessons.” Izou’s voice was softer than usual, almost shy.

Kunzite took the gift almost robotically and thanked him, not understanding the gesture. Surely Izou wasn’t just here for this…?

Awkwardly, Izou glanced back up and blew a tuft of his bangs out of his eyes. “I also came to apologize,” he finally admitted. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you, back at the Tower, the way I did. I imagine it was very hurtful. I’m sorry.”

Kunzite’s eyes softened then, but they were also somber.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Kunzite said quietly. “Absolutely nothing.”

They stood in awkward silence again for a few moments longer. Izou was now playing with a wayward curl around his finger absently, while Kunzite shifted his weight a little from one side to the other. Eventually, Izou pulled his finger away to let the curl bounce back in its original spring.

“I also wanted to tell you,” he said with a deep breath, “that...Kuroi-san and I are no longer together.”

This news clearly stunned Kunzite.. “...What?” he asked bluntly, dumbfounded. “When was this?”

“A few weeks ago. We kind of grew in different directions and eventually decided it was the best to part ways.” Izou crossed his hands behind him and began to fiddle with his fingers there. “Since then, I've had some time to think, and.... my conclusion is…whether or not we have a past together, or some kind of shared ...delusion..."

Here he took another breath, before continuing.

" I am ….curious, I suppose...and I think I’d like to get to know you better in the present. So I was wondering if you'd be interested in ...doing the same?”

The end of Izou’s question sounded genuinely uncertain, and for a moment Kunzite was reminded of how Zoisite would often hesitantly voice certain opinions of his, unsure if he would receive Kunzite’s approval or disappointment for them. To think, this was a question that Izou, by all rights, had not needed to ask, and yet, here he was, asking.

“Of course,” Kunzite said instantly, his heart rising. “Always. Yes.”

Before Kunzite could get carried away, however, Izou put up a hand. “But, there are conditions,” he said firmly. Kunzite’s excitement halted immediately.

“Unless I ask, I don’t want any mention of past lives...or whatever it was we were talking about back at the Tower. There’s still a lot I don’t remember about myself right now, and to be frank, I don’t really want to remember anything I don’t have to. Instead, I’d like us to get to know one another properly...as Izou and Kunihiro. Is this acceptable to you?” Izou’s green eyes were steadfast and Kunzite briefly recognized it as Zoisite’s trademark expression when was deadly serious...except this time, he was on the receiving end of it.

“Of course.” Kunzite’s shoulders relaxed, and he gazed at Izou with only sincerity on his face. “Anything you wish.”

“I’m being serious, Saitou-sama.”

“So am I.” Kunzite met Izou’s steadfast gaze with one of his own. “ Anything you want in this, Izou, I will do.”

Izou blinked then, and a look of relief crossed his face. It seemed as if he hadn’t been expecting Kunzite to say that, but was happy that he had obliged. “Alright then,” he said, with a bit of a smile peeking up, almost a bit excitedly. “In that case, we’ll make a date. Next Thursday at six?”

Kunzite wasn’t sure if it would work but he’d make it work. “Next Thursday at six.”

“Great.” Izou’s smile became a grin and Kunzite loved it. “I’ll see you then. Goodbye.”

Kunzite wished Izou hadn’t needed to leave so soon, but he knew he couldn’t push things. “...Goodbye,” he agreed quietly, but the word was softened knowing that he would see Izou again soon. As Izou beamed once more and turned on his heel to leave, Kunzite remembered something. “Izou.”

Izou was almost down the hall when he stopped and turned back. “Yes?”

“Your exam. How was it?”

“Oh!” Izou grinned again, and this time his face glowed proudly. “I passed.” True to Izou’s polite nature, he didn’t divulge exactly how well he had passed, but Kunzite could tell by the glee in his voice and the little flip of his ponytail that he had done it with flying colors.

Kunzite stood tall and he couldn’t help but smile faintly as well, head raised high. “I’m not surprised,” he said in a bit of a gruff, but an affectionate voice. “I knew you could do it.”

Izou nearly did a little jump then, giggling self-appreciatively. He turned back around to head down the hallway.

“Izou.”

Once more, Izou paused, but this time he didn’t turn around.

“Thank you.”

The words stunned Izou momentarily, and he slowly looked back at Kunzite over his shoulder. Eyes softening, he smiled a bit.

“Understood, Saitou-sama,” he said softly. “See you soon.”

Feeling that this was an appropriate time to end their first exchange, Kunzite nodded and gestured Izou to be on his way. The boy with the honey-copper hair glanced back for a final time before he disappeared around the corner, and Kunzite knew his chances had been renewed. And he was never going to take this round for granted.

Closing the door, he turned to the box in his hands. He unwrapped the bow and lifted the lid of the box. Inside, a layer of homemade cookies were piled high and wrapped with cling film. They seemed to be of oatmeal consistency, drizzled in honey that were drawn in designs of girly, cute flowers. It was the sort of thing Kunzite had seen young teenage girls giving the subjects of their affections during Valentine’s in the streets. A junior high, possibly high-school recipe, straightforward and simple. Curious, Kunzite thought. To his knowledge, Zoisite had never baked before.

But more importantly, a single flower rested upon the bed cookies. Its bud was about half the length of Kunzite’s thumb, just beginning to bloom. Its petals were a lovely faint pink colour, while its leaves were fresh and deeply green. A miniature rose.

With careful precision, Kunzite carefully lifted the rose out from the container. Eyes closed, he brought it to his nose. Its scent was soft and sweet, and tinted with honey.

He wouldn’t let Zoisite down this time, Kunzite promised to himself as he carefully placed the rose aside. Izou, he corrected himself, as he pulled back the saran wrap to pick up a cookie. Upon flipping it over, he saw the bottoms of the treats were entirely burnt black.

Unable to help himself, Kunzite split into a chuckle. With just as great care he stowed the box in his pantry.

He couldn’t wait to eat them with his lunch tomorrow.

#kunzite x zoisite #anyo writes #without words #kunzite #zoisite #fanfiction #classic bssm #civilian life #third life #kunzoi fanfiction #kunzoi #Arc 1

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writing-of-a-british-bitch · 6 years ago

Text

Love Me Before You Leave

Fandom: Queen/ Bohemian Rhapsody

Specified gender: Female

Pairing: Ben Hardy! Roger Taylor X reader ( can be read as actual Roger Taylor)

TW: swearing, angsty

Genre Angst with a fluffy ending

Word Count:3.4K

Requests: OPEN

A/n: So, I wrote this for @queens-n-roses 2K writing challenge, written to the song ‘Love Me Before You Leave’ By COmmon Kings. I am so sorrI am late posting this, school work has been crazy. Hope you guys enjoy it!

Want you to love me before you leave

Let me hold you before you go

Just remember the time we shared and remember you touched my soul We don't know where life will take us I'll hold my breath and be patient So won't you love me before you leave

"Morning, baby." Roger hummed against your neck, arm thrown lazily over your hip. You tensed as his lips brushed your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Hey, Roger." You mumbled, shifting out of his grip quickly.

"Everything okay?" Roger asked quietly, sitting up, confused as to why you'd parted from him so suddenly.

"Yeah. Just feeling a bit off, that's all." You lied smoothly, pulling a shirt over your head. "I need to get to work, I'm gonna be late."

"Come cuddle with me. Let me hold you before you go." Roger whined, making grabby hands at you. You let out a heavy sigh, guilt climbing through your veins, before stepping over into his waiting arms.

Roger was worried. You hadn't been acting like yourself for a few weeks. You'd stopped coming to the studio, refused to see his friends, cancelled date night as much as possible and you were cold and distant. Something wasn't right. He'd tried getting through to you, but it was like talking to a wall. He missed you. And it made him more anxious about the ring that was hidden in his sock drawer. Your head rested on his chest, listening to his gentle heartbeat. Tears burned the back of your eyes as his hand moved to rest on your stomach.

"You need to head to the studio." You said weakly, climbing from his arms. He grabbed your wrist before you could get off the bed.

"Darling, what's going on? You've been acting odd" Roger sounded so concerned, it only made it harder for you to hide your tears.

"Everything is fine, Rog. I promise." You huffed, carefully working your wrist from his fingers, wandering over to the closet to finish getting ready.

"Baby I just... alright. If you say so. I'm going to get ready." Roger shook his head, getting up and throwing on the outfit that had been abandoned in the corner. You swiped at your eyes before beginning to apply some makeup. Roger glanced at you, clearly distressed, placing a kiss on your cheek and walking out. The door to the house slammed shut behind him and you rushed into action. You tugged a bag and two boxes from under your bed, quickly chucking any clothes and belongings in sight. Tears began pouring from your eyes. Sobs escaped your chest as you packed. You left an hour later, a singular note on the fridge.

Every moment with you Been perfect for me & baby you're telling me that we could never be And now I'm like Cool it down, cool it down, take a minute You say you have to go But yesterday your heart was in it My love Oh woah oh Let me say what I need to say

"I just don't know what's wrong. I've tried everything with no proper response." Roger placed his face in his hands, all the boys watching him sadly.

"Maybe you've chosen the wrong words? We all know you're not exactly subtle."Brian offered, trying to make his friend feel better.

"I'm starting to feel to wonder if she even wants to be with me." Roger declared, feeling his eyes water at the thought.

"Are you kidding? She looks at you like you've hung the stars and the moons in the sky." Freddie replied quickly, placing a hand on the drummer's shoulder.

"She means the world to me. I don't want to lose her." The band had never heard Roger so lost. So heartbroken.

"I know, Roger. But it's hard for her. She's not used to this kind of life." Deaky reasoned, knelt in front of his friend.

"You guys will be okay. It's just going to take a bit of time and a lot of love." Freddie added. Roger sighed heavily, scrubbing the tears from his eyes.

"Thanks, guys. C'mon, enough of the sappy shit. Let's make some music." Roger stated, running a hand through his hair. getting up and heading to the drum risers.

"I don't think Roger's doing as well as he acts," Brian muttered in a hushed tone, pulling the guitar strap over his head, adjusting the tightness of it.

"No, he's not. But we know he won't open up any more than he already has All we can do is be there for him when he needs it." Deaky sighed, already tuning his bass.

"Roger's not stupid. Most of the time. He'll come to us if he needs us." Freddie chipped in before waltzing over to the piano.

"I'll call (Y/N) later. See if she'll talk." Brian said voice laced with worry.

"Let me know how it goes, okay?" Deaky asked, ignoring how Roger began pounding at his drums and how Freddie magically formed a rhythm to the randomized, sporadic drumming.

"Yeah, course. C'mon Deaks, let's go before Freddie hangs us."

"(Y/N), I'm home!" Roger called as he opened the door, slipping his shoes off and hanging his coat by the door, sunglasses perched on his head.

"(Y/N)?" Roger made his way to the living room, noticing the lack of fo light. He jogged to the kitchen, soon spying the note on the fridge. He was expecting something like you were going out with friends. He didn't expect a note reading:

'I'm sorry Roger. We both know this wouldn't work. I love you. -Y/n'

Roger's eyes began leaking, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, dread coursing through him. His feet couldn't move fast enough as he raced to the bedroom. The drummer felt his knees give out, falling onto the bed when he saw the room barren of your belongings. He buried his face in his hands, sobs wracking his body.

And now I'm like Cool it down, cool it down, take a minute You say you have to go But yesterday your heart was in it My love Oh woah oh Let me say what I need to say

"Roger, what's wrong?" Brian asked, unease pouring into his voice at the sounds of his friend hiccuping.

"She's gone, Bri. She's gone." He cried, fingers tugging at his blonde locks.

"Who's gone?" Brian pushed, wedging the phone between his shoulder and ear as he pulled on his shoes, getting ready to leave the studio with Deaky and Freddie.

"Is Roger okay?" Freddie mouthed, shrugging on his coat. Brian shook his head, taking the phone back between his fingers.

"(Y/N)," Roger answered shakily, holding the phone tightly.

"(Y/N)? Have you tried calling her parents or Freddie's? Or her friends?" Brian suggested, feeling the eyes of his bandmates boring into him.

"No. She left a note saying we can't be together. I-I just the thought - I should've realized- fuck, I'm the worst boyfriend ever!" Brian could hear the anger and self-depreciation seep into Roger's voice.

"Roger, calm down. I think something isn't right with (Y/N). She adores you. Just hold on, I'm coming over." The guitarist sighed before placing the phone down. Brian jumped into action, grabbing his keys.

"I'll come with you. I just need to call Veronica. I'll catch up." Deaky exclaimed as Brian dashed down the hall.

"You need to find (Y/N), Freddie. She's your cousin if anyone knows where she'll be, it's you." Deaky informed the singer as he began dialling his houses number.

"On it. I'll find her darling, don't worry." Freddie responded before exiting to his car.

Want you to love me before you leave Let me hold you before you go Just remember the time we shared and remember you touched my soul We don't know where life will take us I'll hold my breath and be patient So won't you love me before you leave And let me hold you before you Go oh, Oh woah oh, oh woah And let me hold you before you Go oh

You didn't visit your aunt, uncle and cousin very often. Only when you needed advice and right now, you needed as much advice as you could get. With a heavy breath, you knocked on the door, wiping at your eyes one last time.

"Oh, (Y/N)! It's so good to see you." Your aunt exclaimed, bringing you into a tight hug.

"Hi, Auntie. Good to see you too. Is Kash here?" You questioned, giving her a forced smile.

"She's just upstairs in her room. Say hello to your uncle before you say hello to Kash." She replied, leading you through the house to the kitchen, where your uncle was sitting, reading the newspaper.

"Ah, (Y/N). How's that boy treating? How's Farrokh?" Your uncle greeted softly, glancing at you over his glasses. You paused.

"Everything's amazing, uncle. Freddie's doing well, his band is phenomenal. And R-Roger treats me like a goddess." You choked out twirling the promise ring Roger gave you anxiously.

"Good. I wouldn't expect that kind of treatment from a boy like him." He said with a raised eyebrows.

"I'm going to talk to Kash. I'll talk to you guys later." You gave another fake smile before wandering upstairs to your cousin's room. Your soft knocking echoed through the dim corridor, which was soon answered by your youngest cousin, Kashmira.

"Oh, hi (Y/N). You okay?" Kash questioned and you shook your head, biting your lip nervously.

"Can we talk about this in your room?" You requested softly.

"Of course. C'mon in." Kash mumbled, opening the door to reveal her bed, a mountain of homework piled upon it.

"You look busy." You chuckled, weakly, taking a seat on her desk chair as she perched on the edge of the bed.

"Just a little. Anyways, what's up?" She enquired, resting her hands in her lap.

"I...I left Roger this morning..." You confessed, eyes fixed on the ground.

"You did what?" Kash uttered, eyes wide. "Why?"

"I-I just- I saw something that made me think we're not good together. An article saying I was dragging him down. I don't want to be an anchor." You explained, twisting your ring again.

"Did you seriously believe an article? Hun, you know that the media just wants to stir drama about Queen and its members. Freddie's had it so many times." Kash stood up and took your hands, running her thumbs over them calmingly.

"I know that, but they're right. I'm nothing like Roger. And every day there's a new way of dragging him down." You defended, beginning to feel tears burning the backs if your eyes.

"What do you mean by that?" She pushed cautiously, tilting your head up to her.

"I-I-we-he's..." You began, choking on air as a tear made its way down your cheek, Kash held your cheeks gently.

"(Y/N), darling, breathe. C'mon. In and out." She guided quietly, letting you calm down. After a few minutes, you took a deep breath.

"I-I'm pregnant. A-And I don't know if R-Roger wants a kid or-or if he even sees a future with me. I'm not sure if I can be a mom." You were panicking, heart beating in your ears so loud that you didn't hear the door open.

"Kash, what's going on?" Freddie asked, surprised to see his cousin falling apart in his sister's arms.

"Maybe you should talk to her, Fred. I'll be downstairs with mama and papa if you need me."Kash muttered, allowing Freddie to scoop you into his arms, cradling you to his chest. You buried your face in his neck, tears soaking the turtle neck he wore. Kash closed the door behind her, giving you some privacy.

"Now dear, what are the waterworks for?" Freddie asked, voice delicate as he began running his fingers through your hair.

"Freddie, I'm pregnant and-and I know that Roger probably doesn't even want a kid and doesn't see a future with me and I don't know if-" You were cut off by Freddie carefully pulling your face from his neck, placing a finger on your lips.

"Now, hush, darling. That's utter nonsense. He thinks the world of you, loves you with every fibre of his being. I've never seen Roger look or act like that with anyone before you. He's whipped. And how do you know that Roger doesn't want a kid? Have you even spoken to him about it?" Freddie shot back, pushing a piece of hair behind your ear and wiping your eyes.

"He's a rockstar. Why would he want anything to do with someone like me?" You asked sarcastically, causing Freddie's lips to quirk up a little at the return of your normal attitude.

"Because you, my darling, are an enigma. Someone that Roger adores beyond words. You're kind, funny, compassionate, understanding and accepting. You've changed Roger for the better." He smiled slightly.

"I-I just need to sleep on it, okay? I'll talk to Roger, promise."

Don't you get what we got? No, we can't be replaced One moment we're holding hands And you leave without a trace

It had taken Brian and Deaky an hour to calm down the hysterical drummer. Roger had gone between sobbing into his friend's shoulder to yelling at himself, to throwing various items across the living room and then back to crying. Eventually, Deaky had managed to settle Roger onto the couch, Brian knelt in front of him, a hand on his knee.

"I don't know why she left. What did I do?" Roger mopped, resting his chin on his hand.

"I'm not sure, Roger. Freddie's gone to find her, bud. He'll talk to her." Deaky placed some water in front of the blue-eyed drummer, resting on the armrest of the couch.

"I... I want to spend the rest of my life with her. Want to marry her, have kids with her. All that. I love her." Roger blurted out, yanking a jewelled ring from his pocket and twirling it between his fingers. Deaky's eyes widened with Brian's.

"You really mean that?"Brian questioned.

"No, of course, I don't. That's the whole fucking reason I've got a ring in my hand."Roger snapped miserably. All heads snapped in the direction of the door as it opened, Freddie stood in the doorway.

"So, did you find her?" Brian asked, eyebrows raised and eyes still widened in shock.

"She's with my parents and my sister. She's going to stay there for a night or two to think things over then she'll come to talk to you." Freddie commented, folding his arms, kicking the door shut behind him.

"Did she tell you why she left?" Roger enquired sadly.

"She did indeed, but I think it's something she needs to tell you herself."

You know that I love you as hard as I try I'll never get over your baby blue eyes You know that I love you as hard as I try I'll never get over your baby blue eyes

You tossed and turned that night, restlessly. Every time you closed your eyes, he was there, memories flashing behind your eyelids, like a personal movie. Your arm held your stomach protectively as you tried to get some rest, but it was all pointless.

"Get off!" Roger exclaimed between giggles as your fingers prodded at his sides, your legs straddling his waist. His bandmates watched with joy as you tickled the blonde-haired boy.

"Not until you say that I won!" You screeched, letting out a loud laugh as Roger flipped you over.

"Never." He whispered in your ear before digging his fingers into your stomach. You screamed out a laugh, trying to shove him off of you,

The sun was beating down on you, sunglasses balanced on the end of your nose. You were sat in a beach chair, the boys letting out shouts as they splashed water over each other. Roger had tried to make you join in, to get your nose out of the book you were reading, with no luck. But this time, as he made his way over to you, he couldn't stop his eyes dragging over you. You looked so adorable when you were concentrating, eyebrows furrowed slightly. Your hair had been pulled back into a bun, the wind was blowing a few pieces of escaped hair around your ears. You looked... gorgeous to him. You looked over your glasses at him.

"What you staring at, Rog?" You smiled, placing a bookmark in your book and setting it down as Roger came to kneel beside your chair, pulling your hand into his.

"You. You're so beautiful. I can't believe that I'm the lucky guy who gets to love you." He stated, too awed to realize what he'd said. You froze for a second before letting a grin slide onto your face. That was the first time he'd ever said 'I love you'.

"I love you too, Roger, so much."

You knew that you wouldn't be able to wait an extra day to see Roger. Those ocean eyes would haunt you until the day you died.

Cool it down, cool it down Take a minute you say you have to go But yesterday your heart was in it, my love

Roger looked like a mess when he opened the door to your house. Probably as bad as you did. His eyes were red, bloodshot and puffy, he had bags under his eyes and his clothes were messy. If he only looked like that after one night, you were concerned about what would happen if you left for over a week.

"Oh, (Y/N), hey." Roger murmured, moving out of the way so you could walk in.

"Hi, Roger. Can we talk?" You asked quietly, stepping inside, heading towards the living room. Roger closed the door with a soft click and followed after you, sitting on the couch opposite you, nodding silently.

"So you probably have some questions..." You started but before you could continue, Roger had already begun asking questions.

"Why did you leave? Did I do something wrong?" Roger was giving you puppy eyes, messed hair hanging in front of his bright eyes.

"You... you did nothing wrong, love. I panicked and I ran. I shouldn't have done it and I'm so sorry." You tried, but Roger narrowed his eyes, but not with anger, for once.

"Do you really mean that? About us not being good together? That we won't work."He continued, holding the note between his fingers.

"I just... I just think that I'm dragging you down. You don't deserve that. You're a rockstar. I'm just a nobody." You sighed, averting your eyes to your hands.

"Why would you say that? You're not dragging me down, at all, darling. You're my entire world. How could you think anything different?" He was shocked and immediately came to sit beside you, holding your hand tightly.

"There was something in the newspaper about how .... how I was just a long term distraction and that you were young and deserved to be free.." You blurted and Roger's grip tightened.

"Darling, you know that they like spreading lies and rumours. You're in no way dragging me down. I promise. I love you so much, you know that." Roger insisted and you looked away.

"I love you too, Roggie. I have something to ask you, though." You were trembling now, hands shaking violently in Roger's grasp.

"So do I, love. You go first." Roger gave you a small, reassuring smile, kissing your hand softly.

"H-have you ever thought about kids, Rog? With me?" You couldn't focus your eyes on one spot, and Roger noticed. But his own eyes filled with hope.

"Of course I have. I have dreams about it, baby girl. A little boy or girl with rosy cheeks, blue eyes and (Y/H/C) hair." Roger chuckled, cupping your cheek.

"Roger, I'm preg-" Before you could finish your sentence, Roger brought you into a passionate kiss. He placed your joint hands onto your stomach. After a second, Roger pulled back, a grin on his face.

"That's the best news I've heard all year, my love." He pressed another kiss to your lips.

"Really?" You couldn't keep your eyes off him.

"Of course, baby. Now I have a question for you." He replied, letting go of your hand to pull the ring from his pocket. "You're the light of my life. I am a mess without you and I don't want to imagine another day without you. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?" His eyes held so much love and you felt like you couldn't breathe. Tears sprung to your eyes once more, but this time, they weren't tears of sadness.

"Yes."

Tags: @writingfortoomanyfandoms @yourealegendfred @fierce-bab @dusthas-beenbitten@silvver-rose @benhardyjones @bensroger

#qnr2kchallenge #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #borhap imagine #queen #phoebe writes #fic requests open

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shellheadtm-a · 5 years ago

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@involuntaryspy | you know what i want i want gushing over tony/bucky

okay, god, fine. real talk, y’all, this is a ship i didn’t really think about, until i read the 2018 winter soldier run. and then i couldn’t take the goggles off and now we’re here, i guess. after having my eyes opened, there’s a lot of stuff - a lot of it - that points to it being a Thing That Could Happen or at least has enough canon basis (in 616 - do not get me started on how fucking badly the mcu bungled tony and bucky and what they are to each other in prime continuity because i’m still mad and i’ll stay mad and there’s literally nothing at all you can do about it) to point to it being a valid possible path to follow.

okay.

like all true possible love stories, this one starts off with one trying to kill the other. in this case, it was just post-steve’s assassination. bucky catches the funeral on the news. and makes up his mind the one thing he can do for steve is kill tony stark. and he tries to. this very human, very squishy lump of dumb boy with a metal arm took one look at the guy in the high tech, cutting edge suit he could control with his brain, and said, “i can take him.” and that ended with bucky sitting in tony’s office, reading the letter steve left tony, and tony offering bucky the shield, being ready to go to get rid of bucky’s triggers, and agreeing to let bucky do things his own way.

he even helped design the suit bucky wore.

but it doesn’t end there. bucky was cap for a while, you know, it wasn’t just a hot minute. they were on a team together. they fought together. they went to a possible future together, and during that time, in a lot of ways, bucky was one of the few who talked to tony. and i don’t mean in an official avengers capacity, he’s one of the few that - because let’s not forget, bucky is very good at what he does - is observant to notice things. tony’s little distress tells, to ask if tony’s alright. to show some actual concern and mean it. during bucky’s trial, tony was just as much a part of his defense process as steve was - he’d gotten rid of the files shield had on bucky (and wiping his brain guaranteed they were gone for good). he offered support. he’s the one who modified bucky’s arm so he could keep it, because i can guarantee you he knew how important that would be to bucky. he’s mentioned as a possible visitor in the gulag bucky’s thrown in. when tony wiped his brain, left it up to his friends to decide if they were going to bring him back - if they wanted to bring him back, after everything he’d done - bucky’s quick to say yes, like there just isn’t another possibility. we don’t see a lot of them interacting before that, not really, though there are lots of mentions, but if you flash forward to ws2018, we see a tony and a bucky who are casual, comfortable friends. who apparently are close enough that bucky feels comfortable with tony knowing where he lives. who are close enough that bucky will call him in the middle of the night for an evac and tony will drop everything to give it to him. who are close enough that even when bucky (gently, i’ll add) turns down tony’s unspoken offer of a new/backup arm, tony puts one together anyway - he’s probably had plans for upgrades for bucky for ages to be honest, giving things like that to people is how tony shows he cares - and leaves it with him.

and the fireworks date. listen, there’s a lot to be said about that one little snippet of dialogue, okay. a lot. sharon knows what bucky’s doing it’s written all over her and she is 1000% done with bucky barnes. tony’s in a zone, you could ask him anything while he’s working like thta because his mouth functions on autopilot and he won’t remember hardly any of the conversation once he comes back to earth. more importantly: it’s confirmed by the writer himself that yeah, they went. they sure did. that was definitely a thing that happened, but i don’t think tony realized it for what it was, for one. which means that overall, bucky got the real tony, not the one trying to impress. real tony is...if you know him, you hold him close. generous to a fault, a little dorky, wears his heart on his sleeve, gets excited about the stupidest things, is fairly unself conscious about all of it, is just...one of those people that lights up a room, really. and more importantly things aren’t awkward between them after that. i’m pretty sure they actually had a pretty great night.

so you know. they’ve come a long way from bucky shoving a gun in tony’s face and tony holding bucky’s head between his palm repulsors, is what i’m saying. but is it enough? is it enough to establish a ship?

bucky and tony have a lot of similarities, first and foremost. they’ve both been steve’s foil, they know what that’s like. they’ve both been the guy who will do the dirty work, get their hands bloody, be the bad cop, so that steve can stay untouched by the worst of things. they’re two people who have actively worked to keep steve on his pedestal as a beacon of good. and they now how it weighs on you, and how heavy steve’s disappointment - when they don’t do things the steve rogers way - can feel. theirs is a small brotherhood, that really...in a way doesn’t include anyone else in the intimate way they know what it feels like. they know what it’s like to orbit steve and think you’re broken. to look at steve and look at yourself and find yourself lacking. to be overwhelmed by steve. but if this was it, i’d let it go, not really healthy ship material, you know.

in a lot of ways they mirror each other. they both have a serious side, they’re both very good at what they do. their spheres of interest overlap a lot, professionally, just in different capacities. they both have great senses of humor, make the same kinds of jokes - some of which have a self-depreciating edge. they’re both genuinely, in many ways, soft people, despite what they’ve been through. cautious, but soft. hell they even have the same taste in women (looks pointedly at nat). they’ve also both clawed their way back up from the very bottom and made a comeback where they’re better than ever, if you really wanna look at it that way. tony fell into a bottle. tony sold his soul. and now he’s managed to be better. do better. bucky ended up in a goddamn gulag. bucky’s trying to do better for himself, he’s getting his shit straightened out. he’s got a home. a cat. he’s making active, healthy steps to deal with shit. and he’s making progress and isn’t ashamed of that. that’s important, i think, to this whole ship, is that bucky is an example of admitting when you need help and seeking that help in a healthy way. it’s good, i think, for tony to see that. it might take a while for tony to get there himself, but he can see it. he can see what it does for bucky. and he can start the wheels turning in the back of his own mind for himself.

bucky’s been a support for tony, he knows tony, he’s seen tony at his lowest of lows, and still trusts him to know where he lives. to work on his arm and know he’s not up to any funny business. he understands doing what you have to do, even if it’s not the good thing to do, but for the right reasons. and despite all this heavy shit, things between them are light. like i still haven’t read invaders (shame on me) but the few pages i have (because i was there for tony) even bucky diverting tony from steve doesn’t have...any heat in it? he still makes it a joke and i think...overall. bucky understands that the best way to get tony out of one of those hit first ask questions and feel remorse later moods is to give him another target, something else to focus on. like...it’s all so subtle, really, but in their overall interactions you can see just how well bucky understands tony. that you don’t have to be a guy with three ph.ds to figure out how tony’s brain works on an emotional level.

there’s also no competitiveness between them. tony’s supporting role in ws2018 is a nice change of pace, and while he grumbles and grouses that’s just tony being tony, because he doesn’t mean any of it. it’s tony being playful, in a way. he doesn’t mind taking the back seat role and dropping things to help when bucky really needs it, and i bet bucky can count on him every time, all the time, to do it. bucky’s in tony’s circle of people he’d do anything in the world for, and it’s a thing you gotta do somewhat responsibly, because i mean literally anything.

also important, bucky’s a tinkerer, he does his own arm maintenance mostly, and he’s curious. he asks questions. he knows how to engage tony on a level they both get. hi i just love bucky barnes a whole fucking lot.

but what i’m saying is, especially with regards to this particular ship (i can’t wait for tony to figure out he’s being surprise dragged to the altar it’s gonna be great) is that...they’re different people. absolutely. but they know each other. they have this...unspoken understanding of each other. and tony’s habit of nesting, and bucky being a soft touch just...pushed it right along as naturally as could be. there was already a foundation of trust you only get when you know the worst about someone but still see them as being someone you can believe in anyway, and they have that by the bucket. and like...all it took was a little push and here they are. they’re gross and disgusting and sappy but tony’s happy and that’s what matters to me. bucky’s his safe haven, and he’s ready and willing to drop everything and be bucky’s, when it’s needed. they just kind of...fell into step next to each other and that was that, they haven’t dropped out of formation from that. we get weekend domestic tony stark now who thinks about the middle of indiana as being home and has a killer commute that i can promise you he makes at even the slightest hint he can and.

i love them.

insert tony ship get thoughts | accepting

#involuntaryspy #array //: ( ooc asks )#bind //: ( involuntaryspy :: who loves me and whom i love )#// i clearly #// have a lot of feelings #// but it's true #// i love them #// bucky's good for tony #// he's an amazingly positive influence #// he's also making a normal person out of tony and i love it #// billionaire superhero on the streets #// needs cuddles from his bucky at all times between the sheets #// they're a mess #// they're a menace #// and i just love them a whole lot

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haikyuu-imagines-and-others · 6 years ago

Note

Hi! Can I request a scenario of Akaashi/Kuroo/Iwa with the 7 minute in heaven thing? Thank youuu!!! I love your writing!

Hi hi!! Of course love!!! And thank you so much :D I always love hearing from you guys if you enjoy what’s being posted! Thanks for the request! - Admin Satori

Akaashi Keiji: 7 Minutes in Heaven

He looked so…. bored? Disinterested…. Well, that was generally his expression even in his most joyous of times, so you knew better than to automatically assume he wasn’t having a good time…

Akaashi was untouchable - you knew. Every girl, and guy, that tried to steal his heart ended up breaking their own. Not even by his own hand - They’d break their own heart after being silently rejected or even politely let down. Why didn’t he want anyone that tried?

If a legion of pretty girls, and cute guys, didn’t stand up to his scrutiny…. What hope did you have??

“He’d be lucky to have you.” Kenma voiced from beside you, sensing your thoughts being on the same guy they’d been on since you’d first seen him. “You’re freaking out too much.”

You’d been friends with Kenma in high school - met Akaashi through Bokuto and Kuroo’s friendship… It was love at first sight for you! You glanced over at Kenma, who hadn’t even lifted his eyes from his phone to actually talk to you, “It’s like we’re strangers, Kenma.”

He rolled his eyes without ceremony, “Then pine.”

Harsh. But accurate.

That’s why you joined the bottle game, to help forget your feelings for Akaashi for at least tonight - you wanted to have fun with your friends, and you were going to whether he was there and enjoying himself or not. Kenma decided he’d had enough social interaction for the evening, so he didn’t join the game with you - settling on the couch and curling into his mobile game. He’d even brought his charger if the battery got too close to dying.

“Name of the game is 7 Minutes in Heaven!” Terushima smirked from the ‘point’ of the group, having thought of the game when Mai had come in with some of her college friends. This party was lacking some excitement and what was better than spending time in a dark closet with a total stranger?

“Isn’t that just the groping version of spin the bottle?” Futakuchi voiced from the opposite side of the circle, glancing around at his possible options; His eyes met yours for a brief second before scanning the others.

Akaashi sat almost directly across from you, still looking generally disinterested as he watched Terushima start off the game. “Well, yeah, but this party needs a little more…. Life to it.”

“Please no getting your jollies off in the closet,” The tired groan in Ennoshita’s voice had you snickering quietly, watching as the bottle slowly pointed to one of Mai’s friends. “I’m serious, Yuuji, don’t you do it!”

But the pierced young man simply waved off the mother hen of the group, “It’s 7 minutes, man - it would take me at least 21 to do that.” He led the girl into the closet, but stopped as you voiced your question.

“Why specifically 21?”

Terushima smirked as he slowly closed the door of the closet, “The anticipation of getting landed on 2 more times? Being denied until then?” He winked at you, though he didn’t get to close the door before he was being pushed out of the way.

“If that’s what you’re looking for, spin again.” The girl called behind her as he headed towards the kitchen for a drink.

“Well damn…” Was all he could mutter as he took his seat at the group again. The laughter that responded from the immediate rejection was loud, Tanaka and Yamamoto being the loudest. “What an insane smack down, what the fuck…” Terushima poked at his own embarrassment with a red cheeked smile.

“God I hope I don’t get stuck with you.” You teased the freshly dyed blond, laughing when he gave you a sour look. “I’ll go next!” You bravely offered, reaching forward and spinning the bottle. “Not Yuuji, not Yuuji…”

Nishinoya chanted with you, deciding to poke fun at the eccentric young man, “Not Yuuji! Literally anyone else in the world than Yuuji!” Terushima whined unintelligibly before shoving his shoulder against Nishinoya’s, nearly sending the short guy flying across the room.

The bottle slowed to a snails pace, clicking against the wood floor as it came to a stop. You followed its point to the slowly unfolding legs of the very guy you’d been playing to forget.

Akaashi raised an eyebrow at you, nodding towards the closet, “I won’t be gross like Yuuji.” Was his simple promise, his lips quirking into a just barely recognizable smile.

“You guys are fucking rude!” Terushima almost wailed, but the smile on his face clearly showed the entertainment his own rejection was giving him.

“Swear on it?” You teased as you slowly stood, walking towards where Akaashi stood at the closet door, patiently waiting for you to enter first. He nodded silently, and your shaky hand took his offered cool one as you walked through the doorway. The door closed as he followed after you and internally you felt like the closet was closing in on the two of you - why did it feel so cramped in here?

Then there was silence. You stood beside him, facing the closed door, hand still in his … You thought you’d feel more awkward, you thought the general stranger-feel you had with each other would make this entire event kind of…. Weird.

But it felt… Natural? Almost. His fingers slowly laced with yours, not a trace of hesitance in their movement, “I’m glad it landed on me…” His voice was soft, calm, it blended with the muted light of the closet. You glanced over at his silhouette, seeing the lines of light from the closet door being projected onto his soft smile. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you all night..”

You frowned, holding his hand still as you turned to face him a bit better. He followed your movements, seeing your furrowed eyebrows in the limited projected light - did he upset you? Did you not want to be here with him? Before he could pull his hand from yours, you spoke, “Well?…. Why didn’t you?… “

Akaashi felt a blush heat his cheeks, it wasn’t something that happened all that often… he was generally a confident young man in everything he did because he knew what he was doing… But with you? It felt like he was floundering for any excuse to talk to you. He’d come to this party after finding out you’d be here… This spin was like a dream come true for him. “You were busy most of the night…”

Another frown, “No I wasn’t? I’ve been around here the whole time..”

His smile faltered a bit, “With Kenma, yes…. I didn’t want to interrupt your good time with him.”

Did he think you were dating your best friend? You smiled in amusement before letting your other hand take his, feeling how cold it felt compared to the one you currently held. “I’m never too busy for you, Keiji…” Confident in your movement, in your decision and understanding of his words…. Of what he really meant…. You leaned up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. Almost immediately you flushed with embarrassment, feeling as if you’d just made a complete fool of yourself.

What if he didn’t mean it like that? What if he’d been saying he just wanted to talk to you more? What if he just wanted to be a good friend of yours instead of an acquaintance?

But you didn’t have to continue to spin the drain of self-depreciation and doubt before Akaashi was leaning down and pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, “I think you’re really cute… I’d like to spend more time with you, if you’d let me.”

The doors suddenly opened, light blinding the two of you - you dropped his hands to shield your eyes, “Times up~!”Atsumu chimed, “Fly’s up, get out.” You stumbled from the closet, looking behind you to see Akaashi send a quick glare to Atsumu, who only sent a sly wink his way. He seemed to linger, and while the two of you had been interrupted… That didn’t leave your heart any less erratic in your chest from his… proposal?

The choice of word sent your cheeks aflame, but you swallowed your anxiety before reaching for his hand and tugging him out of the closet, “I’d love to….” You realized how vague your acceptance sounded, and quickly went to finish what you’d meant to say, “Spend time…. With you…” You blushed deeply, your smile sheepish and sending a direct arrow through his heart as he caught sight of it.

Kuroo Tetsurou: 7 Minutes in Heaven

“So do you think you’ll end up getting him at some point tonight?”

“I don’t know… I really hope so…. Maybe you have some kind of trick up your sleeve?”

Bokuto held up his hands, showing they were empty before pulling on the hem of each of his sleeves, “Nope. I got nothing.” You sighed in rejection, disappointment playfully playing in your chest at how much he let you down, “B-but!” He quickly caught himself from failing you, “I could switch seats with him…. Maybe you can get him on the next round…”

Tilting your head, you pursed your lips and thought ‘deeply’ on the idea. It wasn’t a bad one, for sure - you’d ended up picking Bokuto for the 7 minutes in a closet challenge for the third time now… So maybe if he and Kuroo switched places…. Maybe you could finally get some time in with his best friend.

“And then if it still lands on me, I could say that I’m sitting in his spot spiritually so then he’ll have to go into the closet with you…” Bokuto offered, making you snort in amusement at how absurd his addition sounded.

You shook your head, “No, no, no.. If it lands on you again, I think that’s just the fates telling me I’ll always get second best.” The squawk to come out of him was a mix of insult and choking on air in surprise, but you could only laugh in response.

The closet doors opened, “Pull up your pants Kou, times up!” You rolled your eyes as you followed Bokuto out of the closet, sending Oikawa a sour look when he asked “Oh~ You’re a pro, ______-chan! You didn’t get your make up all smudged!”

“Pervert.”

Taking your seat beside Kiyoko, you felt a heat on your face…. Someone was staring. But when you looked up from where the bottle had been spun by Tendou, you found no one looking at you…. Had you been imagining it? When your eyes fell back on the bottle, you felt the burning once more…. Someone was definitely staring at you - but they were fast in their looking away….

You didn’t even have a chance to ask your question, sneakily, to Kiyoko before she was nodding, “Yes, he’s staring at you.” You gave her a surprised look to which she only waved you off, “He’s not subtle about it, you’re just slow.”

A pout formed on your lips at her playful zing, “I can’t believe I’m friends with such a bully.”

The game continued. You sat patiently, chatting with Kiyoko and Asahi - finding her sureness and his… anxiety? Proved to be entertaining enough for you. You asked Asahi a few times on why he was playing the game if he was so nervous, to which he responded with “I want to overcome this awkwardness… This is a baby step.” How honorable?

Finally it was your turn… Bokuto had done what he’d said he’d do and switched seats with Kuroo when the later had gotten up for a drink. He’d even gone and played dumb when Kuroo asked why they’d switched seats. But the nerves still prickled at your skin as you reached forward and spun the bottle, watching with lip biting anticipation as it spun and spun around the group of people.

You glanced up as the bottle spun, meeting Bokuto’s wide golden eyes directly. He sent you a wink, a silent ‘i’ve got your back’, as the bottle came to a stop.

On him once more.

“For fucks sake!” Bokuto laughed at your frustration, “A fourth time? Really? Are you doing this on purpose, Kou? Did you pull that whole ‘metal and magnet’ trick?” You covered your face with your hands as you groaned.

He smiled widely, “Eh, I’ll pass this time… Hey, bro?”

“Hmm?”

“Could you do me a solid and hang out in the closet with _______ for seven minutes?”

Kuroo snorted, “Uh… Sure.. Since this would have been my turn anyway.” He smiled as he stood from his place, your heart hammering as you got to your feet. Was this really happening? Did it really just easily go like that? Why hadn’t the two of you done that earlier??

The disbelief was clearly evident on your face and was apparently hilarious to anyone watching you - and if you weren’t nervous about being in a tight space with your crush… Maybe you would have been more embarrassed about them laughing at you. But in this very moment, you felt like you were going to explode at the seams! Just the chance to be alone with Kuroo was a blessing, being alone with him in a dark and cramped space that he more or less volunteered to be in with you?? That in itself was unfathomable!

The darkness overcame the both of you as he closed the closet door behind him. Chests almost touching, you focused on not breathing all over him. You didn’t want this limited time with him to be tainted with your possibly bad breath or the horrible awkwardness of being a heavy breather. Not that you had either of those bad traits normally… But you were nervous now, anything could manifest itself.

“I think he is cheating..” Kuroo whispered, as if it were a secret, the sound of his voice sounding as if he were right beside your ear. You tilted your head up to look at him curiously, “I saw the bottle move past him once to point at me, but it went back to point at him like some kind of magic trick….” His eyes were squinted, but his tone was obviously playful.

Had he wanted to be in this closet with you?

You internally jumped for joy at the possibility, at the implication…”So this would have been our… what? Second time?” It felt incredibly hot in this tight space with him, or maybe it was just his proximity doing that to you…

Kuroo smirked, not looking directly at you in fear that his nerves would get the better of him and constrict his voice to a squeak. “Our fourth, really….” Your furrowed eyebrows had his smirk widening into a smile, “I think he’s been cheating this whole time.” He whispered once more, feeling you shiver in front of him. “Are you cold?” He asked curiously, wondering how you could be shivering when it literally felt like he was on fire.

Before you could answer, he was wrapping his arms around you, holding you close, resting his head on yours. A tight hug. A warm, tight, perfect hug… You blushed deeply and hid your face in his shoulder, “So you’re going to keep me warm with your body heat?” You smiled, and he felt it against him.

“Well, it was either this or I throw all the extra jackets in this closet on you in a horrible amalgamation of warmth and winter wear.”

You didn’t want to leave him hanging though. He jumped a bit in surprise when your arms wrapped around his middle, hands against his back and pulling him closer. “Mmm.. I like this better.” He heard you mumble into his shirt, his heart hammering in his chest at your quiet admission.

He smiled and leaned his head so he was pressing his lips against the crown of your head. “Me too…”

A gentle knock at the closet had you tilting your head a bit to be able to see who would be interrupting you this time… But they didn’t open. After a moments silence, Bokuto cracked the door enough so his voice could carry through clearly, “Pssst… Hey… Your time is up… But no one is really interested in the game anymore, so you’re in the clear.”

In the clear? To do what? Hug in a closet for the rest of the night? Not that Bokuto knew you two were hugging, but still. You snickered quietly, “Thanks, Kou - Tetsu owes ya.”

“Whoa, wait a sec-“

“Sweet, have fun guys.” Bokuto closed the closet door before Kuroo could take back the statement you so generously gave him. You laughed quietly, knowing exactly just how precious Kuroo’s I.O.U’s were.

He sighed as he stared at the closed door, shaking his head with a playful scowl on his face, “And he’s gone… Great… Now I’m going to be owing him for as long as he thinks he’s owed….”

Iwaizumi Hajime: 7 Minutes in Heaven

“I’m not playing.”

“Yes, you are~ You came to the party, you partake in the partying!”

Iwaizumi scowled at Oikawa, his eyebrows furrowed in irritation, “That’s not how any party works… At all.”

But his best friend wasn’t budging, and he crossed his arms with a proud smirk, “Well, that’s how my party is going to work. Take it or leave it, Iwa-chan!” Almost immediately Iwaizumi turned on his heel to head towards the door, “No, no, no - wait!” Oikawa rushed to grab him before he could leave completely.

Opening the door, about to stomp out into the cold in his decision to leave a party with mandatory activity, he stopped short.

“O-oh.. Hey Hajime…” You smiled, holding a box of liquor - you’d been in charge of the refreshments for the party. And you had definitely exceeded what Oikawa thought you’d come through with! “If you were going for more alcohol, don’t worry about it,” You lifted the box a bit, bringing his attention from your face to what you held, “I got it covered.”

“Let me get that for you.” Was his response. His hands found yours on either side of the box, bringing an immediate blush to your face, easily taking their place and holding the weight of the box for you. Then he was walking back into the apartment without any argument, you hot on his heels.

A smirk found its way onto Oikawa’s face, “Whaaat~? Weren’t you just about to leave, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi set the box down in the kitchen, sending a dirty look at Oikawa, one that silently told him to shut his mouth. “No, I just heard her coming up the stairs and wanted to help.” You smiled over at him before making your way to the living room where the other partygoers had already gathered to play the game Oikawa had announced. “Don’t you screw this up, Shittykawa.”

Oikawa laid a hand on his chest in faux insult, “Me? I would never mess anything up for you, best friend! I’m team Iwa-chan 24/7!” But his smile was sickly sweet and had Iwaizumi’s expression remaining unamused. “Well, come on then - let’s get you in a closet with _______.” He smiled triumphantly, proud to have you as something to leverage Iwaizumi into staying for the party games.

So the stage was finally set. You were here. You were having a great time with everyone, your smiles sending Iwaizumi’s heart erratically beating in his chest, your voice having his eyes gloss over with a dreamy look only Oikawa would recognize. And Iwaizumi was here. He was joking and enjoying his time, his almost reluctant smiles and chuckles making your heart swell happily, just his participating in the game having your fantasies running wild.

Only, this game was based on luck, truly - and you didn’t have a good track record with lady luck.

That’s how you ended up in the closet with Oikawa. Arms crossed, you stared up at him with a raised eyebrow - feeling as if he’d somehow made this happen. “Whaaat? I didn’t do anything, it was your bad spin.” You huffed, though the smile on you face reassured him you were just kidding around. “I know, I know, I’m not as good as Iwa-chan…. But hey, I’ve got an idea to get him to do something.”

You frowned, “I’m not trying to trick him into doing anything. I really want it to be as natural as possib-“

“Natural?” He snorted, “If you want natural, you’re going to be waiting for years and years and years before he even asks you out…” Confusion was painted clearly on your face, “Seriously, Iwa-chan is an actual bundle of nerves.. I know you think he’s this big macho man who takes what he wants… But really?” Oikawa shrugged helplessly, “He’s just as nervous as anyone else that’s not an asshole.”

You doubted it’d take that long… Iwaizumi was so confident in everything he did.. If he wanted you, he’d have you - simple as that.

Oikawa patted your head, humming pleasantly even as you sent him a quick glare for brushing off what you thought to be true, “I got this all covered, _____-chan.” He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it up a bit before grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. “Almost,” Then he was grabbing fistfuls of your shirt, scrunching your hair in some places even as you smacked his hands away from you, “aaaaaalmost.” His thumb swiped against the lipgloss on your lips, a smirk on his face, “Oh? All gussied up? Ah, young love.”

The closet doors opened before you could bite back a reply, Oikawa stepping out easily into the room - showing off how… messy he now looked. Panic resting in your stomach, you quickly straightened your shirt as best you could, running your fingers through your hair to make it lie correctly before you were returning to the group.

“Ohoho~? A closet full of fun?” Kuroo’s smirk had your cheeks warming, hating that he had to be the one to bring attention to your attire.

But you couldn’t let them down… Or at least… You couldn’t let them get the wrong idea. You rubbed your lips clean of the lip gloss, making it seem like you were wiping at your nose, “Yeah, had to beat the hell outta him. He got a bit handsy.” You sniffled out.

Oikawa squawked, “Wha- Tha-that’s not what happened at all!” He held up his hands innocently, looking at Iwaizumi with wide eyes before glaring at you, his frown twitching - trying so hard not to laugh at your framing him.

“Ololo~? I wanna get beat up next~” But before Tendou could reach for the bottle, Iwaizumi grabbed it from the center.

“Well you’re going to have to wait because it’s my turn, ya damn lizard.”

Tendou pouted, giving Iwaizumi the best damn puppy dog eyes you’d seen, “Awwwww, Iwa-chan is so very mean to me.” You could swear it’s like someone cloned Oikawa, stretched him out and gave him a different color scheme. Same personality. Yui whined in frustration at the slow paced game an waved her hand for Iwaizumi to hurry up - she had her eyes set on Daichi sitting across from her.

Spinning the bottle, you snorted, “Jeez, Hajime - it almost took flight!” Even jabbing at his frustrated strength had his heart singing in his chest. How did you happen to be so cute in anything you did? You looked up from the bottle to see he was staring at you, a far away look in his eye preventing him from looking away in shame.

If he didn’t land on you…. He wouldn’t possibly take as long as Oikawa said he would… would he? Not that you would be asking him either… You didn’t want to make the first move and end up looking like a fool… So if neither of you stepped forward toward the other, would nothing happen at all?

“Awww, what? Why does _____ get to go in the closet twice in a row?” Bokuto whined from beside you, backing off his complaint when he got an odd look from Kuroo, “Uh-Uh, not that I’d want to go in the closet with Hajime, but still?”

“Wha-“ You looked down to see the bottle was, indeed, pointing at you. Looking back up, you met Iwaizumi’s intense green stare - he was just as surprised as you were. “Uh… Well… Let’s go.” You stood from your place, playfully pushing Bokuto’s head as you passed to join Iwaizumi by the closet.

He opened the door, waiting for you to enter first, but not before Oikawa leaned back enough to call to you two, “Ya know, ______-chan can pass if she wants~.”

“Why in the hell would I pass on this opportunity?”

It’d come out of your mouth before you could think to stop it. An admission? Of sorts? Not quite a confession. Yet Iwaizumi’s heart froze for a fraction of a second before it took off like a race horse once more. You wanted to spend time with him? Alone with him? Cramped in a dark closet… With him?

The blush that overcame you was ferocious, but you didn’t say another word before grabbing Iwaizumi’s wrist and entering the closet. Trying to escape the laughter that had overcome the group. Neither of you were very subtle in your crush, but watching the two of you flounder around was definitely a source of entertainment for them.

Now it was just the two of you. In a tight space. A dark space. You could barely see him and he was almost directly in your face. His exhales were your oxygen, and your heartbeat was his own mirrored. “So….” He started, looking for something to say, something to start off what he’d wanted with you; literally anything was what he wanted with you. “Opportunity, huh?”

Your blush didn’t pass. Now he was teasing you. “Don’t be a dick.” You mumbled with a reluctant smile, he chuckled quietly - the sound feeling like it was inside your head. You could feel his chest rise and fall with his breathing, his exhales sending goosebumps rising against your skin. “I could have passed on you.”

A pause. “Would you have?”

He was much closer to your face than you’d initially thought. He’d slowly leaned his head down so he was just hovering over your lips. You could just barely get a hint of what he tasted like, and the shiver through your body had his confidence rising. You wanted him. He wanted you. So what was the hold up?

“Never.” Your whisper tickled his lips, but he wasted no time in enjoying the feeling before he was kissing you. A bit shy at first, a little awkward…. But the moment you responded to his kiss, kissing him back, lips moving with his… His arms wrapped around you tenderly, as if he were afraid you were a dream, as if he was just imagining this and didn’t want to break the fantasy. But you cupped his face, cradled it with your thumbs stroking across his cheeks… and he found himself pulling you closer.

#Admin Satori #Haikyuu!!#Haikyuu!! Scenario #Akaashi Keiji #Kuroo Tetsurou #Iwaizumi Hajime #7 Minutes in Heaven #Character Challenge!

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