#I dunno just rubs me the wrong way on occasion

[izloveshorses]

Let Your Heart Be Light

holiday modern au, 1.7k. when anya gets to be the grump this time dmitry has to cheer her up <3

Anya huffed as she slammed the door behind her. She fumbled with her scarf, hat, gloves, coat, tripped from her boots, and left it all in a wet, dripping heap on the floor. 

She hadn’t called her boyfriend before coming over, but had let herself in his apartment anyway, since he’d given her a key and everything, so she made herself comfortable on his couch without saying a word. 

Minutes later, there was the noise of the lock turning and Dmitry was stomping his shoes dry. “Anya?” he called, perhaps confused by the sight of her coat in a heap at the door. “You here?” 

“In the living room,” she answered without much more elaboration. 

He made his way around the couch and he finally found her on her side with her head on the armrest. “Hey,” Dmitry’s smile melted her heart, just a little. On a good day he could put the sun to shame. His hair was disheveled from the walk home, cheeks flushed from the cold, his hoodie a little crooked, his smile moreso, smelling like snow and clove. “This is a surprise.” He settled on the couch behind her, their usual cuddle spot after a long day. She did her best to maintain her fowl mood she was determined to cling onto. But he was rather warm. Perhaps she could snuggle a little closer to him. “To what do I owe this occasion?”

Anya sighed. “I’ve officially broken up with Christmas.”

He snorted. “Oh no!”

“I’m serious. We’re so over. I’ve decided I hate the cold, and the music, and the crowds. Everyone is too cheerful.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “It was just a really bad day.”

“I don’t think one bad day warrants such extreme actions,” he reasoned, tone playful. Teasing was usually the trick that cheered her up, but she wasn’t in the mood right now. “Especially something you’ve adored since before I’ve known you.”

It was true. She was Hallmark Movie Crazy about the holiday season, always had been. She loved buying gifts for everyone, watching the Christmas classics, going ice skating in the park, baking for her neighbors. Basically every cliche you could think of, Anya participated in. She never understood why anyone could be grumpy at this time of year. Until today. 

Dmitry’s fingers dug into her side in an attempt to tickle, another trick that normally lightened her mood, but she smacked his hand away. “Watch it, Sudayev.” 

“Sorry,” he said, but he was still laughing. “But seriously. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Anya took a deep breath. “Nothing big, but like— you know how when all the little things just add up? And make the day terrible? And you feel like a toddler about to dissolve into a tantrum?” 

“Yeah. That’s always rough.”

“Right. Like— I spilled my coffee and didn’t have time to change or buy a new one, so there goes five bucks.”

“Oof.”

“And then I was late getting to work anyway, which is never a good way to start the day. And we had all these meetings so I didn’t get to finish my work before I had to leave, and the printer was broken, and my lunch box leaked, and someone sent me a rude email again—”

“Was it that one guy from sales?”

“Yeah, the same guy.”

“I hate him. Want me to fight him for you?”

“I might fight him if he writes ‘as previously stated’ one more time.”

That made Dmitry laugh. His cheek was cold against her neck, but his body was so irresistibly warm she wondered if his mere presence would lull her to sleep. “Geez. You can’t catch a break.”

“And then! My usual metro line was down again, so I had to take a bus, but there was so much traffic from holiday shoppers that it took twice as long to get uptown, and I lost a glove, and at that point I didn’t even want to go to the store and cook dinner anymore.”

Dmitry was rubbing soothing circles on her shoulder. “And then you came here.”

“Because I didn’t want to go home to my empty apartment and get all mad again.”

“Did you want me to cheer you up?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. I just kinda feel like eating in and watching TV.”

“Fair.” He was quiet for a minute. He pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping away, and Anya assumed the conversation was over. Maybe she might actually fall asleep. Until, “I know what will make you feel better. Come on,” Dmitry stood abruptly, stretching, and she was immediately annoyed by the lack of his warm body against her back. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Somewhere fun.”

Anya refused to get up. “If it involves going out there again,” she pointed to the door, “you’re going to have to pay me.”

“You’ll love it.”

“No.” 

Dmitry sat again, now at her feet, still trying. “They opened the Tuileries winter market today. They’re selling warm drinks and everything. Don’t you want to go see the pretty lights? Do something a little Christmas-y?”

Anya knew she was being stubborn. That was the thing— stubbornness wasn’t exactly a pleasant trait, but, unlike others who suffered from this gene, she was aware of the flaw. Her self awareness made this at least a little more tolerable. And, frankly, she earned the right to not want to get up from this old couch after such a day. Even if she knew she was being difficult to her very lovely and very patient boyfriend. “Christmas lights can’t erase today. I’m forever jaded.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

She sat up, really looking at him, trying to figure out the angle he was playing. “I thought you hated that kind of stuff.”

“Hate’s a strong word. I’m no Scrooge.”

It wasn’t like he was never cheerful, but Dmitry wasn’t exactly the jolly type, either. Anya was usually the one dragging him to holiday events. He happily joined her, of course, but she could tell he only played along just for her sake. Anya jumped at any chance to celebrate the season, from a themed party at their favorite bar to her grandmother’s Christmas dinner to shopping in the holiday section at the bookstore. Dmitry would choose to stay comfortable at home with just the two of them any day. Not that that was a bad thing, of course. So this behavior— him being the one to actively search for a not-cheap Christmas activity in town to participate in— was rather suspicious. “But you always say they overcharge.”

“They do, but,” he bent down and kissed her cheek, “you like these things. And I like you. And I hate seeing you so glum more than I hate spending money.”

That made her smile. “How romantic.” 

He mirrored her, kissing her nose. “Come on, Anya. It’ll be good for you to do something cheery and out of your usual routine. If you’re too tired and cold after an hour, we can come back here, and I’ll make us dinner and some boozy hot chocolates, I promise. Scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t a scout.”

He just tilted his head, playfully and patiently exasperated. 

“Fine.” His grin widened, but she held up a finger. “You get one hour. And I get to complain about the snow and the commute as much as I want.”

He kissed her then. “That’s my girl.”

They bundled up and braved the December weather, and as promised, Anya grumbled the whole way, and to her frustration Dmitry only smiled and gave her a spare pair of gloves and zipped her coat up to her chin. The ride to the park wasn’t very long so they arrived just as the sun was setting. Dmitry paid for their steaming cups of mulled wine without a fuss and they made their way through the gate, weaving through vendors and children running around, until they found a path of twinkling string lights to walk through. 

With Dmitry’s hand in hers and a warm beverage in the other, it wasn’t so bad. The snowfall was less icy and bitter and more fluffy and sweet, Anya admitted to herself, and the lights were rather pretty. It was hard to focus on the frustrations of her day when there were so many delighted smiles walking around and the cheerful carols in the air. Dmitry was rambling mindlessly about his own day at work, talking about the technicalities of this new recipe he got to try, how maybe the head chef might let him take the lead on a dish for a critic tomorrow. And then he would whisper something funny against her cheek, earning a laugh, and. Okay. Maybe today wasn’t all bad. 

“Could you take our picture?” he asked one stranger, offering his phone, just before they were about to step under a canopy of lights. 

Anya raised her eyebrows up at him, surprised. He grinned as he adjusted his beanie, like he knew he was behaving a bit strange. But they posed and smiled, and when he kissed her cheek she laughed, and they carried on with their walk. 

“You’re being a little gross today,” she commented, earning a laugh from him. 

“Just trying to cheer you up.” 

She tilted her head up at him. 

“Is it working?” 

She shrugged. “Maybe.” 

He turned to face her. Checking. Showing his hand. His smile was still playful, but his eyes shifted into something softer, something a little more serious. “You ready to head back?” 

She looked around, taking in the scene around them. “In a few more minutes.” 

His eyes searched hers for a minute, studying, making sure. “Okay.” His hands ran up and down her arms as if to warm her up. Always taking care of her, subconsciously or not. “I just hate to see you and your favorite holiday in a fight after just one lousy day.” 

She ducked her head. “I think we’re on good terms now,” she admitted, meeting his eye again. “Thanks to you.” 

The corner of his mouth tilted up. “Good.” 

She stood on her toes to kiss him and he met her halfway, his nose cold against her cheek, all smiles and snow and clove and cinnamon. 

Not a bad day. Maybe even a good one.

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

She honestly thought she was past this. Ogling at straight girls, kissing girls who would never want anything more from her than soft touches in passing.

Robin Buckley is an experience, never a commitment.

So when her eyes start following the frills of yet another skirt, she knows she’s fucked. First Tammy, who didn’t even know she existed. Then Vicky, who would kiss her soft and make promises she couldn’t keep. Then Nancy. Who never stepped over that line, who never insinuated that she would leave Byers save for one instant after graduation.

She’d grabbed Robin’s hand after they’d thrown their caps into the sky. Rubbed the soft pad of her thumb over her knuckles. Got this earnest look in her eyes, that girl next door sparkle that Robin was starting to fall in love with — and then she said it.

“I can’t.”

And then she was dropping her hand to wander off and get her picture taken by her awkward boyfriend who had caught an overnight flight just for the occasion.

Simple. Quick. Enough to tear Robin up for a matter of weeks thereafter, only able to come out of her prolonged stupor when Steve started inviting her out again.

He told her that was just how small town dating was. She told him he didn’t understand — couldn’t understand, because he wasn’t queer. Gave him the whole speech about how easy it is for him and his lizard brain to get dates with whoever he wants, and he gave her the customary eye roll.

A handful of parties later, Robin feels like she’s made some progress on getting over… well, everything.

Then, she feels like she’s taken ten steps back when she finds herself staring at Hargrove from across the room. It’s not so much Billy that has her eye, with his primped curls and tight jeans, but more so who he has dangling off of his arm like an accessory at all times.

And that’s when she finds a new feeling to replace her sadness, to fill that pocket of loneliness in her chest.

Hatred.

“I don’t get how you can hang around that guy,” she huffs. Blows a bubble and pops it, smacking her gum right in Steve’s ear as she leans over the counter beside him. “Didn’t he try to kill you on several occasions?”

Steve huffs. Stares at the clock above the door, counting down the seconds until it’s closing time. She can’t decide if he’s amused or annoyed.

“If there was any bad blood between us, do you really think we’d be going to the same parties?”

She holds her tongue for a moment. Long enough to pinpoint the soft smile on his face, to register the gentle lilt in his tone. So she leans completely into his side and crowds him further against the register, which earns a snort.

“Guess not.”

“Why the sudden loathing? I thought you were all about looking under the surface and whatever,” he teases.

He plucks at her bracelets absently just to hear them click together, and Robin feels her brows draw down heavily.

“Something about him just… I dunno, rubs me the wrong way.”

“Afraid he’s lobbying for the position of my best friend or something?”

“No.”

“Pissed that he graduated top of your class?”

“I couldn’t care less.”

Steve eyes her in complete silence for a moment. Gentle brown eyes darting all over her face as if the answer lies in her expression.

He apparently finds it there, because his eyebrows quirk upward and he grins.

“You’re mad that he has better game than you.”

Robin scoffs.

“I am not.”

“Yes you are, you’re pissed. Oh my god.”

She leans away enough to smack his arm, which only makes him snicker at her. He turns to face her with this particular expression, arms opening around her shoulders and squeezing — and then her sneakers are leaving the floor.

“No, no! Put me down, you behemoth!”

He swings her back and forth like a stuffed animal, only setting her back down when she actually starts to resist.

“Admit that you’re jealous and I’ll let go,” he says.

“Never.”

His grip only tightens and she exhales a strained sound, lolling her head back. If Keith were to see them right now, chest to chest like this, he would write them up for PDA.

“C’mon, the sooner you confess, the sooner you can—“

“I’m not jealous of him, okay?” Robin snaps. Maybe it comes out more harshly than she meant, because Steve’s arms go lax around her. She pinches her eyes shut and takes in a large breath. “I’m pissed at myself for crushing on another straight girl — who’s clearly only into the jock types, anyway. Story of my fucking life.”

She doesn’t look. Doesn’t open her eyes, afraid that the tears will spill if she does.

Her breath hitches when she’s pulled into Steve’s chest again. This time, his hold is gentle. All encompassing. He tilts his head against hers and she finally breathes and it’s shaky, but she finds it in herself to wrap her arms around his torso in return.

“Who is it?” he coos.

She swallows thickly. Sets her chin on his shoulder and presses her lips together.

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s not.” A large hand rubs soothing circles over her back. “I’ve had worse luck with relationships than anyone, you know I have no room to judge.”

And as true as that may be, it’s still hard to say aloud. Almost like subconsciously, she fears that saying the name out loud will jinx her luck. That she’ll have another Nancy on her hands if she does.

“Heather,” she whispers.

Steve goes still for a beat.

“Holloway?”

“Mhm. Stupid, right?”

Steve stays quiet. She sighs after a moment and leans away to wipe her eyes with the heels of her palms. One of his hands stays on her shoulder. Squeezes reassuringly.

“Honestly,” he begins. Robin braces herself for the worst. “I think she’s a little… abrasive. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go for it.”

“I like how you’re implying that I’m going to ask her out.” When he just stares at her, her jaw drops. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Yeah, man, why not? You never know.”

She huffs a laugh at that.

“Because what if she’s the wrong person, Steve? Her dad is the editor of the Hawkins Post — my whole life could be ruined.”

At this point she can’t recall how many times she’s had this conversation with him. How many times she’s seen that look of exasperation, like he doesn’t understand why she would be so nervous about such a thing.

And how could he? Picture perfect king of Hawkins Steve Harrington himself couldn’t know how she feels.

He still has the audacity to roll his eyes at her.

“If you change your mind, I’m always down to wingman you,” he says, then glances at his watch. “We better go or we’re gonna be late.”

Robin sighs, long and dramatic, and Steve smiles as he pats her shoulder.

“Can I change at yours?” she asks. “I don’t wanna deal with my mom right now.”

“Thought that was the plan anyway.”

He fishes his keys out of his pocket, jangling them in front of her face like a toddler. She crosses her eyes and earns a laugh.

As silly as it is, she’s a bit hopeful on the way to this party. Steve is a lot of things, but never a liar. And it turns out he has pretty good judgment when it comes to people — he can say what he wants about Tommy and Carol, but at the end of the day, he still shows up when Tommy’s crying about his latest breakup. Still drives Carol to her favorite thrift shops when she’s trying to distract herself from getting back together with Tommy.

Still, it’s hard to look at Hargrove and see anything but the snarky asshole before her. And he’s not even doing anything, really.

Just standing there with a beer in one hand and his other down the back pocket of Heather’s jeans. Jeans, for Christ’s sake. Last time Robin checked, this girl only wore her finest Sunday morning clothes everywhere.

She finds herself staring over the rim of her solo cup from across the room, only tearing her eyes away when Steve nudges her with his elbow.

He pulled on this stupid flashy windbreaker before they left the house, and as awful as it is to look at, it suits him. Makes his smile look bubbly when he flashes his teeth at her. She knows that face. Oh no. Oh no.

“If i come back out here and you’re still being a wallflower, there’s gonna be hell to pay,” he lilts.

Just barely audible over the music.

Then he’s wandering off. Weaving between people, holding his drink above their heads so it doesn’t spill. Robin’s anxiety spikes and she’s not sure if she’s more worried about Steve or herself.

When Hargrove spots him, he smiles. Is easily lured away, leaving Heather to her own devices, probably with the promise of more beer or different girls. And things are a lot less intimidating, but simultaneously worse because of Billy’s absence.

Heather’s spirit doesn’t flounder. She just starts dancing in the nearest crowd when the music changes to something more upbeat, thrumming through the air and making picture frames rattle on the walls. She moves her hips. Jumps up and down and giggles when girls in passing join her.

It’s hard for Robin to tear herself away from the wall, but she does. Sets her cup on a side table as she crosses the room and— just throws herself into the mix.

There’s lots of giggling. Lots of hand-holding with random strangers, but when Heather notices her, she reaches out. Snags Robin’s hands and intertwines their fingers, pulling her so close that she can see the fading remnants of eyeliner on her lids. This song is way more girly than anything Robin would listen to by choice, but she can’t help but grin and squeeze Heather’s hands back while they dance.

It’s freeing. Makes her feel like she’s actually making up for lost time, makes her feel like one of the girls. But then the song ends. And Heather stops.

Her chest is rising and falling, stray brown curls clinging to her skin, and one of her hands slips away from Robin’s. Reaches up with a manicured finger and readjusts a messy strand of Robin’s hair for her, so close that the only air they can breathe in is from each other.

“You want a drink?” Heather asks. Too soft.

She squeezes Robin’s hand where they’re still linked and suddenly Robin’s face is burning red.

Oh.

“Yeah,” she says, throat suddenly dry.

Robin wonders if Steve really did know what he was talking about. He was at least half right, considering Heather doesn’t seem abrasive at all. Talk about bubbly and lighthearted. Downright approachable, even.

Then, before Robin can squeeze even another quarter of a thought in, she’s being hauled through the crowd with a gentle grip. They weave between partygoers quickly, only stopping when Heather bumps into someone.

The guy is huge. Has the Tiger’s letterman jacket on his shoulders and a scowl on his face when he turns to look down at her, and Heather— Heather fixes one right back and smacks his drink out of his hand. Red liquid pools on the shag carpet, but Heather keeps walking, side-eyeing him as they pass.

There it is, Robin thinks nervously.

When they make it to the kitchen, Heather lets go so she can ladle them some punch. Bouncing softly to the music as she does.

“You came here with Harrington, right?” she asks.

“Yeah. He’s kind of my ride everywhere.”

“Nothing going on there, then?”

Heather winks at her, like it’s some inside joke. Like she knows something that no one else does. Robin swallows thickly and tries to keep her hand from shaking when she gets handed a new solo cup.

“No.”

Maybe she says it too softly, because Heather just quirks a brow at her.

“Wanna go somewhere more private to talk?” A polished fingernail traces up and down Robin’s bicep and she practically shakes free of her bones. “Go find us a room, and I’ll meet you there. I gotta powder my nose.”

All Robin can do is nod. She watches Heather down the entirety of her drink and set the empty cup on the counter, stepping around her swiftly and disappearing somewhere.

Holy shit. This is happening.

Robin has to force herself to move again. She walks up and down various halls, opening doors and checking for any stragglers. The first five rooms are occupied, and while she initially thought that the sixth might be vacant, she finds herself to be wrong when she shuts the door and flicks the light switch on.

That stupid windbreaker is on the floor… next to a leather jacket.

There’s a startled gasp and some shuffling from the bed, and Robin’s jaw is immediately on the floor when she finally looks up.

Steve, once tensed up, now relaxes. Sweeps a hand through his already messy hair and leans back against the headboard. Billy doesn’t seem to share his feelings, shoulders still bunched and eyes wide where sits near the middle of the mattress, poised to run if he has to.

“Rob, what the fuck?” Steve sighs. “You’re supposed to be out there getting a number scratched on your hand or something.”

Robin presses her back flat against the door.

“What the fuck me? What the fuck you,” she huffs. Billy looks like he’s about ready to bolt until Steve sets a comforting hand on his shoulder. “How long has this been going on?”

Steve whistles. Looks off somewhere and uses his free hand to count on his fingers.

He takes long enough for Robin to sigh and shake her head, mumbling, “Jesus, never mind. Forget I even asked.”

“I wanted to tell you,” he says. Gestures vaguely with his hand. “Just didn’t want you to… I dunno. Get mad, I guess.”

“Why would I get mad?”

Steve glances at Billy, who’s still awkwardly sitting there, but looks a little more at ease now. That makes Robin sputter out a laugh.

“C’mon, Harrington,” she says. “You know I have no room to judge.”

The air feels lighter, less tense, when Steve smiles. It’s contagious, Robin’s lips quirk up, and she has to fight the urge to stride across the room and pull him into a hug.

She would, but he’s only half-clothed at the moment.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because there’s a knock at the door, and Robin jumps away from it just in time for it to open. Heather slides in and shuts it behind her.

“Oh my god,” she breathes. And Robin tenses again, fearing the absolute worst. “Is that a hickey, Bills? You dirty slut.”

“If anyone asks, I’m telling ‘em I got it from you,” he snarks back.

Heather giggles. Grabs Robin’s hand and twists the doorknob.

“C’mon, let’s go find our own room. Preferably one without an infestation.”

Billy flips her off, but he’s smiling. Shifting closer to Steve on the bed. He’s smiling too, and Robin can’t help but spread a grin of her own as she’s guided out of the room.

Feeling like for once, things will be different.

That they’ll be okay.

[otomefoxystar]

Unexpected Surprise

Fandom: Kissed by the Baddest Bidder

Pairing: Eisuke X MC

Genre : Fluff with a teensy bit of angst

TW: Mentions of wanting to lose weight, pregnancy

She looked at herself in the full length mirror, turning right, then turning left. Her favorite pair of leggings weren’t fitting like they used to. She had gained weight. It was hard maintaining a figure that the Tres Spades CEO deserved, or at least what she thought he deserved. She sighed, “I have to lose some weight.” She said to herself quietly.

She entered Eisuke’s kitchen, immediately starting the coffee. She opened the fridge and took out eggs, onions, and peppers. Preparing to make breakfast. Eisuke came out of his home office looking at his phone; when he looked up, he saw _ _ _ looking displeased. “What’s the matter?” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, just in a bad mood.” He arched an eyebrow. “You haven’t even been up for an hour. What would put you in a bad mood so quickly?” She rolled her eyes, “I don’t know, Eisuke. Just leave me alone and let me cook breakfast!” She snapped at him, “You don’t need to get pissy with me. It was a question.” She immediately felt terrible.

“Sorry,” He kissed her forehead. “It’s fine.” He went to sit at the table while she cooked. The door swung open and in sauntered Ota, Baba, Mamoru, and Soryu. She sighed. Could she get a moment of peace with her boyfriend for once? Of course, knowing they’d want to eat, she made extra. There were omelets, toast, sausage, fruit, and yogurt when she brought the food to the table. “Is this a special occasion? It’s like a gourmet breakfast.” Baba joked. Soryu shot a glare his way, shutting him up. “I dunno. I figured you’re all here, so I might as well.”

As they talked and ate, she gave herself a small serving, knowing she had to watch how she ate if she wanted to lose weight. As everyone ate their fill, they all talked while she cleaned breakfast, but Eisuke noticed her taking bites of sausage and fruit as she packed everything up. After wiping the table, she left to go shopping. “Have you noticed _ _ _ eating more than normal?” Mamoru asked. Eisuke was swiping through his phone. “A bit” Soryu leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms across his chest. “You don’t find that odd? Maybe she’s stressed?” Eisuke looked up from his phone to his best friend. “Maybe.” Ota was doodling on a napkin. “I would pay attention to her. It could be something serious.” Eisuke scratched the back of his neck. “I’m over this conversation.”

When Eisuke returned home from work that same day, he found her asleep on the couch with the TV playing. Taking off his shoes, he went around the sofa, lifting her up and taking her to the bedroom where she could sleep properly. Her eyes blinked open when he was covering her up. “Eisuke?” He reached up and caressed her cheek. “You fell asleep on the couch.” She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “I’ve been exhausted lately. There’s no reason for it. Not like I don’t get enough sleep.” He kissed her on the forehead, and her stomach growled. “Have you eaten?” She blushed, “I ate. I’m just constantly hungry. It’s irritating.” He smiled.

“How about a snack, then?” How could she refuse when he was being so sweet? “Okay,” She went to stand up and suddenly felt dizzy. Not able to see, she sat down, waiting for her vision to return to normal “_ _ _?” She stood back up. “I just got really dizzy.” Eisuke was quiet as they went into the kitchen. As they gathered food for a nice snack, his mind was racing. Maybe something was wrong? Some medical condition, perhaps? After their snack, she went to bed.

The following day, she entered the kitchen to start breakfast when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned and smiled, but he didn’t smile back; instead, he crossed his arms. “What?” she asked, feeling his stare heavy on her. “There was a bunch of candy wrappers in the trash this morning. Did you get up during the night to eat?” She adverted her eyes. “I felt like I was starving” Eisuke raised his eyebrows. “So you ate a bunch of candy?” She sighed. “I didn’t want to make anything; someone had given me some candy.”

She furrowed her brows. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! It’s like I can’t stop myself. I’m so hungry all the time. I’ve been trying to watch what I eat to lose weight, but I feel sick if I don’t eat.” He motioned for her to come to him and led her to the kitchen table, sitting across from each other. “Why are you trying to lose weight? You’re fine the way you are.”

“Because I want you to be proud to call me your woman, not when I look bloated and chubby. I hate it.” He put his head in his hand. “You’re fine. You’re more beautiful than any other woman anyways. Stop trying to live up to what you think are my expectations without knowing first.” He looked her over, noticing her breasts looking a little fuller, her face a little swollen. It couldn’t be weight gain; she hasn’t put on that much weight, maybe a couple of pounds, but not enough to make a noticeable difference.

He started connecting the dots as he looked at her. Her insatiable hunger, dizzy spells, exhaustion, and now she tells him she’s bloated. He cleared his throat, and she looked at him, confused. “What?” He swallowed, almost nervous to say what he was about to say. “I don’t think you need to lose weight. You should feed your body if it’s telling you to.” She was confused. “Why would I do that? I’ll gain more weight?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think it’s just weight gain, _ _ . I think you’re pregnant.” Her eyes widened, and she just looked at him for what seemed like minutes of not speaking. “ _ _?” When he called her name, she came to reality. “Oh my god! I think you’re right. How did this even happen?” Eisuke smirked, “I can show you how if you want?” She kicked him from under the table. “Stop it. This is serious! I’m on birth control.” She looked at him again. “Why are you so calm?!”

He sighed, “Birth control isn’t completely effective in preventing pregnancy. We’d have to use a condom in tandem with birth control, but why would we do that? We’re only sleeping with each other. What does it matter anyway? I can take care of you and the baby. That’s no problem. It just means I get to see the efforts of our lovemaking with your swollen womb. To think we made life. Feels special, don’t you think?” She beamed. “Come here, baby.”

She walked over towards him and pulled her down to sit on his lap, and he put his hand on her stomach and kissed her cheek. “Don’t be scared, be excited. Take joy in the fact that you are growing a life. That’s what you deserve, don’t think of this as a bad thing.” She smiled, “Of course, I would be excited, but you talk about it as if I am. We don’t know till I take a test.” He kissed her again on the temple. “Because you are; I don’t need some silly test to tell me something I already know.” She rolls her eyes at his arrogance.

“Okay, Eisuke. Cause you’re a doctor now? Aren’t I supposed to feel sick?” Eisuke sits back and crosses his arms. “If you’re so concerned, maybe we should call Luke here? Would that make you feel better?” She pondered for a moment. “So indecisive” He picked up his phone, calling Luke without waiting for her answer.

Not long after Eisuke hangs up the phone, there’s a knock at the door. Eisuke gets up and answers it, and Luke steps in with a bag of medical supplies. He places the bag on the counter and looks at both Eisuke and _ _ _. “So what can I do for you?” You cross your arms. “Sexy bones?” He reads your body language. Eisuke clears his throat and stands up. “I need you to see if she’s pregnant.” Luke’s eyes go wide, and he gasps. “Were you trying? I had no idea.” She shakes her head. “No,” Luke smiles, “Accidents are always fun too.” He picks up his bag. “Let’s go in the bedroom so I can examine you.” She nods, following Luke.

Moments later, she walks out with Luke remaining completely quiet. Eisuke looks at her. “What happened?” Eisuke asks. _ _ _ silently sits down, and Luke walks up to Eisuke putting his hand on his shoulder and lowering his voice to a whisper, “She’s pregnant, and she’s scared. It would be best if you were supportive. Stress can affect the baby.” Eisuke nods, and Luke pats him on the shoulder. He takes out a prescription pad. “I’m going to give you a prescription for some prenatal vitamins.” He says as he writes, “Also, let me know if you start feeling nauseous. If you can’t keep food down, I can prescribe something for the nausea, but you might be lucky and not feel sick at all.” He smiles as he hands her the prescription. She takes it, looks at the prescription, and looks at Eisuke worriedly. Luke smiles again, picks up his bag, and leaves the suite, shutting the door behind him.

She turns away from Eisuke, “I’m going back to bed.” She set the prescription on the table and walked to the bedroom, wrapping herself under the blankets. Eisuke followed not long after, not wanting her to shut him out. He sat on his side of the bed, crossing his legs at the ankles. He lifted the blanket so he could see her face. Seeing tears falling. He furrows his brow, and uncovers her head, then lays down so he is level with her. “Do you not want the baby?” He asked as he stroked her hair. “It’s not that. I want to keep it. Of course, I’ll keep it. What if I’m not a good mother? I have no idea how to raise a child. I’ve never really been around children.” His face relaxes. “I think this is a normal fear, but I also think your instincts will tell you how to do the rest. You’re going to be a great mother. You are caring and kind. How could you not be?”

She wiped her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m so upset, it was bound to happen eventually, but I’m really upset.” Eisuke smiled tenderly at her, “It’s probably hormones, baby.” He kissed the top of her head. “Turn over” She gave him a confused look. “Just do it” She turned on her side so her back faced Eisuke, and he rubbed her back soothingly. “You’ll get through this because I will be here every step of the way. Now close your eyes. You need to rest.”

[firebirdsdaughter]

Ugh…

… One consistent issue I have w/ NUMB3RS, besides Liz and the show’s occasional unfortunate choices, is how often disagreements between the brothers get boiled down to ‘Don is bad and wrong for not just completely trusting Charlie bc he’s So Good At Math’ esp in the later seasons, and how it ends in Charlie going ‘I told you so’ rather than acknowledging any complexities and, le gasp, maybe apologising to Don for issues he does cause and cruel things he does say. And what, I’m just supposed to take his side bc he’s the main ‘genius’???

In 4x10 Charlie acts like a massive brat bc Don is stressed out and doesn’t have time for him to give a long winded explanation. He seems to acknowledge that it’s not Don’s fault for five seconds, then immediately goes back to acting all nasty and entitled. Even some rando dude they just met gets in on it, and Charlie actually makes a fucking comment about it??? How much of a shit can you be??? And before anyone gets on this, I’m a younger sibling. Yes, I’m very close to my sister, but I’d never in a million years make jerkass comments to her like that in that situation just bc I thought I knew better, no matter how well I knew the field. Not w/out an apology and an explanation is was a reaction to stress.

There’s large parts of the show that are an excellent, touching story of these two reconnecting, but periodically, it goes into just making out like Don’s completely in the wrong for not doing things Charlie’s way and Charlie is allowed to act like a conceited dickhead about it. This really bothers me bc I’m more of the Don in my sibling relationship and it’s really upsetting to see him get treated like this and it be portrayed as right. Like I saw someone shitting on him for ‘not apologising’ and I’m like. When does anyone actually apologise to Don, esp Charlie??? Very early on in s1 they acknowledge, and occasionally remember, how… Well, not intentionally, but, semi neglected Don was bc of how ‘special’ Charlie was. As a sibling w/ a lot of self esteem issues centred around her sister, I really relate to that, and I feel like it gets… I dunno, it suddenly resurfaces in the rwong way from time to time. Charlie is just ‘right’ bc he’s the genius and Don should just be listening to him all the time bc he’s so ‘special.’ Clearly people who think that Don’s reactions and issues are irrational/his fault have never had these issues w/ a sibling. Bc let me tell you, it is exhausting and draining to sit in a corner alone while everyone fusses over your sibling’s talents—and I am very close to my sister.

This is a little why I wanted Don to get hurt more. ^^; I wanted Charlie to have acknowledge Don’s issues more. We get a few eps, but I just don’t feel like it was enough, esp w/ the episodes that periodically treat Don like crap for struggling w/ having Charlie invade something that was his and get treated like he’s better at it and always right.

At least 4x10 had some great David and Colby stuff to justify its existence.

[afeb]

Bucky Barnes - Salvation

long and kinda slow-burn :)

“Stay safe you,” Matt said as I walked out of the small bookshop.

“Always try.” I smiled back as I skipped down the steps.

I scanned over the books I’d bought on my short walk home, turning the first few pages and already sinking into the stories within. The streets were quiet, sun setting as I hurried home to avoid dark.

I finally stepped foot inside my apartment and immediately went around and turned on all the lamps. I detested the dark, an old habit I found hard to break, as I swiftly checked from room to room. I did this to make sure no one was inside, but in the back of my mind I only looked for one man. Books placed on the side, I was about to sit down when a heavy knock sounded from the door.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered as I walked over. I swung open the door.

Fuck.

Slamming it shut quickly my heart raced and face paled. I could throw up, or faint, and I considered doing both. How did he know where I lived? What was he planning on doing? I bargained that I’d never go to police, and I didn’t for that matter, so why is he here?

“Y/N?” The Winter Solider said through the door.

“I-I haven’t told anyone.” I said.

“That isn’t why I’m here.” His voice was softer than I remembered, he sounded...normal.

“P-Please just go.” I begged, hand still tightly holding the doorknob.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised. “I won’t even come into the apartment, I just need to say something.”

I peeped through the spy hole, making sure he was alone. He usually was, however, on one occasion he brought back up. That was the worst of times.

“Step away from the door.” I ordered, to which he readily complied and took two large steps back. I opened the door a crack, waiting for him to pounce. But he remained firmly planted in his spot.

Warily, I creaked the door open. He was dressed in black jeans, a navy top and a black leather jacket. His hair was cut short, his beard was growing out and he no longer donned the muzzle he used to in public. Gloves covered his hand. He looked completely normal.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes, and I am no longer the Winter Solider,” he said. “Apologising to you is my way of making amends with my past.”

I furrowed my brows. “What?”

He gulped. “I...I did awful things to you, and I’m sorry.”

“Is this...is this a joke?” I asked, peeping my head out a little and looking down the hallway.

He shook his head. “I’m trying to be a better person, and apologising to you is part of that. I could also, do things for you?”

My eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“No!” He said. “No, I meant like...jobs or, I dunno...anything.”

“I’m so confused.” I whined as I rubbed my eyes. “Are you going to kill me?”

He shook his head. “No.”

His eyes looked pleadingly at me. He was alone, he looked normal and I could feel the truth drip off his words. After a long pause, I sighed deeply.

“Do you want to come in?” I stepped aside.

“If that’s okay.” He stiffly smiled and walked past me.

I shut the door and watched him. He looked around the small space, standing in the hallway. I had photos lining the walls, all of friends and family, and he took care to look at some of them.

“You can take off your coat and gloves.” He nodded and shrugged of his jacket, however, chose to leave the gloves on.

“Nice place.” He complimented.

“Thanks,” I had no clue how to act around him. He followed behind me as I led him into the kitchen, turning to face him as he lingered in the doorway. “I was going to cook some dinner.”

He nodded. “Anything special?”

I shook my head. “You could...join, we could talk.”

“That would be...nice.” He smiled.

I cooked in near silence. James took a seat at the small table by the window and watched me as I mulled around the kitchen. Chicken in, salad made, I turned to face him.

“It’ll be about half an hour.” I said as I sat opposite him.

“You’re being very kind.” He said.

“So, what is this?” I gestured between us.

He leant back. “The US Government has pardoned me, and part of that agreement is that I have to go to therapy. My Doc came up with a plan to help me...move on from my past. I have to go around and make amends with the people I hurt, or helped, and that means you.”

I nodded. “How many have you done?” I asked.

“A few,” he said. “I was...I was putting off doing you.”

I frowned. “Why?”

His eyes cast over to me as he took a shaky breath. “I...hurt you. In life changing ways, even if you forgave me, I could never forgive myself.”

I pursed my lips for a moment and didn’t speak. His eyes looked down at his lap, a sad expression coming over his face.

“I hated you,” I whispered. “I always thought in my head that if I ever got the chance, I’d kill you. But then I spent a while researching you, your past. What they did to you, how they treated you, what they made you do. And I realised, it wasn’t really you who hurt me, it was them.”

He gazed at me through his lashes. “Y/N...”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” I smiled, reaching over and taking his hand. “Water under the bridge.”

His hands flexed, squeezing mine. “Water under the bridge.” He repeated.

The gloves were soft against my hands as I peered down at them. “Can I see?”

His face grew uneasy as he shifted in his seat. “Um...yeah, sure.”

He peeled the gloves of slowly, almost waiting to me to stop him. The metal had changed. Instead of the bright silver I was used to, it instead was sleek black with gold details. He rolled his sleeve up as high as it would go, the infamous star now gone. It suited him better, I thought, complimented him more.

“It looks nice,” I smiled. “Better than the old one.”

“Thank you.”

“Could I?” He gave me a nod as I ran my ran over the cool metal.

It was really a work of art. Oddly, this one didn’t scare me. The other had felt my skin, brought me to the edge of death so many times, but this one? This one had only gently squeezed me hands.

We both jumped as the oven beeped, giggling a little as I stood and plated up our meal. We ate quietly, James complimenting my cooking one too many times. The evening drew on and soon James was shrugging on his jacket and lingering by the door.

“Thank you,” he smiled. “Dinner was amazing.”

I laughed. “I’ll have to cook it again.”

His eyes glistened with happiness at the chance of us seeing each other again. “I’d like that.”

I opened the door for him. “It was nice seeing you, the real you.”

He nodded. “I meant it you know, need a boiler fixing, walls painted, I’ll do it.”

He quickly scribbled his number in a small notebook and ripped out the page and handed it to me. “I’ll keep that in mind,”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” He danced around me for a moment before enveloping me in a short, tight hug.

Weeks passed and I didn’t contact him. I thought I’d be a painful reminder of his past and thus didn’t want to keep contact with him. That was, until my sink burst and my landlord claimed it wasn’t his responsibility. I’d tried hard to fix it myself, and the local plumbers charged ridiculous rates, so I found myself texting James.

To James B -

Hi! Sorry I haven’t contacted you before, been very busy! Could I pick up the favour you owe me? My sink has burst and I’m in desperate need of a plumber. - Y/N

I didn’t expect a reply, but he text back before I’d even put my phone back on the table.

From James B -

Hey! No worries. Heading over now.

I scrambled to tidy the apartment, dreading to confess I in fact lived like a pig most days. After a frantic half an hour, a knock sounded from the door.

“You’re a life saver,” I sighed as I opened the door.

James offered a lopsided smile, shrugging his shoulders. “No worries,”

“It burst two days ago, I had a go myself but I think I made it worse.” James set his bag of tools on the counter and opened the cupboard under the sink.

“Oh yeah, I see what’s wrong,” he silently set to work, laying on his back and doing god-knows-what.

After a while I went into the living room and read my book, curling my legs underneath me and settling down. James banged about the kitchen and a swear word or two later, he popped his head around the door.

“Done.”

“So soon?” I quickly stood and bounced into the kitchen. I turned the tap and stepped back, expecting water to drown my feet, but instead it simply swirled down the drain. “It lives!”

James chuckled at my remark. “A few bolts came loose and disconnected, easy stuff really,”

“Thank you James.”

“Bucky,” he quickly said. “Call me Bucky.”

“Thank you, Bucky.” I smiled. “Want to stay for lunch?”

“Yeah,”

We chatted mindlessly as we made sandwiches, Bucky telling me about his childhood. When he was the Winter Soldier I only heard gruff orders, but he had a voice that sounded smooth and sweet. His eyes lit up when he spoke of his siblings and parents, of a life that felt like thousands of years ago.

“You got a boyfriend?” Bucky asked, fiddling with the label on his beer.

I cocked a brow. “No, you?”

“No.” Bucky said. “I’ve tried these dating websites but...feel out of my depth.”

I nodded in understanding. “I abandoned those long ago,”

“I’m glad you text me.” He said. “I’ve spent the last few weeks wondering if you would.”

“Truthfully, I thought you wouldn’t want to speak to me.” I confessed.

“Why would you think that?” He frowned.

“I’m a reminder of your past,” I explained. “I can understand that even looking at me must be hard for you.”

Bucky paused for a moment and scanned over my face. “I see you as my salvation, not my damnation.”

I smiled. “I don’t think I said it before,” I shuffled a little closer. “But I forgive you, Bucky.”

His breath hitched, arm dropping to rest behind my head. “Say it again.” He whispered.

“I forgive you.”

Our bodies were close, Bucky resting his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes and waited for him to make a move, but they fluttered back open when I felt the moment slipping.

“I don’t want to push it,” he confessed.

“You aren’t.” I promised.

“I did bad things to you,” his hand stroked over my cheek.

“Then do something good.”

His lips pressed to mine. They were soft, softer than I’d thought, and he went slow and easy. I sighed into the kiss and pressed my body flush against his, my hands planting on his chest. His hand on the back of the couch slid off and looped behind me back, pressing me further into his as the other hand slid into my hair and held me close.

“Please,” he mumbled against me.

“Yes.”

Bucky eased me back into the sofa, lips still pressed tightly to mine as he eased between my splayed thighs. My hands moved up to fist his short hair, causing a quiet groan to escape his lips. Bucky’s hands held onto my hips as he gently, almost teasingly, ground his crotch to mine.

“Lemme make it better,” he whispered, trailing kisses down my cheek and neck.

“You can do anything,” I breathlessly promised, rolling my body up.

His hand slid down my stomach and into the back of my loose trousers, cupping my clothed pussy and flexing his fingers. I gasped and threw my head back, Bucky surfacing to peer down at me with hooded eyes.

“There?” I nodded at his question.

His fingers eased my underwear to the side and felt over the slickness he’d created. The cool metal of his hand ran over my burning cheeks and I thanked god for the relief of coldness in this moment. My eyes widened as his finger tips circled my swollen bud.

“So wet,” he murmured, gazing into my eyes.

“For you.” I whimpered back, cupping his cheeks.

“Me?” I nodded. “Good girl,”

I moaned again at his words, his fingers picking up their pace. My back arched as he eased two fingers into me, stretching me out. He groaned a little, muttering something about my tightness, before pressing his lips to mine.

“O-Other hand,” I said against his lips.

“What?” He pulled back, stopping his movements.

“Can you u-use your other hand?” I pouted my lips.

“Are you sure?” He furrowed his brows.

I nodded. Bucky removed his hand from my underwear, offering his glistening fingers to my lips. I hastily took them in my mouth, small hand wrapping around his wrist as I sucked. He momentarily closed his eyes, losing himself for a second before easing his metal hand between our bodies.

“Really?” He questioned again, playing with the waistband of my trousers.

I bucked my hips. “Please,”

I couldn’t help the loud moan that left my mouth as his metal fingers resumed his flesh fingers task. They rubbed tightly into my clit, causing my eyes to pinch shut and my jaw to slacken and drop.

“Such a good girl for me,” he cooed against my cheek.

I whimpered again. “I-I’m-“

“Gonna cum baby?” He asked, fingers increasing their speed.

I nodded and cried. “Yes!”

“Like feeling my metal hand, huh?” He teased with a smirk.

“I do! Yes!” My nails bit into the skin of his forearm, the other hand running over the smooth metal of his shoulder. “Oh Bucky!”

“Cum,” he shortly ordered. “Please baby, please cum.”

My head threw back and I saw stars. My back arched as Bucky wrapped and arm under me and held me close. He moaned softly into my neck, grounding his crotch against my thigh. My arms loops around his neck as I shuddered against him.

“S-Stop,” I begged, gently coaxing his hand from my underwear.

“Sorry baby.” He sighed into my neck.

We stayed tangled in each other for a moment before I reached a teasing hand down between us. Bucky quickly stopped me, sheepishly grinning down at me.

“I already...just then...” he blushed.

“Really?” I giggled.

“You have no idea how good you looked.” He whispered, pecking my lips.

I smiled warmly, stroking over his cheek. “Would you like to grab a coffee with me?”

He laughed loudly. “I’ll do more than that.”

[dragonsdomain]

Lair

“Well that explains why you’ve never been to your lair,” Ember said, smirking. “You didn’t even know it existed.”

Danny laughed before turning his attention back to the oddly familiar door in front of him. “Well I do spend most of my time in the human world. And I don’t even usually pay much attention to these doors. There are so many. How’d you find it?”

“Ectosignature, silly,” Ember said, rapping a knuckle on the wood. “Don’t you know anything about ghost culture?”

Danny looked away, rubbing his neck sheepishly.

“Er, sorry. I guess that was a dumb question,” Ember said. She gestured to the door. “Well here you go! There’s your lair. You can… ya know… explore it and stuff.”

Danny moved to open the door but let his hand hover over the knob, strangely apprehensive. “What was… what was inside?”

Ember’s eyebrows flew up. “You think I went inside?” She sounded dumbfounded. “Even if lair doors weren’t locked until the owner of the lair first opens them, Don’t you know how- I mean…” She corrected herself. “It is super rude to enter a ghost’s lair uninvited.”

Danny’s mouth formed a silent “O”, causing Ember to perform a facepalm. That did explain some of the encounters he’d had in the Ghost Zone.

“Well, uh…” Danny’s attention fell back to the door in front of him. “Do you at least have some idea of what I might find in here? I mean… what’s a lair usually like?”

“Eh, I don’t know exactly how it works,” Ember said, leaning back in the air thoughtfully. “I think sometimes they’re connected to your obsession. Sometimes they’re just like, where you’d be happiest or thrive the best.” She shrugged. “I dunno, I’m no scientist.”

Danny exhaled a puff of air. “Okay. That doesn’t sound so bad.” He placed his hand on the handle of the door. He hesitated. Why was he so nervous?

Vaguely ominous notes began strumming from behind him. Danny turned towards the girl behind him who was currently plucking out the foreboding background music on her guitar with a mischievous half-smile on her face.

“You know, you’re not helping,” Danny said in slight exasperation.

Ember stopped playing as she stifled a snicker. “All right, all right,” She said, feigning offense. “I’ll take my leave. Don’t die in there!” She said before speeding off into the foggy expanse of the Ghost Zone.

“Still not helping!” Danny called after her before turning back to the door.

Danny put his hand back on the handle. He hadn’t noticed taking it off. Perhaps because of curiosity, perhaps because of some unidentifiable anxiety, he paused before opening the door to examine its exterior. It looked familiar somehow, yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on where he’d seen it before. It was something he knew he should know, but the recollection of where the door was from escaped him.

He sighed. Come on. Just open the door. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

He opened the door.

And he suddenly remembered where he’d seen that door before.

Behind the door lay a perfect replica of his own bedroom. He looked around in puzzlement as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Every detail was the same, all his model spaceships exactly where they should be, the little glow-in-the-dark stars arranged on the ceiling as close to the night sky as he’d been able to get them, everything precisely where it should be all the way down to the math homework laid out on his desk which he’d only gotten that morning.

Danny looked behind himself at the door, an eyebrow raised questioningly. Had the door just taken him to his own bedroom? His own house? Was the ghost lair of a halfa just his own home?

He looked back at his room and let out a laugh, changing back to human form. He felt a little disappointed that his adventure had simply led him back to where he went every day, but mostly relieved. He’d been afraid he’d find… well, something… in his lair that he didn’t want to find. His lair simply being his own bedroom was a bit underwhelming, but far from the worst it could have been.

In fact, he thought as he looked back at the oh, so familiar door, it was a little convenient that he’d been dropped off straight at home. He’d had his little adventure, and now he could commence his evening again right off the bat.

As Danny opened the door, he was pleased to see that it opened to the hall of his house, not back into the Ghost Zone. Yep, he was back at home.

“Danny, come down for dinner!” his mother’s voice echoed up the stairwell.

“Coming!” Yep, very convenient that he’d been brought straight here. He didn’t want to make his parents suspicious by missing dinner again.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and was promptly greeted by his parents and sister, all sitting down at the dinner table.

“Hey,” Danny said as he sat down, looking around dubiously. “...Why are we all eating dinner together? What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing, Danno! Except that your mother and I thought it might be nice to have family dinners more often,” Dad explained.

“We know you’ve been having a bit of a rough time with school and, well, everything, and something’s obviously going on with you that you’re not telling us,” Mom began.

Anxiety spiked in Danny’s gut. Did they know? Were they going to figure it out? How did he mess up enough to tip them off to that fact? They couldn’t figure out his secret; they’d hate him if they knew that he was a-

“...But we just want you to know that we love you no matter what. And nothing could ever change that.”

“We wouldn’t even stop loving you if you became a ghost!” Dad bellowed jovially. Mom rolled her eyes at him but smiled at Danny in silent agreement to the statement.

Danny sat back, stunned. Did he hear that right?

Jazz looked as surprised as he was. “Did you just say you’d love him even if...?” Her question trailed off.

Mom cocked an eyebrow. “...He was a ghost? Of course. He’d still be our Danny.”

It was too good to be true. Danny still almost couldn’t believe what he’d heard. Tears pricked his eyes. “Thanks. That’s… good to hear.”

At the sight of the tears Mom wrapped an arm around Danny’s shoulders. “Oh, sweetie, was that what you’ve been worrying about? Why you always look so scared when we talk about ghost hunting?”

“It’s just that, the way you’ve been treating Phantom…”

“Oh, we actually just made a truce with him this morning.”

...Wait. What?

Danny glanced at Jazz in confusion. She was grinning at him, but stopped when she saw his confusion. What? She mouthed.

Danny’s eyes dropped to the table in puzzlement. Something was wrong here. That hadn’t happened. At least not to him. Was there a ghost impersonating him or something? He really needed to get Jazz alone to talk about it.

Just when he was about to speak, something beeped loudly down in the lab.

Mom and Dad’s eyes met. “Jack, did you forget to-” Mom started.

“Yes.”

At that, they both rushed down the stairs.

“...Perfect timing.” Danny muttered to himself. He looked at Jazz. “I didn’t make a truce with Mom and Dad this morning.”

Jazz frowned. “But you told me about it during lunch. It happened during first period, remember? You missed that chemistry test to go fight Skulker? And you told me about how you were worried that was going to make you fail chemistry but I told you your grades were great even if you couldn’t retake it?” Danny looked more confused by the second. “You don’t remember any of that?”

“Jazz, since when have my grades been great?”

Jazz raised an eyebrow, pulled out her phone, and showed him his grades on it. He stood up and walked around the table to get a better look. Straight A’s.

Danny stumbled back. That- he didn’t have straight A’s, what- something wasn’t right-

“Jazz, where are Sam and Tucker?” Danny asked hesitantly.

“I think they said they were going to be coming over any minute now.”

At that exact moment the door burst open. Sam and Tucker entered, looking too happy, too healthy, much too carefree. Oh no, not them too.

“Danny!” They called out, rushing to give him a hug. Danny returned their embrace stiffly.

“Hey guys. You look like you’re doing… really well.”

Sam snorted, pushing him away. “Well you sound weirdly disappointed about that. What, do you miss all the ghost fighting we used to do?”

“Used to do?”

Jazz looked down at Danny in concern. “Are you okay, Danny? Don’t you remember all the truces you made with the ghosts? You’ve hardly had to fight anyone for weeks.”

“...I…” Was he in some kind of alternate timeline? How did he get here?

He suddenly remembered something Ember had said about ghost lairs: “Sometimes they’re just like, where you’d be happiest or thrive the best.”

Of course.

“...This isn’t real…” Danny whispered.

“What?” Jazz asked.

“It’s not… you’re not real!” Danny stepped back and glared at the things that looked like his friends and sister.

“Dude, of course we’re real,” Tucker said, reaching out a hand in concern.

Danny slapped it away and stepped back again. “No, you’re all just figments of my imagination or something.” He stepped back again and found his back against the door. “This isn’t real. It’s all just… fake.” He wasn’t really talking to the people in front of him anymore. He slid down to the floor and buried his face in his hands. “Why would Mom and Dad actually make a truce with me? Or be willing to accept me? Of course it’s not real.”

A hand rested on his shoulder. “Danny-” Jazz began.

Danny flung her hand away and phased through the door behind him, ignoring the shouts of surprise from those in the room. He found himself back outside his lair, in the Ghost Zone. A glance over his shoulder revealed the door, which looked like his bedroom door again, still shut. No concerned voices leaked through. Nothing thrust the door open to search for him.

He stared at the door numbly. It had been nice while it lasted, to have a dinner with his family, to have his parents not plotting his murder for once, to see Sam and Tucker without injuries stemming from his folly. Even if it wasn’t real.

A wry chuckle escaped his lips at the same moment as tears began to well in his eyes.

Of course it couldn’t be real.

[allmightluver]

So, what is your take on the EM relationship? Who was the one to fall first and confess? Please support your speculations/opinions with canonical evident, if you'd like 😏 (BECAUSE YOU'RE SO DAMN GOOD AT IT ❤️) Thank you for your time 🙏

Oh goodness

You really want me to go all out huh Kunshi 😏

Well, I’ll try to summarize this as best I can ***(This may have some spoilers so be warned)**

The relationship between All Might and Eraserhead has been quite the journey. You can say, frenemies to “hey you’re not so bad”. They’ve known of each other for years, before the present timeline. Here in Vigilante’s, Eraserhead tells Tsukauchi that the situation they’re in is so dire, they need the Number 1. Aizawa acknowledges how powerful All Might is, despite disapproving of how handles media and fame.

But they didn’t really know each other until All Might started at UA. 

Aizawa believed Yagi to be reckless, irresponsible, and foolish in taking a job he has no training for. Not to mention the obvious favoritism. Yagi believed Aizawa to be too harsh and cold hearted on the children. Though as the two got to know each other, and went through traumatic events together (USJ and Kamino), they started to warm up more to each other, actually taking the time to get to know one another. 

All Might rushes to an injured Aizawa’s side, and the sight of how broken, bloodied and damaged his co-worker is visibly upsets him. The way Toshinori’s voice softens as he apologizes to Aizawa, unclear if it’s out loud or in his mind. Toshinori probably feels terrible whenever anyone’s been injured, but he seems particularly held up over Aizawa, most likely because he himself couldn’t be there when it happened. He was of being a hero all morning, and wasted all his time in his muscle form, so he wasn’t there with them like he should have been. Which meant Aizawa and (Thirteen) had to fight to protect the students, even if they were clearly unmatched. They were both badly injured in the process, all because Toshinori wasn’t there.

Then after the fight, Toshinori cuts his friend, Tsukauchi, off and asks how Aizawa, wait, Eraserhead, is doing. Oh and Thirteen too. He was relieved to find he they were alright.

When Kamino hit we see how intently Aizawa watches the news, watches All Might, watches Toshinori. He was clearly concerned, and in seeing AFO summon his many quirks in order to eliminate All Might once and for all, Aizawa’s concern only grows. And for good reason.

As an after effect, the students needed to move into dorms. Aizawa and Toshinori are paired together to speak to 1A’s students. It’s in the car that Aizawa, awkwardly, offers to buy Toshinori a drink. To which Toshinori politely declines, as he can’t drink. (*face palm*) 

However, after dealing with Bakugo’s...different family, Toshinori nudges Aizawa with an elbow his injured arm no less, and whispers that he now owes Aizawa a drink. 

Dunno about you, but I’d have to be pretty comfortable with someone before I’m close enough to nudge them and whisper secrets. And Toshinori is always seeking to know Aizawa better, be closer, impress him.

They even go out on a date to get a drink together.  Toshinori’s inner dialogue is the most interesting, from “I’m going to be even better friends with Aizawa-kun...!” to “All Might, you just gotta push past the walls of Aizawa-kun’s heart!” ...uh huh. To which Mic and Midnight totally crash their “Secret Dinner Outing” and invite themselves to stay, much to Toshinori’s (”Or on second thought...probably not then.”) and Aizawa’s despair (”Go home!” x3). Get outta here, you’re ruining our date!  And after Toshinori takes his leave, Aizawa chases him down outside to say....? “Thank you very much. I’m drunk right now so I probably wouldn’t say this if I wasn’t. But because you fought at Kamino and took down AFO for us, I’ll do my part and look after the students as much as I can. That’s why I want to thank you for everything.” To which after a silence, Toshinori responds with, “Aizawa-kun, let’s watch over the students from here on out together.” ...to which Aizawa mentions he won’t remember any of this and to never bring it up ever again.  (*repeat face palm*)

This only proves they’re becoming much, much, closer. They’ve gone beyond plus ultra frenemies and onto true friends. They take each other’s words and thoughts into account in a serious manner, like how Yagi managed to convince Aizawa to let him go to Bakugo and Midoriya when they snuck out, as well as going easy on punishment for them.

Aizawa’s also shown growing concern for Toshinori after his retirement. Firstly from seeing Toshinori out and about so soon after Kamino while he was still recovering from his injuries. And on the occasion a falling rock nearly connects to Toshinori’s head, you can see how quickly Aizawa reacts. The way you can almost see a flashback of his childhood friend’s unfortunate death running through his head as he tries to save Toshinori from the same fate. Once Midoriya saves Toshinori, Aizawa still reaches out to him, like he’s worried the man may get hurt, break, as he tells him that it’s not safe in this environment, and that Toshinori should leave, go where it’s safe.

When Aizawa couldn’t attend Bakugo and Todoroki’s extra classes, he asks Toshinori to go in his place, and even makes Present Mic go along as a body guard. He’s clearly concerned for the former hero’s safety and well-being. Toshinori now often fills in for Aizawa if he can’t make it to his own class.

When Midoriya’s new quirk is discovered, Aizawa takes Toshinori’s anxiety about the situation seriously, and they immediately go to put a stop to the training battle. 

But once Midoriya’s quirk settles down, Aizawa decides to let this play out, and calms Toshinori, saying he’ll put a stop to it if the situation happens again.

He later describes Toshinori as a genius, naturally talented, when explaining to Shinsou how he doesn’t expect the kid to be on the same level with the others in the hero course right off the bat. Aizawa has extreme respect for Toshinori.

The biggest moment between the two is late on a snowy night, when Toshinori sits outside in the cold, alone, contemplating...well, his life honestly. Aizawa find’s him, “there you are,” apparently looking for the taller man. Toshinori at first automatically deflects any questions about himself, and asks about the children. He then offers to help Aizawa with training Eri, in which the underground hero gladly accepts (something that Aizawa would not have done in the past, as he hated even speaking to the older man before). But Aizawa can see through the façade, and asks what’s wrong. Aizawa is one of, if not the only, person Toshinori confides in so deeply.  Horkioshi confirmed recently that of everyone (adults, I assume), pro heroes included, Toshinori is the closest to Aizawa. Toshinori decides he can trust Aizawa with his mental weights. He’s decided to live, but feels useless staying alive, powerless, unable to help anyone, or at least how the children need him to. 

Aizawa’s initially unnerved at the fact that Toshinori decided to live, as if the contemplation of otherwise was there. But he listens quietly, intently, to what Toshinori says. Finally, he tries to reason with the older man that being a workaholic, and never having time to rest, isn’t good either, points out that after holding up the country for decades, suddenly not having it has left an addiction. Toshinori doesn’t know what to do if he’s not running himself ragged. But also tells him that he is helping the students--by being alive, and by being here for them. There are a lot of people (Aizawa included?) that gain strength, just by Toshinori being there, alive. And he asks him to please keep on living and acting like his normal self. Toshinori’s overcome with emotion at his words.

For a relationship between the two, I’m sure they both would have had feelings for quite some time before ever admitting to it. Knowing their personalities, Aizawa would feel his feelings were illogical and deceptive. Toshinori is just a tad older than him, has met probably thousands more people than Aizawa ever will, and he was the number one hero. Falling for a guy like that just seemed too predictable and annoying. But Aizawa soon learns the differences between All Might and Toshinori, and while the latter still rubs him the wrong way at times, the tall, willowy man has managed to capture his heart. He feels compelled to care for the other, make sure he’s taking proper care of himself. And yet he tells himself it’s too invasive of the other man’s privacy; none of his business. When Mic and Midnight drag him to the bar and question him why his mood was off, he’d give no answer save for a shrug, and down another beer.

Toshinori would have feelings rather early, but most likely not realize they were more than just finally getting the grouchy Aizawa-kun to tolerate him. As weeks go by, he would catch his heart racing at Aizawa’s presence, blushing when the scruffy man would make tea for him after a coughing fit, and way too elated when Aizawa accepted the invitation for a drink together, alone. One night it would hit him just exactly how he feels for the younger man, and his heart would clench. Surely Aizawa couldn’t feel the same way, especially for a man as old, sickly, and awkward as himself. Even if it were possible, his own death is due to come within the next year, and he couldn’t do that to Aizawa-kun. He’d spend several nights fighting and eventually failing to quietly let his tears fall into the pillow below him as he tries to sleep, alone.

The two would cautiously work together, stepping around their own feelings to keep things normal between them. All the while Aizawa’s brain would fight against his heart, and Toshinori’s chest would tighten until a bloody cough was produced.

Finally, finally, after Mic and Midnight pry it out of Aizawa like a game of Operation, they force him to ask Toshinori out. It takes a week, but Aizawa finally finds the right moment to ask the former hero out for a drink and bar food. Glamorous as always, especially for a first date. But Toshinori gladly accepts, and spends the rest of the day convincing himself it’s just a friendly supper, between friends, not a date.

That night the two have a lovely evening of greasy bar food (which Toshinori politely only orders a small plate of fries, as there’s nothing blander on the menu) and beer (Toshinori also drinks a plain water). Aizawa apologizes for not taking Toshinori’s diet into account when picking where they met, and says he’ll let Toshinori pick the restaurant next time. Toshinori freezes at his wording. Aizawa’s quick to try and resolve, but Toshinori stops him. Asks him what exactly this is. A friendly dinner? Or something more? Aizawa buries into his scarf, and answers with a question in return; what do you want it to be? It’s then Toshinori sets his glass down, takes a moment to breathe, before spilling that he’d hoped it was a date. He’s bright red as he explains how he believes he’s developed...feelings over the months working together. That he wanted to go out again, but that he hadn’t wanted to force his feelings on Aizawa. Who would want someone like him?

These two have so much chemistry. They’ve been through so much together already: disagreements, near deaths, critical injuries, awkward moments of a budding friendship, talking each other off the ledge. In all the ships of the series, EraserMight has one of the most obvious connections and chemistries.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Love Blooming

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Pairing: Frankie "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader

Summary: It started when Frankie walked into a flower shop...

A/N: I'm willing to write a part 2 if someone wants it.

Frankie felt so out of his limit. When Will insisted to set him on a blind date, he uninterestingly agreed, thinking that Will would forget about it. Turns out he didn't. So now Frankie is rushing. He's sweaty, coming straight from work to pick up Mia, paying the babysitter, dropping off Mia. Now he had to grab some flowers, and maybe buy some cologne or body spray from the store nearby so he doesn't smell so bad.

He enters the small flower shop and he's overwhelmed by the different floral aromas and colors.

"Be right out!" you call out from the back. A few seconds pass and you step out holding a tray of small succulents. You set them down on the table and when you look at Frankie, your eyes light up and you smile brightly at him, "Hi there! What can I do for you today?" He thinks you look beautiful with your smile and the flower clips in your hair.

Frankie nervously rubs the back of his neck and walks closer to the counter, "Um...I'd like some flowers."

You giggle, "Well you came to the right place. What's the occasion?"

"A date."

"Do you happen to know what the person likes?" you ask interestingly.

He sighs and shakes his head, "No. This is a first date, blind date. One that don't even want to go on, honestly." he murmurs the last part and winces, "Sorry. I didn't-"

"It's okay. I think we'll go with daffodils. They're simple, pretty, and symbolize new beginnings. I think that fits for first dates. You never know if it's that start of something, ya know?" You move around the counter towards the greenhouse. You don't signal for Frankie to follow, but he does anyway.

When you feel his presence, you glance over your shoulder and give him a polite smile. He doesn't know why, but his stomach flutters whenever you seem to look at him.

"So Mister..."

"Frankie. Call me Frankie."

"Frankie, okay," you stop in front of the daffodils, pulling out your gardening scissors from your apron and you start cutting, "I'm guessing your friend set you up on this blind date against your will?"

Frankie stuffs his hands in his back pockets and sighs, "Sorta. I mean, he offered to set me up with her a few weeks ago and I blindly said yes. I honestly thought he'd forget about it. I was wrong."

"Not looking to date right now?"

"I got a lot on my plate right now, honestly."

You nodded, "I see." you pull out some twine from your other apron pocket and bind the bundle of flowers together. You then hand them to Frankie, "Here ya go! I hope you enjoy your date!"

Frankie took the flowers and looked at you with furrowed brows, "Don't need to pay for these?"

"Free of charge."

"You sure?"

"Definitely. I really hope things go well on your date."

"Um thanks-" you give him your name and he repeats it and you nod in confirmation, "Well thanks. I guess if I'll ever need flowers again, I'll come to you."

"Please do! Bye, Frankie!" you escort him to the door and wave as he hops into his truck, driving away.

Frankie looks at the time and sees that he's running late. Guess he'll have to skip out on the cologne.

___________________

It's two weeks later when Frankie walks back into your shop, this time he has Mia attached to his hip.

You're at the counter already helping another customer, but a minute later, they're walking away and you're giving him a welcoming wave.

"Frankie! It's good to see you again!" He approaches the counter and sets Mia down and you smile softly at her, "And who's this cutie?"

"This is my daughter, Mia. Honey, say hi!"

The three year old looks at you and then hides her face into Frankie's shirt and you giggle, "She's shy, I see. It's okay. Anyway, what can I help you with today? Oh! How was the date?"

He shrugged, "Alright. We didn't really click."

Your shoulders sagged in disappointment, "Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. She liked the flowers though. So I guess there's that. Anyway, um, I'm on my way to a friend's engagement party. Didn't have time to really get them anything."

"Well I'm here at your disposal! Follow me!" you walk towards the greenhouse and Frankie picks up Mia, setting her down. Her small hand goes into his and the two Morales' follow you.

"So yellow tulips symbolize cheerful thoughts, which I suppose you're sending when people get engaged." You pull out your scissors and hold them out to Frankie, "Here."

"What?"

"You and Mia can cut them. Grab as many as you'd like."

"You sure?"

"Yup!"

"Okay," he takes the flowers and kneels beside the flowerbed of yellow tulips, "Honey, you wanna cut some flowers for Uncle Benny?"

You see Frankie's eyes go soft as he guide's his daughters hands across the scissor and cuts one flower off, "Good job, sweetheart!" he kisses her head, "Let's do a few more, okay?"

Mia giggles and says, "'Kay, daddy."

You go back to the counter to sort out a new shipment of seeds. A few minutes later, Frankie appears setting the flowers down. He pulls out his wallet as you wrap the flowers up, "I'm paying for the flowers this time."

You shake your head, "No, you're not."

"Oh come on."

You shake your head again, "Seeing you and Mia have some cute daddy and daughter time was payment enough." Frankie says your name and you stop him, "Nope!" You also slide a card over to him, "And here's a card to go with it. Just scribble your name and you're good to go."

Frankie chuckles in disbelief as he writes his and Mia's name in the card. He then takes it and the flowers in one hand, his other hand preoccupied with Mia's, "You're losing money doing this."

"Hardly. But I hope you guys have a good rest of your day!" you leaned over the counter and waved at Mia, "Bye Mia! It was nice meeting you!"

Mia, feeling a little more comfortable, smiled shyly and waved, making you giggle. Frankie smiles at the sight and sound, then clears his throat, "I don't mean to be forward, but, um, would you like to get some coffee sometime?"

You brightly smile at him again, "I'd love to!" you take a business card and scribble your personal number, "I usually take Fridays and Sundays off."

"Who runs the shop when you're not here?"

"I have other employees. But call or text me sometime and we can hash out the details."

"Alright," he smiles and pockets the card. He gives you a wave, "Thanks again."

"Anytime," you say as you wave back and watch as Frankie and Mia hop into the truck and drive away.

___________________

You and Frankie have been texting back and forth for two weeks. He's been really busy with work lately, hence why you've yet to go on that coffee date.

Frankie: So I know I asked you out for coffee, but do you actually drink coffee? Or are you more of a tea person?

You: I do drink coffee, yes. Usually something sweet with vanilla or cinnamon flavoring.

Frankie: You're one of THOSE people.

You: DON'T KNOCK IT UNTIL YOU TRY IT, FRANKIE!

Frankie: ;)

That's all he sends you and you were going to reply, but a few customers have walked in and you became preoccupied.

You're finishing up and order when you see Frankie walking through the door with two coffees and a paper bag.

You give him another one of those heart stopping smiles and he seems to blush from that, "Hey! You didn't tell me you were coming!"

"That would've ruined the surprise, cherry blossom."

You cocked a brow at him and smiled, "Cherry blossom?"

He shrugged, "I dunno. It fits. You work at a flower shop and...you're as beautiful as a cherry blossom."

You feel your cheeks heat up at the compliment, "Well, aren't you sweet."

"Have you had lunch yet?"

"I haven't."

He gives you a questioning look and you snicker, "Lemme just get Jess to take over the front. If you head through those doors at the back of the greenhouse, it leads to my favorite hiding spot. Meet me there?"

"Yes, ma'am." Frankie replies with a nod and proceeds to head over.

You quickly rush to the back where Jess is, "Quick! Take over the front!"

"What? But why so...rushy?"

"Frankie's here and he brought me coffee and lunch!"

"Frankie, hot dilf, Frankie?"

You groan, "Don't call him that, but yes!" You practically rip off your work apron, dust off any soil left on your clothes and fix your hair to look less messy, "How do I look?"

"Decent."

"Good enough!"

You quickly rush to the back where you told Frankie to met you and let out a deep breath before stepping in, "So, what made you decide to bring me lunch?"

"The fact that I've been so busy that I keep pushing back our date. I figured that I have time now, might as well."

"Eager, hm?" you laugh when he shyly looks away and you place your hand on his arm, "Hey, it's okay. It's cute. You're cute." then you scrunched your face up, "No. That's weird. It's like we're teenagers saying that. We're adults. You're handsome. There. That sounds better."

Frankie chuckles and then looks around the room, "This is a nice area."

"Thanks. It used to be storage, but I wanted to have a place where we can hold classes or little luncheons for guests. It's not finished yet."

"Still looks beautiful," he notes the vines going down the frames of the windows, the soft pastels of different flowers. His eyes go back to you and he sees you softly staring back at him.

Your gaze makes him nervous so he grabs two sandwiches from the paper bag he brought, "I, uh, didn't know if you liked sandwiches, but these are best sellers."

"Thank you, and for future reference, I'm not picky."

"Good to know," he then takes your coffee, handing it to you, "I hope this is to your liking."

You accepted it and took a sip, smacking your lips together to really get a taste, "Mmmm! That's some good stuff right there!" and Frankie let out a breath of relief. You giggled, setting the drink down, "Are you always this nervous when it comes to dates, Frankie?"

"I...Well, to be honest, haven't gone on dates in a long time. Since Mia was born and my ex and I separated, never really had time. It wasn't a priority because my main focus was on my little girl. That blind date was my first date in a few years."

"So what changed?"

Frankie bit his lip and nervously reached out, placing his hand over yours, "You. God, I don't know what it is about you, cherry blossom, but you just seem to pull me in. I want to get to know you, take you out, hold you, kiss you. All of it." his thumb softly rubs against the back of your hand and you smile sweetly at him.

"I get what you're saying, Frankie, because I feel that way about you too. The way you're so sweet and kind, you're a great father to Mia, and you care about your friends. I'd love to continue getting to know you. There's just something about you to that pulls me towards you."

"If we do this, I just...I need to warn you that I'm a little rough around the edges. I've gone through some stuff-"

"-And that's okay. And you don't need to share that with me unless you want to."

Frankie chuckles to himself and shakes his head, "You wanna know something?"

"Hm?"

"I'm glad I went on that blind date, because if I didn't, I wouldn't have met you, cherry blossom."

You giggle and place your other hand on top of Frankie's, "I think that nickname is starting to grow on me. I was a little iffy of it at first but the way you say it...sounds so sweet. You're so sweet, Frankie."

Jess walks into the room with her hand over her eyes, "Are you guys decent?"

You roll your eyes and look over your shoulder, "Quit it, will you?"

Jess drops her hand and smirks at you, then looks at Frankie, "Oh yeah. Definitely a dilf."

"JESS!"

The young woman cackles and dodges a napkin ball you've thrown her way, "Okay! Okay! I'm sorry! Anyway, a delivery arrived. You want me to sign it off?"

"Please do," you reply with a nod.

"I can go if you're busy," Frankie said and you immediately replied, "No no. You're staying. Jess can handle everything."

The young woman saluted, "Yup! I can handle it. Also, remember to use prote-"

"I CAN FIRE YOU, YOU KNOW!"

She proceeds to rush out of there and back to the storefront and you groan, letting your head fall into your hands.

"So....you think I'm a dilf?"

Your head shot up and your eyes widened, "No! I mean, yes, but no! i just told Jess that you're a dad who also happens to be very attractive!"

"So a dilf."

You ball up another napkin and throw it at Frankie, who's just laughing wholeheartedly.

[khaotic-kitsunes]

Jealousy

I got tired of the randomiser being a total Tamaki / Taishiro simp, so for now, I just sort of picked a character to write for? I dunno, this is what we’ve got. Anyways, another old request, but a fun one! Writing for Dabi is something I don’t do a lot but something I do enjoy doing on the odd occasion. Funnily enough, I was once told by a fellow fanfic writer that I don’t write Dabi’s character well...so now I write for him, because why the fuck not. I have fun, that’s important.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy the scenario and feel free to let me know what you think!

Oh yeah...uh, don’t read this if you don’t enjoy derogative dirty talk.

🥃 AO3 🥃 || ✉️My Askbox✉️ || 💬Discord💬

Cheeky Kitsune 🦊💋

.

 You whimpered out in surprise when Dabi pinned you down onto your stomach on the kitchen table, his low, angry snarl filling the room and making you go completely limp beneath him; you had no idea how long it had been since Dabi had been this worked up, but you did know what had gotten him so upset.

 If you weren’t so turned on by his anger, you might have tried to explain the situation to your snarling alpha, but the problem was that you loved the way he dominated you when he lost his temper; which meant that there was no desire, nor a reason to calm him down.

 The only thing you had to do was submit to him and enjoy the ride.

 .

 “Look at you…fucking look at you! Do you bend over for all the Alphas like this? Little slut!”

 .

 You gasped out loudly when you felt Dabi tear away your panties from beneath your dress, calloused fingers pressing up against your already dripping folds roughly, dragging a desperate whimper from your lips. Though you didn’t dare move, not even to move into his touch, not with the mood he was in; right now, Dabi was nothing but anger and jealousy.

 You knew better than to push him any further than he had already been pushed. There was a limit between good, angry sex and bad.

 “Answer. Me.” He demanded an answer from you as he buried his fingers deep inside of you, making you bite your lip in an attempt not to moan so early on in the encounter; you knew that you needed to answer him and soon too, but he made it hard to think with how he touched you.

 “N-No! I don’t Alpha. Only…I only bend over for you” You mumbled out your answer, whining when he removed his fingers from your warmth, jolting seconds later when that same hand slapped against your arse harshly, tugging a yelp of discomfort as your body rocked forwards.

 Dabi was angrier than you had thought if he was spanking you. Usually, he would only do that when he was in a rut, or headed towards one.

 .

 “Are you lying to me bitch? Trying to settle my anger?”

 .

 You stayed quiet as Dabi growled out his frustrations at you, grinding his still clothed dick up against your arse firmly; the moment that you had been waiting for. What you so desperately wanted, no, needed from your angry Alpha.

 “If I ever catch those mutts around you again, I’ll slaughter them all. Do you hear me (Name)? You’re my Omega. Mine to fuck. You’re fucking mind, damn it!” He snapped out the words harshly as he bit over your exposed neck before stepping away from you, most likely to strip himself of his clothes. However, you didn’t dare move, you stayed exactly as he had left you; exactly how he wanted you.

 You didn’t worry about what he was saying too much, it didn’t matter to you; Dabi didn’t understand the situation or what you had actually been doing and you weren’t about to explain it to him either. That would ruin the fun you were about to experience and you weren’t going to let that happen over a silly little misunderstanding that was working out for you in the best way; why should you mess with something that would be so enjoyable.

 Dabi’s hand tangled in your hair as he pressed up against you, going back to teasing you with his throbbing cock until you were unable to resist grinding yourself back against him, a soft, almost inaudible whine spilling from your throat.

 “What’s that? You want something from me? Do you even deserve my cock after today?” He growled out the questions while a hand dropped down to your hip, almost scorching it from the heat that radiated off of his scarred skin; despite the fact that you still wore your dress. His temper, instead of simmering down as it would normally begin to, was only growing; so much so, that you almost thought that he was about to go into a rut.

 You opened your mouth to say answer his question, but was given absolutely no chance to do so as Dabi buried every inch he had to offer inside of you, grinding up against your spot while his pulsing knot rubbed teasingly against your folds; making you choke out his name in a cry of pleasure.

 “What’s wrong? Can’t talk when you’re getting your fill of cock? You like it that much?” Dabi frowned as he leaned down to bite at the sensitive flesh of your ear harshly, moving his hips at an unforgiving pace; leaving you unable to do anything more than moan and push your hips back against his own needily. Desperate for more.

 Dabi was right in a way though, you couldn’t talk when he was fucking you like he was, the way he thrust up into you, constantly pounding away at your spot; it turned you into a moaning mess of an Omega and he knew it. If you thought about it, it made sense in a strange way; Dabi didn’t want you to talk. He didn’t want your answers or your explanations.

 All he wanted at the moment, was to break you. To turn you into a broken, whimpering mess that was dependant on his knot.

 .

 “Fuck…look at you! Acting like a true Omega, taking my cock so eagerly!”

 .

 Dabi’s thrusts grew faster and harder with each word he spoke until you were practically bouncing back onto his pulsing cock, your orgasm fast approaching. Much faster than you had anticipated and more importantly; faster than you were ready for. At this rate, you would only be able to handle the one round with your agitated Alpha.

 “That’s it you little slut…cum for me. You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel you squeezing down on my cock…” Dabi trailed off into a low groan as he continued to fuck you against the kitchen table with no mercy, pressing your head down against the hard surface as your walls clenched around him tightly; your orgasm rocking through your body and making you scream out his name over and over again, right up until your lungs burned with the need for oxygen.

 .

 “That’s right slut, scream my fucking name! I want everyone to know that you belong to me!”

 .

 Dabi grinned savagely above you, using his grip on your hair to turn your head to look at him despite how uncomfortable it might have been for you, your blissed-filled expression making his knot ache to be inside of you while his hips moved harder.

 “Fucking…I haven’t even knotted you and you’re like this” He paused, leaning down close to bite along your jawline possessively, his sharp teeth leaving behind noticeable marks that wouldn’t fade for a long time to come; just what he wanted.

 “And I won’t either. I won’t fucking knot you until you’ve learnt your lesson. Until you beg me for forgiveness and my knot!”

[boxofbadaddiction]

Crazy Bitch

Song Inspired

George Weasley x Reader

Warnings: Smut. Swearing.

Note: First full smut piece. So the writing's pretty bad.

[Y/N] was always known to have a hot temper, and for being quick to the draw when it came to hexes or defensive charms, against anyone who poked her in the wrong way. At face value she was the perfect example of a Slytherin. Dangerously ambitious and just a stone cold bitch. Though not many people got the chance to find out that was far from the truth. She had built very high, very strong walls around herself from a young age to keep herself from ever being hurt and as such developed a rather fierce reputation. Given which meant there weren't many people daring enough to cross her.

Of course the Weasley Twins, however, weren't like other people. They saw her as a direct challenge on their mischief making abilities. At least they did in the beginning. I mean...a Slytherin with a reputation of being untouchable? They're just begging to be pranked. But now, the boys tended to avoid pranking her after learning the hard way that her idea of payback was not an equally elaborate prank or perhaps a stern lecture but more rather...painful.

On two separate occasions Fred had found himself, stunned, flying backwards through the air. George was a tad more fortunate but still had a fair share of hexes thrown his way. Safe to say they definitely learnt their lesson. After 5 failed attempts, which landed themselves some rather ugly bruises, they agreed the hassle just wasn't worth it and gave [Y/N] quite a wide birth where they could.

George recalled the last prank they had played on [Y/N]. One which left her with bright maroon hair. [Y/N] confronted the laughing boys that day and had let her wand do most of the talking for her. She had began by shouting at them to get some steam off her chest.

"Oi, mind the accusations [Y/L/N], what makes you think it was us?" Fred asked incredulously.

"Because no one else in this school is stupid enough to pull a prank on me. I thought we'd settled this boys. Don't. Provoke me."

Fred let out a haughty laugh as if to challenge the angry Witch infront of him.

"Dunno, you look well enough provoked to me. Never thought I'd see the day someone would have brighter hair than us, eh Georgie" he elbowed his brothers arm playfully as they both began to laugh.

[Y/N]s hand twitched toward her wand and it was enough for George to know the time for jokes was over and that things were indeed about to get very messy. He cleared his throat before speaking, "it was just a joke [Y/N/N], it'll wear off in an hour or so...hopefully"

The look she shot him at his words were enough for him to back down, bowing his head slightly. He knew better than his brother who, had evidently, opted to poke the bear that bit further.

"Come off it, won't ya? If you ask me it's an improvement" he jested, flicking her hair slightly with his hand.

Bad idea. [Y/N]s wand was drawn and, before anyone could register what happened, Fred was promptly flying down the length of the corridor. Georges eyes followed his brother, drawing his own wand and raising it as he turned back to the furious slytherin in front of him.

"Expelliarmus!" she bellowed and Georges wand flew into her grasp.

She began advancing on him slowly, his own wand raised at his chest as she starred directly into his eyes. George backed up, soon finding himself pressed firmly against the castle wall. She walked toward him until their chests were just about flush. His wand stabbing into him, not enough to hurt but enough for it to sting, and he knew there'd definitely be a mark left when this was over. He flattened his head to the wall as she slid the wand up slowly till it was pointed into the crook of his neck. George swallowed thickly and cast his eyes down to meet hers. She was smiling, wickedly, he would never admit it but this was sort of a really big turn on. A gorgeous and confident Witch putting him in his place? To George there was nothing hotter. His mind got lost as his eyes searched her face and slowly ventured down her neck, then to the slight cleavage protruding from her blouse, visible only due to his great height advantage. He swallowed again as he watched her chest heaving lightly while she drew slow, long breaths to steady her heartbeat. It wasn't till she spoke he realised just how long he hadn't been paying attention to the dull stab on his throat.

"I'm warning you. Prank me again and I promise you..." she paused as she moved his wand swiftly down from his throat so it was prodding directly into his groin, he gave a small grunt and pushed his head back with tightly closed lips to try avoid the not so gentle pain she just inflicted, her eyes never left his face as she continued to speak.

"You'll lose more than just your wand next time. Are we clear?" She gave a quick glance down and smiled back at him sweetly. He nodded repeatedly. Forcing the wand slightly harder into his crotch she spoke again "I said. Are we clear!?"

Grunting George spoke fast "Yep. Yes, absolutely, painfully clear."

Retracting the wand from it's owners flesh she smiled and whispered "good."

With that she stepped back from him, George let out a hard breath he had been holding. She raised her arm to his eye level and dropped the wand she'd disarmed in front of him. He fumbled over air for a moment in an attempt to catch it. He turned to see her striding past Fred as he returned rubbing the back of his head and lower back with a confused and hurt look.

"What's the deal? I get flown half way cross the castle but you just about get wanked off?" His brother chuckled "What'd she say?" They both watched as she disappeared round the far corner at the end of the hall.

"She threatened to take off my balls if we prank her again." Fred laughed at this

"Well, Georgie boy, there's worse ways to go. At least she's hot." He shrugged and clapped his brothers back as he began to walk the opposite direction to where [Y/N] had strided away. George mumbled a faint "mmm" in response, his eyes still cast after her as he rubbed the place on his neck where his wand had been jabbed. After a few long seconds and a call from his twin he finally turned to leave.

Things didn't get better from that point on. Although the boys had admit defeat and stopped trying to prank her, there was still a resounding amount of tension between the three. [Y/N] and George most of all. It seemed that whenever the two of you were within eye sight of each other it was inevitable they were going to fight. Near every time they saw one another they wound up screaming.

So, all in all given the mutual hate/hate relationship with one another, it was safe to say that George was beyond shocked to find himself currently, and yet again, pulled tight between her thighs on a desk in an empty classroom frantically clawing at the various layers of clothing separating their bodies from one another. Lips locked in a heated and deep kiss that left both gasping for air. He was tearing at the buttons of her shirt as she fumbled with the clasp of his belt and jean zipper.

This had become a somewhat regular occurrence between them. They both hated each other but whenever they were alone neither could restrain themself.

If they were to run into one another past curfew, there was always somewhere to hide and fuck one anothers brains out. Caught alone in a hall between classes, they'd suddenly find themselves clumsily shoved into a hidden passage or cupboard pashing intensely or otherwise involved in some other not suitable for school activities.

By this point they had probably snogged in every closet of the castle, and fucked in just as many empty rooms.

It hadn't been easy of course, for George especially, having to lie to his brother was something he always hated to do. So when he asked where the scratches on his neck and shoulders came from things would suddenly become uncomfortably awkward between the two. For a few minutes anyway, until Fred eventually would drop the subject.

He could only imagine the questions [Y/N] was being bombarded with when people noticed the countless hickies littering her skin. Questions he knew were being asked due to the circling rumours he'd heard of the marks. He could never help himself. Leaving love bites over her soft skin was one of his favourite things to do in the moment. He'd be sure to leave a few fresh ones again tonight.

As his belt came loose he shimmied his jeans down the rest of the way, stepping out of the bunched material. The sound of his pants hitting the floor excited [Y/N] further, wrapping her legs tight around his waist in anticipation, she rolled her hips into his seeking friction. This pulled a deep groan from George as he threw the girls shirt aside haphazardly, lips still locked with the others.

Breaking the kiss only to pull his sweater over his head, while he removed her tights. He snaked an arm around the girls lower back and pulled her flush against him as his other found it's way into her [Y/H/L] hair to bring their lips back to his once again. She reached eagerly for his buldge and palmed him gently a few times, over the thin material, before sliding a hand below the band of his boxers. Taking a firm grip to his member he moaned and detached her legs from around him completely. Bringing the hand he had placed on her lower back to pull off her lace underwear. Gasping as the cold air struck her aching core, and the cold desk top hit her bare ass she immediately threw her legs over him again but this time the grip in her thighs around his waist was notably tighter. The hand that'd been supporting herself on quickly came to grip Georges shoulders. He used his free hand to finally remove his boxers completely and she lined him up with her soaking entrance. Both moaning as his tip made contact. Unable to wait any longer [Y/N] looked into Georges eyes, breaking their needy kiss once again, seeking premission to continue. He nodded as he buried his head into her neck and she brought him in by her legs. Unable to restrain the whine that left her lips as she adjust to his size.

Chest heaving against his, [Y/N] moaned his name and bucked her hips to let him know she were ready. With a deep growl from his throat and a final kiss to the nape of the neck he began to thrust, at first slowly, but both knew by now how the other liked it and so soon he was fucking her with as much force as he could. Pressed tight against one another she were scratching for grip on his shoulders as he pulled her into him with both hands on her lower back. [Y/N] was fighting with all her strength to stop herself moaning too loud. He was lightly biting at the skin of her chest to keep from doing the same.

[Y/N]s mind wandered for a moment to what would happen if a teacher were to walk by. They'd stop abruptly at the sound of soft moans and gasps coming from the meant to be empty room, mixed with the rhythmic beat of the old desks legs being rocked off the floor with every hard thrust from George's hips.

Suddenly she were snapped back from her thoughts by a tightness in her abdomen and the feeling of Georges strong hand reaching up to wrap around her neck.

He pushed her down so her back was flat against the cold wooden desk top, grip on the throat tightening. [Y/N] knew he was getting close. That was his go to finishing move. He'd choke her against the surface of, whatever, they were having sex against and use his free hand to stroke her sensitive clit as his speed violently increased. As he pounded into her, her mouth opened in a silent plead for release. His breathing was rapid and he could be heard grunting with every thrust as he tried desperately to hold on until she came first.

Then for the first time, in a long time, George did something new. Lifting one of her legs over his shoulder as he fucked her. She had to bite her lip to stop from screaming now, but any attempts to remain quiet were futile against the loud moans escaping her dry mouth as he pounded directly into her g-spot. Feeling his hands grip loosen around her throat and travel to the baseline of her hair, George pulled their faces towards one anothers. Placing a rough kiss to her lips he leant to speak in her ear, whispering in a husky voice "scream if you need to, just let it go." They'd never spoken much during these encounters and his new position coupled with his coaxing tone got her heart racing faster, chest beginning to heave. "George..." she whined into him and tightly shut her eyes, he chuckled at the pleading "I know." His finger on her clit began to press down and circle faster, and her breath began to falter and shudder under his touch. Head falling forward into the crook of his neck "George!" She moaned loudly this time nearly shouting. "Look at me." He comanded, pressing his forehead to hers. She tried to obey but the pleasure was too much, it caused her head to drop again.

He clasped her jaw in his hand that had been pulling on the hair at the back of the scalp, forcing her to stay at eye level with him. "I'm not going to last much longer, so it's bloody well time you fucking cum." he growled.

[Y/N]s toes began to curl and she bit her lip "fuck" she breathed. Another loud moan leaving her lips, tightening around him as her orgasm approached. Unable to stop the sounds issuing from her own mouth now. With one final hard thrust from his hips she screamed. There wasn't a doubt in their minds that, had there been a teacher or prefect in the corridor outside they'd be promptly storming toward the room.

Feeling her unravel beneath him George let himself come undone. Letting go to step back, giving a few final tugs on his cock, he'd readied himself to cum when suddenly his movements were cut off by [Y/N] jumping down to his feet and taking him whole in her mouth. Running tongue over his swollen tip and right down to his thick base, she could taste herself on him. Gently grazing teeth over his sensitive skin it didn't take much and he came hot and heavy into her mouth. Gripping a handful of her [Y/H/L + C] hair as he did so.

Licking lips as she stood and she pulled her body close to kiss him deeply. Only stopping when she felt him shudder slightly from poorly restrained laughter. [Y/N] looked up at him with furrowed brows to which he smiled brightly.

"Fuck...you're a crazy bitch." The girl looked at him sternly as if to ask 'seriously?'.

"Am I now?" She asked trying to hide a smile, given the circumstances it was a little difficult to remain angry at him - after all he does look fucking gorgeous after sex.

"Yeah, you are." He grabbed her and pulled their sweaty bodies flush together once more. Slowly he traced his fingers up across her bra strap, along the vein in her neck to behind her ear, "but you fuck so good, think I'm on top of it." He kissed sweetly.

"We really need to go" [Y/N] mumbled into his lips and swiftly turned away from him to begin getting changed. He huffed and frowned at the abrupt break in closeness but lightened when he recalled the past events.

"True. I guess, even though the whole castle heard you having mind blowing sex, I don't think the staff on patrol will appreciate catching us half naked" he joked pulling on his jeans and stuffing his underwear in his pocket. Throwing his jumper at him she ran her fingers through her hair and made to leave when a whistle from behind made her turn.

George was leaning against the tainted desk with his arms folded and a grin on his face. She raised an eyebrow at him impatiently which only caused his smile to widen as he raised one hand to show a pair of lacey pink panties dangling from his forefinger. "Can't forget these, love."

She snatched them from him and left with a scowl like nothing in their relationship had changed. George couldn't contain his smile as he shoved his hands in his pockets and slowly left the room heading for his dormitory, laughing to himself he commented "Crazy bitch".

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Emotional

(Lyric free vers.)

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 1800ish

Content warnings - light angst, lots of cuddles and comfort

Prompt/inspiration - anon request, based on “Emotional” by Diana DeGarmo

Summary - After a terrible day at RAD, you hide out in your room while Mammon tries to figure out what’s wrong.

AO3

NOTE - My husband reads all my stories, and as soon as he finished this one he immediately told me the pacing was bad because of the lyrics. Which, man, harsh 😭. But that’s what he’s there for - to give me feedback even if I might not want to hear it. So here’s a second copy of the same story, just with the lyrics removed. ☺️ You can find the original version here.

Today had been a long day. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but for whatever reason, anytime someone so much as looked at you funny, you felt like crying. The voices in your head whispering to you that they were watching you, judging you.

Mammon had tried on several occasions to pull you aside, but you successfully managed to slip away each time. Normally you were so grateful for his company, but today you just knew that if he asked you if you were okay you were going to lose it.

And you absolutely did not want to lose it in the middle of RAD.

You flopped onto your bed, now in the safety of your room, curling up on yourself and pulling your comforter around you. Finally you were able to let out all the stress that had been holding onto. And just as you started to cry, a loud KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK on your door shocked you back to your senses.

“Hey, open up! You’ve been avoidin’ me all day.”

It was Mammon.

Not even taking a moment to think about what you actually wanted, you snapped at him.

“GO AWAY.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. Your tone was sharper than you had intended, but not only that, you didn’t really want him to leave. Part of you wanted him to wrap you up in one of his hugs and just hold you while you fell to pieces in his arms. However, you learned a long time ago that only babies cried. If you were strong, you wouldn’t cry so much. That crying was a burden on and an annoyance to everyone around you.

The silence that followed made your heart break. You couldn’t tell if you were more sad at the idea that you had hurt Mammon’s feelings or more hurt that he seemed to have just left you without even trying to figure out what’s wrong. If he cared, surely he would have been more persistent, right? And you knew that was a ridiculous thing to think, manipulative even, but you couldn’t help those feelings that coiled around your heart.

Resolving to spending the evening alone, you laid back down, curling up as small as possible once again. As your thoughts wandered, and your tears fell, you slowly started to drift off to sleep. You didn’t notice when your bedroom door opened. You didn’t notice the smell of hot chocolate wafting into your room. And you didn’t notice the dip in your mattress as someone climbed in beside you.

In fact, it wasn’t until you felt an arm slip around your waist and a kiss on the exposed skin of your neck that you finally started to become aware of what was going on around you.

“Hey,” Mammon whispered as he settled down in your bed, spooning you from behind.

Your breath hitched, and you felt your body stiffen involuntarily. Why was he here? Had he seen your face? Did he know you had been crying? Tears silently slipped down your face again as you started to panic internally. What was he going to say when he realized?

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere until ya tell me what’s wrong.”

“I...umm…” you wanted to answer him. Make an excuse. Offer some sort of rational explanation for why you were hiding in your room and had been avoiding him all day. Something told you just saying “there’s something in my eye” wasn’t going to fool him.

“Tch, always gotta be so difficult,” Mammon said. You felt his arms release you as he sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. If you thought you had been anxious before when he was laying beside you, it was nothing compared to the feeling of him leaving, with the words “difficult” echoing in your ears.

“Here. Sit up.”

But before your thoughts got to turn too dark, Mammon was sitting beside you again. Poking you with his elbow as he nudged you in the back. So surprised were you to find that he was still there and hadn’t left, you turned around immediately to look at him.

Despite his dark skin tone, you could tell he was blushing, and even if you couldn’t, his refusal to look at you would have been more than enough to confirm that he was feeling embarrassed. Your gaze slowly traveled downward until it landed on the tray he was holding in his outstretched hands.

“What’s this?” you asked, puzzled at why Mammon was offering you a mug of hot chocolate, and what appeared to be...cookies…? Only they were slightly burnt, and you weren’t sure you recognized the ingredients he had added in lieu of chocolate chips.

“What’s it look like? I had some extra and thought you might want some. But if ya don’t appreciate it…”

Not wanting to discourage Mammon, you quickly sat up, wiping whatever tears remained on your face away, and took the tray from him.

“...thanks.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye as you studied his gift, smirking at your response.

Once you were situated with your back against your headboard, you placed the tray in your lap and Mammon sat down beside you. He grabbed his mug of hot chocolate, taking a sip as he waited for your reaction. He was pretty impressed with the results of his baking skills, and was certain the treats would put a smile on your face.

You reached for one of the cookies, a soft smile playing on your lips as you took a bite.

“So? How was it? Good right?”

When you didn’t answer, Mammon gave you another nudge with his arm.

“Right?”

Without a word, you returned the cookie to your plate, picking up the cup of hot chocolate instead, taking a deep gulp in an attempt to cleanse your palate.

“Mammon...honey...that was awful…” you looked at him over the rim of your mug, taking another deep swallow. At least the hot chocolate was delicious.

“Whattya talkin’ about?! They’re perfect!” Mammon replied, quick to shove what remained of your first cookie into his mouth. You continued to watch him while sipping on your beverage, slowly now that the initial foul aftertaste seemed to have been gone.

You tried your best to hide the smile that was threatening to spread over your whole face as Mammon froze mid bite, glancing at the plate of cookies, then at you, then back to the cookies, before finally chugging down what remained of his own mug of hot chocolate, desperate to rid his mouth of every last crumb.

When his mug emptied, you offered him your own, laughing at his reaction.

“Shaddup,” he snapped, eagerly taking the cup from you and polishing off its contents. But he wasn’t mad. Not at all. He was relieved and overjoyed to see you smiling again, interacting with him and no longer pushing him away.

When he finished what remained of your drink, he took the tray from you, sitting it on the floor beside your bed, before turning back to you and wrapping you up in a tight hug. Now much more relaxed than you had been, you wrapped your arms around his waist, returning the gesture and burying your face in his chest.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“It's fine. Don’t worry about it,” he reassured you, “Are ya gonna tell me what happened now?”

You nodded against him, tightening your arms around him as you clung to him.

“I just...I don’t know...had a bad day, I guess. Everything made me just want to cry. And I know it’s ridiculous. I’m an adult. I should…”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Huh?”

“With cryin’. What’s wrong with that? Ain’t ya the one that told me it was ok to let it all out?” Mammon had leaned back now, resting against your headboard, pulling you up against himself as he began to rub your back, pressing an occasional kiss to your forehead.

“I...uh...well, I just...I’ve always been told I cry too much. I’m too emotional. Like little things that wouldn’t bother anyone, upset me. And I didn’t want to annoy you...so I…”

“Dummy. I dunno know why you’d think I’d feel that way. You never act like that with me.”

Mammon gave you a reassuring squeeze, and yet another kiss to the top of your head. All you could do in response was hold him tighter, pulling your legs up so that you were practically sitting in his lap by now.

You weren’t sure why it hadn’t occurred to you before. You honestly never saw the connection. And if you stopped and thought about it, Mammon had easily cried more times in front of you since you had arrived in the Devildom than you had cried at all (in public or private) during your stay.

You always reassured him, and comforted him. You never laughed at him, or thought for one second that he was a burden for opening up to you. In fact, you never felt more loved than when he would let you see that sensitive, emotional, side to himself because you knew how much it meant that he trusted you.

Why did you ever think he wouldn’t treat you with the same love and care you had always shown him?

[honey-dewey]

When I’m Older and I’m Wiser

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/ Dentist Reader

Word Count: 4,262

Warnings: General medical fic involving dentistry and recovering from wisdom tooth surgery. Mentions of pills, blood, needles, and Marcus being very high. Some use of (F/N) (L/N), but not much.

How the hell Marcus Moreno has gotten this far in his life without getting his wisdom teeth removed is beyond you. But that fateful day comes, and honestly you really should just quit being the Heroic’s dentist because it’s probably taking years off your life. Mostly because your current patient is very cute, very high, and in your care for the next 24 hours, which is a dangerous combination.

“Ow.” 

Missy looked over from where she’d been getting a second glass of milk, turning her attention to her dad. Marcus was staring at the eggs on his plate, seemingly frozen. The look on his face could only be described as offended, as if the eggs had just bit him back. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked, sitting back down and nudging Marcus with her foot. 

“Hurts,” Marcus mumbled, putting a hand to his cheek. The last thing he had expected was pain upon eating scrambled eggs, but it was there. 

Missy shrugged, digging into her own eggs. “Could it be a cavity?” 

Marcus shook his head, moving his hand to his other cheek. “Both sides.” 

“Two cavities?” 

Giving Missy a playful dirty look, Marcus took another bite of eggs, face scrunching when the pain persisted. 

Missy raised an eyebrow, and Marcus suddenly regretted having a tiny powerhouse of a daughter. “When was the last time you saw Dr. (L/N)?”

“Uh,” Marcus squirmed a bit under her judgmental gaze, thinking back. “I made an appointment right before your mother passed, but then she died and we were in mourning, and then I quit actively hero-ing full time, and then I took a while off to raise you, and then I started my new job, and then I was kidnapped by aliens, so I dunno. A few years?” 

“A few years?” Missy said, cocking her head slightly. “You make me go every six months!” 

“You’re still growing!” Marcus defended. “I’d be an awful parent if I didn’t keep up with your health.” 

Missy sighed. “Please tell me you’ve seen an actual doctor recently.” 

Marcus nodded. “Saw my GP last month.” 

“Good,” Missy said. “Can you see Dr. (L/N) today please?” 

Again, Marcus nodded. “Y’know, sometimes I wonder just who’s running this household.” 

“It’s me.” 

“I know kiddo. I know.”

Their drive to Heroic headquarters was silent, but comfortable, as it usually was. Marcus parked, the throbbing in his jaw just getting worse as he and Missy got on the bus into headquarters. Missy broke off in the reception area, heading down the hall with a wave. Marcus waved back, smiling at her as she disappeared. 

Wiping his hands on his shirt, Marcus walked up to the receptionist, who gave him a friendly smile. “Hello Marcus, what can I do for you?” 

“Hey Rhea,” Marcus said, leaning slightly on the counter. “When’s my first meeting?” 

Rhea hummed, putting his name into the computer and clicking a few times. “Looks like your earliest meeting is at 2:30.” 

“Awesome,” Marcus groaned. “Does Dr. (L/N) have any available appointments in the morning?” 

“Has someone been skipping out on the dentist?” Rhea said jokingly, moving to a different computer screen. “Was it Missy who made you go?” 

“Yeah.” 

Rhea laughed. “That kid,” she said softly. “And you’re in luck. Dr. (L/N) has an available appointment in half an hour, at nine. I’ll get you set up with it, okay?” 

Marcus sighed. “Yeah, that works. Thank you Rhea. I’ll see you later.” 

He waited for his appointment in the hero lounge, reading a book and chewing absently on his thumb nail. When his watch read ten 'til nine, he put his book in his bag and began to make his way down to the medical wing of the building. 

The medical wing was not one Marcus was in frequently. He knew some of the staff, but not all of them. But he waved to them all the same, eventually reaching the dentist’s section with five minutes to spare. 

“Mr. Moreno!” The nurse behind the reception counter said cheerily. “I thought it had to be a mistake when I saw you had an appointment.” 

“Please,” Marcus said. “Just Marcus will do.” 

The nurse nodded. “Of course. The doctor will be right out. You’re her first of the day, and honestly, I think she thought your name was a typo too. It’s been too long.” 

Marcus sighed. “Yeah. Missy chewed me out about that earlier.” 

“I’ll bet.” The nurse gestured to a row of chairs. “Take a seat. I’ll go see if the doc is ready.” 

Marcus sat down, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs in an effort to calm his nerves. 

“Moreno?” 

He looked up, heart suddenly beating fast. Standing in the doorway that separated the waiting room from the actual office was Dr. (L/N), looking very expectant and a tiny bit disappointed. 

———

Marcus stood, following you back into the office. His steps behind you were nervous, a high contrast to the confident clicking of your shoes. 

“Long time no see,” you said, pushing open a door and gesturing Marcus into the exam room. “What finally brought you back?” 

“Aside from Missy?” Marcus asked, sitting in the chair and rocking his left foot back and forth on the ankle. “I woke up this morning and it hurt to eat breakfast.” 

You nodded, washing your hands and donning a pair of gloves. “And there wasn’t any pain last night?” 

“Maybe a tiny bit.” Marcus watched you sit on a rolling stool, moving so you were just at his side. “But nothing I was worried about.” 

You crossed your legs, thinking. “Did you do any intense training in the past 24 hours?”

“Nothing involving my head.” 

“Well then it’s probably just a cavity or two,” you decided, rolling closer to Marcus’s head and putting both feet on the floor. “Let’s take a look, get some x-rays, and see if we can’t have you feeling better soon.” 

You adjusted the chair so Marcus was staring up at the ceiling, and at a large space mobile you’d hung ages ago. “Ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

You smiled, pulling a mask up over your nose. “Relax Marcus. I’m not gonna hurt you on purpose.” 

Marcus still squirmed a bit as you examined his mouth, your brows knitting tighter and tighter as you realized this wasn’t a simple case of a few cavities. 

“Marcus,” you said slowly, sitting him up and tugging your mask down under your chin. “You’re in your forties, right?”

“Yeah?” 

“Please tell me you don’t still have your wisdom teeth.” 

Marcus shrugged. “I don’t know. Why? Is that a bad thing?” 

“Most people have theirs removed when they’re teenagers,” you explained, pulling down the x-ray machine. “That way, there’s less risk of nerve damage. It’s not a bad thing to have them removed later in life, but it does come with higher risks.” 

“Oh.” The reassurance didn’t comfort Marcus much as you softly directed him through the various x-rays. 

You pulled the piece of plastic out of his mouth as the final x-ray hit your computer. “Sorry about that,” you said, watching Marcus rub his face. “I know it sucks. But, good news, I have an answer for you.” 

You let Marcus turn so he was facing your computer. “It’s definitely your wisdom teeth,” you said, tugging your gloves off and pointing at the computer screen. “See? All four of them are coming in, which is impressive. I can probably take them out tomorrow, honestly. Those suckers can get really painful really fast, so we’re gonna want to take care of it as soon as possible.” 

Marcus paled. “Tomorrow?” 

“That would be best.” You put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’ll be okay. I do one of these surgeries like, once a month. I know what I’m doing, and you’re going to be just fine.” 

“Okay,” Marcus said, nodding and staring at you. “I believe you.” 

You smiled. “Perfect. So I can schedule your surgery for super early tomorrow, I’m thinking around seven, maybe seven thirty. We wanna get it out of the way early because you can’t eat anything for twelve hours beforehand.” As you explained, you gathered some papers from a desk drawer. “I assume you want general anesthesia.” 

“Is that the option where I sleep through it all?” 

“Yep,” you said, stapling the papers together and handing them to Marcus. “As per protocol, we’re going to need reassurance you’ll be with a responsible adult guardian for at least forty eight, if not seventy two hours post surgery. The first twelve to twenty hour can be brutal, so you definitely want someone there during that.”

Marcus shook his head. “I haven’t got anyone besides my mom, who I assumed would be taking Missy while I healed.” 

“That’s okay,” you promised. “We can get someone here to care for you for two days. You’d have to stay here at headquarters, but you’d be comfortable and cared for. Whatever you do, I’ll call in some pain prescriptions and the like for you to pick up after work today. Just see the pharmacy out front and they’ll give the pills to you.” 

You stood, gesturing Marcus up. “So, to recap. Get here early tomorrow, no food after seven tonight, and wear comfy clothes. Most patients go with sweatpants, but you go with whatever is most comfortable to you. Bring a change of pyjamas and your prescriptions if you’re staying with us, and I’ll see you tomorrow Mr. Moreno,” you said as you led him back to the lobby. 

Tomorrow came faster than anticipated, and before you knew it, it was seven AM and you were waiting for Marcus with your nurse beside you. 

“Damn his mouth is messed up,” the nurse mumbled, looking over the x-rays. “All four?” 

“All four,” you agreed, smiling as the lobby door opened. “Mr. Moreno! Follow me. I assume you stuck with the rules I gave you yesterday?” 

“Yeah,” Marcus said, handing you the paper bag with his prescriptions and a small drawstring bag that presumably had clothes in it. “I’m gonna be staying here.” 

“Perfect,” you said, pushing open the operating room door. “I see we’re dressed for the occasion.” 

Marcus turned red, looking down at his soft black sleep pants and a worn out Fleetwood Mac shirt. “Yeah.” 

You put Marcus’s stuff down on the counter, handing him a small white cup. “That is a super powerful mouthwash,” you explained. “Take it, and do try and keep it in your mouth for a minute. I know it tastes horrible.” 

Marcus did try, but he only made it to thirty seconds before he had to spit out the disgustingly bitter mouthwash. 

You laughed at his face, pulling on your gloves. “Alright Marcus, that works.” 

He smiled softly, relaxing a tiny bit. “Thanks.” 

“I wouldn’t thank anyone who made me take that stuff,” you said, grabbing a thin tube and holding it out. “That goes under your nose and over your ears, just like that,” you praised as Marcus threaded the tube over his ears. “Now, can I see your hand?” 

Marcus let you clip a heart rate monitor to his right index finger, watching as you walked to his other side and held up the final thing. “And last, but not least.” 

Immediately, Marcus looked extremely nervous again. You put down the IV line and rubbed his shoulder, trying to work away some of the tension. “Hey. Look at me. Just a pinch, and then you can take a nice long nap, okay? Deep breaths Marcus, deep breaths.” 

Marcus took a breath, and you carefully took your hand off his shoulder. You slowly directed his head onto the chair’s headrest, still murmuring reassurances. “That’s it. Count the stars on my mobile out loud. I can’t remember how many there are.” 

“Okay.” Marcus looked up, slowly counting out loud as you found his vein and stuck him with the IV line as quickly as you could. You administered some of the anesthesia, smiling as Marcus’s numbers began to slip and slide, until he wasn’t even counting as much as he was just mumbling out random mushy words. 

“Goodnight Marcus.” 

You gestured the nurse in, and she smiled, taking Marcus’s glasses and setting them on top of his other things. You finished off the anesthesia, watching Marcus’s eyes close. 

When he woke again, it was to you pulling the IV line out and taping a cotton ball to his arm. “Wa’s happ’nin’?” He slurred around the cotton and the drugs. 

“The surgery was a success,” you explained softly, despite Marcus not really understanding you. “All four teeth came out with no issue, and we’re about to take you to recovery. Oh, Marcus, keep your head up.” 

Marcus struggled to keep his head upright, and you giggled, holding your hands out. “C’mon. Let’s get you into a real bed.” 

You’d been through this with many patients before Marcus, but he seemed to be a stand-out, as you had some trouble getting him in the wheelchair and down the hallways into the recovery wing. He definitely fell under the ever entertaining category of ‘toddler high’ patients. His slurred words and puppy dog eyes made you laugh more than once on your way to his room. You actually had to stop and pause to laugh when he slurred out that he thought you were an Angel. He simply watched you with an exaggerated worried expression, half his words getting lost as he tried to mumble something out. 

“What was that Marcus?” You asked, wiping your eyes and continuing down the hall with him. 

“You’re tho prethy.” He said, head tipping down. 

“Head up,” you coaxed softly, smiling despite yourself. “Look, there’s your room.” 

Getting him in the room, which was more of a small, one person condo space, was thankfully the hardest part. But once you were in, he was very sleepy putty in your hands. 

“Okay Marcus,” you said gently, helping him out of the wheelchair and onto the couch, piling a few pillows beneath his head “Do you want anything before you go to sleep?” 

Marcus looked up at you. Between his cotton stuffed cheeks and his wide doe eyes, he looked a tiny bit ridiculous. You smiled, pulling out your phone and snapping a quick picture while he was still drugged as hell. “Marcus?” 

“Mittenth.” 

“What?” 

Marcus pointed to his bag. “Mittenth.” 

You walked over to the bag, opening it up and finding a black and white stuffed cat right on top. “Oh. Mittens.” 

You handed the cat to Marcus, who immediately snuggled it to his chest and rolled over a bit, falling asleep instantly. 

Again, you couldn’t help but stare. He looked so innocent like this, all curled up and sleeping. You hesitated to call him adorable, but if the shoe fit.

You sighed, picking up your phone and trailing into the single bedroom. Changing quickly into your leisure clothes, you texted one of the people at the pharmacy and requested a few ice packs and a wisdom tooth slushee. Both things were delivered in a matter of minutes, and you placed them securely in the small freezer to wait for Marcus. 

When he woke up, he was significantly less high. Looking around, Marcus poked his cheeks and made a face. “I can’t feel my nose.” 

“The entire bottom half of your face is numb,” you pointed out from your position at the two person table in the kitchen. “And believe me, you’re gonna want it to stay that way.” 

Marcus sat up, looking over at you. “I’m hungry.” 

“No solids for a while,” you told him, standing and grabbing his slushee. “But you can have this. And before you ask, yes you have to use the spoon.” 

Marcus pouted, but took the slushee. “But the cotton.” 

You nodded, settling on the couch next to him. “Open wide.” 

Marcus did, allowing you to shove two fingers into his mouth and fish out the cotton. “Still bleeding,” you mumbled to yourself. “We’ll shove more in there when you’re done. For now,” You tipped the slushee at him. “Eat up.” 

You turned your attention to the TV while Marcus ate slowly, taking tiny bites and occasionally sticking his tongue out. “It’s really numb.” 

“That’ll fade by tomorrow morning,” you promised. “At noon I want you to take your first pills. Then you get more at one.” 

Again, Marcus pouted, but simply sank lower into the couch cushions and mindlessly watched whatever was on TV. “Is my face swelling?” 

You shrugged. “No more than other patients. But yeah, just a bit.” 

“Do I look stupid?” 

The question made you laugh. “Marcus, I’ve had so many ridiculous patients. You’re no worse than some of my other ones, I promise.” 

Marcus accepted this and continued to take small bites of his slushee. “Why’s it gotta be blue?” 

“Because blue isn’t even remotely close to red.” You didn’t even look up as you answered. “Same goes for when little kids get teeth pulled. You want something that’s soft, easy to swallow, and isn’t the color of blood.” 

“Oh.��� 

You nodded. “Yeah. How’s your mouth feeling?” 

Marcus mulled it over, eventually deciding on saying “Kinda achy.” 

“I’ll give you those pills soon,” you said. “It’s gonna be tricky, considering any kind of anything touching those holes in your mouth is gonna hurt like a bitch.” 

“Even water?” 

“Even water.” 

Marcus groaned, and you shrugged. “Sorry. But you’re the one who waited until now to do this.” 

When Marcus finished his slushee, you grabbed a pill bottle off the kitchen counter, quickly glancing at the label and nodding. “Two of these,” you said, opening a cabinet and taking out a glass. “Come here.” 

Marcus trudged over, leaning heavily against the counter’s edge. You put the two round pills on the counter, along with the glass of water. “Best to do it quickly. And one at a time.”  

Picking up one of the pills, Marcus carefully put it on his tongue, taking the glass with a hesitant hand. He took a sip, swallowing quickly and audibly. “Can’t I use a straw?” 

“Yeah,” you said sarcastically. “If you want dry socket, go ahead.” 

“Do I want to know what that is?” 

“Nope.” You pushed the second pill towards Marcus. “Take that, then you can lay back down.” 

Marcus sighed, mirroring his previous action. However, instead of simply swallowing with a tight face, Marcus started, eyes filling with tears as he spit the water into the sink, the pill clattering against the metal. 

You immediately began to worry as Marcus cried. It wasn’t a small tear or two either. He was full on sobbing, gripping the edges of the sink so tight his knuckles went white. 

“Marcus,” you murmured, putting a hand on his arm. He looked up at you, and you put on your most comforting smile. “Hey, it’s okay.” You picked up a towel and slowly wiped the residual water off his face. “C’mere.” 

He collapsed into your arms, going limp and continuing to cry. You rubbed his back, heart tightening whenever he let out a whimper of “hurts.” 

“I know,” you said softly. “I know it hurts. But you have to take the pills.” 

“Can’t,” Marcus hiccuped, burying himself deeper into your sweater. 

“Marcus,” you said firmly, slowly untangling him from you. “I know it hurts. But you’ll be in more pain from not taking the pills. Please, for me?” 

He took a breath. “Can we watch TV afterwards?” 

You smiled. “Of course. I can give you ice for the swelling too.” 

Marcus nodded, looking into the sink. “Do I take that one?” 

“No,” you said, fishing a new pill out of the container. “It’s in the sink, I’m not gonna take that risk. Here.” 

Marcus stared at the unassuming white pill in his hand. “Which one is this?” 

“The acetaminophen.” 

“The what?” 

“Tylenol.” 

Marcus nodded, popping the pill into his mouth and quickly gulping down the water. This time, he avoided hitting his stitches and simply handed you the glass. “I’m not doing that again.” 

You took the glass, putting it in the sink. “You have more pills to take in an hour.” 

Marcus groaned. “TV?” 

“Of course,” you said, walking to the couch and smiling as Marcus fell onto it. “What do you wanna watch?” 

Marcus turned his red rimmed puppy dog eyes on you. “Say Yes to the Dress?” 

You laughed. “Are you serious? We can, but that’s not what I expected at all.” 

“I like trash TV when I feel terrible.” Marcus grabbed Mittens and cuddled the stuffed cat to his chest. 

You found the show, setting it up and standing. “More cotton. You're probably still bleeding, and we definitely don’t want that. Open.” 

It took some finessing to get two more wads of cotton into Marcus’s mouth, but you succeeded, despite his complaints of feeling like a cartoon chipmunk. 

 “I’m gonna go start on dinner,” you said.  “Are you gonna be okay here?” 

Marcus pouted. “Do you have to start now?” 

“Yeah.” You gestured to the kitchen. “Don’t worry, I’ll only be gone for twenty minutes. Soup just needs to sit for a while.” 

Slightly consoled, Marcus zoned out at the TV while you got to work making a simple chicken noodle soup. 

“Done,” you said, wiping your hands and walking back to the couch twenty minutes later. “Marcus, are you still awake?” 

Marcus grumbled, holding his hands out. “C’mere.” 

You passed him an ice pack, and he made a face. “Not what I want.” 

“What do you want?” 

As if somehow knowing they were your kryptonite, Marcus gave you his puppy dog eyes. “Wanna hold you.” 

You sighed, but crawled into his arms anyway. When you finally settled, he was on his back, head and neck propped up on the arm of the couch, and you were on your side between the back of the couch and Marcus. He was warm, wrapping one arm loosely over your waist and using the other hand to press the ice into his cheek. 

You quickly slid into a nice comfortable headspace, occasionally smiling when Marcus commented on the wedding dresses on screen. 

“You dropped Mittens,” you realized after a while, shuffling to grab the discarded toy from the floor. 

Marcus took Mittens, gently placing the cat on his chest, so that it was secure on his sternum. 

“Does Mittens belong to Missy?” 

“Belonged to Clara.” 

“Oh.” You saw the change in demeanor, noticed how Marcus’s face steeled when he said her name. He rarely talked about Clara, especially at work. “I’m-“ 

“Nah,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “It’s the past. I’m happy now, and so is Mittens.” 

You nestled deeper into his chest. “Happy right now?” 

“Definitely happy right now,” Marcus said softly. “Very happy, even though I can’t feel my face.” 

“Even if you could,” you mumbled, knowing where this was headed. “You can’t kiss anyone for a while.” 

Marcus grinned. “I guess we’ll just have to wait then, won’t we?” 

You mirrored his mischievous smile. “You can’t kiss,” you said, scooting upwards, until you were laying on top of Marcus, your belly on his ribs. “But I can.” 

You lay gentle kisses across his cheeks, smiling when he laughed at your insistence upon kissing his nose. His cheeks were cold from the ice and tender from the swelling, but Marcus never tried to stop you, so you continued downwards, kissing the pulse points on his neck. 

“You’re a damn tease,”  Marcus huffed. 

You simply smiled into his skin and tugged the collar of his shirt down, pressing firm kisses into the points of his collarbones.

“Hey,” Marcus nudged your head. “Can we finish this when I don’t have a mouth of stitches? I still can’t feel my tongue.” 

“Of course,” you said, pushing his shirt collar back up and laying your head on his sternum. “How long?” 

“Hm?” 

You shrugged, watching a woman try on a stunning wedding dress on the TV. “How long have you wanted to kiss me?” 

Marcus thought it over. “Last year,” he finally decided. “When Missy had three teeth out. You were so kind, and I just melted.” 

“But you didn’t fall in love hard enough to ever pay me a visit,” you teased, tracing the faded symbol on his shirt. 

“Didn’t ever want to go under and realize I’d spilled everything,” Marcus confessed. 

You smiled. “Too late. You said I looked like an Angel in the hallway.” 

Marcus turned bright red, and you laughed at him. “It’s okay,” you promised, kissing his cheek that didn’t have the ice pack. “I think you’re pretty handsome yourself.” 

That night, after dinner and more pills and ice cream for dessert, you and Marcus settled down in the only bedroom, clinging to each other as if your lives depended on it. 

Waking up was hard. Marcus was well enough to go home, most of the swelling gone and the numbness completely faded. 

“So,” you clicked down the halls of the dentist’s office, Marcus behind you. “No really hot liquids for another few days, and try not to do solids until then either. That antibacterial mouthwash should be used twice a day, and you can start brushing your teeth again in two days. Remember, no straws, take your pills, keep icing your cheeks, and if I see you in this office before this time next week, I will be calling your mother.” 

Marcus nodded as you pulled open the lobby door, where Anita and Missy were waiting. “Anything else Doctor?” 

You shook your head. “You should be all clear Mr. Moreno. I’ll be seeing you for your check-up next week. Don’t you go skipping out on me now.” 

Marcus smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he promised, leaning a bit closer to you. “And I cannot wait to kiss you for real.” 

He pulled away, leaving you flushed and dizzy. “See you next week Doctor.” 

“See you next week Mr. Moreno.”

If you liked this, I do dialogue prompt requests as well! Go request something if you want!

[tenacityreturns]

aokaga drabble: post-nba

plot: kagami cuts off all his friends after forced retirement from the nba, and goes to live in japan again so that he can rebuild himself from the ground up. aomine’s girlfriend, sabs (whom we love), breaks up with him and aomine follows kagami to try and reconnect after a quiet few months. he’s worried as hell, he loves kagami, who he knows without hearing from him that he is miserable. it’s angst. word count: 5860 notes: sfw, future verse, aomine’s pov. it’s specific to my future verse hcs but hopefully it makes sense even if u dont know them lol. nijimura and kagami are ( thank you so much for reminding me about this. present tense. they ARE ) besties, i think that comes up. 

god, it's just too weird coming back here. everything is the same. same cream wallpaper, same dirty mirror in the lift. same buttons, circled with red once pressed. same shitty elevator music. it hums melodically, creating the pretence of relaxation, but daiki is anything but. he stares at himself in the mirror. not much taller than the last time he'd been inside, on his way to see an exuberant redhead in that same, ridiculous penthouse apartment he'd had by himself. would it seem small now that he'd seen the world? now that he had money of his own, lived in a big apartment himself? there are lines in his brow as he inspects it. he doesn't try to fix it. allows himself these nerves because they remind him that he cares. if he didn't, he wouldn't have come back to stay with his parents. wouldn't have followed taiga across the world despite the months of radio silence. missed calls ( ignored calls ). unanswered texts. daiki had tried everything. called taiga’s dad, asked if he'd heard anything recently from him. he never had. never gave daiki anything, anyway. all 'oh, I'm sure he's fine, he's probably just sulking about his injuries.' yeah, that's what daiki is worried about. asao had always got on his nerves. how is he so blind? why can't he see that taiga's devastated to be retiring? he still had as much fight in him as he'd had when they were teenagers. so much fight, and grit, and impossible potential.

the elevator dings. he doesn't move for a moment. ghosts surround him. that time taiga dragged him way too roughly into his apartment, only to kiss him like he's made of glass. the times they'd held hands in the full elevator and no one had minded. the time someone had, and taiga nearly beat him up for it. like, really nearly. all the occasions taiga found to cook meals for him. all the excuses. how the hell could taiga stand to come back here and relive all those memories?

the doors shut. daiki grunts and pushes the button to open them again. he has to buck up. he has to gather himself, all the courage in the world, and tell taiga everything. he was waiting inside, anyway. he'd buzzed him up. yeah, alright. he'd said at the door. yeah, alright. he sounds different now. colder. the knot in his stomach is eating him alive. tearing organs apart. his knees are weak, barely carrying him into the hallway.

how will he phrase it? Daiki makes his way to taiga's door. it's the same colour. same paint, it's peeling a little. he feels sick. so sick. it's fight or flight, isn't it? the nerves. well, he'd already flown away. already allowed taiga to think he didn't care. maybe he hadn't. maybe love had drifted between them, fluttering around like a butterfly in spring. sabina had been a flower daiki visited, she was everything he thought he'd wanted in a partner. funny, clever, interested in him. not like in love him, which she had been, but she'd asked how his day was. sabs was great, but she wasn't taiga. they fought a lot, but not in the same way he'd fought with taiga. and taiga had dated people too, like that hot business guy. older, smart, in love. daiki recognised the way he'd looked at taiga during that terrible doubt date they'd gone on. softly, in awe, like there had been no one else in the room. and taiga had been looking at daiki. saying something with a smirk, trying to get a rise out of him. daiki could have kissed him then.

but he's broken up with sabs when taiga retired. all daiki had done was call him, text him, trying to find out if he was okay. of course he wasn't, but daiki wanted to be there for him. sabs grew tired of it. he doesn't blame her for it. he doesn't blame himself for being in love with taiga, either. it's the natural way of things. and it has been the natural way of things to go back to Japan as soon as he could get a break away from work. he stayed with his parents, kept his head down. reconnected with other old friends from high school, tried to pretend it was just a social call. Tried to pretend he hadn't come all the over here on the off chance taiga might be around to see him, wherever he'd been. what a bittersweet moment when taiga first texted back a few months ago. all casualness, he’d said don’t worry about me, i’m fine. talk soon x and that had been it. he’d replied in english, daiki had texted in english. daiki called him about a week ago and taiga had answered. hearing his voice had been jarring. he’d been waiting so long, so patiently. always hoping taiga would call him for a change.

“i’m in tokyo visiting family,” daiki had said hastily, shocked that he’d actually get a reply this time. he waited. nothing. fine. he kept talking. “i get it if you don’t wanna talk to me, or whatever, but---

“no, i wanna see you. come over. i’m back in my old apartment, you remember where that is? come by next saturday.” and they agreed on a time like it was the most normal thing in the world.

daiki sees his hand raise to knock on the door, and he wonders how many times in his life he’d done this. his knuckles had met the door hundreds of times before, when they’d been younger. less experienced. happier. god, daiki’s scared. it’s too weird coming back here.

the door opens. it’s taiga. he looks tired. he’s put on weight, his bare arms are still tree trunks but they’re not showing muscle definition anymore. he makes grey sweats and a black t-shirt look classic for a reason. daiki stares at him, taking it all in, suddenly tongue-tied. he doesn’t have the right words, they don’t exist. there’s nothing to say. he shouldn’t have come.

“makes you feel old, don’t it?” taiga says, rubbing his neck.

"what?”

“being back here. i feel like i should ask you if you wanna play one-on-one then go to maji’s.” the joke hurts. red eyes hold such sadness in them. it looks like it hurts to look at daiki, too. he shouldn’t have come.

“taiga---”

“i can’t, i dunno if you heard. i can’t play again. i’m still recovering. i had to choose between being able to walk when i’m sixty, or playing basketball another year. i was so close to picking basketball.”

daiki trudges inside. he fights the instinct to sweep taiga into an all-encompassing hug. it’s awful being in this room again. the furniture is different, thank god, but the essentials are in the same place. the kitchen is the same. there’s the spot daiki would always perch when taiga was cooking something for him. the sofa is in a different position. how clearly he can see the old layout now that he stands amongst its replacements. daiki doesn’t know what to say to taiga’s crushing statement. could he speak if he wanted to? there’s a lump in his throat. he takes his shoes off. those are taiga’s jordans. it’s good he still wears basketball shoes. it’s wrong when he doesn’t. they’re like an extension of him, like the colour of his hair. scarlet in the sunlight.

“isn’t that what you wanted to hear?” taiga’s voice is so dark, he hasn’t shut the door yet. when daiki looks over, the hand on the door is tense, as if trying to make a fist through the wood. it takes daiki by surprise to see this rage. “isn’t that what anyone wants to know, whether i care if i played again?”

“i---” he blinks. “i don’t care about basketball.”

wrong answer. the door slams. daiki flinches. taiga stalks into the kitchen.

“i mean, of course i care, it’s just-- you scared the shit outta me. i figured you didn’t wanna see me of all people, then i heard you cut everyone off, all your old teammates. gave everyone the cold shoulder. we just wanna help you, man, you’re not alone in this.”

“i’m over it.”

“i wouldn’t be, if i was you.”

“you have no idea how i feel, daiki,” taiga pulls two beers from the fridge. daiki had half expected banana milk. the thought makes him feel worse.

“nobody does, you won’t talk to anyone.” it’s a leap, maybe he had been, but had avoided daiki’s questions when he’d asked them. did nijimura know how he felt? did satsuki, and they just hadn’t told him?

“i don’t want to,” he takes the drinks to the couch, and daiki follows. daiki sits in a chair where his beanbag had once been. taiga continues, “i don’t wanna even think about basketball. that’s why i never messaged you back. i knew it would all come out once i saw you.”

daiki doesn’t open his beer. he stares at it guiltily, but he can’t bear opening it. can’t bear disturbing the quiet falling between them.

“i would’ve left you alone if you hurt yourself,” taiga goes on, in too smooth of a tone to have been anything but the truth. “i would’ve known you wouldn’t want to see me because it’d remind you of the old times.”

silence. he really shouldn’t have come.

“i’ve always had basketball,” taiga says quietly, sipping on his beer. “all my friends were into it too. back when i had this place first, i figured everyone was only interested because i was good. especially you guys.” he clicks his tongue. “you, generation of miracles. i didn’t blame you, either. i got it. tetsu, ryouta, tatsuya. i’d think about whether you’d lose interest if i got hurt and couldn’t play anymore. i didn’t wanna face it.”

“is that--- is that what you think about me now?”

no reply. he drinks more beer. daiki shifts to the edge of his seat.

“taiga. answer me.”

“i considered it. at first, definitely. then you kept calling, i guessed it was your conscience or something. don’t feel bad about it, or whatever--”

“don’t feel bad? why would you think that? i--” he has to take a breath. it’s taiga’s mistake. it’s something in his past that caused him to think that the limits of his worth are tied with his ability to play ball. that’s awful. but it’s not something to argue over. it won’t help. “look, you’re wrong. alright? don’t ever think that about me again.”

taiga shrugs. “you wanted to know how i felt.”

it’s a blow. it hurts. no doubt about it. when daiki had said i love you, had taiga always heard i love your basketball? that’s ridiculous. daiki had loved taiga’s way of playing, but that wasn’t just it?! there are corners of taiga’s mind that daiki doesn’t like, doesn’t get along with. but despite that, he loves that, too. loves taiga. loves, loves, loves him. he always has, he always will.

“you once said there’s nothing a winner can say to a loser. ain’t that how it is here? what could you say to me i haven’t heard from everyone else who can still play basketball?”

“if you couldn’t walk now, do you really think i wouldn’t wanna be there to help you with your wheelchair?” it slipped out, almost venomously. defensively. taiga blinks, quiet as the dead. daiki sighs, setting the drink down unopened. “you’re one of my best friends, taiga. you’re more than that. i think i made myself pretty clear when i called you and texted you. sorry if that was the wrong thing to do... but... if you stopped playing basketball after high school, i’d still have wanted you around, you know. even if you were some boring ass banker in another country, i still would’ve kept in touch.”

daiki doesn’t look at taiga now. he can’t. it’s too much honesty. there’s too much weight to his words. ( if he had looked over, he’d see the shaking hand raising beer to lips, hiding that they too quiver under the threat of tears. )

“sorry if i’m just saying stuff you’ve heard before. i’ll leave if i’m making it worse. i didn’t mean to.”

continued silence. what does he say next? what can he say? he doesn't want to leave. he should have come. daiki sighs, sinking back into his seat with his eyes anywhere but on taiga. this chair is hard. it's a sand-coloured linen armchair with deep mahogany accents. the kind of chair that really isn't meant to be sat in. sabs had one like this. it was a glorified bowl. totally uncomfortable, and even he was never able to sleep in it. this chair is similar. its voice is loud and harsh: i am an adult purchase. daiki misses the beanbag. the most comfortable thing he'd ever slept on. second most. he finally looks at taiga. the couch is different. it's also sand in colour, and cuboid, but the arm-rests are low and with the right cushion, their rounded corners would make for a good napping area.

the old sofa hadn't been comfortable. he'd convinced himself that it was, until taiga became the perfect cushion between sofa and daiki. it's a stupid thought, but is a toned body really that comfortable of a cushion? the soft lines of taiga's broad shoulders look just as enticing. but... the beanbag... daiki's bought beanbags for himself since then but they've never been the same. even the same brand (model discontinued) hadn't been the same. it wasn't just that it was oblong and firm enough that he doesn't touch the floor, while still retaining body-moulding softness. it was partly that. daiki had realised it the first time he settled into his new and immediately rejected beanbag years ago, when he and taiga had broken up for the second major time. it was that he'd been on taiga's floor, exhausted after an almost challenging one-on-one, waiting for his rival to make him his dinner. even before they'd started dating, daiki had felt a special sort of peace here. there's comfort in finding someone who you can be your authentic self with. daiki's basketball ability didn't scare taiga off.

"daiki?"

daiki had been staring at the window when taiga spoke. he immediately looked over, momentarily forgetting everything that was said minutes before. forgetting why he's here, what brought him, what chair he's sitting in. he's in the beanbag again. taiga's about to ask him to solve a history question, and daiki's half a second away from making up a completely fictitious answer so he doesn't have to bashfully admit that he doesn't know.

“can i ask you something?”

“shoot,”

“were you just thinking about your old beanbag?”

ah. busted. he blinks, dazed. taiga’s expression starts to change. his eyes search daiki’s from across the room and gradually, a smile forms. the sun comes out. literally. the shadow-stealing grey sky gave the city a brief interlude of hope in a few, impossibly long seconds of proper sunlight. the weather, daiki noticed, linked inextricably with a personal epiphany. it doesn’t matter whether he’s an easy read. at any given moment, daiki is thinking about his next meal or his next sleep. but that, in the depths of their conversation, taiga had pulled himself out of it enough to come to the correct conclusion on what daiki was thinking about. it wasn’t basketball, it wasn’t their history ( not entirely, at least ), and it wasn’t taiga’s injuries ( though maybe it should have been? ). it was his old beanbag. not taiga’s. not nijimura’s. his. and he’s smiling again, for the first time today. a wall has come down.

the future starts to fit into place. is that dramatic? it’s fate. it’s fate. does taiga see it too? does he knows that daiki could walk to the ends of the earth for him? daiki smiles too, now. he sinks deeper into his awful seat, shoulders almost meeting his ears.

“i hate this chair, taiga.”

“me too, but i hated the beanbag more.”

“you didn’t,” a critical insult! “why’d you keep it if you hated it so much?”

taiga sighs now, shifting in his seat so that his arm rested on the back of the couch, head against his hand. he stares with an unimpressed downwards turn to his mouth, and a double chin beneath his jaw. because you loved it, his eyes replied in words his mouth couldn’t betray, and i loved you. past tense, daiki can’t flatter himself into thinking that taiga is in any kind of place to be thinking about relationships. but they’d been in love before. daiki had been taiga’s first ( almost ) everything. it’s over in a split second, but he remembers thinking they’d be together forever.

“do you really think i could’ve been a banker?”

the question, offered casually under the guise of an innocent topic change, has weight to it. daiki knows this, but it doesn’t matter. his answer comes from the heart. their eyes meet.

“y’know,” daiki straightens up a little, “yeah, i do. i still think you could be a banker, dude. you’re one of the few people i’ve met who can really do anything you set your mind to.”

“i’m too stupid to be a banker.”

insecure words don’t suit taiga’s voice. they sound wrong. daiki doesn’t look away. “your tenacity outweighs your stupidity any day.”

taiga rolls his eyes and sips his beer. his smile fades. what’s he thinking about? daiki feels guilty realising he can’t read taiga as well as the other way around, but the last time they’d been in this room, it would have been a fair guess to suggest basketball was on his mind. it had almost always been on his mind. and now that his eyes no longer sparkle, basketball or lack thereof would also be a decent guess, but daiki didn’t think it was just that. does taiga think of the past? does he regret not paying attention in school and not giving himself any kind of backup career? daiki does. their parents do.

god, why can’t he think of anything to say? why is he so fucking silent all of a sudden? daiki’s usually quick as a whip, can spark a laugh or a fight at his whim. he usually knows just what to say when taiga’s not feeling great. or knows just what to do. all he can think of is a hug and what good has a hug ever done, really? he wants to wrap his arms around his old friend’s shoulders and tell him it’s all going to be alright. would taiga push him away? would he get mad?

“so,” taiga stands unexpectedly. is he about to tell him to get lost? “how are you doing?”

it takes him aback. uh, he’s been shit. he’s been worrying to death over taiga’s lack of communication, and fearing the worst with every phone call ignored. daiki exhales, watching taiga walk over to the sliding doors to the tiny balcony. it’s early evening and the city is starting to twinkle. does taiga admire its familiar beauty, or does he stare out with an empty gaze? for the love of all things good, daiki, for fuck’s sake! just say something!

“fine,” excellent.

“good. how’s sabs?”

“sabs?”

“yeah. i heard things were getting serious with you two.” his voice is impossible to hear, but he’s not mocking him. taiga’s ignorance at the situation is baffling, but he isn’t being spiteful.

“uh. we-- we broke up, man, ages ago. like, a few months.”

“huh.”

silence returned. daiki hates this. he understands not googling each other, but hadn’t anyone told taiga about sabs and him? had taiga really not asked? he’d been avoiding every other basketball guy he knows, why would daiki be any different? was it possible that taiga doesn’t care anymore? no, cool it. no talking about relationships right now, it’s not the time. fuck knows what conversation this moment does call for, but it’s not that. leave it. chill. have some beer.

daiki follows his own advice and finally opens his beer. it’s gross. he’s more of a wine guy, while taiga has always liked his beers. unsurprisingly, the drink does little to distract him.

“how are your parents?”

so is this what it was going to be? small talk? daiki would prefer going back to aggressively telling taiga how fucking amazing he is, just to fight the voice that had said i’m too stupid to be a banker.

“dad’s retiring soon,” daiki replies in a sigh, “there’ll be a party. you should come.”

taiga chuckles dryly.

you don’t have to, jesus. daiki doesn’t say it, and fights the irritation as best as he can. he’s using the same patience that taiga had used with him in the past when the world had felt like it was collapsing. “mom asks about you all the time.”

a grunt this time; it’s kind of like the surprised huh from earlier, mixed with a noise of amused rejection.

“how’s your dad?”

“he doesn’t get it at all. i tried telling him imagine you lost both your hands and couldn’t work anymore, but it’s not the same. he doesn’t love his work.”

daiki’s moving before he can help it. he comes to stand beside taiga to watch the city. he can’t see beyond the reflection of taiga’s sorrowful face in the glass. he’d been right, earlier. those gorgeous eyes were empty. if he was looking at the view, his eyes were dead on the horizon.

taiga continues without interruption. “he only works as an escape from everything he fucked up in his life. me, for instance.”

“taiga,” daiki’s heart aches.

“i should’a listened when i was a kid. that’s it. i should’a paced myself.”

“would you have joined seirin’s team if you paced yourself?”

silence.

“your intensity is a part of you, taiga,” daiki says gently. taiga’s distant eyes hone in on the reflection, too, and now they’re looking at each other in the glass. daiki is first to look away like a coward. “i think if you had paced yourself, you’d have come to one of seirin’s games. you would’a found out about the generation of miracles and thought i wanna take those asshole down a notch.”

“you told me my light’s too dim when we first met, though.” taiga turns his head so that he’s facing the city again. “even if i joined the team, we still lost before we got to finally beat you.”

“it was tetsu who lifted you up to my level,” daiki’s reply is barely a whisper. he’s falling into his own memories and his eyes drop to the windowpane. it had always been him. they both dwelled on it, he didn’t have to be a mind-reader for that. he misses kuroko like hell.

“you ever wish you hated basketball?” taiga’s voice cracks. he takes a sip of beer and daiki copies him.

“yeah,” before he’d met taiga, he’d been plagued with the idea of never meeting anyone up to his standards. anyone better. kise came close, but daiki had lost to seirin. that felt like lifetimes ago now.

“this fucking sucks,” he’d finished his beer now. daiki glances over in time to see taiga blindly toss his beer bottle over his shoulder. he looks back to see where it landed. it hadn’t shattered, but flown safely onto the sofa where taiga had been sitting. taiga doesn’t move. he doesn’t react at all.

daiki feels it keenly too, can’t taiga see? he’s not alone. sure, daiki can’t fully understand how it feels to be forced into retirement due to injury, but he’s on his way there. his body is tired and it is always sore. one of these days, he’ll land funny and never properly recover. and then daiki will isolate from the world until he can figure himself out. it will be like carving the basketball out of himself. having played for his whole life, what will be left? he comes to stare at taiga so gradually that he hadn’t noticed when it happened. he sees a strong man with a huge heart and the rest of his life ahead of him. he is awesome at cooking, maybe he’ll do something with that? he has enough money that, if he’s sensible with it ( which he always has been ), he’s financially secure. hell, taiga’s always been financially secure.

he sees a man waging a war in his mind. he sees broken pieces desperately held together. daiki sees himself.

“i’ll leave if you want me to, tai. i don’t wanna make it worse.”

taiga shakes his head. he looked, for a second, like he’d say something. his mouth opened, but he changed his mind last minute and closes it again. daiki can’t stand to see him this way. if they never talk about basketball again for the rest of their lives, he’ll find something else to say. they can’t just stop talking because they can’t play against each other anymore. unless that’s really what taiga wants, which daiki doubts.

it’s a bold move, perhaps, but he bumps his knuckles gently against taiga’s hand hanging beside them. the redhead glances between them, but it doesn’t put daiki off. he carefully offers his hand to hold, forgoing breathing lest it spark an outburst. there’s no rage this time. their hands connect like they had a million times before. daiki already feels better for it, selfishly, as if how he feels is what’s important right now. fuck, he just loves taiga so much. he’ll be fine, he’s taiga. of course he will. he’s at a low point and it’s weird to see him so lost, it’s unnatural somehow, but he’ll get through it. daiki believes in him. he believes in him with his whole goddamn heart.

taiga meets his eyes just as he’s feeling like he could just say it outright. daiki sees tired, teary eyes. he squeezes his hand. “what are you thinking about?” taiga asks quietly.

“how amazing you are,” he replies. “you’ll get through this. i know you will.”

taiga scoffs, but it doesn't sound like an outright rejection. not totally, at least.

a silence settles between them as they each think of something to say. daiki wishes there was something he could do to fix it. fix all the hurt. wrap it up in a ball and throw it outside. it's more of a distraction than anything, but hadn't that metaphor sounded like basketball? it would be impossible to cut the sport from himself. he doesn't think he'd be able to do it. this must be hell for taiga. he glances over and meets teary eyes unexpectedly looking at him, too.

"come here," daiki pulls his hand away, only to slide in and wrap his arms around taiga's waist. he hadn't thought twice about it this time. it's the right thing to do.

"i'm fine," taiga sniffs.

"then it's for my benefit," he snaps. it works, and he feels familiar arms wrap around him in kind. they stand in gentle silence, there’s a wall clock ticking somewhere in the background. cars beneath them sound like crashing waves. a siren. daiki runs his hands along taiga’s back soothingly, and notes that the form is softer now where muscles had laid careful marks of definition. taiga had always been bulkier than him, but this added weight makes the guy seem immovable. and here he is, hiding his face in daiki’s shoulder in the world’s saddest hug. he has to stop himself from kissing him there and then. as if that would help anything. it used to. enough kisses peppered on taiga’s face had always been enough to lift his mood. it’s strange to love taiga with restraint, but he will, if that is what he needs.

"you were right, by the way," taiga mutters, "I haven't talked this through with anybody."

"yeah. i'm here for you, tai. but we don't gotta talk about it if you don't want to. hell, we could pretend i'm the one who works at the bank and never talk about basketball again."

"you, a banker? that's just unrealistic." it's a joke delivered totally pathetically, with a shaking voice.

"shut up," and it's a defence without any bite to it.

“sorry about sabs,” daiki feels the words mumbled into his shoulder, feels taiga’s lips say her name against his t-shirt. taiga sounds guilty. he must know.

“don’t worry about it.”

“i heard you say in that interview that you were gonna have kids. i thought you were gonna end up with her.”

“interview?” daiki frowns. taiga breaks out of the hug and opens the sliding door. he comes to lean against the balcony, and daiki is still standing where he had been, racking his brain for what the hell he was talking about? he remembers an invasive question from a dickhead reporter along those lines, but daiki hadn’t said that he was going to? have them with sabs? he had never even considered it. really never considered it. hell no. “uh,” he finally replies, realising that he hadn’t yet, “no.”

“would you, in the future? not with sabs. i just mean, in general.”

daiki slides the door further open and steps into the cool air. he rests against the railing with his forearms, looking down and out at the city. for all that it could mean, he looks over with a gentle expression at the only person that would change his mind about it. “would you?”

taiga remains fixed on the horizon. his shoulders shrug. “i never thought about shit like that before. i think so, maybe.”

daiki hums. he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t admit to being happy to hear that taiga is open to it, doesn’t admit that he’s always liked the idea of having kids. at least one, maybe two. being an only child is difficult, but then, the adoption process is difficult. hopefully two kids. he recalls a conversation they had had a long time ago, or maybe it had been a moment in passing that stuck out. taiga has changed his mind. back then, daiki distinctly remembers hearing that taiga didn’t think he’d make for a very good dad. he remembers, because he knows how much he disagreed. a guy like him with a heart like that? please. it’s a given.

“while you’re here, you should visit nijimura and his kids at teiko.”

daiki blinks. the speed at which the conversation was going is leaving him behind. he’d done that before, sure, but not as often as taiga. that makes sense though, right? taiga was always good at making time for shit like that. he shrugs his shoulders. “yeah, i guess. i hadn’t thought about it.”

“daiki?” taiga says quietly. when daiki looks over, their eyes meet. god, taiga’s eyes are so fucking sad. he can’t deal with it. daiki nods, taiga continues. “i’m gonna give you a word of advice. you should really think about what you’re gonna do when you can’t play anymore. i wish i had. there’s no point dwelling on the past, but if i can stop you from feeling like this, then it won’t all be for nothing.”

daiki categorically doesn’t like talking about stuff like this. his injuries will heal. they always do. and he will play again. he is not strong like taiga, he can’t just carve it out and build himself up again. taiga will be able to tell by the look on daiki’s face that he has taken the advice to heart, even if he can’t speak for the lump in his throat. when he can, after a moment, daiki replies.

“i get it if you wanna be alone right now,” his eyes drift back to the city, “and i’ll go stand on the side-lines ‘til you’re ready if that’s what you want, but if our roles were reversed like you mentioned earlier, i hope you would know to come find me.”

“of course i would,” taiga rests forwards on the balcony, mirroring daiki. their arms touch, neither move. “when you put it like that... i’m sorry i was so hard to find.”

daiki doesn’t tell him that he loves him now. not in words. he says it between the lines, in the diminishing space between his fingertips and taiga’s skin. any excuse to touch him, he makes. now, as his head comes to rest momentarily on taiga’s shoulder. can he stay there? taiga allows it. he does. on the arm, later, as a story is told, on the hand. taiga returns it in a drifting touch across daiki’s shoulders as he’s passing in the kitchen, or that one, affectionate moment where taiga had playfully scuffed his knuckles against daiki’s chin. god, it had driven him crazy. taiga is so beautiful. his hair is a little longer. the guy’s always wanted a mullet, maybe now he’s actually growing it out? his hands, his back, his thighs. they’d been friends with benefits a few years ago because they couldn’t handle being in the same room without physically reacting to it. then they’d started taking other people. and now, daiki feels that gut instinct to give taiga everything again. but he won’t. not tonight.

instead, he’ll confess his love in the respectful silences, in reassuring smiles, the changes of conversation, the nah, i’ve got nowhere to be when 11 o’clock hit and taiga was embarrassed to have taken up so much of his time. he says i love you in the way that they briefly hold hands. in the words unsaid because now isn’t the time. in the lingering glances, in the i’ll take the couch tonight. ( taiga, in his way, says i love you as he says no you won’t, you’ll sleep with me. or at least he says i know you love me, which is good enough. ) of course they sleep together. taiga’s head comes to rest upon his chest. they’re clothed. it’s weird not immediately making out with him now that all that daiki can smell is taiga. they are silent as their arms find comfortable ways to settle to sleep. daiki waits for the longest time before he speaks. he waits for breathing to even out, and grip to loosen where taiga’s hand had come to rest at his hip. and, when he does speak, it’s barely a whisper scraped through his tired, croaking throat:

“i love you, tai.”

nothing happens. taiga had been asleep. the night wears on and daiki’s mind walks through every sentence they had spoken. he falls asleep as the stars start to fade, wakes up again when taiga is getting out of bed, but doesn’t stay up. later, the smell of breakfast makes him stir ( it’s never failed before ). taiga tells him that he’s got a job at a bakery, so this bread is actually made by him. it’s perfect, but of course it is. it’s his.

[caffeinated-cryptid]

you got an ego so big (it'll eat you alive).

roman-centric hurt/comfort (w/ remus, patton and virgil). 

11.7k words | AO3 link | warnings: self-hatred, semi-intentional self-destruction, various injuries, arguing, remus-typical jokes and topics.

“At the best of times, Roman’s job was a tightrope act between maintaining a healthy amount of self-confidence and the ability to adapt and take criticism. Throughout his life he walks this line many times, always with the expectation that if he were to fall one way or the other, no one would be there to catch him.

But sometimes when you’re up miles high, it can become difficult to see the safety net on the ground below you.

(aka an expansion on the premise that a bruised ego causes literal injuries and the issues this could cause when you're an insecure prince with a need to please and the weight of the world on your shoulders).”

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

To be overly aware of your own self is often associated with negative traits, such as narcissism, self-consciousness or a sensitivity to mistakes. Although to some with a proclivity towards the spotlight, it can become an inadvertent consequence of over-analyzing yourself in order to achieve those flawless performances. Naturally, gaining any sort of notoriety and attempting to retain that positive image means becoming intimately aware of your faults and staying open to change, taking criticism to heart all the while keeping relatably humble. On the other hand, it may also mean letting that same criticism become your one sole focus, tearing you down instead of becoming a rung in the ladder that's supposed to take you to higher places.

Roman often found that navigating these gray areas was a momentous task. To be proud of his work, but not be too unbearably egotistical to the point that it blinded him. To accept criticism but not allow the pursuit of perfection to destroy him.

His role was truly a balance; a thin tightrope he constantly had to traverse.

And on occasion, he would end up slipping.

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

I - bonds that tie us.

Roman first learned of his job as the ego when Thomas was young. With Remus at the helm of most of the subconscious and instinctual stuff as his id, perhaps he should've assumed that he would have a similar mirrored purpose beyond simply confidence, however it hadn't ever really come into play until one afternoon when the two of them were busy playing in The Imagination.

They had just concluded a close duel against each other and were putting their weapons away (cardboard ones, since Feelings didn't want them running around with real weapons once he found out they were using them to fight, and because Fear and Lies often fretted about them doing something stupid and getting hurt). Usually neither of them held the lead for long during their matches since they were so well-matched, but today Remus had won easily, which Roman chalked up to him feeling off ("Yeah right. Don't be such a sore loser." "It's true!"). Either way, Remus would be bragging about the victory until the next time they got the opportunity to duel, and that meant he was already rubbing it in as they prepared to leave.

On their way to the exit, Remus had taken the lead at some point and was throwing out ideas about they should do later when Roman unexpectedly paused and doubled over, clutching his head. Remus didn't notice that he'd stopped until he heard a groan and turned around.

"What's wrong? Didn't hit you too hard, did I?" He asked with a grin as if he assumed that Roman was still playing- perhaps trying to make up an excuse for his terrible loss.

"I- Dunno. My head hurts…" Roman cringed, eyes screwed shut.

Remus' smile faltered when he realized it might not be a joke and he walked back, peeling Romans hands away from his forehead. Underneath was a large red patch of irritated skin which looked set to bruise. His frown deepened because he definitely didn't cause that, nor did he witness any incidents during the day which would be the cause. "How'd that happen?

"Dunno!" He repeated, eyes going blank for a moment while he caught up with what was happening outside. The two of them were usually much too distracted when they were in The Imagination to pay attention to everything that transpired in the real world, especially on weekdays like this when Thomas would be in school and Creativity wasn't exactly needed during most classes. "...Thomas was told off for slacking in front of the entire class and he got some bad grades on his report card… He's feeling embarrassed, I think.

Remus was confused by how this was relevant until he pieced together that the two events were linked to what was happening to his brother. His eyes widened in realization before they settled into determination. "Then I'll fight him until he stops feeling bad."

That startled a laugh out of Roman, until his head started pounding and he cut himself off with a grimace. "...’Can't do that."

He laughed too, in hopes that it would lift Roman's spirits again. "Can too! I'll figure it out, then he'll be too busy worrying about his broken bones to care about what some dumb teacher said. Maybe then he'll get to skip school for a while and do something funner like-"

"Remus." Roman hissed over him, overcome with a sudden dizzy spell. His hand found Remus’ shoulder for purchase, which stopped his twin in his rant.

Remus stared at him in alarm. This seemed serious, and he didn't do too well with handling serious things. "Do... Do you want me to get Feelings? Or Learning? Or Lies?"

"No. None of them. I just wanna go home." He whined, leaning more and more against Remus for support.

' Home' in their case was what they called their shared room. It was where they always returned to at the end of a long day, and no matter what had happened, they could always feel their troubles wash away as they sat in their own little world once more. Roman longed for that feeling, to escape the too-bright sun of The Imagination which now felt like it was blinding him and just lay down for a while.

Remus nodded hesitantly, the plans he had spun of pulling a prank on Fear and Lies forgotten. Normally the two Creativities preferred to find the door of The Imagination manually (they claimed it made the experience more immersive when they were out on an adventure), but instead he reached towards the exit and the world twisted around them, ejecting them out together. They came out the other side back in their room, next to their bunk bed. Instead of climbing up to his bed on the top, Roman just about threw himself onto Remus' sheets. Somehow he managed to ignore the weird smell of the fabric that he always complained about, which spoke greatly about his current well-being.

Remus hovered behind him, unsure of what to do, when Roman let out another pained noise and curled up tighter. "What now?!"

"Thomas...parents.

Since that didn't really explain anything, Remus decided to check up on what was happening outside himself. Thomas' parents had asked to see his report card and they were giving him the 'not mad but disappointed talk', while Thomas was shrunk into himself in shame. Yikes, Learning mustn't be feeling too hot about this either. But right now his focus was on his brother, who the sight of in such a sorry state filled him with rage.

"Now I want to fight them too." Remus muttered darkly. "Take the knife from the kitchen that dad uses to cut up turkeys and make them stop talking forever. Then we won't have to deal with this again and you won't-"

Oh right, Roman was still injured. Focus, Remus. Concern. Right, he was concerned for his brother, who was hurting like he had never seen, even after their fights. What could he do about this? He was always so much better at destroying things than fixing them, so having to deal with a situation like this without any sort of guidance made him nervous.

"You can't hurt them." Roman protested weakly.

"Maybe if I want to enough I could!"

Remus walked around the bunk bed and settled down on the side Roman was facing towards. From this angle he could see new bruises spattered along his brother's arms. In a grotesque way, the different shades came together like a watercolour painting. Except instead of a canvas, they were on a body- Remus shook his head. Focus! He could draw sickly yellow and purple-inspired pictures later, when Roman would be in the mood to be more good-humored about it.

"You shouldn't, then. It's bad."

"...Alright then. What should I do Ro-bro?"

Roman cracked open one eye and looked at him. "Stay? Until Thomas feels better?"

Considering he was just grounded for the weekend, Remus wasn't sure how long it would take for this hit to Thomas' self esteem to blow over, but despite knowing this he nodded anyway.

"Okay."

He laid down next to Roman, not commenting when he hid his face against the covers and started sniffling, or when he eventually fell asleep, curled against his side like how they would sleep when they were newly-split. When Learning knocked in their door to tell them that dinner was ready, he made a weak excuse that they were busy and would eat later.

Without even asking he knew Roman would want this to be kept between them, despite how the others would undoubtedly fuss and nurse him back to health. And perhaps that was the reason why. His brother always wanted to appear infallible to the others and did so replicating the heroes from the stories they read, which often meant refusing to admit when he needed help and trying to do everything himself. If you asked Remus, he was trying way too hard to be like the Creativity that came before them, which was silly because they were different now and as they were, they needed each other.

Remus closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep too. This seemed like a big deal, so Roman's pride would have to pass eventually for him to seek help. Right?

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

II - even without dying you're dead to me.

In retrospect, Remus had underestimated Roman’s ability to keep a secret (maybe because he was so quick these days to run over to Feelings, now Morality, whenever Remus did something to upset him. Tattle-tale).

Now that they were older and their roles were more defined, their once shared-room had separated into two to adjust to this change. Even though it had been long enough that he should be used to the feeling of being alone, there were still times where Remus had to try to not let it bother him when he looked up at night, expecting to see the familiar underside of a top bunk and instead only finding the ceiling he had painted an underwater-themed mural on.

On nights like this, far too sentimental to enter a peaceful rest, they would go sleep in each other's rooms, saying nothing as they tried to pretend they were as close as they once were. Remus groaned into his pillow, fighting that annoying urge to seek comfort. He was a teenager now, he didn't want to be so attached at the hip to a side who had started looking at him with disgust and fear instead of the fondness they used to share. Sometimes he couldn't help it though, clinging to the days when everything felt simple and the biggest thing they had to worry about was finding time to create the things they enjoyed. At the very least he was glad that Roman didn't mock him for his occasional bouts of uncharacteristic sentiment; that would solidify for him that there were no remnants of the relationship they once had left.

With that depressing thought, he rolled out of bed. He couldn't sleep tonight so he was going to make that Roman's problem; that always cheered him up. Perhaps if he hadn't made such a disturbed face when Remus had talked about the brazen bull he had made earlier that day, he would feel a bit more sympathy for waking his brother up in the middle of the night. Buuut he didn't and he was feeling petty, so without a second thought he sunk out and into Romans room.

"WAKEY WAKEY~!" Remus clashed two cymbals together like one of those nightmare-inducing wind-up monkeys, only to belatedly realize the bed he was facing was empty.

He blinked, both in confusion and to adjust his eyes to the unexpected light of the room. Both of them may be night owls, but Roman would usually be asleep by 2am at least, and it was way past that hour. Looking around the room, his eyes latched onto the vanity where his brother was sitting, looking incredibly startled from the deafening crash of metal against metal.

"Get out!" He yelled once his shock faded into indignation, glaring at Remus.

Remus didn’t respond, staring at the medical supplies spread across the surface. Roman was in the middle of wrapping a compression bandage around his thigh, which he abandoned as soon as Remus had entered.

"Did you get something stuck in your ear again? I'm not in the mood to deal with you tonight, Remus. Leave ."

"What happened?" He blurted out before he could even think about the question.

"Doesn't matter. In case you've forgotten, the door's right there. Feel free to use it at any point."

Instead of complying (because when had Remus ever done that for anyone? No no, it was always more exciting to do the opposite of what people ask and see what happens), he crossed the room, ignoring how Roman increasingly looked like he wanted to punch him the longer he lingered.

"Bitch, it obviously does matter, otherwise you wouldn't be looking like you got trampled by a cracked-out horse."

"Lovely imagery." Roman gritted out.

"Lovely avoidance." Remus retorted sarcastically. "Aren't you best friends with Morality and Logic now? Why aren't they here sucking your d-"

"If you don't go back to your own room I'll run you through with my sword." Roman warned with an air of finality.

Remus snorted.

It was hard to be intimidated by the same side who had once cried when he had accidentally smashed an imaginary caterpillar cocoon with his morning star. In his defense he had forgotten to make the handle weighted when he first made it, so he was still getting used to the uneven distribution of the weapon...not like that stopped Roman from getting upset with him. Supposedly he had spent the last week trying to raise butterflies and wanted to show them off to Logic after they had learned about chrysalis in class, but Remus found that somewhat laughable considering he could just create a fully-formed butterfly if he wanted to. So he did laugh, calling him dumb for getting upset over nothing, and through tears Roman pushed him to the ground and told him he hated him for the first time. (After that, he may have spent the next week killing any butterflies that crossed his path, but that was neither here nor there. The point of this tangent provided a lá Remus Sander's brain was was that Roman could be a big baby and therefore he couldn't take anything he said too seriously.)

"Sounds like a good time! Save that idea for later though, because if you don't tell me I'll summon them over here to ask them myself."

"Don't. They don't know about this, alright? For once in your life can you just let it go?"

Huh. Remus tilted his head. It had been years since they first found out about the fun little quirk Roman had, and he just...never told? He figured at the very least it would be a good way to milk even more attention from the others; something Creativity had been seeking more often after Fear turned into Anxiety during middle school and gained a much larger role in Thomas' life. "Why?"

Roman huffed in frustration. "They don't need to. I can handle it myself."

"...Wow! Careful not to summon Lies, because you're full of shit and you know it." Remus fired back. He didn't even know why he was getting so mad. Minutes ago he was cursing his brother's guts for how their relationship had soured, and now all of a sudden it was if all of that dislike had faded into the background for something else. Concern? He hadn't felt concern for anything in years. Roman always made it seem like he could take care of himself, so that's what Remus had believed at first too, though perhaps stumbling across this situation was evidence of the opposite. Reasonable self-care didn't exactly look like 'patching yourself up at 4 in the morning'. At least, that sounded like something Lies would say which probably meant it was accurate.

"Ugh- Shut up. I've been doing just fine so far, without you or them, so you can take your fake pity and shove it up your you-know-where."

Remus didn't rise to the opportunity to poke fun at that statement, his mind going blank (and what a strange and unusual feeling that was). The idea that anything could have been hidden from him seemed unthinkable given how they used to tell each other everything. He hadn't even considered that that habit had become one-sided, given how it had never stopped being true for him. "...Roman, what does that mean? Has this been happening a lot?"

"..."

"Why did you never tell me?! This isn't something you can just keep a secret! If you won't say anything I will-

Remus' mouth snapped shut as Roman ejected him from his room. He landed back on his own bed and when he scrambled onto his feet to tried to rise up again, he found that his efforts were blocked. Roman had kicked him out and locked the door behind him. He never did that, no matter how much they fought or annoyed each other. It was the one thing they did that showed they still cared.

Remus trembled with adrenaline and shock. Taking his pillow, he summoned a knife and stabbed it and stabbed it and stabbed it until all of his pent up feelings were gone and there all that was left was the fluff covering his floor.

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

III - interlude.

As it turns out, he'd never get the opportunity to tell, because shortly after that, the newly appointed 'dark sides' were pushed away into their own corner of the mindscape after an explosive argument between the sides (during which Remus tried to ignore how closely Roman stood at Morality's side, sword brandished towards him. He didn't want to think his twin had a hand in their separation, even though it made so much sense).

When he argued about going back with Lies, now Deceit after being appointed the new leader of the unwanted and unloved, he was told through clenched teeth and pained eyes that he shouldn't. Not until Thomas was ready for him. For all of them.

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

IV - to the death of me, i'm just fulfillin' my destiny.

After that, Roman adjusted, and did so alone. Teenage years came with many challenges, ones he didn’t always escape unscathed. Despite the occasional rejection here, an unfortunate setback there, he felt as if he had grown a thicker skin for the trials they faced. Into adulthood he wore his ego like a suit of armor; Thomas was outgoing and likable, so of course it became easier to brush aside random negative experiences as minor blips, things that didn’t represent their worth.

This was challenged somewhat as he began pursuing creative outlets more seriously. This meant more work for Roman in general (Woo! Suck it Logan), but it also came with more opportunities to feel ashamed of a messed-up performance, embarrassed by a note sung wrong, hurt by an ill-intentioned piece of feedback.

So he tried to compensate at times. Sue him. Between the nights he spent nursing his wounds and wondering how to do better next time, perhaps he deserved to be a little self-congratulatory about the shining achievements he won for them. There was a certain safety in placing himself up on that pedestal, so high above that it felt like nobody could ever reach him; that he was above it all. But the reality was that this pedestal, gold-plated as it may be, was founded on an interior of paper mache, one wrong move from away from collapsing and sending him tumbling back down to earth.

It was a good thing that pretending came naturally to Roman. So natural that the fear of falling sometimes didn’t register with him at all.

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

V - the calamitous corollary of being considered.

Except, it may have been too much to expect nobody to ever realize there was something up with him. The fact that the sides had to work closely together alone meant that the excuse of being busy after every troubling experience could only work for so long.

The first one to find out was Patton, because of course it was. Sometimes Roman felt as if Patton wasn’t given enough credit for his intelligence. Even though he could be a tad slow on the uptake on other things, his ability to detect the slightest change in mood and discern how people were feeling could be uncanny at times. Emotions just happened to be Patton's strong suit, and while that was very much appreciated when it came to sharing excitement or talking through a heated problem, it was not so grand when you were trying to get away with hiding something.

The first time he let something slip was a few days after Thomas had been flat-out rejected when asking someone out on a date. It wasn't that big of a blow, considering they had barely known the guy for more than a month, but Roman had been insistent that they throw caution into the wind and give it a shot, sure that he had been receiving signals that proved that this guy felt a similar interest. Turns out, he didn't, and was very-much straight. At least the rejection had been somewhat carried out gently and he didn't seem too put-off about staying friends afterwards. Nonetheless the wound was still fresh, and Thomas kept internally cringing whenever he thought about it, which didn't help matters. Whatever. Roman dealt with the bruises that arose from the incident and dabbed a little foundation on the ones he couldn't hide with clothing. They'd get over it in a matter of weeks.

It was after the awkward feelings had finally begun to settle when it happened. Roman and Patton had been in the kitchen preparing dinner when Thomas received a message on his phone, and when he went to check it, he face-planted on the couch in mortification.

'Hey man, I just remembered that my cousin is coming to town this weekend. He's gay too so I thought you two could go on a blind date if you're still looking. :) Lmk your thoughts.'

Patton frowned upon sensing the sudden wave of embarrassment, pausing to check what had happened. "Well...That's thoughtful of him!" He chuckled, tone trying and failing to be positive. Roman couldn't share the same sentiment.

"Thoughtless is more like it! He wants to set us up with the first gay person he knows? Who's not even in the city?  Does he think Thomas has no standards at all?! How dare-" Roman's indignant protests cut off as he felt the skin around his collar grow tender and swell slightly. He let out a slight whimper when he pressed his fingers into the bruise to double check its location. Why now and in such a visible place?! He's going to get Thomas to drop that guy if it's the last thing he does-

"Ro! Are you okay?"

Right. Patton was still here. Don't panic.

"Y-yeah! I just remembered an injury I sustained earlier. But not to worry, 'tis but a flesh wound!" He joked.

"A flesh wound?!" Patton cried, reference flying over his head. "Let me see."

Gently, Patton moved his head upwards to get a better look at the bruise. It mustn't look good, because Patton, squeamish as he was, grimaced on sight.

"How on earth did that happen? I don't remember that being there just now."

"Uh." Come on Creative skills, work your magic. "A stray whomping willow in The Imagination? You know how they can be. I suppose it merely took a while to develop, bruises can be funny like that."

Luckily it seemed to work, because Patton sighed. "I thought you got rid of them all after that time one almost threw Logan into a lake. Did Remus make more?"

Heh. Good times. That was a slight lie on his behalf when he had told the others he had gotten rid of the trees; he had kept a few of them around because they were once a gift from Remus to quote 'spice up his boring forests'. Not for any sentimental reasons, of course, but because he thought it was funny and it kept him on his toes. "I guess."

Patton made a small 'tsk' noise, mouth still drawn in a frown but he didn't comment further. "Come on, I'll help you treat that. Does it hurt?"

"Of course not." He smiled. "Do you really think I could be bested by a mere tree?"

"Never! I do wish you were more careful when you go on your little adventures, though. It makes me awfully sad to think about you in 'pine'."

Roman knew it had been a flimsy excuse and even though Patton seemed to accept it, there was a hesitation in his eye which spoke of hidden disbelief. After some first aid and many more tree-related puns later, they went back to cooking, finishing up 30 minutes later. When Logan came down to dinner, immediately questioning the bandages around Roman's neck, he repeated the fake story, distracting him with a request not to go into The Imagination with the whomping willow around and packaging the thinly-veiled jab at the way Logan had once freaked out when he was swung around by the semi-sentient tree as a warning. Logan's concern quickly faded and he shot back a sharp retaliation that Roman didn't care to remember. He just laughed, feeling as light as a kite with the crisis averted.

The next time didn't go over as gracefully.

Thomas had found a different partner eventually, one that wasn't some friend's cousin. They dated for months, and just when he had been thinking about inviting his boyfriend to move in so he could be closer to his workplace, he'd been broken up with. On Valentines Day of all days. There was no better way of putting it; they had planned to go out to dinner, managing to book a table at a fairly classy restaurant, exchanged gifts, and near the end of the night his boyfriend had leaned across the table with a sad smile, thanking him for the evening before admitting he didn't see them working out anymore. He said it quietly, as to not cause a scene among the other diners, but that didn't stop Thomas from immediately bursting into tears. The scene had caused his (now ex) boyfriend to leave early after paying his half of the bill. At least the waitress had taken pity on him and brought over more complimentary bread rolls (which he took because he was not a complete fool, heartbroken as he may be), though even that didn't stop the confusion and embarrassment of it all.

As expected, the whole incident caused nothing but chaos; the right-brain sides were devastated, Anxiety was in a state of panic, and Logic had been metaphorically thrown out the window. As Thomas made his way home, they were at a complete loss for what to do. They had started the day, hoping to take a step forward in their relationship, and ended up with nothing at all. What worse is that they didn't even have a clear idea why (admittedly, that could have been due to, as mentioned before, the inconsolable crying).

It seemed like the most sensible thing to do at the moment was to throw the Valentines gifts away and gorge on the ice-cream that had been sitting in the back of the freezer for who-knows how long while watching a comfort show and trying to forget the whole evening. So that's what they did. As Logan tried to sort through what happened and rationalize what to do next, Patton wallowed in his misery as he dealt with the giant mix of feelings Thomas was going through.

After a few hours working through the brunt of it, enough to where his mind began wandering elsewhere, Patton realized with a start that he hadn't seen Roman since the start of the evening. He must have been so devastated too! Patton recalled how excited he was about the day ahead of them, how he spun fantasies of Thomas' boyfriend accepting the proposal to move in and then the future proposals that could come after that-

Patton mournfully sobbed. He needed to stop thinking about this, or else Thomas could start spiraling again. The best thing to do right now was distract himself, and to do that he should go check on Roman. Perhaps they could talk and have a mutual catharsis over the whole thing. Or better yet, he could put his energy towards someone else and he won't have to fall back into the thoughts that had been clouding his mind ever since they had left that stupid restaurant.

Splashing some water on his face to clear up some of the blotchy-ness, he left his room and crossed the hallway towards Roman's. He couldn't hear any noise coming from inside, so he tentatively knocked. "Kiddo?"

For a few moments there was silence, and Patton almost turned away, assuming that Roman might be blowing off some steam in The Imagination, until a voice cleared inside the room and answered. "Pat? What do you want?"

Patton was taken aback for a second, not expecting such a straight-forward answer. It almost sounded like Roman wasn't upset at all, but Patton sincerely doubted that to be true. His tone was almost too normal, and for anybody else he wouldn't have questioned it, but the lack of dramatics or flowery language was always a clear red flag for the Creative side. "I wanted to check on you since um- You-Know-Who took 'dine and dash' a tad too seriously." He chuckled humorlessly. "...Can I come in?"

There was some shuffling and muffled curses. "Why? I'm fine. Worry about yourself."

"'Why?'" He repeated, eyeing the door warily. "I'm concerned! I haven't seen you in hours and I- I know you must be upset about this too. Can we please talk?"

"I'm not exactly my most princely presentable self right now. Anyway, it's late. Surely this can wait until tomorrow?"

Patton looked down at himself. Instead of his usual garb, he had thrown on some more comfortable clothes hours ago, and they were currently crumpled from laying in bed, sobbing his eyes out. "I'm hardly my best-self either right now, Kiddo-" Before he could go on a spiel about how it was best to not bottle up emotions when they're fresh (and ignoring the hypocrisy of that sentiment), he heard a thump on the other side of the door followed by a quiet hiss of pain. Patton began to panic, and his hand flew to the handle. "I'm coming in!"

Before the other side could even consider protesting, Patton flung the fortunately unlocked door open and stepped into the room, gasping at the sight he was met with. Roman was on the floor, wincing as he clutched his leg. Although he was still dressed in his usual outfit, there were enough injuries on his visible skin that Patton could only wonder how far they went. He covered his mouth and stared in horror as Roman turned to look at him nervously.

"What- How did this happen?!"

Roman licked his dry lips, eyes darting away as he searched for an excuse. "I- The Imagination- This is from earlier-"

"You told me this morning you were going to spend the day helping Thomas write a love letter." Patton said, voice strained with panic and disbelief. "Tell me the truth, please."

Shoot, he had announced his plans earlier that day, hadn't he? He internally cursed his inability to keep his mouth shut, before lowering his head in defeat. "Can you keep a secret, Pat?"

Said side shifted uncomfortably, but his tone was resolute when he nodded. "If it means you'll let me help with whatever this is."

"Okay..." Roman inhaled. "Okay."

And then he explained. Or rather, gave a shortened version of the truth which was less likely to give Patton a complete heart-attack: that bruised egos were something he experienced, but it was never this bad (true) or all that common (also true), and that they weren't something to worry about because he could usually take care of them himself (technically true). By the time he had finished, Patton still looked concerned, but had become less frantic with the information.

"You'll let me help in the future if you need it, right?" He asked, so close to shedding tears that Roman had trouble keeping eye-contact without becoming choked up with guilt.

"If I need it." He agreed.

Finally, Patton smiled, and went to fetch the first-aid kit hastily. As he helped patch him up for the second time that year, the look in Patton's eyes was so pained that Roman vowed to let him see this side of him as little as possible.

For a while, he kept true to this promise to himself, and on the occasions when Patton would drop by to check if everything was alright, if Roman had encountered any bruised egos since, he relished in the relief on his face whenever he would lie and said he hadn't. Distantly he wondered sometimes if this was how heroes were supposed to feel; protecting people by letting them live in blissful ignorance and bearing the burden of the ugly truth alone.

(It was thoughts like that that kept him going.)

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

VI - high highs and low lows.

And then came the videos. Youtube had been an excellent ego-boost for Roman. Similar to how life-changing Vine was, the instant gratification of likes and feedback and people liking what they made was enough to send him over the moon, and oftentimes it was able to ward away the downsides that came with it too; the stress of staying relevant, the occasional hate comment, the portion of dislikes that didn't explain what about the video was dislike-worthy-

Overall it seemed like a great idea, especially when the sides became involved. It gave them all the chance to gain their own spotlights, which most of them appreciated. Sometimes this wasn't always so good though. With the videos came more introspection than usual, which meant deeply examining each problem to try to find some kind of moral. And right now, Roman didn't want to do any sort of thinking exercise about how badly he messed up. At this point in their career, a simple audition should have been a cake walk, instead it was an ache walk...Okay, admittedly he wasn't on his best game right now. The point was, he had potentially thrown the whole audition by forgetting something so simple as the lyrics, and now the casting director would definitely only remember Thomas by the way he froze under pressure, which wasn't exactly an appealing trait in somebody looking to go up on stage where the pressure was set to 100.

After everything was said and done, Roman had no choice but to approach Patton for help. In his current state, he was much too dizzy on his feet to even contemplate showing up and trying to play it off cool, which would've been an laughable endeavor anyhow considering how outwardly embarrassed Thomas was. Betrayal from his own-- well. It was a bit too harsh to blame his current predicament on Thomas, after all the fact of the matter was that it was Roman’s fault for not being better prepared.

Anyway, that's how he ended up in his current position, being swaddled in a too-warm bed, injuries patched up and having soup spoon-fed into his mouth. The whole thing felt...strange. Usually during times like this he would be grinning and bearing it, the inner satisfaction he got from fooling everyone with his performance pushing him through the day, but he supposed this was unavoidable. It was better that only one side had to see part of the problem rather than exposing it to everyone, and out of all of them, at least it was Patton. It still didn't sit well that his secret was now out in the open, a throwaway joke to be used before moving along, but hopefully that would play to his favor and they'd view it as his usual dramatics. Not like he preferred to be seen as too incompetent to care for himself, even if it fit with his persona. He supposed it just went without saying that princes are supposed to have someone at their every beck and call, they're supposed to be indulgent and spoiled and ridiculous. But princes were also supposed to be leaders, someone who was caring and brave and ready to face any challenge.

Roman sighed, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. He didn't feel very princely at all right now.

“Kiddo, are you doing okay? Does something hurt? Is the soup too hot?” Patton asked, eyebrows drawing together in concern. He was such an open book when it came to the other sides, which meant that Roman knew exactly when he had worried or panicked the fatherly figure. Honestly, it only made him feel worse. Being doted over seemed like a good idea until it meant being the subject of pity and other people’s hurt.

“No no, I’m fine Padre. It’s fine. I was just taking a trip into thought city for a second there.” He cracked a smile, trying to ignore how the bruise at the corner of his mouth pulled at the motion. If only he could think of a more original nickname, perhaps that would be more convincing. He was simply drawing blanks today it seemed. “What do you think the others are up to right now? I’d bet 5 bucks Logan is losing his mind having to deal with Anxiety alone.”

Patton didn’t look entirely convinced, but the sudden change of subject encouraged him to stop any further questioning.

In the end they talked until the others had finished filming. Whatever happened during the discussion must have helped Thomas grow past his feelings, because one-by-one the injuries on Roman's body grew smaller until they had faded entirely. Seeing this, Patton noticeably livened up again, and he cheerily declared that he would take the empty bowl back to the kitchen and check in with the others.

As soon as he was gone, Roman’s face dropped, tired from all the smiling he had been doing, and he slid down further into the sheets. Perhaps he should consider himself fortunate that the others had helped out, but all he could think about was how they now knew about his biggest weakness and how embarrassing that was. Logan and Anxiety were the last two sides he wanted finding out about this, if not for their often-tumultuous relationships, but because they'd never fully understand. Neither of them were as dependent on validation as much as he was. Despite what others thought about them, they would just keep on going, meanwhile Roman couldn't truly thrive without some kind of feedback; he was too shackled to expectations and the need to please for that sort of self-indulgence, it was practically written in his existence. It simply wasn't enough for him to be great, he needed to be great and be appreciated. Without that, he felt as if he would burn out, like a candle who's supply of oxygen had been cut off, leaving only smoke and the charred wick behind as a reminder of the fire that was once there. And sometimes that made him feel pathetic, that so much of his esteem depended on what people thought of him. Other times it just made him envy the others who had no one to please but Thomas himself and what he deemed important.

...He was tired, but he needed to keep going. The least he could do was keep up the image of egotism so that those horrid thoughts of being lesser weren't picked up by the others. If they started thinking of him the way he thought about himself (if they didn't already), he wouldn't know what he'd do. He wouldn't stand to be pitied or mocked or anything that validated what he already knew about himself. He just wouldn't.

Rolling out of bed, he practiced his smile in the mirror, fixed his clothes, and sunk out to make his grand appearance.

He couldn’t let this happen again at all costs.

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

VII - an agreeable sort of self-destruction.

More and more often, Roman was glad that he and Remus didn't share a room anymore. From the nights he hunched over scraps of ideas and worked without distraction until the sun was on the horizon, to the days he woke up with tears clinging to his lashes and breath coming out in labored pants, until he realizes the dream about him messing up so badly that he's split apart a second time was merely a cruel trick of his mind.

Currently, there was no greater time to be grateful for their separation than the moment he hastily returned back to safety after Remus' debut to Thomas. If only his brother could see the way he paced back and forth and tugged at his hair, he was sure his other half would merely gloat and poke away at his wounds instead of doing anything to help. Or worse, use it as ammunition in front of the other sides as some sort of proof of his imperfection.

Speaking of, the video was disastrous. He had been out-cold the entire time so he had no idea what was said and had no way of directing the conversation at all, which was possibly the most aggravating part of the whole situation. Beyond that, there was so much that Remus could have told the others without his knowledge. Once upon a time, the two of them were two peas in a pod, and that meant they knew an unnameable amount of secrets about each other. (Like how Remus always used to sleep with this crudely-knitted octopus Roman had made for him when he discovered crochet. Remus claimed to have set fire to it when they were teenagers, but Roman had seen it tucked away on a shelf the last time he had been in his room, before the Great Divide). The room swam a little when Roman thought about it too much. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but it wasn't as if he'd done much to earn Remus' loyalty. Why would he take the higher road and keep all of that to himself now, when he had the prime opportunity right in front of him to make himself seem like the better twin?

Hold on... He was thinking about this all wrong. Remus didn't care about good and bad the same way he did. Sure he was adamant that his version of being creative was more interesting, but he never tried to convince any of the other sides that he was inherently better or more worthy of attention than Roman, at least not to the same extent he did. The realization hit Roman like a train on it's way to a damsel tied to railway tracks (for lack of a less Remus-y simile): had he been wrong to push his brother away when he was just trying to help? All this time he had expected nothing but the worst from him, all because he was loud and unapologetic and had gone about his concern in a way that frightened him. Though just because Roman had been scared, surely that didn't warrant the dark sides being pushed aside in such a manner, and clearly the repression wasn't any benefit to Thomas...And was that partially his fault? He had been the one who encouraged Patton to divide the sides up. He had come up with the name for them: light and dark.

When he really thought about it, there wasn't much 'light' about him, not when he had been the source of so many problems.

Making Virgil feel unwelcome and continuing to trample on his boundaries.

His insults toward Logan and attempts to diminish his importance.

Leading Thomas and Patton astray in his pursuits for romance.

Being too quick to side with Janus when he should’ve known that the deceitful side only stood for selfishness and not the fair-played ambition Thomas valued.

And now: his treatment of Remus for most of their lives. Pushing him away, pretending he didn't exist, trying to erase their memories together.

How could he have the gall to claim that he saw Remus as an awful reflection of everything he didn’t want to be, when the whole point of looking into a mirror means facing you and you alone?

Even his metaphors were hypocritical.

It was a shock that nobody saw through that statement or called him out on how he had wronged just about everybody. How truly unfortunate it was that he had been declared the hero when he had done very little to live up to that title. Heroes weren't mean. They didn't make people feel bad about themselves for merely existing. They're supposed to defeat the bad guys, yes, but every time he had thought he was accomplishing that, it turned out that he was always off the mark. At least this time he had it right with Deceit, but still, that didn't erase the history he had with misjudging what was acceptable. He couldn't help but wonder what sort of reflection that must have on Thomas' content. If his creativity, which was supposed to be a force of pure good, had made a countless number of errors, what did that say about the things they were proud of? How many things had they put into the world that were imperfect? That had a misleading message? That was problematic and hurt people?

The realization had his throat tightening in panic. How could he ever have confidence in his work when he had such a flawed system of right and wrong? How-

...Wait.

Roman's spiraling thoughts were fortunately put on pause as he passed by his vanity, being pulled back to reality in an instant and finally noticing the splash of colours that had made themselves welcome on his skin once more. He gaped at his own reflection. It wasn’t as if he was unused to the sight per say, but he hadn’t realized anything had happened today that would affect Thomas’ ego. Remus’ appearance perhaps? He had the feeling that if there was any discussion to be had in light of that it would be on the goodness of his character, which could be a worthy-enough explanation. But if anything wouldn’t that what the large gash on the back of his head (fittingly) represented? So where had the others come from? Unless…

Was it him?  

His own self-criticism had never left a dent on his pride before. Usually his injuries tended to be the result of outside sources; the kind of things that come out of nowhere and hit at you harder than you could ever expect. Did this mean that his own words were on par with Thomas’ harshest critics?

Roman shakily sat down. This... was a good thing, right? Perhaps he was finally gaining some self-awareness. He had been trying to make amends for where he had fallen short in the past, so this could be the sign he was making progress.

Yes. This was good. And if it wasn't, then perhaps this was just apart of his repentance. At this point he was sure everyone would agree.

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VIII - the art of learning to let go.

The thing about tightropes is quite interesting. Like most other skills, it is something that needs to be honed. At first you try on a smaller scale and fall off more times you can count, but it's alright because that's why you practice in a safe environment. And then you progress to something more risky, and this time you have other tools to help keep you steady. Before you know it, you're up doing the actual thing; a rope suspended tens of feet in the air and thousands of eyes watching your every move, each one wondering if you really will make it across, or if they're about to watch a great tragedy take place before them. When you misjudge your own abilities and are thrust upon that rope when you're unprepared, however, all of the practice you gained can feel as if it has slipped away. As soon as you take your first step, the rope wobbles and you know somewhere deep down that your fall will be inevitable. But with so many expectant eyes baring into you, what else are you to do but continue forward? Continue until you're halfway across and your balance is so shaky that all you can do is watch as the rope swings backwards and forwards beneath your feet until you give up on trying to steady yourself entirely and-

Roman let go of the rope he had been clinging onto.

There was no grace in the way that he fell. It wasn't even a matter of choosing a side; ego or change. At first he fell so gradually that he didn't feel it at all, placing all of his thoughts and opinions into a neat little box and shoving them aside. Trying so hard to adapt, trying to be feel comfortable clinging to reasoning that contradicted his role, his meaning, his existence- and before he knew it, he was plummeting towards the ground because even then, that little piece of purpose he was forcing himself to mold his worth around did nothing but feed into the self-righteousness that must've always been there, hiding away under the surface.

Roman could only describe the feeling as air-sickness when he sunk out, his very being thrown into weightless uncertainty. Once he appeared back at his safe place, the place he wanted to be most, he felt his body connect with the ground once more as he collapsed onto the floor, body shaking with sobs and wounds he already knew were appearing.

He had been so stupid. Every step he took was littered with mistakes. Just when he thought he had learned, to try to be more accepting, to know when to give up, to listen to others instead of forging his own path, another thing came along and knocked him back to where he started and he was thrown back into the cycle of trying to atone for his actions. A cycle that never seemed to end.

His arm fractured and started to swell.

For once he thought he finally had it figured out. If he just followed the person who should've known what was best for Thomas, even if it meant going back on his own desires, surely then he would be on the right side for once. But all of a sudden that was wrong and now it was all his fault that so many bad outcomes had come about as a consequence of his lack of assertion. He may not have loaded the gun, but he had pulled the trigger, and that made him more culpable than anyone else.

His nose ached as if hit by an unseen force and began dripping blood.

Even his attempts at keeping his ego in check were all for nothing because the moment he felt threatened he lashed out towards Janus, the side who now all of a sudden deserved a seat at the table because he had gained Patton's favor (nevermind that he had agreed with him first. Oh no, that was just Roman being naive and easy to sway if only you stroke his ego a little. What importance could his opinions possibly have?). But that was the thing, wasn’t it? In the end he just couldn’t win, no matter what he did. When he tried to silence his voice it was too obvious and attention-seeking, and when he chose to project his thoughts it was too loud and abrasive. When he spoke out he was punching down, but when others did the same they were punching up up up. It left him wondering how much more he had to fall before it was no longer deemed okay to kick him while he was down. Was it his fault for choosing to sit atop his golden pedestal, making himself seem forever untouchable and unable to be hurt? And would things be different if he was sensitive like Patton? Complicated like Virgil? Respectable like Logan? Had he been making a mistake all along by pretending to be stronger than he was? But how was he ever supposed to let go of the walls he had built, knowing that the second they crumbled, all the things he had been trying to protect himself from would pass through and destroy everything he had worked so hard for? Maybe it was time to accept that this was all he could be; that there was no way for him to change, no way to soften his edges or stick firm to his beliefs that wouldn’t end with him in a losing position.

His ribs ached, bending unnaturally until he felt a snap in his chest.

Perhaps Janus was right by calling him evil. He had proven it time and time again that he was no good for Thomas. In fact, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to say that he was worse than Remus. At least he couldn't help the way he was, didn't have control over the problems he caused unlike Roman. He was supposed to be the half with all the bad parts removed. The 2.0 version, new and improved. He had no excuse for being as flawed as he was, not really. All this time spent thinking he was the good twin, and it was nothing more than an act of self-delusion. The grandeur of a side with nothing to show for it beyond his words.

His eyelid puffed up and mottled with colour.

...He was bad. Unneeded. Evil.

The capillaries across his knuckles burst and stained them a violent red.

Everything would be so much better if he just-

"Broman?" Oh shit.

Romans eyes flew open. And he realized belatedly that he wasn't looking at his floor; his floor had intricate Persian rugs and a soft fluffy carpet. This one had various stains and burns and felt scratchy against his fingers.

"What the fuck. Princey? You good?"

1) He wasn't in his room. 2) Wherever he was, Remus and Virgil were here too.

"M-my mistake! I must have accidentally sunk out to the wrong place. If you'll excuse me-" He tried, but his voice was hoarse and clearly not okay. Of all times for his acting skills to have failed him.

"Oh no you don't."

Before he could sink out through the floor, two arms latched under his armpits and hoisted him upright. He choked back a gasp at the sudden movement, senses flashing white as his injuries were jostled. He barely heard the shocked exclamation in front of him before the two voices discussed something hastily and he was deposited onto a soft surface. The ringing in his ears faded, just in time to hear Virgil speak.

"What happened? " He asked, voice layered with anxiety and sounding on the verge of a panic attack. Roman would have tried to reassure him if he didn't feel like his entire body was on fire.

"It just happens sometimes, when Thomas’ ego gets bruised." Remus answered bitterly when it became clear his brother wasn't in a position to explain. He then muttered under his breath: "Though this time is different, huh?"

"What? I thought- I didn’t know it got this bad.” Virgil whispers, horrified.

"Sorry you have to see this, Finding Emo." Roman croaked once he began slowly coming back to his senses. He would regret not being more composed later, but right now he couldn't really bring himself to care about anything. “I’ll be as good as Gucci soon.”

"No. Shut the fuck up, you don't get to say that." Remus said angrily. Why did he sound so mad? Roman tried to crack open his eyes to check, but the world was still spinning too much for him to really recognize what was he was seeing. On top of that it seemed one of his eyes was swollen shut. Joy. That'll make it more difficult to patch himself up later.

"'Told you before, I can handle myself." He finally managed.

"Yeah? Was that you 'handling yourself' when you dropped in and started bleeding all over my floor? Or when you stopped talking to me and kicked us 'dark sides' to the curb because your sense of superiority was more important? Or when you started acting like a royal prick to everyone just so they wouldn't know you spend your nights licking your wounds?"

"Stop." Roman pleaded, shamefully curling into himself as much as his body allowed in its current state. Remus paused in his tirade before continuing, more quietly.

"If you're uncomfortable just from that, you should try watching your brother slowly self-destruct for years and not being able to do anything about it. That's fucking uncomfortable." Roman heard a sniffle, and his body went cold. He hadn't heard Remus get upset since they were kids. Sometimes he forgot that there was more to his brother than his disgusting unpredictable persona, and the thought that he could've been hurting Remus all this time was something that had never even crossed his mind.

"I'm..." Sorry? Was he sorry? Apologizing was practically second nature at this point, but he couldn't even tell if the words would be genuine if he said them. Was he sorry for his actions or for hurting Remus, or was it the fact that he had been caught at all? If he had it his way, none of this would be happening, so perhaps he wasn't as apologetic as he thought. He really was the worst, wasn't he?

Remus seemed to pick up on what he was thinking about saying, because he laughed; not in his usual cartoon-ish way, but resigned and hurt. The sound pulled at Roman's heart. "Save it. Here's what's going to happen you Walmart Prince Eric knockoff. You’re going to accept our help whether you like it or not, and if you try to pull any self-sacrificing BS at any point, I’m going to eat your entire makeup collection.”

“...You wouldn’t. You don’t like the way glitter sticks to your teeth.” Roman argued weakly, just for the sake of being contrary.

“Try me.”

Roman sighed. He really didn’t doubt that Remus would be petty enough to go through with his threats, especially since he knew it how much it would bother Roman to summon a new set. In any case, he wasn’t in a position to do much of anything at the moment, and now that it was too late to pretend like this never happened, he figured he might as well roll with it. Future him could deal with the consequences later.

“Okay.” He said after a moments pause, looking to the Virgil-shaped figure, as much as the crick in his neck would allow. “...Just don’t tell Patton about this. Not yet.”

The figure shuffled, out of what was probably awkwardness after having watching the twins argue. “No worries dude. We’re not exactly on- uh. Y’know what, nevermind, I’ll just go get the medical kit.”

During the moments that Virgil had shuffled off, there was an empty silence. Roman spent it trying to blink his uninjured eye back into focus, until he was finally able to spot Remus standing across from him, an uncharacteristically glum look on his face. "You look like you're going to a funeral."

"Don't even joke about that. I don't need more thoughts about-"

"Death? I thought that was pretty par for the course."

Remus smiled wryly at him, sarcastic and mocking. "You dying, dummy. D'you think I never imagined it? Something happening and you disappearing because you never let anyone help you- and me not even knowing it happened? Finding out much too late? Being alone?"

Roman didn't know what to say to that. "Sorry." He blurted out, and this time he felt like he meant it. "If it means anything in retrospect, I wouldn't have ever let it go that far. I think."

"'You think.'" Remus repeated. "God, you need some self-care. It's a shame you and Jan-jan weren't friends before. It's supposed to be his job to make sure this kind of thing doesn't happen, you know."

Roman felt himself flinch at the mention of Janus' name before he could control it. If Remus noticed, he didn't get the chance to comment on it, because at that moment Virgil came bustling back with a first aid kit.

"I didn't know what else you needed, so I got some water, balms, bandages, frozen peas, and creams. Just in case." He spoke, noticeably out of breath.

"Water?" Roman asked as a glass was held towards him. He pushed himself upright with some effort and accepted it.

"For painkillers." Virgil replied, handing him some pills once he had set the other items down. "Also your throat sounded kinda rough, and when you cry a lot you can get dehydrated, so..."

Surreptitiously, Roman wiped at his face and tried to not feel too embarrassed that the two of them had heard him wail like a toddler who'd had their favourite toy taken away. Before he knew it, he had taken the pills and downed half of the glass while the other two sides unpacked the medical supplies. Virgil really had thought of everything he might have needed.

Roman blinked as he watched them, stunned that he would go to so much effort. "This is very thoughtful of you, Medic Parade."

Virgil paused as he pieced together the nickname, and then scowled. "Mayday doesn't even sound anything like medic- and it's not. I just didn't want to- y'know- get the wrong things and make it worse."

Remus elbowed Virgil in the side, perhaps in an attempt to cheer him up. "Hey, you can't do any worse than what we did the first time Ro got a booboo."

"...And what was that?" Virgil's hesitant tone indicated he wasn't sure if he want to know.

"Nothing!" Remus grinned.

"I'm pretty sure that was just a concussion." Roman stated before Virgil got the wrong idea and thought they were totally stupid, looking upward as he tried to recall the incident Remus was talking about. It felt like forever ago now. "Not like anything could be done, to be fair."

"'Just'-" Virgil made a strange choked sound. "Is this what my life's gonna be now? Having a worry-induced heart attack every 5 minutes?"

"Welcome to the club!" Remus cheered, offering a fist bump which Virgil ignored in favour of burying his head in his hands.

"Goddammit. Alright- let's get this show on the road I guess. Roman, take your shirt off." When Remus' eyebrows started waggling, clearly about to make an inappropriate comment, Virgil waved his hands wildly to stop him. "So we can look at the damage! Shut your mouth Remus!"

"I didn't say anything." He intoned, looking overly smug before turning to Roman expectantly.

Said man frowned, placing the glass of water on the bedside table next to him. Before he made any move, he glanced at Virgil who was looking red either out of Remus-induced embarrassment or frustration. Mood. "You don't have to stick around for this part if you don't want to. It can be a bit much, so I wouldn't blame you."

"I'm not a baby, Roman." Virgil retorted, crossing his arms. "Making sure you don't die or something is way more important than my comfort. I can't promise you'll be safe from me calling you an idiot until you're better, though."

Roman looked away again. Was that condescending of him to ask? He opened his mouth to apologize, before closing it in resignation. No need to make this into an issue; he'll ask Virgil whether he felt belittled later. "...Okay. That's fair."

Instead of going through the pain of trying to remove a shirt with a possibly broken rib, he snapped and it disappeared. He heard a sharp inhale, but in response to what, he didn't know. Roman looked downwards to check. Among the remnants of previous attempts at self-healing (some messier than others), the area around his right rib was inflamed and a large portion of his stomach was splotched with purple. Noticeably, his left arm was also burning red, but luckily it seemed like the fracture there was non-displaced, which hopefully meant it would heal quicker. Other than that, there weren't any major injuries besides his black eye and bloody nose that needed attention. Could be worse, considering how god-awful he felt! 

Remus whistled. "You look like someone took a dalmatian and made it the colours of the bi-flag."

"Yeah. That's- weirdly accurate." Virgil winced. "What hurts most?"

"Uh- My arm and my ribs I suppose. They're a little... on the broken side."

"That's what I thought." Virgil muttered under his breath, grabbing the items to make a split. "I'll deal with those first, Remus you help with his nose and the bruising. And if you want to make yourself useful, hold these peas to your eye, dumbass."

"Your bedside manners are impeccable." Roman said sarcastically, taking the bag of peas and exhaling as he adjusted to the cold feeling pressed against his face. "...Here I thought there would be a grace period before you started calling me names."

"Just calling it like I see it." Virgil hummed. With deft fingers, he held the splint under Roman's forearm and began winding the bandages around it. "You should probably make an actual brace later when you're up to it, but hopefully this should keep it in place and remind you to not use it for now."

"But that sides my dominant arm-" Roman whined, about to complain about how he was supposed to get work done until Remus pinched the bridge of his nose none too gently, and he yelped. "Ow! Remus."

"Think of that as payback for the last 15 years." Remus replied lightly. "Tilt your head back."

Begrudgingly, Roman complied, resting his head against the headboard.  He stared at the ceiling as his brother and best friend silently worked their way around his injuries, applying topical ointment to his bruises and applying band-aids to small cuts. He didn't even realize they had finished until Remus bonked him on the head.

"All done! Shame it's not Halloween. You could go as a mummy again."

"Ha ha. What a comedian you are." Roman replied in a deadpan, but fought to keep a smile away anyway. The irony of how much he resembled that costume right now definitely wasn't lost on him.

"...I'm sorry for ruining that, by the way." Virgil spoke up suddenly from where he had been packing everything away, breaking the thoughtful silence he'd been in for the past few minutes. "Your costume during the Christmas video, I mean. And saying all of that harsh stuff to make a point."

Roman only stared, taken aback. "All of that happened half a year ago. I'm not upset about that."

"I know, I know. It's just... I've been thinking about it recently, all the times I haven't acted very...good." He bit his lip, averting his eyes. "Especially now, knowing that kind of thing literally hurts you."

"Virgil." Roman sighed softly, taking his hand. Virgil startled but didn't pull away. "You don't need to be 'good' all the time. Wasn't that the point you were trying to get across back then? All of us have made mistakes in our pasts, some more than others, but if you can forgive us for that, then you deserve the same acceptance for your less-than-stellar moments."

"Oh." He said, eyes glassy. His hand tightened around Roman's. "I'm still sorry, if I've ever made things worse for you or if I haven't been supportive enough."

"I- You have-"  Roman spluttered worriedly, sitting up.

"It's alright, I already know that we kinda work against each other at times. Part of the job." Roman's mouth closed with a grimace. "Still, it's unfair on you. You shouldn't be expected to perfect, especially not with an asshole like me there to tear into your work. So just...know that it's okay to tell us when you're struggling, okay?"

"Right..." Roman bit his cheek. Virgil seemed well-meaning, but showing that sort of weakness was a concept he still found difficult to accept, even if he had given in this time and allowed himself to be completely seen. Virgil noticed his lackluster agreement and patted him with his free hand.

"Hey. In almost any case we'd embrace you."

"...No one hates you."  Roman finished a beat later with a small smile. Virgil's face lit up and moved closer to his side. Upon seeing this, Remus unceremoniously squished himself between the two of them, careful not to bump against Roman too much (although Virgil definitely got the brunt of Remus crawling over him, to his dismay).

"Look at you two, my favourite dorks, bonding over feeling insecure!" He declared, throwing an arm around both of them. "Couldn't be me, but I still love you."

Roman poked Remus' side. "So that wasn't you admitting to being worried earlier?"

"Nope! New phone who dis?"

"You're insufferable." Virgil rolled his eyes fondly. "...I love you guys."

And Roman sighed contently, feeling safe and cared for. Things weren't perfect right now; he still needed time to heal and Remus and Virgil would undoubtedly want him to open up about what happened sooner or later, but for now he was was able to hear that he was loved and believe it to be true, and that was enough.

"I love you both too. Thank you."

[x-reader-theater]

An Austenite Affair {2}

Relationship: Javier Peña x Male!Columbian!Reader

Summary: " I certainly have not the talent which some people possess,' said Darcy, 'Of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done… " ~Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

Warnings: Cursing, Sex, Unprotected Sex, Period Typical Homophobia

Word Count: 2779 words

A/N: Hey! Welcome back. I don’t really know what to say except than you for the response on the first chapter! I really appreciate it! If you want to read it on Ao3 you can do so here. Edited by the aboslutely incredible @mystic-writes . Show her some love!

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Chapter 2: Pride and Prejudice 

"I can not fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew I had begun." ~Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen. 

"Carajo a Peña que se siente tan bien," you mutter quietly as you tug on Peña's hair, and you feel his throat vibrate around your dick. Your fingers grip his curly hair tighter as you feel his moustache running along the top of your cock, and you feel the tight coil in your stomach begin to snap. "Oh shit, Peña!" you exclaim, though you do put your fist in your mouth to try and quiet your loud moans you come down his throat. 

You throw your head back against the wall behind you, and you let go of Peña's hair. He stands up and you reach out to grab his dick. He holds your hand and kisses you, and you pull your lips away from his.

"You don't want help?" you ask and he kisses you again. 

"I already helped myself," he says against your lips and you look down between your legs to see Peña's cum splattering the floor between your legs. You laugh and kiss Javier again, and you can taste yourself in his mouth as your tongue brushes against his teeth. 

You grab a dirty cloth from one of the racks that usually houses old documents, but you had put a handful of old towels just for occasions such as this. 

You bend down and wipe the floor of Peña's cum as the man in question pulls up his pants and tucks his shirt back in. You throw the towel back and do the same, and when you go to leave, Peña grabs your wrist. 

You go to kiss him, but he stops you with a hand on your cheek. "Why do you call me Peña?" He asks, and you frown, pulling away slightly. 

"I dunno," you say, looking away from him. "That's your name." 

He grabs your chin lightly and makes you look into his dark brown eyes. "My name is Javier." You raise an eyebrow at him. "Most lovers call me Javi." 

Your eyebrows raise at that and you look at him. "Is that what we are? Lovers? You fuck me in a closet Peña. Once you fuck me in a bed, only then will you be my lover," you say, breaking out of his grasp and leaving the small supply closet at the back of the archives. 

"We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but this would be nothing if you really liked him." ~Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen 

You're sitting at your desk, chatting idly with Peña as someone else walks in. You look up and see someone you've never seen before, someone who looks immediately at Javier and then idly looks at you. 

"Javi, we have to go in fifteen," he says in a distinctly american accent. 

You raise an eyebrow at Peña and say, "¿ Esta tu nueva compañero, Peña?" 

Peña nods. "Si. Si, lo es."

You lean to the side and smirk as you take in the American's appearance and say to Javier, "Dile que tiene un buen culo." 

"What? What's he saying?" The blonde asks but Peña ignores him to glare at you. 

"Él está casado," he says and your smirk widens. 

"¿Eso no me ha detenido antes?" you ask and Peña's eyes narrow. You sigh and mumble as you open your latest book, Pride and Prejudice, "Bloqueador de pollas."

Peña snorts. 

"What! What's so funny?" The American asks and Javier waves him off. 

"Come on. Don't we have somewhere we need to be?" Peña asks and the blonde rolls his eyes. 

"'I certainly have not the talent which some people possess,' said Darcy, 'Of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done…'" You say from behind your book. "Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen." 

You look up at where Peña and the American have stopped to look at you. The blonde huffs out in disbelief as he says, "You can speak English?" 

"Sure I can. I just chose not to,"  you reply, dog-earing your page before setting it down on the desk your feet are still on. 

"So, you wanna tell me what you said before?" He asks and you shrug. 

"This is Colombia. You're gonna have to get used to people talking behind your back, Gringo." 

The American stomps out and Javier looks back at you, an unreadable expression on his face before he follows. You just go back to reading your book. 

"To be found dancing was a certain step towards falling in love." ~Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen. 

You're sitting at one of the only gay bars in Bagotá, drinking an alcohol that was probably watered down so much it couldn't even give you a buzz. But, it was cheap and the men were pretty and it was one of the only places you felt safe in the entire country. Maybe even the entire world. At least for now. 

You know that one day this place will be raided, and everyone in here will be killed. It's why you don't make a habit of coming here that often. Only when you desperately need attention. 

And tonight, you desperately need attention from someone not named Javier Peña. 

You catch eyes with someone across the way. His eyes are too light, and his hair is too dark. He has a moustache, but he also has dark stubble. His clothing is tight and modern, and just wrong. You walk over to him and hold out a hand, your shitty drink forgotten on the bar behind you. He takes it and his hands are soft, not a callus on them. You drag him to the dancefloor and wrap your arms around him as he places his on your waist. 

If you close your eyes, you can pretend his eyes are a dark brown, not a light brown. You can imagine his hair is a curly brown mess atop his head and his moustache is the only thing on his face. You can imagine his clothes being baggy and a decade too old. You pretend the fingers holding onto your waist, that are slipping underneath your shirt, have calluses on them. 

When you open your eyes, you don't see that man. 

You see a man with too dark hair and too light eyes leering down at you. 

When you look behind him however, you see Javier Peña watching you, sipping something brown from a clear glass. 

You smirk and close your eyes again, pressing yourself to the man you're dancing with. You turn the both of you around so your back is to Peña, and you grind against the man, rubbing your hips against his thigh. You pretend the man underneath you is the one who is actually standing behind you. 

You can feel his eyes on your back as you do this, and when you spin yourself and this unknown man around again, you can see Peña glaring from across the way. 

You don't break eye contact, daring him to stop you. 

When you finally do break contact, it's because the man you're grinding against pulls your chin up and kisses you. You don't close your eyes like he does, instead watching Peña from the corner of your eye. 

He gets up out of his seat and starts walking over to the two of you, reaching out, and tapping the unknown man on the shoulder. 

"Oye, deja de besar a mi novio," Peña says and the man stops kissing you, turning around. 

He looks at Peña, then back at you, and asks, "¿Novio? ¿Por qué me nolo dijiste?"

You just shrug and the man let's go of you, rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath, "Increíble. Jodidamente increíble."

Peña takes his place, slipping his arms around your waist, and pulling you close to him. He leans his head against yours, his lips only inches from yours. 

You smirk. "Boyfriend, huh?" 

"Seemed to be the only way to get that asshole off of you," he says with a roll of his eyes. 

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Asshole? I seemed to be enjoying myself, quite a bit…" you press your hips into Peña's thigh and you feel him stiffen as your growing erection presses against it. You lean forward and whisper in his ear, "Though, I won't lie…" you press a kiss to cheek, "I was pretending it was you I was dancing against." 

Javier pulls you away and looks at you in the eye, and you meet his gaze innocently, your eyes wide with a small smile on your face. "I want to fuck you." You raise your eyebrows again but don't interrupt. "In my bed. I want you to be my lover." 

You open your mouth to say something, but you find no words come to your mind. You just lean forward and kiss him. 

"Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces." ~Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen. 

Peña pulls you into his apartment, closing and deadbolting the door behind you, before pushing you up against the door, his hands on your hips, and you lean in, hungrily kissing the man pinning you. You feel his leg move in between yours and you groan quietly into his mouth. You feel the tickle of his moustache on your neck as he moves to kiss along your jaw, and down to your collar. You throw your head back and your fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt. You find your fingers slipping, and unable to undo the buttons. 

"Do you like this shirt?" you mutter against his lips as he grabs your ass. 

He shrugs as he kisses you. "It's fine. Not my favourite." 

You smirk. "Good." 

You grab his shirt and pull it apart, pulling as hard as you can, and buttons fly across the room. Peña gasps against your mouth, but you just continue to kiss him. You let your hands roam his chest and back, and you dig your nails into his back, and drag them down. 

He moans loudly and grabs you by the hips, pulling you closer to him. You can feel his arousal through his jeans, and you groan into his mouth. 

"Fuck me, Peña," you mutter, and the man against you grabs you by the hips, still kissing you, and drags you down into his room, and throws you on his bed. You fall, sprawling on the bed, and look up at Peña with dark eyes. He's standing over you with his shirt open and a bulge in his pants. Your mouth waters as you eye him up and down, following the trail of hair down his pants. You go to reach up, to touch it, but a hand on your shoulder stops you. You lean back and watch as Peña slowly takes his shirt off, throwing it to the side. You wiggle your hips as he slowly opens his jeans, undoing the button at the top and unzipping the zipper slowly. You bite your lip and groan as he shuffles his pants and underwear down his legs. 

Suddenly, Peña's standing before you, naked, and you want to join him so badly. But, you wait for Peña to straddle you on the bed. 

Unable to restrain yourself, you move your hands up to his hips, running them down his thighs and back up, but not touching his hard cock. He slowly undoes your shirt and pants, and you help to throw your shirt across the room. When he pulls your pants down he raises an eyebrow at your lack of underwear. 

You shrug. "I guess I was hoping." 

Peña smirks and leans down, kissing you slowly but deliberately as he slides your pants down your legs and onto the floor. When they're out of the way, he moves so he's being framed by your legs on either side. He leans down, kissing everywhere but your aching dick. 

You whine as his breath ghosts over it, but he doesn't do anything. He just pulls away. 

"You fucking tease…" you mutter out and Peña chuckles. 

"Do you have anything to…" he doesn't even have to finish the sentence he leaves hanging in the air. You know what he's asking for. 

You reach down and pick up your coat that's on the floor and pull out a bottle of oil, handing it to Peña. He looks at it and shrugs, pouring the thick, viscous liquid into his fingers. He rubs his fingers together and places one at your entrance. You whine at the contact, and he places a hand on your hips to stop them from moving as he traces circles around your hole. 

"Peñ-Peña!" you exclaim, reaching up to dig your fingers into his shoulders. "Just fuck me already!" 

Peña chuckles above you and says, "Paciencia. Tener paciencia."

"Javier Peña if you don't fuck me right now I swear to God I will leave," you say through gritted teeth. 

As if taking the hint, you feel one finger enter you. You gasp and throw your head back, relishing in the feeling of finally being touched somewhere, and now the feeling of Peña's lips on your neck. A second finger enters and your back arches up. You move your hands to Peña's shoulder blades, and your nails dig in there as well. 

You can feel Peña moving his fingers in and out of you, opening up your entrance wider, and kissing your neck, cheek, lips. His fingers hook up and stars pass through your vision. You have to close your eyes and stuff a fist into your mouth to keep you from screaming. 

"¡Santo cielo que se siente tan bien no pares!" You practically shout from behind your knuckles. 

Finally, he pulls his fingers out and squirts more oil into his hands. You watch as he slicks up his cock, before lining himself up with your hole. After a few moments, he slowly pushes in, and you have to force yourself not to squirm. 

"Fuck," Peña mutters into your ear as he pushes himself all the way in, his hips against your ass. 

You squeeze his shoulders, moaning quietly, silently asking for him to move, and as if he understands, he starts to push in and out of you, slowly picking up pace as he gains better control over his movements. 

The slap of his hips against your ass fills the room as he pounds into you, the only other sounds being yours and Peña's panting. 

You can feel yourself getting close, his cock brushing your prostate over and over again, having found that perfect angle, and your shoulders rise from the bed as you try and press as much of yourself to Peña as you can. 

"Ah-ah Peña, I'm close," you say, and you can feel him nod. "Oh, fuck, Javi!" 

As you shout his name, you feel yourself let go, and a rush of pleasure washes over you. You feel cum splatter on your stomach and your hole tighten around Javi's cock. 

At hearing you shout his name, and your entrance closing around him, he comes with a shout, burying his head in your neck as he fills you. 

The two of you lie there, panting, Javi leaning over you, just looking at each other. 

You let out a breathless laugh and say with a smile, "Holy fucking shit." 

Javi laughs and nods. "Yeah. Wow." 

"I think that was some of the best sex I've ever had," you say. 

Javi raises an eyebrow. "You think?" 

You laugh and hit him on the shoulder. He joins you in your laugh as he pulls out. You lean up and kiss him slowly, but he breaks away, going to the bathroom to get a wet towel to clean you both up. 

He throws it onto the floor and joins you in the bed. 

He pulls you to his chest and wraps his arms around you, holding you close. You lay a hand on his chest and place your head in the crook of his neck. 

"So, does this mean I'm your lover?" Javi asks as he lights up a cigarette that seems to have come from nowhere. 

You snort and look up at him. "After what you just did tonight?" you ask. "Fuck yeah."

"Do not be in a hurry, the right man will come at last." ~Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

[alwaysfeelingsaintlike]

Driving Me Mad [G.W] - Part 4

Series Description: You and George come up with a plan to pretend to date each other. But what happens when you actually start to catch feelings...

Pairing: George Weasley x Gryffindor fem!reader 

Word Count: 2k

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything

Description: George takes you on a secret trip to the Three Broomsticks.

                                                              X

“Hey, what are you doing?” You were sitting in the library taking notes and completing your assigned reading.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you responded, peeling your eyes from the text to shoot George a look. 

“I could use your help.”

“My help? What could you possibly need my help for?”

“Come with me and you’ll find out.” Your curiosity peaked as you raised an eyebrow at him. He gave you a pleading look and moments later you agreed. You packed up your things and followed him out of the library. You assumed you were heading to the common room but George grabbed your hand and pulled you around a different corner. 

“Where are we going?”

“We may or may not be sneaking out.” 

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

“Just wait. It will soon become clear.”

You reached an isolated hallway in the castle where the One-Eyed Witch statue was perched. 

“Here we are.”

“Here?”

“Yes. Now I will be lookout so you can go first.”

“Go where?” Instead of answering your question he cast a spell and the hump on the witch opened up, creating a passageway. 

“Climb in there when I say go. I’ll follow you down a few seconds after.” You decided not to question his instruction. You trusted him and knew your window of opportunity was limited. He gave you the signal and you hoisted yourself up and slid down into the statue. You fell down the corridor and let out a little squeal, unsure of what was ahead. After a short slide, you were airborne and barely landed on your feet. The ground was rough and uneven. You stood up, wiping the dust off yourself and you cast the Lumos charm to illuminate the hallway. You heard movement a few seconds later and George landed swiftly right behind you. This clearly was not his first time.

“You okay?” he asked. You nodded and curiously looked around.

“Okay, I tried to keep my questions to a minimum, but where the hell are we going?”

“Hogsmeade of course.”

“Hogsmeade? Why?”

“Now I know you’re aware of the party happening tonight.”

“Of course.”

“Someone’s gotta supply the butterbeer.”

“Ah, I see now. And pray tell why am I accompanying you on this journey instead of Fred?”

“Fred’s been avoiding me lately. I offered to get everything tonight so I imagine he’s spending time with Lee and some of the other Gryffindors.”

“Anything happen?”

“We just got into an argument. It’s fine.”

“That’s not like you two. You never fight. Seriously what happened,” George was quiet, putting his words together carefully. It didn’t take long for you to jump to conclusions. “No…no. This isn’t because of me is it? I don’t want to drive a wedge between you.”

“No, it's not because of you.”

“If it was, you would tell me right? There’s an easy out clause for a reason, we don’t have to go through with this if it’s causing tension.”

“It’s not because of you. I promise,” he lied.

“Okay. That’s all I needed to hear,” you said.

“So, will you be my date to the party this evening?” 

“I sure will.”

You made your way through the dark and dusty corridor until you reached a stopping point. You were expecting a doorway or something but the hallway just stopped. You looked at George, about to ask him where to next and you followed his eyes up the ceiling.

“You’re joking,” you spoke. He shook his head back and forth. There was no way you could get up there. George stood up on his tiptoes and reached his long arms up to displace a trap door. “Come here,” he instructed you. You moved closer to him as he crouched to the ground. “Sit on my shoulders. I’ll hoist you up through the door.”

“Are you sure about this George? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“What, you don’t think my broad man shoulders can handle it?” he joked.

“No, it’s not that-“

“Just hop on. You’re light as a feather.” You slowly put one leg over his shoulder and braced yourself before swinging over the other. You gently rested your hands on his head, to keep balanced. 

“You ready?” he asked.

“Go for it.” 

He slowly stood up and took a few steps forward until he was directly under the trap door. He fully extended his legs and you were looking into a dusty shop room. You held onto the sides of the trap door and hoisted yourself  up ever so slightly, extending your legs. You climbed out and dusted yourself off when you saw George’s fingertips claw the side of the opening and soon he was pushing his torso through the hole in the ground. You offered him a hand but knew he didn’t need it. He had done this so many times before, he had the process down. 

“And where are we right now?”

“Honeydukes cellar. Fred and I know the owner. He lets us come and go as we like in exchange for free marketing. That’s why we always have free samples of the latest sweets.”

“How do you have all these connections?”

“Dunno. Fred and I have a knack for getting into trouble and then talking our way out. Make a lot friends doing that.” George placed the cover diagonally over the trap door and led you upstairs. The shop was closed but he continued walking through the aisles towards the front door. He magically unlocked the door and you made your way to the Three Broomsticks.

It was a cool night, but the air wasn’t as crisp as you expected as you walked through the quiet village. You made small talk as you walked down the empty streets. Most of the shops and stores were closed at this time of night. As you neared the pub, you heard the buzz of the regulars and drunks carrying on and having a laugh. Part of you wanted to stay and enjoy a butterbeer here with George, but you knew there wasn’t exactly time for that.

“Madame Rosmerta! And how are we doing this fine evening?” George said as you approached the bar.

“No! No, you’re not getting any more butterbeers! I told you last time.”

“Now that is not fair. You know this is a special occasion. We’re hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year. We have to make sure our guests enjoy themselves and have a good time.”

“I don’t care. You’re not getting anything this time.”

“Oh, come on. You’re making me look bad in front of my new girl.” She stopped pouring beers, turned to look at us, and cocked her eyebrow. You shot her a smile, trying to help George’s case.

“Now, I recognize her. She’s always in here with a group of giggling girls. What’s your name love?”

“Y/N,” you answered.

“Well Y/N, you’ve got yourself a good one. Underneath all the pranks and scheming, Georgie’s a catch.”

You nodded at her statement and looked at George, trying out your acting skills, “He’s so good to me. I’m a lucky girl,” you said rubbing his shoulder.

Madame Rosmerta looked charmed and you could see her starting to soften up. “All right, all right. You’ll get your butterbeers. But this is the last time, you hear me?”

“Rosmerta you are truly a saint. Thank you.”

“Save your flattery. Meet me around back. Y/N, look after the bar.” You shrugged and agreed as she led you behind the bar and gave you nowhere near as much instruction as you needed. You made conversation with the patrons as you poured refills and collected empty mugs. You had to admit, it was a little bit fun. Once everyone seemed to be taken care of, you snuck out from behind the bar to look for George. Surely you would be on your way out soon. You headed to the back office and saw George carrying a crate filled with bottles of butterbeer.

“She’s beautiful that one. You make sure you treat her well, ya hear? She deserves a good guy to take care of her,” you heard from around the corner. You waited a moment to hear his response, your curiosity getting the best of you.

“Trust me, I won’t hurt her. She’s special.” You grinned at his response for a moment before returning to reality.

“So everything’s all taken care of back there. Glasses are full, bar’s wiped down, and everyone’s happy. Well…almost everyone. Keep an eye on Henry out there. He’s about to start weeping over his ex-wife.”

“Ah, I suppose it is about that time,” George chuckled.

“You handled everything?” she asked you, stunned.

“Yeah, I think. Everyone seems to be in good spirits.”

“No one’s ever done that before, aside from me of course. Listen here, if you ever need a job in the future, you come straight here and I’ll hire you on the spot.”

“Wow, I will keep that in mind. Thanks!”  

Rosemerta gave George a pat on the back and came over to give you a kiss on the cheek, “You best be off. Have fun tonight you two.”

“Thanks again Rosemerta,” George said as you made your way out the back door.

“And if you get caught with that, it didn’t come from here!” she added. You both laughed as you stumbled outside into the cool breeze. 

“She loves me,” he stated as you walked through the empty road.

“Oh is that so.”

“Oh absolutely. I mean every time, without fail, she starts with a stern no. Then I talk to her a little bit and she remembers how much she likes me, minutes later she’s shoving a crate of contraband into my hands. Look, she even put a bottle of Firewhiskey in this batch.”

“Wow, well done George.”

“I should say the same to you. You really know how to tend a bar. Anytime Fred steps behind there to hold the place over, about five different things go wrong and there’s always broken glass and some sort of spill. Rosemerta returns and goes ballistic; until Fred reminds her that he is indeed a wizard and magically cleans everything up. But she was thoroughly impressed with you. I wouldn’t be surprised if she asks for you next time around.”

“I would be more than happy to accompany you. Who knows, maybe I’ll end up taking her up on that job offer.”

“I’m sure you can do a lot better than running a bar. What’s your long term plan?”

“To be honest, I have no idea.”

“That’s a joke. You’re a Gryffindor prefect. You’re brilliant in all your classes. You have so much ahead of you and you don’t know?”

“It’s not like that’s uncommon. Are you telling me you already have a plan post-Hogwarts?”

“Course I do. Fred and I are opening a shop where we can sell our brilliant products.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

“That’s actually great. I wish I had that kind of clarity.”

“Well, what are you good at?”

“I’m fairly decent at every subject, but I don’t feel a strong connection to one subject over the others. Maybe charms or transfiguration if anything.”

“What do you like? And don’t just limit yourself to school. Just in general.”

You had never really thought about it before. Whenever the subject of the future had come up you changed the subject or completely stopped thinking about it.

“I suppose…I like people. Being around people and talking to people. That’s not much to go off is it?”

“It’s a start. You’ll find your calling soon enough. You’re smart and personable, people love that combination.”

“Thanks George. That is oddly reassuring.” 

By this point you had reached Honeydukes. You led the way inside and you ended up scanning the aisles, salivating over all the sweets.

“Here,” George said, handing you a giant, heart-shaped lollipop. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Wow, stealing candy for me. You’re too generous,” you joked. He rolled his eyes and you gave him a genuine thank you as you made your way back down to the tunnel.