#Now finally my sleep deprived brain can rest in peace.

[raccoon-crown]

Hi Kit!

My first try to draw the little Fenec fox!

[readychilledwine]

Okay I have like a slightly out of pocket request/idea that I don’t think I’ve seen before and if this is not your cup of tea you can straight up IGNORE but it’s taken over my brain 😂 let’s pretend in this story that eris and mor are mates but it’s a rejected situation bc obvs mor isn’t into males. And helion and the lady of autumn are also mates. This is post Hybern, maybe during or after ACOSF. Beron (I know ew right but stay with me now) ends up finding HIS mate. And she’s like the sweetest thing ever and she’s terrified of him. (Beron is infatuated with her because of whatever power she may have but he’s still an asshole don’t get me wrong this is not a beron redemption request) It becomes public knowledge that beron found his mate and he plans on marrying her. eris REFUSES to let another female be subjected to what his mother went through so this is what spurs the whole murder beron and become high lord plot. I have no thoughts on what happens between but eris succeeds and becomes high lord in the end, but falls in love with beron’s mate during the process and it’s mutual love and it’s angst with a happy ending. Usually fated mates is my jam but I just needed every mating bond to go wrong in this one LOL. Except for Helion and LoA of course 🫡

A Game of Fate

Eris Week - Day 7 - Free Day

Summary - After the bond between Beron Vanserra and Eris's hidden lover makes itself known, the cycle of tyranny in Autumn is put to the test

Warnings - assassination, poison, Beron, mentions of abuse, food and sleep deprivation, beron x reader mating bond.

A/n - I've been holding on to this, and I am so sorry 😭. I played with it a little bit, but I this ultimately was the version I am happiest with! Happy last day of @erisweekofficial . It feels like I'm like leaving a long-distance friend after too short of a visit.

🍂Eris Week Masterlist🍂Eris Masterlist🍂Master Masterlist🍂

The Cauldron was wrong. Eris understood Azriel's claim in every sense now. The Cauldron had to be wrong.

There was no other explanation for why his father was currently signing papers to end his marriage because you were his mate. Sweet, kind, soft spoken you. You dreamed of far-off places, peace. You once told Eris you liked to imagine what the stars whispered to each other late at night.

You were a dreamer, and you were his. Eris had hidden you in plain sight since you became his peace. You were there for him after Mor rejected the bond. You were there for him after every beating, and you loved him through everything.

And now your father had to go and ruin it. You were 505 years old, and he finally felt the need to present you as a lady to the court to be married off however Beron saw fit.

If it was a massive payout your father wanted, he had it. Everyone knew what had happened the second the High Lord of Autumn laid eyes on you. The reactions ranged from jealousy to sympathy to shock. And now, two months later, the reaction was silence.

Without even speaking, you had changed the course of Autumn's history. You had ruined Helion, Rhys, and Eris's plans. You had freed his mother at the cost of yourself and your safety. Your words behind those closed doors would haunt Eris until he died, "I will marry you only if Lady Autumn is freed and allowed to leave to wherever she sees fit, safely and with your blessing."

Eris sighed as the other two High Lords, the inner circle, and his brothers all sat in Helion's war room. Eris's boots banged with each anxious and angry step, "Any ideas," he asked. "I would have to outright declare a blood duel now, which requires gaining the support of the rest of the courts beforehand, and we do not have time for that."

"We can not declare war," Rhysand contemplated. "No other court had claim to the girl, and you have no known claim to her."

"Even if he did, Autumn court law says the mating bond trumps it," Eris's mother, Anala, said. "Especially when it is between two members of the Autumn Court. Our laws allow males to claim their mates without her accepting the bond."

"Well if that isn't misogynistic-"

"Let me know when you actually ban wing clipping, and you can bash my court's laws," Anala spat at Rhysand. "You know, as well as I do change doesn't come overnight with a dictator."

Rhysand blinked at the former Lady of Autumn before glancing at Helion. You entered the room at that moment. The air seemed to tense as you did, but Eris rushed to you, holding your elbows. "Are you alright?"

Beron has been trying to manipulate you for weeks. He played games with your mind no long talks with Eris could prepare you for. Beron was a monster, and this was only your second week continuously being with him.

Helion stared to his love, his long lost mate, and stood, "Give me a week with your mother, and I will do it." The silence was screaming as the former Lady of Autumn shook her head. "There are no other answers, my love." Helion knew the look in Eris's eyes, the ache, the desperation, and the struggle.

He knew immediately what you were to Eris and what you could be to Autumn. Helion, much like Eris, knew he could not let you fall victim next, but you had no intentions to. He had watched his mate suffer for far too long, and the rumors of Beron's so-called adoration for the female in front of him did not mask the concern the Lord of Day felt.

You and Eris held eye contact. The room noticed the wordless communication. It was a bond that could only have been built through love, trust, and years of understanding. "I can not risk you like that."

"I would be careful," your reply was so soft but filled with confidence. "He won't even know if we use small amounts."

Eris couldn't help but hold your arms a little tighter, "I will not risk you." His eyes were pleading for you to reconsider to think this through.

"Would anyone mind including the rest of us in this... touching conversation?" Rhysand picked a piece of lint off his jacket before crossing his arms.

You spoke before Eris could, "There is a plant that grows in a certain place. It is highly poisonous and undetectable. The symptoms are no worse than an allergy. It can cause death within 2 weeks."

You watched as Anala shook her head at Helion, "I know of no such poison."

"That's because I made and grow it," Eris flinched at your admission and the questions it would bring.

Helion started to laugh, "You made it?"

Eris glared at the Day Lord, "y/n has a certain.. gift.. from the Mother."

"I can combine poisons," you rolled your eyes at Eris playfully. "Create new ones with no antidote or cures." Rhys and Helion turned to each other, clearly not assumed by the new information. "I only used it once. And they deserved it."

Anala's whiskey eyes went wide, "The human smuggler. You killed him?"

"Eris did. I just provided the supplies."

Rhysand pinched the bridge of his nose. "Eris, why was this information not provided to any of us earlier? Do you understand how useful she is?" You shook your head toward the red-haired male. He seemed to calm down instantly at the sight of you. "Ah, I see. She's your lover. Not just your friend."

His mother seemed stunned at this information, "But Morrigan?"

You flinched at the mention of her name. "Has the same taste as I do, mother," Eris was only looking at you. "And I do not support this idea," his grip on your arms grew tighter. "He is not a common idiot."

"Nor am I," you declared. "I would be smart. I'll be close enough to him to make sure he gets it every day. Even after just a week-"

Rhysand finished, "He'd be weak enough to call an emergency meeting or for one of us to declare the blood duel."

You nodded at the Lord of Night, not even stopping to admire his dark beauty with the grace of Autumn and Mother Nature stood before you in Eris's eyes. There was no world where you planned to be without him, no world where you could see yourself in arms besides his.

But for a week you would not have a choice. For a week, you would play the part you were expected to, and it began before you even had breakfast the next day. You were woken up by two handmaiden ripping you from your bed in the former Lady of Autumn's private chambers and throwing your half awake and now naked self into a bath.

Every inch of you was scrubbed almost raw before your hair was washed and scented to Beron's preference of roses. You were dried and dressed in almost no time, the heavy traditional gown feeling like shackles on your figure.

No cotton dresses if this failed.

No more nights in Eris's sweaters and nothing else.

Once your hair and makeup we're finished, you were not taken to breakfast. You were taken to lessons. Beron had assumed you knew nothing of formality, nothing of etiquette. You had not been presented to his courts, so what other assumption could he have made as you were retaught the differences in dinning utensils.

You would not see food until that even came, and then the mood quickly fizzled away as the table for two was filled. The only sound in the room was meat being cut, your breathing. You knew not to speak before the High Lord addressed you. You knew he was testing you with silence.

You did not see Eris in this male. There was no sign of the life that burned in Eris's eyes. No freckle of Beron's seemed to mimic the night sky the way Eris's did. There was nothing special to you about Beron Vanserra. Not even the bond was strong enough to make you want him.

"How were your lessons," his voice was falsely sweet. "I assume based on your manners they went well."

"They were lovely, High Lord," you responded. "A good refresher for everything my mother had already taught me."

Beron glanced at you, "Are you inferring you did not appreciate me setting you up with the finest tutor in my court?"

Eris would be whispering to you to tread carefully. Beron's very body language told you this was beginning to enter dangerous territory. "No, my lord," you said softly, "But I would hate for you to waste time and resources on me when I am sure there are better things to put them towards."

Beron leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips as he cocked his head, "You know how to play. I'm going to thoroughly enjoy breaking you, mate."

And you thoroughly enjoyed watching him drink the whiskey laced with 3 drops of poison.

The next day was different. Beron himself was dragging you places without food right away this morning. He was showing you off to different advisors all day, bragging about your beauty, your ability to manipulate flowering and fruiting plants into harvests sooner.

You had used your magic so much to show off for him that you could hardly stand as he affectionately held your chair out for dinner. "You did wonderfully today," he began eating after forcing you to say a prayer to the Mother.

He didn't get to hear the silent plea you sent her. The silent begging for mercy.

You sid get to hear him start coughing as he drank his tainted whiskey that night, though.

Eris was worried for you the third day. You had been sent to bed late, awoken early. Once again, not allowed food. He had stayed by your and Beron's side in meeting that day.

His amber eyes never left your form. He was openly staring at the way you couldn't help but lean on Beron in your exhausted state.

And when Beron stole you for dinner, Eris made sure to add extra poison to his drink, watching as you played the part of the perfect mate, rushing to help him as he began to cough up blood.

Illness among the fae was rare, but when it struck, it was deadly. By the end of day 4, the Forest House was a much quieter place. Beron was bed bound due to Eris's choice to expose him to the poison morning, noon, and night.

You had warned him that this poison was aggressive in large doses. He had also tested it on more brutal lesser fae tracking to attack innocent children to see that. It was brutal, focusing on getting into the smallest cells of blood before shutting down major organs quickly and painfully. You were sat beside his father, crying, playing the part, and Eris beside you, a distraught son.

Day 5 Eris slipped the poison in a high dose into Beron's pain medication before finding you. He had cornered you into a hall closet. You had been forced from bed far too early again, forced to skip meals again.

Eris knew this tactic. Had Beron been healthy, he would continue this until your brain associated Beron's presence with food. It was a way to make you comply, to rely on him.

Eris put an end to it right that moment. He ordered you to be given food, then rest. His father refused the tea Eris offered him that night. Took weak to even open his eyes.

You had underestimated yourself and your powers, or perhaps the smug male above you had more to with it than he let on, bit day 7, Beron was unresponsive. Eris held you down on the bed you two had shared so many times before, kissing your neck and whispering words of how he'd move the very foundations of this world for you when the knock came on his door.

He quickly hid you, allowing a healer to enter. Eris faked his reaction perfectly. He fell to his knees with a strangled cry, hand on his heart as the healer moved to comfort the young heir.

Beron was unresponsive.

And by night fall, Eris truly fell over. His very blood felt as if liquid fire had been poured into him. His hearth grew brighter, hotter.

It wasn't until your heart-wrenching scream came that Eris knew without doubt what had happened. No one had prepared for the outcome of you losing your mate. No one had even questioned what it would do.

They had been so focused on saving you that they had forgotten the most important part of the bond, Beron was the other half of your soul. Grief. Guilt. Joy. Anger. You had never felt like this. You had never imagined a world where you could feel so deeply it ached and made you sick.

You pushed healers away as you held Beron's hand. You pushed Eris away as he came to kneal beside you. You didn't want to feel this, yet you did. You did as he forced you up and out of the room. You did as Beron's body was burned before his ashes were given to the trees. You did as you watched Eris take his place.

The grief only stopped when Eris concerned you that night, his hands on your hips, and he led you to another room where a separate celebration took place. Anala stood in Day Court attire, laughing as Helion dipped her, laughing as Lucien smiled at her from across the room, Elain safely tucked to his side.

Eris's middle brother stood dancing with his male lover, the two of them just swaying. Mor was there with Emerie, lips by her ear gossiping. "I ache too at times," Eris looked at her, a longing in his eyes as he did. "I wonder if I made the right choice to let her go on my loneliest nights. Then I see you."

Eris kissed your knuckles, "I see you, and I regret nothing. Not even what I did in secret."

You looked at him then, "Eris?"

"I stole the black poison. The one you never tested. Every time he and I ate together, I slipped him that one as well."

Your face fell, "You-"

"Weren't going to risk it. Not with the female I am in love with being involved," Eris drank his wine slowly as he studied your reaction.

"So no big fight needed?"

"Oh, trust me, I wanted that," he clarified. "I didn't realize it would work as quickly as it did. I wasn't sure what you had been crafting. He died before I could challenge him, but before he could break you."

The two of you continued watching Helion and Anala, continued watching Lucien and Elain, his brother, Mor.

The grief did linger, but as you took his hand, it faded more. "Let's go dance, High Lady," he whispered into your ear.

And with each spin, every dip, the raise in laughter, the ache continued to fade.

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[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Dream world

a/n It's been a hot hot minute since I've written for this man and I missed it so much. I hope you will enjoy it! 🤍

summary: Joel can't seem to let go of the shadows hunting him even in Jackson. After countless of sleepless nights and no remedy for it he finds himself needed even more of your and Ellie's love. Can a night of sleep bring him some clarity?

warnings: mention of pills, sleep deprivation, past trauma, people burning.

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Joel was convinced. He had very successfully convinced himself that he was never going to find peace. Not after the outbreak. Not after Sarah. Not after almost taking his own life. Not after the thought of losing Tommy as well. All he had done in the last twenty years was lost. Lose everything he loved. Everything he had worked towards. Everything that he had built. There was nothing. Piece by piece coldly ripped away from Joel's hands.

So when you came around. All smiley and giddy. Joel couldn't help but hate you in some way. When he spotted you across the street helping out an old lady, he couldn't help but curse you silently. Stupid thing, Joel had thought back then. Stupid thing that still felt. How could anyone smile now? After everything. Jole hated himself for thinking about it, but he wanted to drop a dead body at your feet and tell you to throw it into the fire. He wondered if you would be smiling then. But all that faded when his eyes met yours, and you beamed at him. Waving before you turned back to the old lady.

Then Joel spent his days convincing himself that you would never have it in you to care for him. You would never even want to be in the same room as him. Joel had a reputation in QZ. Not only because of his strength, no. Joel was careless. Cold. Cunning. He had no emotion. No empathy. A dead man walking. That's what he was. And yet, when he stumbled upon you in the eating quarters handing out food, he couldn't help but silently beg that you would glance his way.

You were someone Joel could crush in the blink of an eye. He knew all the things he could tell you to make you cry, but for the first time in years, he didn't want to. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Joel got addicted to that smile of yours. He found himself looking for it in the crowds. Drinking his nights away when he didn't. And you two would have probably never actually come within a standing distance of one another if not for the day when you stumbled into the discharge area where they burned the infected ones, the ones who accidentally startled a tired soldier. Just this time, you were far from smiling.

Joel noticed you pushing through the sea of people. Trying to get to the trucks. His feet started moving even before his brain had made a decision. "Let me see her! I need to see her", you shouted straight at the soldier, who was gripping your hand way too firmly for Joel's liking. "Let go, you people killing fuck", you spat at the soldier, and he instantly lifted his hand to hit you, yet it never came. You had flinched away, ready to feel the sting, but no matter the breaths you took, it never came. "Who do you think you are to raise a hand against my wife?", Joel had caught the soldier's hand in midair. Shooting daggers at him. "Pick your bitch and move", Joel leaned closer to him.

Your hand instantly slipped between the two males. Joel might have been all big and scary, but he didn't have a gun, and his finger wasn't on the trigger. "I would pick the word whiskey", Joel snarled before turning to you. "I will need you to trust me", he muttered into your ear as he held onto your shoulders. Your sweet smell filled his senses, making him almost quiver. You simply nodded your head at him. "Let me get you, home love, you need to rest", Joel said much louder so the soldiers that started to gather would hear him.

If Joel would have known that you were going to make him want to be a better man. Want to finally look for the light instead of sending people to eat their shit, he would have never believed it. But with every day that you spent by his side, he felt like he could live. Not just drowning in endless darkness. You had been the first person to show him kindness, to see him for him. You didn't judge. You embraced him as he was. You were the first reason why Joel Miller wanted to stay alive.

When Ellie quite literally fell from the doorway into your life, Joel's initial reaction was refusal. He didn't need anyone else; he had you, and that was enough. This kid would be a burden. Unnecessary use of resources. And Joel was already so scared. So scared of losing you. No, he refused to let that thought even linger. Joel knew somewhere deep down that no matter his guards, Ellie would find a way to slither in. She would find a way, and then he would have so much more to lose. So much could be taken away from him.

But one look at you. The way you helped the girl up. The way she jerked away from you, pushing you away. Joel was about to interfere. Was a step away from pressing a gun to Ellie's head when you carefully lifted your hand. Showing it to Ellie as if she was a stray animal that you were trying to get familiar with your scent. Then brush your fingers through her messy hair, stopping to pick a piece of dirt from it. "Just figured you wouldn't want to walk with that in your hair", you said softly, smiling at the girl slightly. Ellie said nothing. But from the way something in her eyes glimmered, Joel knew that your magical touch had made an impact on the girl the same way that it had transformed him.

Jackson could not be real. It just couldn't. From the moment you had made your way there and the initial euphoria of reuniting with Tommy had worn off, Joel just couldn't stop thinking. How? Where was the catch? Were they going to come and take you away while he slept? Where are they also eating their people? It was too good to be true. With so much darkness still around the world, what was the likelihood that right here? Right in this little town, a seed of light grew.

No matter what he did, Joel couldn't settle. He loved seeing you and Ellie finally get to experience nice things. He loved watching Ellie look at the animals and crops that she hadn't seen before with her big eyes. He loved how the tension had vanished from both of your shoulders. How the light sounds of laughter filled the tiny house. How you sang along, teaching Ellie the melodies from the pre-pandemic era. How you two danced in the middle of the living room, both in Joel's shirts, socks on as you slipped around the floor.

Home. This was home. Or at least was supposed to be. Joel knew he should just accept it. But, no. You were home. Ellie was home. Not this place. And God doom him, Joel couldn't understand why he felt a million times more content in the middle of the woods with a gun in his hands guarding you and Ellie while you slept, cuddling together in a sleeping bag than here. There was no peace here for him, no rest. Every sound at night made him jump up. He walked back and forth from your bedroom to Ellie's. Over and over and over again. What ifs clouding his mind.

Of course, you were quick to notice. Never being a deep sleeper yourself, you felt every movement at night. It broke your heart to see the dark circles getting darker and darker under his eyes. The frown set in deeper. You tried to just hold him and let him lie practically on top of you. Let him feel your heart beating. Let him ground himself at least a little. It had helped Joel get a couple of hours of sleep for the first few days, but then back it went. You pulled a mattress in so that Ellie could sleep in the same room as you two. She gave you a puzzled look at first, growling about how the last thing she wanted was to listen to you two having sex, which had led to you pushing her playfully into the mattress. But that didn't seem to help as well. Joel just sat there between the bed and the mattress the whole night. Watching. Monitoring. Waiting.

Ellie herself wasn't worried about this, nor did she notice it until you brought it up and until she saw the worry lacing your face. Her world was made up of you and Joel. Your well-being, both physical and emotional, was vital for her. Most of your moods rubbed off on her. Any frustration and fearfulness were quick to cripple her.

"Is it really bad?", she asked you one evening, slumping onto the sofa right beside you. You just shook your head slightly. "What is it?", "The situation with Joel", Ellie said firmly. A part of you wanted to deny your worries. The last thing you wanted was to worry Ellie, even if deep down you could tell that she had picked up on the situation. "He's worried, and I just — I just don't know how to help him", you said, taking a shaky breath, rethinking it all. "I went to a doctor this morning, and she said they would look for some pills to help with it, but… What do we do till then?"

Helpless. You looked helpless. Ellie was quick to cuddle into your side. Wrapping her arms around you the same way she had seen Joel do so many times. Warmth. Comforting warmth was all she could offer you, and Ellie was hoping that it would be enough for you. Enough to at least keep you going. Your arms wrapped around the girl, bringing her closer to your body. "We will make sure he eats well. That will keep his body going", you muttered, and Ellie was quick to nod her head. "Joel loves a bit of roasted dinner. We could make that", a small smile tugged across your face. Ellie's ability to catch on to little things always made you smile. Just like Joel, most of the time her love language didn't revolve around touching or words of affirmation. She was attentive with her actions. Two scoops of sugar in your morning tea; a scarf hung on too tightly to Joel's winter coat so that he wouldn't forget it. "Yeah, we should make that tonight", you said, placing a loving kiss on Ellie's head before you two headed toward the kitchen.

When Joel stepped through the arched kitchen door, the table was already set. Ellie was pouring the sauce into the little dish, with you closely supervising her. Itching to take the hot dish from her hands. Scared that she might end up burning herself by accident. Joel wanted to smile. Wanted to feel a thread of relief, but all there was tiredness.

"Oh, good. You're back. Wash up and come sit down. I'll get a plate ready for you", you said, stepping closer to the older Miller and reaching up to place a loving kiss on his still-cold cheek. "I'm not hungry; you two eat", Joel said blandly, turning to go upstairs, but your hand quickly reached out to stop him. "It's been a long day, and we made your favorite", you tried again, turning to Ellie, who nodded her head, "And even opened a jar of cranberry sauce". But Joel only let out a frustrated sigh, running his hand over his face. "Joel, come on, you…", but you were quickly cut off by his booming voice, "Y/N, I'm not in the mood for this. Eat and just…", but Joel himself didn't finish his sentence. Waving a dismissive hand toward you two as he stepped out of the kitchen.

You bit down on your lip as the tears started to flood your eyes, wrapping your arms around yourself for comfort. You felt Ellie nuzzle into your side the moment Joel disappeared. Her own sad eyes looked at your tear-stained cheeks. You managed to give her a slight smile, brushing some of the hair away from her face. "Let's still fix him a plate. I'll bring it up to him just in case", you said, with an aching chest, as you moved towards the tray of roasted potatoes and vegetables. Hoping and praying that Joel was still going to take a bite or two.

The house was quiet for the rest of the night. Joel didn't come down. You knew he wasn't asleep because you could hear him passing upstairs. You and Ellie went through some of her homework. Getting ahead of her reading tasks since she found them the most challenging. You caught her watching you more than once. Little stolen glasses as if she was always monitoring you. Just in case your eyes glossed over again. Just in case she would need to give you another hug. So she would be right there. And you let her. After a couple of dismissals. Instead of telling her not to worry, you just let Ellie do her thing, knowing that she found comfort in it.

When you two got upstairs to get ready for the night, Joel was sitting on the bed. Head buried in his hands. So lost in his mind that he didn't even hear you and Ellie walking in. Only when you told her to get her night clothes ready did Joel lift his head. The fact that Ellie didn't even look his way as she walked past him made Joel's heart hurt. He couldn't have her, or you hate him. No, if you hated him, it would give you a reason to leave. He didn't want you to leave.

"I ate it. It was delicious", Joel said quietly, gesturing to the empty plate. Ellie went to the bathroom without a second glance, and you nodded your head. "I'll wash it up", you reached for the plate, but Joel caught your wrist, bringing it closer to his lips. "I'm sorry for snapping, it's just..", "I know. It's okay", you said quietly, but Joel shook his head. "This doesn't give me a reason to take it out on you two". Stepping closer to you, Joel wrapped his arms around your shoulders, bringing you closer to his chest.

"I just worry about you so much. We both do", you admitted, feeling your bottom lip start to quiver, "I can tell that you're struggling, but I don't know how to help you, and it kills me". A choked-out sob slipped past your lips. You felt guilty for crying. Guilty of making this about yourself in a way. "I just…", Joel rasped out himself, "So many thoughts, and I can't seem to find a way to calm down". You lifted your head from his chest, meeting his eyes. His heart was beating beneath your palm. "I… you…", Joel shook his head; speaking out his emotions was always a struggle for him. "You don't have to talk about it all tonight", you reassured him quickly. "Just know that we are here for you. Always". With a slight nod, Joel rested his forehead on yours, breathing you in.

You stood there in your lover's arms until Ellie came back. Then, with a little kiss on his chest, you slipped out to wash up yourself, leaving Joel and Ellie together. Still drying your hair, you walked back to the bedroom. Stopping in your track at the sight of the two of them giggling quietly. Ellie was in the bed beside Joel, pressed against his chest. Both of them had their hands stretched toward the ceiling. Ellie was trying to reach Joel's fingers, but her hand was way shorter than Joel's. She was desperately trying to pull at Joel's wrist, but his hand didn't budge. "You're cheating", she mumbled, "I'm not; it's not my fault you have baby T-Rex arms". Ellie let out a scoff, pinching the skin on Joel's arm in frustration. But her frown was quickly replaced by a smile when Joel grasped her wrist, making her slightly pull away from the mattress with a laugh.

"You are both children", you murmured, sitting on the other side of the bed. Joel's hand instantly moved to caress your hip. "Joel is returning to the dipper stage", Ellie teased again. "You'll be returning to the mattress soon", Joel threatened her, but the two burst out into a laugh almost immediately. You shook your head, yet the warmth that grew in your chest was hard to hide. You were happy that Ellie had found a way to reach Joel. They were so similar. They understood each other better than anyone could. Cuddling into Joel, you reached out your hand to Ellie. Joel let out a yawn, and you and Ellie locked eyes. Maybe with you both in his arms, he was finally going to sleep through the night.

Joel woke up with a jolt. A bright ray of sunshine was shining through the window, making him quickly cover his face. His head felt fuzzy. In a way lighter but then also so heavy. As if I had been drinking a night away yesterday. Yet even a hangover seemed less brutal than this. Joel was never a fan of the morning, and this only proved why. His arms suddenly felt empty. He could swear he had fallen asleep with you and Ellie in his arms last night. Stroking both of your hair. Listening to Ellie's light snores and loving the feeling of the warmth seeping into him. Joel reached out across the bed blindly, the sun still way too bright for his eyes. But all he was met with was coldness. A cold shiver ran down his spine. Was it a dream? Had something happened? Had he missed it?

Quickly sitting up, Joel looked around the room. His heart started to beat fast and fast. There was no sign of you or Ellie—nothing. There was no evidence of your being here in the same bed last night. Joel swung his legs over the edge. He needed to find you. Needed to see. "Y/N", he choked out, hands pressing onto his chest that seemed to grow tighter with every passing minute. The corridor was as empty as the room. Joel grabbed for the bathroom handle but found no one there. The ringing in his ears grew louder. "El", he called out again, "Y/N". His shaky hand gripped the railing, and the few sets of steps down seemed like a lifeline to him. "No, no, no", the fear was the only thing in his body now.

You thought you were the first to wake up, surprised to be still laying on Joel's chest. Ellie was quietly laying on her back while she played with Joel's fingers. Your stirring caught her attention as she turned to beam at you, "I think he slept through the night", she whispered. You nodded your head, putting your finger against your mouth. You were determined to make sure that Joel slept for as long as possible. Who knew if the next night he was going to find a peaceful slumber? You carefully moved his arms away from your body. Ellie quickly followed the lead. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?", she asked you when you two were out in the corridor, and the door to the bathroom was already closed. "Pancakes?", you asked, earning a fist pump from Ellie. "Fucking pancakes", she chirped, rushing down the stairs.

It was truly a magnificent morning. It's been a while since the sun has been this bright. You even cracked open some of the windows. Ellie was smiling to herself as she dried out the dishes. You two didn't talk much. It didn't feel necessary. Your head jerked to the side once the sound of footsteps came through the hallway. Yet the smile died out the moment the gasps of air followed suit. You dropped the spatula to the side as you rushed toward the sound.

Joel was leaning against the wall. His head hung low as he gripped the left side of his chest. These panic-like attacks have been happening for a while now. They scared you to death, but the doctor said that his heart was healthy, or as healthy as it could be, given his age and everything that had happened. You reached for him in an instant, making him jump back. "Joel,", you called out, and he practically leaped into your arms, pulling you into him. "Oh, thank God, thank God", he cried. You frowned slightly but let him embrace you regardless. "Are you hurt? Did something happen? Where is Ellie?", Joel's head jerked up as he scanned the room. Ellie stood a couple of feet away from him. Joel reached out his hand toward her, and she instantly moved closer. His breathing eased up. Right here in his arms. Not dead. Not taking anything away from him.

"Is everything okay?", Ellie asked quietly. You expected Joel to say nothing. Understanding his need for space and time, but to your surprise, he did speak up, "I thought I lost you. I thought I finally failed you", you looked up at him straight away. The silent tears were rolling down his cheeks. "I'm just so scared I won't be able to… keep you safe. Make sure that…" Joel said, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. "You're full of shit", Ellie stated, stepping away from him, "You've been here since day one; nothing changed". You wanted to warn her about the words she used, but then again, she was right. "Joel, you brought us here. You can rest a bit now", you reassured him, but he shook his head. "What if something happens while I sleep? What if I can't stop it?", "In our house? In a town that's surrounded by a huge fence?", Ellie cut in again.

You cupped Joel's face carefully, turning his face towards you so he would look into your eyes, "It's okay to still be scared. Fuck, I don't think it's possible to get back to any kind of normality after the last twenty years, but…", you fought the lump that started to form in your throat as you leaned closer to Joel, "But you're going to be okay, we all are going to be okay. Because we're a family. There's nothing we can't accomplish together".

And then it all came crashing down. With a loud sob, Joel fell to his knees, and you sank alongside him. Arms, not letting go of him even for a moment. Ellie stepped beside him, her head resting on his back as she too fought her tears. You let him cry. You may have burst into a silent sob somewhere along the way yourself. Everyone had the scars they carried. Some were deeper than others. Struggling to heal. Struggling to see the light. It was easy to give up. Fighting was a whole other story. But once you found people who made you want to live, who you had to live for, giving up wasn't an option, and that was so scary.

"I love you both", Joel whispered after some time. You brushed his last tears away, smiling at him. "Well, I also love you, but you better start talking about your emotions, or I'll eat your pancakes", Ellie warned him, nuzzling into his chest. Joel let out a chuckle, "You're starting to sound like Y/N". You gasped slightly, shifting closer to them both, "You'll lose your space in the bed too, not just pancakes".

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

TLOU taglist: @theslytherinwriter @daddysfavoritesexkitten @randomstory56 @woofgocows @ohthemisssery

[everalii]

No rest - Sebastian Sallow

Tw: depicted acquired schizophrenia, paranoia, death, suicide idealization, and self-harm. Pure angst. 18+. AFAB MC named Claire, but no traits are mentioned, you can imagine your own or any other character here.

No beta here. Read at your own risk.

I had this idea after talking to my dad, who was recently diagnosed with schizophrenia. According to his doctors, he acquired after a very traumatic experience as a way for the brain to "protect" itself. He told me what the voices he hears talk, the patterns and all, so everything here is based on what my dad taught me.

I am by no means a doctor or a specialist in schizophrenia, I'm just a curious and creative woman. Please, let me live lol

Enjoy. Or not, bc it's sad.

Now that you took him away from Anne, when will you take yourself away?

Sebastian hit his own head with his fist, in order to make the trail of thoughts cease.

It hasn't been easy since the events in the catacombs. He, somehow, manipulated, no, convinced both Ominis and Claire that he acted in self defense. Or was it intetional?

For gods sake, he knows he never intended to kill his uncle. And everyone should know too. Anne should. Anne should?

He smacked the back of his head again, his own internal voice failing giving him some comfort. The whispers haunting the library, quills being dragged around parchment to draw words and the flipping of pages were getting him mad.

Sebastian shoved the books under his arm and stormed off the library, not noticing Madam Scribner pointless words of how he should be more careful with her sacred books. As if he cared.

He needed silence and peace, so he ran to the old clock forgotten beneath the stairs of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The clinging of metal on stone sent shivers down his spine.

Finally, the Undercroft revelead itself proud in front of him. No lights were on. Only a rhythmic drop falling from the ceiling disturbed the eerie ambiance of the large secluded gallery. He lit the candelabra with confringo and sat next to the crates where he rested his books on.

Alone, as always... You should keep yourself away. Murderer.

Another time, he hit his own head. The guilt railed him from the inside out, it was clear: sleep deprived, no apetite and constant tiredness showed in heavy dark bags under his eyes, his voice faltering, his demeanor once proud is now timid. He wanted to pay attention to his studies, with the OWLs coming, he had to score high if he wanted the right subjects for the next ye-

Murderer. Murderer. What does Anne think?

- Bloody hell, enough! - he shouted, panting and fighting the tears back into his eyes. - Enough.

He knows fighting. Adorable boy. Mommy's boy. She's dead too, poor thing.

Sebastian dropped the quill from his fingers, hitting the back of his head hard against the stone of the gallery. He would get a headache for the next day, most likely.

Pain eases? Mommy's gone, baby boy. So does Anne, she'll die because of your incapacity.

- Shut up!!! - he screamed, clawing his fingers into the stone and punching it with full force. It was pointless now to fight the tears, they fell like a waterfall. - Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up!!!

- Sebastian? What is happening?!

Sebastian opened his eyes to meet Claire's one's staring at him, hers filled with worry. She dared to touch his leg in a soothing way. He flinched at the contact, so she drawed her hand back.

- When you came in?

- Just now, I saw you punching the wall and screaming. What's happening? Tell me... - she begged

His mouth went dry while his stomach contracted itself, Sebastian felt relieved for not having nothing to eat for the past few days. He took in a few breaths, regaing his calm

Claire is too good for you. She's ashamed of you. You made her sin. Murderer. Mur-

- I'm just tired, love. Nothing to worry here. - he smiled, puffing out his chest. Claire stern gaze never faltered, she pressured him. - ...I am still thinking about that night.

Murderer. Murderer. Selfish murderer, you should be hanging on a rope.

- We will get over that, as painful as it is, Bash. - Claire sat beside him, embracing his large torso. He rested his head on her shoulder. - I am here.

She is, but not for long. She'll get over that, alone. You, alone. Murderer.

- ...I-I hope. I just want to rest. - he confessed. - I'm so tired.

Rest? You won't rest. Murderer. Rest is for uncle Solomon. Alone.

- You can rest now. I won't leave you.

He smiled, his heart sunk with the realization, she'd leave him. She would, he could feel it. He was a murderer.

Claire caressed his cheek and planted a shy kiss on his head, resting her head atop his.

Murderer.

Murderer.

Kinslayer... sounds good, a good name for Azkhaban. Murderer. She'll leave you for Ominis... Is he ratting you now?

He pressed his eyes closed, tears still falling from his eyes, now wetting Claire's robes, and his lips trembling.

- Promise you won't leave me?

- I promise I'll never leave you - she will.

Murderer. Murderer. We belong in Azkhaban.

You belong in Azkhaban.

[urlocalgothamite]

THIS IS BREAKING MY HEART- Tim D.

trigger warning ⚠️  for self injury. I will mark the graphic section so you can skip it.

created using dialgoue promt- "This is breaking my heart"

summary: Tim Drake's suffering stops going unnoticed.

characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne (mentioned), Black Canary (mentioned)

Tim Drake has spent his whole life being told how smart he is. Lucky, right? But it isn't like he believes them. The only reason people think he's so smart is because he spends too much time in his thoughts. At least thats what he thinks, and he thinks too much. Tim never gets a second of peace and quiet in his own brain.

He has to silence it somehow, didn't he?

Physical pain distracts the human brain from emotional turmoil. Tim's smart enough to know that, but he doesn't quite believe that he's smart enough to stop.

Laying in the dark, Tim realized just how very tired he is. The sheets around him feel soft, but he's not interested in anything soft right now. Tim's much more interested in something sharp. So, that's what he'll get.

⚠️Too exhausted to even sit up- He lies in bed dragging a blade across my skin. It doesn't hurt, not really. Instead, his senses are overwhelmed with a flooding sense of relief. He feels better. He feels empty- like the pain has left, only temporarily. ⚠️

"Shit"  He thinks as he remembers his phone left on the library's coffee table. "Shit."

He rolls himself out of bed, vision blurry from the sleep deprivation.  If he lived anywhere but a house of detectives, he could leave his phone in the library; but he figures it's best to keep his notes app to himself.

The manor is quiet; everyone either out on patrol or getting some rest. So he stumbles through the dark rooms and finally makes it too the library. Unfortunately, he's not alone.

"Wow Timmy, you look like shit" Jason says, looking up from his book. Tim ignores him, and reaches for his phone on the table.

"Why is he even lounged on the couch at this hour."

Jason's eyes go wide, starring directly at Timothy. Jason's eyes quickly start shifting around, it's not like he's trying to stare. A wave of shocked horror hits him.

"Sit down." Jason says to Tim, with a terrifying calmness. Jason wasn't asking him, he was telling him.

"What?! Tim snaps, defensively. "I'm just getting my phone and heading to bed."

"Timmy, listen to me. You are going to sit right on that couch." Jason says as he stands up, pointing to the couch.

Tim follows instructions, with not much of a choice. Jason crouches down in front of Tim and rather aggressively reaches for his arm.

'Clearly he doesn't care about being gentle,' Tim thinks, flinching away.

Jason notices, and I wave of guilt crashes against him. He doesnt want to be an agressive person, he just is.

"Look, I know I shouldn't have grabbed you like that, or maybe I should have asked," Jason's voice breaks. He's ashamed of his worry. "But, Tim, I mean what the hell is this?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Tim crosses his arms and looks away with an eye roll and huff.

"You're a smart kid, Timothy; I think you do."

Tim's eyes shift away from him.

"So you're gonna go ahead and tell me what happened. Then I'm gonna make sure you're safe." Jason instructs.

"You're really gonna make me say it? I mean I think you can figure it out." Tim says, with a mix of pleading and sarcasm.

"Yea, Little Buddy, I think I can. Y'know I was in your shoes once."

So they talk for a while and Jason keeps a tight grip on Tim's hand.

Jason understood, and Tim doesn't know if that is comforting or sad.

"I'm not saying this to make you feel bad, but this is breaking my heart- to see you doing this to yourself."

All Tim could manage was a mumbled "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." He said. "Don't apologize." He said more firmly, placing a hand on Tim's shoulder.

"You can't tell B. He'd be- you just can't tell him okay?" Tim pleads.

"I'm the adult here. You're a kid. It is my job to take care of your safety. I have to tell someone."

"Jason. Please." Tim gets a crazy, defensive,pleading look in his eyes.

"I'm not gonna call Bruce. Trust me, I know how that goes. But I'm going to call someone who can handle this a lot more...gently than I can."

"No. No. No. No. No." Tim thinks.

The panic comes flooding back while he starts to shake and cry.

"Fuck" Jason thinks. He isn't prepared to handle this.

Tim didn't want to cry- and he knows the way to get relief without crying yet he's currently out of its reach.

"I'm sorry, Kiddo. But it'll be okay. I'm going to step over there and make a call. Do not run. Please, Tim. I'm not going to hurt you, I can promise you that. But I will chase you down, if I have to."

"Mhm." He just barely chokes out.

Tim can only overhear bits and pieces of the phone call.

"Hey Dick, I need you here"

"Yea, like right now."

"It's about Tim."

"No, Bruce doesn't need to know."

Jason walks back over to to the couch.

"Can I sit?" He asks.

"Go ahead." Tim sniffles.

"Dick's on his way. He'll more...delicate...about this than I am."

"I don't- you didn't have to tell on me." Tim cries.

"I know it hurts. I'm sorry."

Within 20 minutes of waiting Dick busts through the door. He walks in with the type of calm only achieved during a crisis.

"Thanks, Jason." Dick says.

"For what?" Jason raises an eyebrow.

"For calling me and for making sure he's okay." Dick nods to Tim.

"Yea well it's no problem." He says to Dick. "You're in good hands." He says turning towards me, before walking out.

"Cmon Kid, we're gonna try and fix this." Dick says reaching out his hand.

"Don't tell Bruce."

"Yea, I know he wouldn't handle this well. I got you though. Don't worry about B."

They walk for a couple minutes through the manor, taking the turns towards Dick's room.

"Can you sit down, please?" Dick asks, once we are located in his room.

He's gentler than Jason, but that was expected. He comes back from the bathroom with alcohol wipes and bandages.

"Do you mind if I fix you up?" He asks consent.

"Just don't look at it. Please. "

"Timmy, I have to. Please help me help you."

Tim just bit his lip and nodded, looking down.

"Good, you're doing great. You don't need to be embarrassed,  really."

The only thing Tim could do is just there in a state of dissociation and occasionally hear Dick trying to give me comfort.

"It'll be okay, Timmy."

"No one's mad at you."

"I've got you."

The effort was appreciated, but I honestly let it all blend together.

"All right, you're all done." Dick says, sitting by me. "Are you comfortable staying in here tonight? I don't feel that you're safe to be alone."

"Yea." Tim says. God this was so embarrassing.

"Tim look at me. We're gonna get you some help. You shouldn't- you don't need to feel ashamed."

"I don't want you to tell Bruce."

"I didn't say I would. But I'm calling Dinah first thing in the morning."

"You dont have to-"

"Shh. Please just lay down. Don't fight me on this."

So he did, and he shook for a while. But slowly, it got better. Dick was calm and gentle. There was no anger. It was safe. And so after shaking Tim finally made it asleep.

[mrcspectr]

wake me (when it’s over), chapter 2

Summary: In which Steven discovers the nightmare is not as hollow as Marc might think.

Title from Wake Me When It’s Over by the Cranberries.

Living in the past, it's difficult to hide. Some things will never last when you're swallowing your pride.

Inspired by this fantastic piece that’s been living rent free in my brain for a solid week now. You should absolutely go reblog it because wow.

Also, did an instrumental playlist for this story, if you’re into that sort of thing.

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: implied/referenced suicide, canon-typical violence, angst

Steven?

Steven sits in the center of the bed, dressed in a soft, white t-shirt of his own and a pair of dark, navy sweatpants of Marc’s. While they don’t agree on much when it comes to their normal, everyday clothing, tonight Marc can’t deny that his headmate has excellent taste when it comes to what he wears to sleep.

Scratch that, he briefly thinks to himself with a huff, when he tries to sleep.

Most of the clothes he’s started leaving around the flat are practical, yet comfortable. A bit bland for Steven's taste, but he’s just happy that Marc is now finally taking some initiative in cleaning out the storage locker. It’s been a slow process — a bag here, a hard, dented case of old, yet official looking documents there. But it’s a start, anyway, and the man hasn’t held onto many personal items to begin with.

It almost makes Steven feel guilty about the whole situation, the way Steven's own things have easily overtaken every available shelf and bit of wall space in the flat. Marc sometimes complains about the mess, though he’s never done much when it comes to contributing to it or even straightening it up.

He’s threatened to, on occasion. But there’s never been any follow through. Not yet, anyway.

That is, until Steven took it upon himself to start bringing the storage locker key with him to work in the morning. And if something well worn of Marc’s happened to make its way home with him, well. How he managed that must've slipped his mind entirely, as far as Marc's questioning was concerned. 

Besides, Steven is quite forgetful.

Everything Marc has begrudgingly brought on his own is very simple, very, well … Marc. He’s not sure when they started sharing those things, either, but the give and take feels natural, after some time. Steven simply reaches for something in their dresser drawers, paying no mind to whose it is.

Each bit of fabric feels more familiar than the last, somehow. These hands have held these things before, he knows. But it’s never been Steven, not until now.

And anyway, he’s much more at peace during the night than he’s been in years, and he’s always been able to concentrate best when he’s comfortable. And maybe just a little bit sleep deprived, somehow.

Some things never change, even his worst habits.

Hey, Steven.

“Hm?” He turns the page of the book that lies open in his lap, barely registering Marc's low voice in his ear. His glasses have slid down towards the end of his nose, but he’s been so engrossed, he hasn’t noticed enough to adjust them.

Have you been listening to me?

“Well, not since you’d started nattering on about me wasting our time, no, not really. Why d’you ask?”

Steven can almost sense, without looking, Marc's eyes rolling in the reflection above him. Look buddy, thanks for the honesty, but I'm tired. We're tired. Can we give this a rest?

With an exaggerated sigh, Steven takes the pen he's been absentmindedly chewing on and puts it between the pages, marking his place. "Alright then, so it's fine when it's convenient for you, is it?"

What are you talking about, Steven?

"Well," he lifts his head to the reflection, raising an eyebrow questioningly at Marc, as if punctuating the dark frames of his glasses. "Y'haven't slept in days."

Looking down again, he flips through the corners of the pages so that he can skim ahead to the next chapter. The title reads Oneiromancy in Egyptian Culture in thick, black letters.

Well, that’s a new one, isn’t it? Haven't read that word before.

"Hard not to notice your insomnia. Especially when I'm the one who usually wakes up in a state."

Not tired. Not until right now, anyway.

"That's sort of the point."

Kinda helping the process along here with … whatever it is you're reading. Looks boring.

Steven's eyes widen, staring incredulously now up at the mirror. "Marc!"

Oh, suddenly we're not being honest now?

"That's not—" Steven closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to control his impending annoyance. "You're supposed to be talking to me now, remember? You promised, back in Cairo, and we’ve discussed this."

There were a lot of things they purposefully chose to forget, after they left Egypt. Maybe that was their first mistake. Marc has been trying, Steven knows he has, it’s just… Slow going on some days, more so than others. With that, Steven has done his best to lean on his sense of patience, but again, Marc is… Well, he can be trying with that, too.

The dark circles under their eyes are quite familiar to Steven, but the worrying bit is that he isn’t the one who’s put them there this time. Each morning that Steven has awoken first, he’s noticed that they’ve become more distinct, a deeper shade of purple, carving a crescent moon just above their cheekbones. While he seems to feel particularly more refreshed mentally these days, the physical exhaustion on the body is starting to take its toll on the both of them.

“Something’s going on here. And I just want to understand, that’s all.”

I keep telling you, Steven, they’re just… They’re nightmares, they’re nothing. Marc drags his hand down his face, closing his eyes. I’ve always had ‘em, since I was a kid. There’s nothing to really talk about or explain, just happens.

“But they’re worse, and have kept getting worse since we’ve been back. We look like we might very well drop with the right gust of wind.”

Even if I said that, which I haven’t, by the way… Marc opens his eyes again to throw a stern glance in Steven’s direction. Steven thinks he’s supposed to be intimidated by it, but decides very quickly he isn’t. You’re not gonna fix it with your nose in a book.

“Think we both know I’ve fixed quite a lot with my books, mate.”

Didn’t say that either.

“Don’t have to.”

There’s a triumphant grin on Steven’s face that he can’t quite hide whenever he wins an argument. In the past, it’s always had the tendency to make Marc roll his eyes at him, never allowing him the satisfaction of being right. On his worst days, he’d even disappear from the reflection in a huff, shaking his head as he went.

But lately, things have been different. Better. It’s not that Marc doesn’t get frustrated anymore, — that’s a hurdle Steven expects them to be jumping for the foreseeable future. But Marc is more willing to give in a little, to actually listen, and it’s made it easier to pick away at his foundation day by day.

There’s something especially rewarding about the way Steven watches some of the tension leave Marc’s expression, his eyes softening at the edges, but still trying to keep up appearances through their glare. Stubborn, but not as steely as he used to be.

Sometimes, Marc still feels impossibly far away, even etched in Steven’s mind as he is. But in other moments, quiet ones like this, at night, when it doesn’t feel like they have to be anything but themselves, all Steven feels between them is a smooth panel of glass. Just a tool they use whenever they want to look each other in the eye, when occupying the same space and the same heart isn’t enough.

An echo of a memory passes between them. Steven’s memory. Hard tile under his feet and the tight coil of fear in his gut, slowly unwinding as a dark, unfamiliar voice spoke to him for the first time.

Let me save us.

“Let me help us, Marc.”

A flicker of recognition passes through Marc’s eyes then, and to Steven’s surprise, he actually smiles. It’s hesitant and unsure at first, the slow spread of it easing out the once seemingly permanent creases in Marc’s brow. There’s a warmth in the way he looks down at him then, and Steven can feel it spread out further from his ribcage.

You ever gonna tell me how you do that?

"What's that, throwing your old hero nonsense back at you?"

Marc lets out a laugh, soft and low, and Steven finds himself almost sad when it fades out.

It worked when it counted, didn't it? Wasn't trying to be a hero anyway, just needed to save our skin. They both go quiet at the memory, eyes shut as they remember the sound of the jackal screeching, echoing along the museum's empty halls. Pieces of broken porcelain scattered around their feet, the smell of dust and sand from the fabric pulled tight against their face.

There had still been fear, sure. But more importantly, there'd been comfort, too. Safety.

A thing foreign to them both, but welcomed all the same.

What I mean is … how do you know what to say? Even when I don't. They open their eyes again at the same moment, not needing to search for the other's gaze as they reach it, immediately, every time.

Especially when I don't.

"I don't always have all the answers, Marc. Thing is, I'd like to help you find them, if you'll let me."

I have a hard time with that, bud.

"Yeah, I know. Doesn't mean I'll stop trying, though."

Marc chuckles under his breath again, shaking his head. Okay, why don't you tell me about what you've been reading, then? That thing looks ancient.

"Alright, let's dive right in, yeah?" Steven pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and, in his excitement to show Marc his most recent studies, he flings his pen off the side of the bed where it clatters to the floor.

"See, the Egyptians believed that dreams were actually messages from the gods, and that inducing a vivid dream state gave them the blessing of divine revelation…"

~~~

Waking lately has begun to feel a lot less like a sharp fall. Now the sensation feels more like floating up to the surface, and Steven is grateful to discover the difference. As he creeps forward into awareness, he finds a gentle breeze blowing across his face, his dark curls brushing against his forehead as he comes to.

A heavy sigh escapes him, his warm breath a contrast to the cool air.

He isn’t sure when he fell asleep, actually. He'd been talking to Marc, leaning back against the headboard with his book, its old, yellowed pages held out in front of him. He’d been going over a particularly fascinating chapter about oracles and interpreting messages from the afterlife.

Marc had asked him to read out loud, and so he'd pleasantly complied, slowing his typical frenzied pace so that nothing was missed, and Marc could ask questions in between if he wanted to. And he did, to Steven's delight.

At no point did he feel rushed, or like he was being too much. It was quite nice.

He must've trailed off at some point, the rhythmic tone of his own voice mingling with Marc's occasional hum of encouragement, lulling him to sleep. Ah, well. He'd pick it back up again eventually. They had plenty of time for all that.

But gosh, it’s cold in here. Did they leave the window open or something?

As he opens his eyes, expecting to see Marc staring blearily down at him from the mirror again, he’s surprised to find not a reflective surface, but a starry night sky. A murky darkness, with a few scattered points of light.

Not even a hint of the dated wood that made up his London apartment, his home. Their home.

"What the—"

With a start, he scrambles to prop himself up on his elbows, only to find less than stable ground beneath him. Not their bed back at the flat, then, either. He digs his arms further down in an attempt to sit up, and slowly he starts to make out his surroundings. He feels a shift and flow that’s familiar, unmooring him and winding a tight knot of fear in his gut.

Like sand.

Now jerked into alertness, Steven practically throws himself to his feet, head whipping around to take in his surroundings. There’s not much to see: tall dunes of swirling sand, carried up and through the air by the same winds that seem to have brought him here. A deep purple sky, bearing down on him as his breath catches in his throat, heart rattling against his ribcage until it aches.

He feels himself begin to shake, his fingers twitching by his sides, and a roaring through his ears that he can’t explain. Like his whole body is rebelling against the memory of the last time he’d been in this place, against the cold and the fear and the quiet. Forcing him to move in tight, jerking motions, to remind him that he could. That he wasn’t frozen in place, looking after a boat that had long since left him behind.

I’m back in the Duat. I’m back here.

How is this possible?

Did I — did I ever leave, then? Was all of it… Cairo, Harrow, the flat… Was any of that real?

Was I frozen here this whole time?

Steven shuts his eyes tight against the memory, digging his fists into the sides of his skull, like if he could just create enough pressure, it might soothe his spinning thoughts enough to figure out how the hell he ended up here again.

And why, despite the whirlwind occupying every available space in his head, it somehow still feels quiet and empty. Like there is something missing.

Through the fog, he grabs hold of an anchor. A single word that enters his mind, yanking him back to the present.

A name he’s only just learned, but now can never forget.

"Marc?"

For a beat, he’s met with more silence in return. His blood runs cold in his veins as time seems to drift off into nothing. His vision darkens at the edges, tunneling further and faster still, ears ringing, until a voice, heavy and unfamiliar, breaks through behind him.

“Yeah, I was lookin’ for him too, and I found you here instead. Damn shame, I guess."

Turning to face the man speaking, Steven’s heart leaps into his throat. The feeling of unease and panic threatens to drag him down into the ground below as he takes in this … individual, whether he be man or ghost. It isn’t Marc, no, because he knows Marc’s presence by feeling alone, without ever needing to see him. However, this is exactly who he’d been looking for, in every word on the pages of that book. In every other dream.

They share the same face, Steven knows, but the way this man holds his features is so unfamiliar, Steven considers for a moment that he must be looking at a stranger. And he is, technically, because he’s never found this particular set of eyes looking back at him through the mirror. In fact, the man’s eyes seem to darken by shades the longer he stares in Steven’s direction. His mouth is set in a tight, thin line, and there is an unlit cigarette held between his fingers, hanging at his side. He stands stiff and at attention, his gaze never drifting away from Steven’s tense, wavering frame.

And he looks tired. More tired than Steven has ever looked, if that were even possible. And somehow more withdrawn than Marc, despite all of Marc’s struggles these past few weeks.

Steven takes a deep breath, and feels the thrum of his heart slow as his mind connects his racing thoughts back together. As the shock of recognition and fear fades into the background, it is replaced by Steven’s preferred state of being — that of inquiry and analysis.

“Oh. T-this must be a dream. Alright. Good. Very good.” His voice comes out shakier than expected, so he swallows against it, tries again. “Are you … the other one? Well, I think you might be, anyhow. Marc seems to think you’re a—”

“I’m a … what? Just a part of the nightmare?” The man makes a low sound in his throat, something that could be a laugh, but it’s trapped too deep inside himself to make out. Steven winces. "Yeah, guess he would think that. This ain’t your fight, hermanito. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Just a minute, that’s—” Steven clasps his hands together in front of him, a poor attempt at ending their shaking. “...that’s Spanish, right? Marc had said you spoke it once, in his last dream. So I’ve been practicing. It means little… Little what, exactly?”

"I bet you've got a book for that somewhere. Back at home. Maybe you should go find out."

“So you know what home is like, then? Have you been there before, or do you just…” He gestures meekly around them. “Stay here?”

“Missin’ the point here, Steven. That’s not like you.” His sentences are clipped, abrupt. He hasn’t been here long, but already he seems to be losing his patience.

He reminds Steven of Marc. Just a little.

“Oh! And you … you know my name already. Wow. I hadn’t even introduced myself yet. Guess we can skip that step, then. For m’self, anyway.”

The man sighs, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a small, black lighter. He flicks the edge of it to ignite a flame. A thought breaks through Steven’s nerves then; it seems that the flickering light is much like the thousands of twinkling stars above their heads. There’s something reassuring about those stars, however far away they might be. Still warm, even in the cold, dark night. Steven shivers but carries on, emboldened by the idea.

“Could you at least maybe tell me your name? So I know who I’m speaking to?”

No reply. Though the man hasn’t changed the subject, or walked away. Perhaps Steven just needs to give him time. He tilts his head, looking up at the sky for what feels like hours. Maybe time passes differently here; Steven’s not sure. Last time he was here, he certainly felt frozen for long enough, longer than anyone should. And he somehow came back feeling older from it. Maybe even a bit wiser, he thinks cheekily.

After an indefinite period of time, Steven glances back at the man. He looks like he’s contemplating what he wants to say … though there’s no telling whether he intends on speaking the truth. A muscle twitches in his neck and he sighs, looking back at Steven again.

“The name’s Lockley. That’s what I tell people when I’m working.”

“And when you’re… Not working?”

“Jake. Just Jake.”

“Well, Just Jake, it’s a pleasure. Now if you’ve got the time, I have a few ques—”

“No.” His voice is abrupt, sharp, cutting through the night air and right into Steven’s resolve.

“I-I’m sorry?”

The man named Jake begins to walk, moving with short, slow steps in a wide arc around where Steven stands. It seems to Steven that the movement is more of an anxious habit than a deliberate choice. He observes the way Jake makes a point not to look at him as he goes, choosing instead to fiddle with the lighter. The flame is close to his face now, illuminating one side while casting the other in shadow.

“This ain’t the place for your nagging. And I already said. You’re not meant to be here. Something must've happened. Messed it up. It was always supposed to be the big guy.”

“Do you mean Marc?”

“Yeah.” Jake eyes him from the side, tightening his jaw reflexively. “Marc.”

“That’s sort of what I wanted to ask you, actually. Y’see, he’s been having trouble sleeping, and it’s … it’s been causing us both a bit of grief, y’know? Same body and all that. And he… He can’t seem to stay out because, well…” Steven hesitates, unsure how his next sentence will go. Still, he musters up the courage to rattle it off anyway.

“I think you've scared him.”

Jake stops dead in his tracks, turning toward Steven again so fast it makes him jump. He’s angry, that much Steven’s sure of, but the feeling doesn’t quite meet his eyes. They look dull somehow, hollow almost to complete emptiness. It’s a deep enough sadness that Steven feels like he should look away. But just before that, if he looks closely, he can see a shred of guilt, just below the surface. But he waits too long to say anything about it, and it’s gone again.

“Hell, you think I’m not tired?”

He turns away from Steven again, lighting the cigarette he’s been holding; the end is a single point of dim light in the murky desert air. “And anyway, maybe I’ve got a better question. He apologize to you yet?”

“Apologize?”

“Marc. You know, el jefe. The least he could do.”

Steven tilts his head to the side, not quite seeing the point the man was headed towards. “You’ll have to give me a bit more than that, mate.”

“You know. All that time you thought you were sleepwalking? The fake shit he planted in your head? That he’s so sorry for what he’s done. It was all to protect you, blah blah blah. Like he knows what that word means.” He resumes his steady pace, his footprints blown away by the hastening wind. This time Jake’s eyes meet Steven’s as he goes, and Steven follows, feeling as if he’s sinking further into the sand as he turns alongside Jake’s steps.

"And what is it you're getting at, exactly?"

"He blew up your life, Steven. To shreds. Kept you in the dark to what was really going on. Marc’s in control, Marc knows best. Thought you would've figured that out by now." He says it with spite in his voice, and there’s something in the tone that’s familiar to Steven, an echo from the days when he truly didn’t understand. It’s the same venom that once coated his own words, back when he'd shouted from a mirror on a dark night in London.

But with the truth has come acceptance, and a companionship that he’s not sure he ever wants to do without, now that he’s felt it. There’s an honesty that’s grown between them that Steven believes in; he feels it deep in the marrow of his bones.

He trusts Marc, more than anything else in this world or the next. And if this man, this Jake, is truly a part of them, then they are a part of him too.

And Steven wants to understand. And needs Jake to understand. But Jake shakes his head.

“Don’t know about you, but it’s about time we make our own damn decisions around here.”

"He … is that what all this is about? Why you’ve been attacking him in his dreams? You think he…" He shuts his eyes tight, shaking his head before he opens them again. "Jake. This is our life. I know that now."

"Is it? Because something tells me it would've gone a lot differently for you if you'd known that," he inhales deeply from the cigarette, blowing a plume of smoke up and towards the stars. "A long time ago."

"No, you've got it all wrong. That was Khonshu he … he manipulated Marc, made him work for him. Made him do horrible things. And Marc, he did want to protect me. And he did, from Mum, from that old bird, from everything. But Khonshu’s gone, and things are better now. Much better. I didn’t know it then, but—”

“That’s the whole problem, Steven. Do I have to spell it out for ya? You didn’t know. You never knew. And didn’t you have the right? To decide for yourself?”

“Marc just wanted me to have a better life, better than whatever it was he got stuck with.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Jake takes the half burned cigarette from his mouth, throwing it, still lit, to the sand at his feet. Lifting his heel, he grinds it down into the desert itself, the smell of smoke its only memory of ever being there at all.

“But you still don’t get the half of it, you know."

“Can you just… Can you tell me, then? Without lying to me? I’m trying here, really, I am.”

Jake laughs, the hollow shape of it echoing across the sands. “Everybody lies, Steven. Some of us are just better at it, is all. You being here? Not knowing me, what I do? Best lie I ever told.”

“So you have been around then, haven’t you?”

The dark smile that had crept across Jake’s features falls suddenly flat, his expression now tight and strained.

Gotcha.

Steven considers Jake for a moment as he chooses his next words, carefully piecing together the sentences in his mind before he decides to risk voicing them, trying to swallow the nervousness still vibrating at his core. "And anyway, isn't … lying not far off from keeping secrets? It's still an omission, if you get down to the bare bones of it. And you want honesty and choice. That’s what you’re so angry with him about, yeah? Because it seems like… You want me to be angry, too. So that I leave, maybe even fight with him myself. Is that right?"

"This conversation ain't about me. This is about you.”

"Alright, yeah, I can see you're trying to make it that. Your logic's a bit flawed though, innit? Can't really be angry with Marc if you're doing the same thing. Thing is, he's not the one tearing you apart in the desert."

“What happens out there’s got nothing to do with me. In here, I can do what I want."

Steven wants, more than anything, to break eye contact, to take a step back. Give them both some breathing room so that maybe he can de-escalate. But he's so close to really getting to the roots of this man… So, he carries on, almost pleading.

"He doesn't fight back, does he, Jake? What does that tell you, about what he thinks of everything he’s done?"

“Yeah, well. Maybe I’ve been shitty to him in here. But that’s only because I know he’ll wake up just fine back out there.”

Steven looks down at his hands, fidgeting under Jake’s intense stare. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that, like he's looking right through him.

“But he’s not fine, is he? And neither are you, Jake. You can't really believe that. I think… I think you’re one of us, and you don’t want to be in here anymore. You want out, and something’s stopping you, keeping you trapped in here. S’like your dragging yourself out.”

Jake's fists are tight at his sides, and Steven thinks they might be shaking like his own, but he can't be sure in the dim night.

"Can take care of myself, 'nito."

He bites off the words, trying to hold onto his anger but failing, letting it slip from his grasp as his eyes soften at Steven's words.

Steven takes a tentative step forward, bridging the gap that had been casually widening throughout their conversation. “You don’t have to, is the thing. It could be different. We’re different now, and we can help.”

Steven takes another step but stops when he sees Jake’s eyes dart down toward his feet. “You could be a part of that, if you really wanted."

"Got no issues with you, Steven. You’ve been in the dark on my being here just as much as the big guy. Was easier that way, 'til now."

“But you can’t just pick and choose who to be angry with, Jake. It doesn’t work like that. We're all here, making the best of it. We’re in this toge—”

“No. You two are in it together. I’ve been in here, rotting until you muck something up enough to need me.” Now Jake is the one to step forward, voice rising, coming towards Steven in wide, reaching movements.

 Steven thinks he should be afraid, maybe. But he buries it, as deep as it will go. He hesitates, not wanting to regret his words when he's not certain they'll ever speak again past this moment, but it’s no use. His anger gets the best of him. “We never asked you to do that.”

“You never had to, that’s the whole idea.”

“Bloody hell, for a man you seem to hate, you realize you sound just like him, right?"

Steven turns on his heels and starts walking. To where, he's not entirely sure. There's no discernable landmarks on the horizon, no figures in the distance, no sign of the gates of Osiris. But it's better than being here, arguing in circles again with a man he barely knows.

Once before was quite enough.

Marc was wrong, Steven is sure about that now. There is something here to fix, something tangible, and there’s certainly a lot to talk about and explain. But they’re not going to get anywhere while they’re both cheesed off, experience has taught him that. Broken mirrors have shown him that, more than once.

They’ll figure this out, they have to. They just need time.

And Steven … he needs Marc on this one.

Jake stays rooted in place, but his gaze never leaves Steven's retreating figure. Jake’s eyes soften slightly. If anyone were looking, they might even say that his expression is aching now, unsure. The mask seems to fall more easily once there’s no one around to see it. Jake looks toward the horizon, past Steven’s footsteps in the sand, watching as he goes but never making a move to stop him. Leaving him to his choices. 

His voice is quieter now, Steven near straining to hear him. "Where are you going?"

"Home! Have to wake up eventually, right?"

Steven turns for just a moment, looking back at the man he tried so hard to find. Jake doesn’t look that angry anymore, he just looks… Lost. Reluctant. But still he stands there, frozen, exactly where Steven left him in his anger. Steven almost goes back, then, if only to wipe that look off his face. To make him move.

He knows what it’s like, to be trapped in one place while you’ve tried desperately to find yours.

A man familiar, but just out of reach.

“I’ll be back, though. Now that I know you’re ‘round, it’s just a matter of … getting here. So when you’ve stopped being a git, call me, I guess. Or whatever it is you have to do.”

Steven smiles at him then, and Jake’s eyes widen at the sight.

“It was a pleasure, Just Jake.”

~~~

He’s a lot like you, back when we first met.

Marc is standing in the kitchen, eyes a bit blurry from lack of sleep but oddly enough, more rested than he’d been in days. That was Steven’s doing, no doubt. The guy saw a problem and dove head first into solving it, despite how much Marc had protested.

The smell of fresh coffee passes over him, and he’s reminded of the mug in his hand as the chime of the machine brings him back to his senses.

“Steven, that guy is nothing like me.”

Yeah, well. You would say that, wouldn’t you?

Marc opens the fridge, moving a few takeout containers around so that he can reach a tiny carton of cream he’d hidden at the back of the shelf. But just as his fingertips graze the edge of it, his arm freezes in place.

Not on our life, mate.

Marc sighs, his arm falling to his side. “Steven, I’m not above begging.”

And I’m not above blackmail, either.

“What are you—”

Listen, whether you believe it or not, Jake’s around, and he’s not going away as much as you’d like him to. Steven’s reflection in the glass of the coffee pot is stern, the most grounded Marc’s ever seen him. He isn’t going to let this one go, that’s for sure.

Why you’d want to bury another guy in our noggin like that, I’ll never understand.

“I dunno, maybe it’s because he’s spent our nights ripping a centuries old armor off my body, among other things.”

He wants to live, Marc. He’s angry.

“Yeah, I get that. Can be pissed without getting people hurt, though.”

Marc looks over after a beat of Steven’s silence, the man’s eyebrow raised in the glass as he stares back at him. Waiting.

“...okay, noted.”

Look, all I’m saying is… Be open to the idea, yeah? Some sleep and conversation might be good for us, for all of us, I think.

Yeah, definitely not letting that one go, then. As much as he’d like to go on believing the man called Jake was just a part of his own ongoing nightmare problem, Steven had made it a point to replay their entire conversation as soon as they woke up. All of which Marc had had no knowledge of. And here he’d just assumed he was lucky enough to have one blissful night of dreamless sleep. Guess there’d been a lot going on while he was out.

At least there’s comfort in knowing that their dynamic is the same, even after these new revelations that could have upended … everything.

He knows Steven means well, will always mean well, but he can’t help the worry making a home in his bones. After all, they’ve just started to figure this whole thing out, and it’s been… Nice. Things are good, minus the whole not sleeping thing. But he can deal with it, if it means not messing the rest of it up.

They’ve started to figure out how to make a life together, and the idea of adding someone else to it, someone he’d always brushed off as just a part of his very overactive imagination…

The whole thing just seems like a mess waiting to happen.

“Y’know, I’d be a lot more open to it if I could drink this how I want to.”

Alright, fine. But when you’re dealing with the consequences later, don’t come looking for me.

Marc picks up the pot and Steven disappears as he pours the dark, warm drink into his cup. But he’s not gone, not really. Not in the way he used to be. There aren’t walls anymore, nothing to break down, nothing to keep them from speaking to each other.

Steven is always there. And the thought is enough to keep Marc open to more, just a little.

[emwritesstuff]

housesitting | bucky barnes x reader

summary: Housesitting for Steve Rogers has many perks. The man has the comfiest bed you’ve ever slept in; his coffee machine is top tier; and he also pays for every single streaming service you could think of, because he doesn’t wanna miss anything.

You can hardly see how Bucky Barnes stumbling into his apartment at 3 am with multiple wounds is one of them. But I guess it might be?

notes: this is my attempt at a more ~comedy centered one-shot, with some making out in the middle because uh, who doesn’t like that? In other news, reader is Chaotic. Canon mcu (Infinity War/Endgame) is non-existent in this.  (word count: 3K)

warnings: language, mentions of blood, gunshot wounds, general patching up shenanigans, some making out/grinding but not quite third base

[PART 2: breaking and entering]

Housesitting for Steve Rogers has many perks. The man has the comfiest bed you’ve ever slept in; his coffee machine is top tier; and he also pays for every single streaming service you could think of, because he doesn’t wanna miss anything. An old popsicle thing, you assume.

It’s peaceful, too. The neighborhood is nice and quiet, the other tenants are either extremely polite or too scared of Captain America to make much noise. You’ve had very nice stay-cations at his place, where you were free to choose to binge The Office while eating an entire pizza in the spam of 2 episodes or taking advantage of the quiet to write your grad-school thesis.

So when a loud BANG almost makes you drop your coffee mug on the floor, your spidey senses are immediately on alert. You don’t care how many times Peter insisted that it wasn’t a thing, your arm hairs stood up and your heart started hammering on your chest all the same.

You contemplate squeezing under the bed, turning off the show that was long abandoned and hiding until whatever it is goes away, but before you can do any of that, a string of sharp cursing and soft thumps and thuds snaps you out of your fear.

Maybe it’s a burglar. You could take a clumsy burglar, easy.

Now feeling like Tony had just welcomed you into the Avengers, you hop off Steve’s bed and let your baby Yoda socked feet carry you stealthily into the living room, holding a table lamp as if it was a baseball bat.

Everything is quiet, with no signs of forced entry at the door (you remember someone on Law and Order using those words), and in the dark you don’t notice the bloody trail coming from the kitchen.

You’re imagining things, then. When was the last time you slept? You don’t even feel tired, but you know sleep deprivation always gets you all kinds of crazy.

It happens the second your arm falls to your side and your posture shows the slight of relaxation. A strong arm around your neck and a hand against your mouth to muffle the screaming.

In the quiet of Steve’s apartment building, there is only you shrieking and howling and thrashing against the hold of a stranger.

“Don’t fuckin’ move.” You still.

And then you bite into the hand that is muting you, immediately regretting it when your teeth sink into something hard. Metal? Concrete? Ouch. You resume your resistance, determined, and is shoved away.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Who the fuck are you.” His voice is gruff and dulled over the mask he is wearing, and as you’re taking this giant of a man in, you notice it.

The metal arm. The strapped leather jacket. The tortured blue eyes.

Winter Soldier.

The intruder is James “Bucky” Barnes, Steve’s best friend. That’s who the fuck it is.

“I’m Steve’s house sitter! I even have a key.” You say, with arms in front of you to signal no harm but inching closer to the table lamp with every step.

“House…sitter? Where’s Steve?”

“Who knows. Maybe a mission. He texts me, I come over.” You shrug, and put a chair back to where it was before it got knocked over.

“I don’t believe you. Where is Steve?”

“Listen, I don’t know, okay? I guess he’s just out for a few days. I don’t ask. He just lets me stay in here so I can water the plants and feed the Avengers.”

“The– the what?”

“The Avengers! The fish, see.” You point to the aquarium, where a handful of colorful fish swam peacefully in.

Peace. So much for your peace, because now what you have is a surly super soldier eyeing the fish tank like it was the most loathsome thing in the entire universe, except maybe for you.

“I hate this thing. Naming them makes it even worse.” He trudges back to the kitchen, stomping on the floor like he was on a parade.

So much for the other people’s peace, too.

“Hey! Sir. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s 3 in the fucking morning?” You sass, putting your hands on your hips when he retorts that yeah, he does know. “What are you even doing here?”

“Back from a mission.” He grumbles without looking at you, as if you’re the one who stumbled into his place in the middle of the night.

It wasn’t your place, but still.

“Don’t you have a house?” There’s a part of you that knows pushing the Winter Soldier’s buttons is asking for trouble, but your tired and confused brain decides to ignore it.

“You interrogating me? I need a motherfucking– ” He wheezes and nearly doubles over, holding on the door frame between the living room and the kitchen. You finally spot the blood, both on the tiles and seeping out of the Soldier’s jacket and pants.

He’s hurt. Shit.

“– first aid kit.”

“You need a motherfucking hospital!” You shrill, panic chilling your bones. You don’t do blood. Or any kind of wound, for that matter.

The man ignores you, opening up cabinets hastily. You huff, and walk past him to get to the actual home of the first aid kit. Steve’s oldest, closest friend and can’t even find a box with pharmaceutical supplies in his kitchen. You slam it on the counter next to him.

“You’re welcome.”

“Zip it.”

Just a look from him is enough to render you speechless, and not in the good, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of way. You’re positive that one swat of that metal arm and you’ll be flying out of the window.

He begins by removing his mask, revealing a handsome face underneath, and you try your best to focus on how dark and menacing it looked while locked in that scowl of his. Then, he unbuckles his jacket and discards it on the floor, it coming to a stop next to your feet.

Oh man, he’s naked. Well, not really, just the incredibly toned, strong and muscular top half of him, but you stare wide-eyed as if he was.

“See somethin’ you like, doll?” He quips, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and you turn your back to him, mostly to hide your own embarrassment.

“No.” You cross your arms resolutely, because you definitely don’t think he’s attractive. He is a rude, grumpy, private-property-invader-bastard. Doll. Yuck.

You hear a rumble come out of his chest. Is he laughing? Shithead. Other noises follow, wheezes, small grunts and the tinkle of metal on the marble counter.

A particular pained grunt makes you turn, and you see Barnes with his body twisted, trying to reach a bloody hole on his back. It would be funny if he wasn’t trying to poke a gunshot.

“Do you need… help?” You ask, against your own will, only to be met with his icy gaze.

“No.”

“Come on, you can’t even reach that.”

Another glare is shot your way, and you quirk your brow up. He did need the help, you think, because aside from the muscles and the sweat making him glisten like a delicious – wait what – glazed donut, the man looked like hell.

“…fine.” He slides a pair of surgical prongs, something you identify in your head as oversized tweezers, and you instantly regret your offer. Pressing an iodine-soaked cotton ball to a wound, sure. But not this.

He turns his back to you without a word, supporting himself on the marble. You think that he’s about to make a dent on the goddamn stone if he keeps holding onto it that hard.

“Ah, fuck. Shit. Fuck. Ugh, it’s so gross. Fuck.”

It’s the most horrifying thing you’ve ever done, but you try your best to get to the bullet quickly, so very thankful that Barnes holds himself perfectly still for you. “Got it!”

He lets out a long breath when you toss the prongs and the bullet on the counter with the rest and resumes his cleanup. So, he’s not even going to say thanks. Great.

You try not to think about how you still want to make conversation while you hurriedly scrub the blood from your hands, because aside from the hostility and him jumping on you as a meet-cute, the guy peeks your interest.

Steve has said Barnes is nice, too, and you believed Steve, because he’s basically incapable of lying. Or maybe because he’s pretty. Both, for sure.

With your hands now clean, you turn to him, mouth open with some kind of conversation starter that is immediately forgotten.

Oh man, he’s naked. For real this time.

Bucky Barnes has stepped out of his pants while you were overthinking by the sink, now standing in only a pair of black boxers. It’s like he feels you staring at his butt, because he turns to you with raised eyebrows.

“Last one’s on my thigh. I got it.” He’s holding the prongs this time, and you’re glad you don’t have to do anything, because your face next to that groin might make you go into spontaneous combustion.

“Yeah.”

He hums. You hope all of this is a fever dream.

“Isn’t there a med bay at–”

“Don’t like people prodding and pokin’ at me.” His comment makes you grimace. He’s the Winter Soldier, damn it. You know the stories, everyone does. Of course he doesn’t like being prodded.

He looks at you funny, probably because you went dead quiet. You don’t want him to think you feel pity, because you don’t, but god don’t you feel bad for poking him now, even if verbally.

“I’m gonna – grab one of Steve’s – uh. Dude you need to put some clothes on. Jesus.”

He laughs at you again, which you’re thankful for because anything is better than the awkwardness of the other subject. You pick up a black pair of sweatpants that was so deep in one of Steve’s drawers that you know he’d have to have bought it and never had the guts to put it on. This one would do just fine.

If there is one thing Steve Rogers isn’t, is a black sweats guy.

“Here.” You deposit the sweats and a white tee on the counter, one of the millions that you found inside the closet. Barnes was patching himself up now, bandages wrapped everywhere on his body.

Got his ass kicked good. You shudder when you imagine the state of the other guy.

He eyes the clothes, and saying nothing, returns to his task. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask you to help me.”

“Yeah, but I did anyways! ‘Cause I’m stupid, I guess.” You almost hurl a dirty plate at him when he scoffs, muttering a yeah, guess you are. “God, why are you so grumpy?”

“Well you try being shot 5 times and see how cheerful you are after.”

“You got shot 5 times?!”

Looking at you from between his brows, the Soldier nods to the five mangled bullets sitting on the counter. You think about how you’ve made yourself a sandwich just hours earlier on the exact same spot. You want to puke.

Taking time to look around yourself, you can finally grasp the state of Steve’s ever-so-pristine kitchen, now a mess of dirty clothes, blood and your own few dishes from the night before. You don’t even think about what you’re doing as you move, gathering every single cleaning supply you can find, and start working on the cleanup.

You’re struggling, because obviously you’ve never done this before. Anyone can tell, from your soft abdomen and your severe lack of muscle, that you’re not an Avenger. Sure, you work with them, but you’re usually neck deep into advanced tech, not in the gym by any means. Also, you don’t do blood.

That means you have to think about something else, anything else, while you’re manically cleaning the floor. One sheep, two sheep, three sheep, the Winter Soldier’s tight ass, four sheep, get it together goddamnit –

“Leave it. I’ll clean.”

You huff, he huffs back, and you look up at him.

“You got shot five times. Go sit down or something before you blow your back too, grandpa.” You call him that to assure yourself that he is old, like actually super old, and thirsting over him is weird. Even weirder when he’s all bandaged and bleeding. And still shirtless. Shit.

He mumbles something that you ignore, and stomps off. You think you actually did a pretty decent job with the cleaning, considering.

You need coffee. Definitely an entire bottle of vodka too, but there was no alcohol in this god’s good home, so you settle for the brew that you made earlier. You pour a mug for Barnes too, because you’re nice like that, and amble into the living room to find him slumped on a chair.

“Coffee?” You start, settling his mug on the table next to him.

“It’s almost 5 a.m.”

“Guess I’m up early for once. Maybe I should go for a run.”

He snorts, and opens one eye to inspect you from where he is. He reaches out for the coffee, using his metal hand, and you consider the two ways this could go.

He’d shatter the mug right then and there. Or, he’d throw it at you. Your jaw goes slack at what he actually does, sirens blaring loudly in your head. Truly astonishing, the most bewildering turn of events.

He drinks from it.

“Thanks. Quit staring at me.”

“Wow, Mr. Winter knows the magic words. Mr. Barnes. Sergeant?” You’re thinking aloud, abandoning any trace of sanity you’ve been holding. You even sit on the couch next to his armchair.

“It’s Bucky,”

Again, absolutely bewildering. You must be going insane.

“– and you talk too much.” He finishes, with an end-of-story tone, and returns to his rest. At least that felt like normality.

“Bucky. Bucky.” You roll the name on your tongue, feeling a weird buzz start to take over you. It grows stronger when you notice he’s looking at you, one brow quirked as if you lost your marbles. “You know, Bucky, this is definitely not how I saw my night going. Home invasion, playing surgeon – not my usual kind of fun.”

You get up, maybe because you decide that you – and Bucky – need a blanket, or maybe because you need a distraction from his chest going up and down like it’s got a business with making you want to touch it.

You’re not a slut, but who knows? Jim Halper would get it.

“You’re that kid, aren’t you? Stark’s assistant.” Bucky’s voice, low and husky, makes you jump. You look at him, your eyebrows furrowed slightly.

It’s surprising that he knows you, considering. He’s – well, he’s basically a celebrity, if ex-assassins could be considered that. You’re only Tony’s techie, and you and Bucky have never actually met, not even in the few parties you had attended to stop your boss from nagging you that you had to actually go out and have some fun sometimes, because you’re still young and cute and you need to enjoy yourself before you get saggy and bitter.

Jokes on him, you were born bitter.

“I’m no kid.”

“Nice socks.”

You wiggle your toes and it makes the ears of one of the baby Yodas move.

“Still not a kid! If you wanna be sad and wear your sad, plain socks, Bucky, that’s entirely your choice.” You said, pointing your index at him, making circles in the air with it to really get your point across.

Bucky smirks, and you go up to him with the two blankets on your arms. He’s blocking the door with that bulky body of his, and you raise your eyebrows quizzically.

“I’ll have you know – meeting Steve’s annoying, mouthy, pretty house sitter is not how I saw my night going either.” Bucky puts a doubtful tone on house sitter, as if he still doesn’t get exactly what it means.

You blink. You’re positive you heard it wrong. Is he… is this flirting?

“You think I’m pretty?”

“I called you annoying and mouthy too.”

“Yeah, I mean I know that much about me.” You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “The pretty part is new though.”

Bucky still hasn’t moved from the doorframe, and you find yourself staring up at him. He is inches away now, pupils blown wide in the darkness, and you can see a ring of steely blue around them. He licks his lips, and you’re drawn in.

The maelstrom in his eyes sends you spinning.

“I think someone should say you’re not see through, much less–”

Bucky shuts you up by pressing his lips onto yours, a slow, exploratory kiss, the tenderest he’s been all night. His metal hand rests on your lower back, making you shiver at the cool touch.

You’re all panting and eagerness when you cup his face with both hands and press your body against his. You need to deepen this kiss. You haven’t drooled over Bucky Barnes all night to keep things lovey-dovey.

He responds in earnest, pulling you closer. The flesh hand on the back of your neck is a stark contrast against the chill of the other. You and Bucky stumble from the corridor and back to the living room, knocking over a few of Steve’s decorations in the process.

“I don’t feel as bad for this one.” You mumble against his lips, stopping to look at a particular framed picture of Captain America in uniform, surrounded by every single counterfeit Cap in Times Square.

“S’ one of his favorites.”

You nod, you’re aware. Steve thinks it’s the most hilarious thing ever.

Bucky’s breath tickles the hairs on your neck when he continues.

“I hate it.”

“Yeah.”

You capture his lips again, and you two resume your chaotic redecorating. You’re thankful for Bucky’s strong arms keeping you from falling over, because at this point you’re not sure if your legs work anymore.

He takes you with him when he drops down on the same armchair from earlier, and the dizzy spell you find yourself in is broken when you hear him groan.

Right. He’s battered up and stuff.

“Shit, Bucky, I’m sorry–”

“No.” He pulls you close again, and guides your body to straddle one of his thighs. “Stay right here, doll.”

Doll. God-fucking-damnit.

His hand moves under the elastic band of your pants, oh my god you’re making out with Bucky-Hot-Piece-Of-Ass-Barnes in your wiener dog pajama bottoms, and finds the hem of your underwear. He pulls on it, and you yelp when he lets it snap against your side.

He laughs, and you vibrate along with his chest.

You find yourself grinding on his leg, sucking on his bottom lip, raking your nails along his shoulders, doing anything, everything for more, trying to burn the taste and the feel of him on your memory. He moves on to kiss your neck and you sigh, tugging on his hair and making sure you’re holding on for dear life.

Your eyes flutter open, enough to see the fish Avengers in their tank.

The Avengers.

Steve Rogers is an Avenger. So is Bucky, technically.

You’re making out with Bucky. One of his hands is on your boob.

This is Steve’s apartment.

You manage to sober you up enough, despite Bucky’s constant attacks of open mouth kisses and bites on your neck.

“I don’t think Steve would – if we–” You lift your head begrudgingly to look at him. “You know, on his armchair.”

“Right.” He didn’t seem convinced, but his hand moved up from your butt to your waist again.

Steve Rogers was probably miles away right now and still cockblocking you.

Even worse, his furniture was cockblocking you.

Stupid star-spangled IKEA shopper.

And his hot best friend. Who’s currently smiling at you in a such a way that makes you almost abandon all comradery towards Rogers and the sanctity of his place.

You debate getting up, but resign yourself to burying your nose in the crook of Bucky’s neck and just staying there, because honestly, when are you going to have the chance to do this again. Never, that’s when.

Also, he’s surprisingly comfortable for someone with a metal arm and such a jacked-up body.

“You’re sleepy.”

“No, I’m like, super awake.”

It’s a lie, because now that the sparks have flown and the rush of blood in your ears gave way to the quietness of the early morning, you feel yourself drifting, on and off, surprising yourself when you come to once and find that Bucky is still there, warm under you.

“Sleep, doll. I need it too.”

You shift, ready to let his rhythmic breathing lull you to sleep. The last 75 sleepless hours catch up with you.

“Bucky? If you want to break into someone’s house again sometime – I have a first aid kit too. Just sayin’.”

[lavynrose]

"stop staring at me to distract me."

"oh, i'm not staring at you to distract you."

Pairing/s: Marius Von Hagen X Reader

Genre: College AU

Warnings: none

Notes: alrightyyy let me drop this before sleeping, i need to practice writing without getting too into it that it becomes a longfic🤒 enemies to lovers got me in a vice grip sjsksk. prompt from this list

as for the requests, i'll answer them soon! reblogs are appreciated <3

They say that the library is the best place to do brain gymnastics, and get the best out of your mind's concentration because of the silence and the quaint ambience it gives off.

So why.

Why does your braincells feel like evaporating right now?

The library that was once filled with peaceful silence just 30 minutes ago is now a rippling crash of waves in your eardrums as the presence across from you on the table keeps pesking your precious study time.

You're not sure what's causing the aggravating pounding in your head anymore: the 5 page essay that you need to turn over in less than an hour, or the absolute menace to your finals project in the flesh that is Marius Von Hagen.

Even the sharp librarian couldn't seem to tell that he was being a bother.

Of course they won't notice. The little devil isn't being loud after all, he's pestering you in his own way.

"Stop staring at me, idiot," you chewed a little too harshly on your pen, the anger boiling inside you directed at the poor object.

"Don't. Wanna." He flashed you a coy smile, "you look so pretty all focused like that I can't help but stare." He cooed with a kissy face.

You grimaced internally.

Oh, you could throw a book at him right now.

You know better than that of course.

Marius is a competition to you, and you to him. Of course the first thing that's gonna come to your mind when he's being like this is that he wants you to fail.

Ever since the start of your college life you were doomed to fight at the top ranks against the one and only, the heir and the king, Marius. You would always wrestle each other using intelligence and now that the semester is coming to an end, the result of your hardwork is going to be revealed soon.

That's why you absolutely can't let this happen!

"Don't make me repeat myself," You inhaled a deep breath in an attempt to not snap in the very place you swore was the epitome of peace and quiet.

You pointed at him, "Stop staring at me to distract me!" You half screamed, half whispered, your eyes darting to glance on the librarian.

"Oh," he smirked, and before you could move, he leaned to you from across the table, he placed his hands to tip on your chin. You sat there, unmoving.

"I'm not staring at you to distract you, sweetheart." His amethyst eyes bore onto yours, strange softness filling them.

You were taken aback by his sudden shift of tone from teasing to tenderness, you swatted his hand away.

You weren't going to give in to his charms just like that, "Don't give me that," you snarled.

"Do you see this essay?" you turned your laptop around to give him a better view of the paragraphs that mentally tortured you these past few hours.

"I'm sure you've already done this, and I'm sure you know that this is worth 30% of our grades this semester so please," you massaged your temples as hard as you could, "stop trying to fail me, Marius. I can't believe you're resorting to this sort of tactic." You slammed your head to the table.

Before you could rant and rant about how this essay could literally be the verdict for your future, you heard Marius snicker.

"High grades aren't what you need right now," he winked at you, "you need sleep, babe."

You convinced yourself that the heat rushing to your cheeks right now isn't caused by whatever he just called you, but rather, caused by anger, "What? I had enough sleep," you cleared your throat, "thank you."

Lies. You barely got any wink of sleep this week because of the various events you needed to organize and participate in, as one of the university's top students.

He looked at you blankly, "Then, pray-tell, I want you to recall when's the deadline of this project."

Your brain buzzed as your sleeped deprived brain desperately search for answers, "In an hour?" you weren't so sure right now, your eyes looking anywhere but him.

His eyes gazed over you with concern, unbeknowst to you.

"The deadline's next week." He declared as he showed you the professor's memo that you misunderstood, "My, my, you should take better care of yourself." he shook his head.

You on the other hand, gaped and spluttered incoherent words, mentally slapping yourself for mixing the dates up.

For once, you admitted he was right. You needed sleep.

He grinned, "Like I said, I'm not trying to distract - or as you put it," he rolled his eyes, "fail you or whatever."

He sent you a smile so full of what seemed like fondness, "You're the best college rival I could ever ask for. You test my limits, you know? Bring the best in me."

You widened your eyes as you process his words. Is he for real? You narrowed your eyes, he doesn't look like he's lying, the usual teasing tone is completely gone.

He suddenly looked so enchanting, basked in the library's soft light.

"I won't let you fail if I can help it. I would even help you," He stood up, and he stretched his right hand to reach out to you, "Please take a rest, you deserve it for your hard work." you saw the warmest smile you've ever seen him show you, and you don't know what to feel about it.

"You.." You started, wanting to ask him why he was staring so shamelessly at you, but drowsiness took over your brain now that you know you have no deadlines to worry about at the moment.

Instead, you took his warm hand, clasping it in yours, "Let's take you home." He announced, eyes filled with delight and you find yourself wanting those eyes to stare at you again.

do not repost © lavynrose 08/19/21

[earliebirb]

nosedive

steve/tony, fluff, (newly) established relationship, 3250 words

Tony stares absentmindedly out the airplane window as he puts his phone up to his ear, watching people run back and forth, performing last-minute engine checks. Some of the guys look sweaty and out of breath.

From the comfort of the air-conditioned Stark Industries private jet, he feels a slight twinge of sympathy for the people having to suffer in the humid summer heat.

He loosens his tie and sinks deeply into his seat, closing his eyes with a massive yawn as he listens to the ringing tone. He hadn’t been able to sleep very well throughout his five-day stay in Tokyo, too anxious about the contract to rest properly. 

The ringing tone goes on for a few more seconds before ending with a click, replaced by an achingly familiar voice greeting him in his ear. 

“Hello?” 

Tony’s eyes spring open. Outside, an aircraft marshaller walks by, speaking rapidly into his walkie-talkie.

“I had a blueberry muffin for lunch today. One single blueberry muffin.”

“...What?”

“It didn’t even taste that good. I couldn’t finish it. Too dry.”

“Tony, that’s not good. Is that all you had for lunch? You should really eat—”

“The meeting went well, by the way. Mr. Watanabe finally signed the contract, everything went as planned. My ride to the airport, however…”

“I told you things would go smoothly, you had nothing to worry about. You’re a brilliant negotiator—”

“The traffic? Fuck. I had to keep shifting in my seat to avoid pins and needles.”

“That sounds awful, are your legs okay—”

“Did you know that Tokyo is number nineteen on the list of cities with the worst traffic congestion in the world? I know that, because I looked it up on the way to the airport. But boy, did it feel like it deserved the number one spot. I think I lost feeling in my ass.”

“I did not know that. And, uh, is your ass okay—”

“Thank God for my private jet. These plush seats are the best things I’ve ever spent my money on.”

“That’s objectively not true, and you know it—”

“Then again, I think these seats in particular were Pepper’s choice? We remodeled the airplane’s interior like… two years ago. I couldn’t be bothered to meet with the airplane seat people and I just told her to pick whichever looked best. I had much more important things to tend to, like sewing up the holes in JARVIS’s Christmas stocking.”

“I am concerned about how you sort your list of priorities—”

“Hm, that’s right. I think it was around two, three weeks before Christmas and I didn’t want JARVIS to be upset about the whole stocking thing, you know?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have—”

“Also, you’re right, the single blueberry muffin was a bad idea because now my stomach won’t shut up. So I’ve ordered some pasta for my in-flight meal. Robbie’s making it, you’ve met Robbie—”

“I’ve met Robbie, yes, he’s—”

“Larry’s replacement after he resigned. Gotta say, I was sad to see Larry go. Guy worked for me for seven years. But then there was that thing with his grandma, and he had to leave, so… But! Robbie makes a mean carbonara, maybe even better than Larry, don’t tell Larry I said that—”

“I don’t even know Larry like that, how would I—”

“Mr. Stark, we’re ready to go.” The pilot—Paul—emerges from the cockpit, staring at him in anticipation.

Tony nods and makes a few rapid gestures with his free hand that he supposes Paul is only able to interpret perfectly after years and years of working for Tony. The gestures roughly translate to something like “Copy, I hear you, just let me wrap this up and then I’ll let you know when I’m done. Capiche?”

Paul—bless him—just gives him a curt nod and retreats back into the cockpit. 

“Anyway,” Tony takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out with the exertion of his exhale, “I called because… I got a feeling, Steve.”

“A… feeling?”

“Just— A gut feeling. A feeling in your gut. Inside of me. Like a hunch?”

“Okay,” Steve says patiently, his voice low and warm, “what are you feeling?”

“I… got a bad feeling. Today. A few hours ago. The feeling came to me when I was sitting in traffic, and I just— I feel like something bad’s gonna happen today, Steve. I can feel it in the air. In my heart. In my gut. In my joints.”

“Your joints? Like… the feeling old people get when it’s about to rain?”

“Okay, maybe not in my joints. Also, are you calling me old, grandpa?”

“I did not, you told me you felt something in your—”

“Anyway, so yeah. Where was I? Oh, right. Feeling. Bad feeling. Like, like, I don’t know, something bad’s gonna happen. Like an accident. Like a plane crash.”

“God, please don’t say that. You’re scaring me, Tony.”

“And I guess, I just called because I… I feel like I need to do this before the plane crashes and I die a violent and fiery death.”

“Nothing bad’s going to happen, Tony—”

“Like, if I didn’t do this today, maybe I’d never get to do it, you know? And, uh, okay, I’ve honestly been ranting to stall for time, but the longer I keep it in the more nauseous I feel, so maybe I’m just gonna do it now so I can die in peace—”

“Do what? And stop saying that—”

“Look, I’m trying to be brave and honest here and— Wait, actually? Maybe I’m being a coward because if the plane actually does go down, I won’t have to face the consequences of my actions, so I guess I’m just going to say fuck it, and say that I love you.”

“The plane is not going to— Wait, what?”

“I, uh. Love you. I’ve known it for a while now. And, uh, I know we’ve only been dating for like, a week, but—” Tony blinks. They’ve only been dating for a week. 

“...Fuck.” Tony can feel his own pulse starting to race. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Tony?”

They’ve only been dating for a week. What is he doing? What the hell is wrong with him? Normal people don’t do this. 

“Fuck. Shit, I mean— Uh, I’m sorry. That was super weird, huh?” Tony laughs nervously. He closes his eyes, gritting his teeth and cursing his stupid brain. Of course it’s weird. He always gets too attached to people way too quickly. No wonder Pepper was his only long term relationship. She was the only person who could put up with him—everyone else just got weirded out. “Uh, see you tomorrow? Or not. Fuck, sorry, I’m just gonna hang up before this gets—”

“Tony, wait.”

“...Yeah?” Tony says, hyper-aware of how breathless he sounds. His heartbeat is ringing in his ears. Everything is going to be fine. Right? Right. The worst thing Steve could do is… break up with him.

Oh, God, that is the worst case scenario. He really should’ve just kept his stupid mouth shut. 

“Tony, are you freaking out? I feel like I can hear you freaking out from all the way over here.”

“No, I’m not, of course I’m not. Who says I’m freaking out? You have no proof. I am calm, I’m calm as a clam, is that the saying? Did I get it right? Or was it happy— Anyway, I am absolutely calm, I’m the calmest I could possibly be. Any calmer and I’d be asleep. I’m—”

“Tony. Breathe.”

Tony forces himself to drag in a slow breath as he grips the arm of his seat with his free hand, focusing on the soothing hum of the airplane’s engine.

“Look, Tony, I—”

“No, listen. I’m sorry I jumped the gun, I hope I haven’t weirded you out or anything. You really, really don’t have to say it back to me. I mean it.”

“Tony—”

“No, in fact— Please don’t say anything. It’s fine. Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay?”

“But—”

“Drop it, Steve. Please?” Tony pleads. Clearly, his brain hadn’t been firing on all cylinders. That is the only reason that could explain his temporary lapse of judgment. “Look, I feel like talking about it more right now is going to send me spiraling into a panic attack.”

“...Okay. Fine.”

“Thank you. Uh, I’ll see you when I get home. If I get home. If the plane doesn’t crash. Haha.”

“Would you please stop saying that? It’s not funny.”

Tony latches onto the change in topic like a lifeline. “It is objectively true, you know. In order for me to be able to see you tomorrow, the plane has to land safely, and unfortunately, some things are just beyond my control. Like, who’s to say the plane won’t explode mid-air and—”

“The plane is going to land safely and you’re going to come back home to me in one piece. This is non-negotiable, Tony. You hear me?” Steve demands, his voice all hard authority and no-nonsense, like there will be Consequences should Tony fail to comply. 

As if he could ensure Tony’s safety with the force of his willpower alone. 

Come back home to me. 

That sounds good. Really good. Tony closes his eyes and pictures Steve’s baby blues in his mind’s eye. Warmth flowers in his chest.

“I hear you.”

“Great.”

“Awesome. I, uh, I gotta go now.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Tony hangs up and lets Paul know that he is done with his phone call. The jittery feeling left over from his call with Steve refuses to leave him, however, so he pulls up the drawing application on his phone and begins sketching something just to give his brain something else to fixate on.

He tends to lose track of time when he is hyperfocused on a project, so he isn’t exactly surprised that the next time he becomes aware of his surroundings, the plane is already well up in the air, his sketch of what looks like a flying coffee pot is almost finished, and Robbie is placing a plate of spaghetti carbonara on the table in front of him. 

“Spaghetti carbonara. With extra cheese.”

Tony’s mouth waters as he eyes the mountain of grated Pecorino Romano sitting atop the pasta. He sighs dreamily and smiles up at Robbie.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Enjoy, Boss.” Robbie grins and slips back into the kitchen.

He only realizes just how truly famished he is after taking his first bite, and proceeds to finish the rest of his meal with gusto. Afterward, he spends the majority of the remaining flight time sleeping, the result of post-carbonara food coma and his sleep-deprivation finally catching up to him. 

It’s well past two in the morning when Tony finally makes it to his floor in the Tower, which is why he is surprised to see Steve sitting on his couch, one of Tony’s fantasy novels open in hand. 

“Steve, what are you doing here?”

Steve’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice. Tony frowns. “Actually, why are you awake at all?” He is usually an early sleeper, unless—

“Nightmare?” Tony gives him a sympathetic smile. It wouldn’t be the first time. In the early days of their friendship, Tony and Steve would sit together in the living room whenever they had trouble sleeping, talking to each other until the sun came up.

Steve shakes his head, closing the book with his eyes still trained on Tony. “No, I was just… waiting for you.” Tony blinks. 

“It’s…” Tony glances at his watch. “Half past two. In the morning.”

“I know, I just…” Steve stands up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He ambles over before coming to a stop right in front of Tony. “I wanted to see you.”

Tony stares at him uncomprehendingly. “You’ll see me later anyway.”

“I couldn’t wait any longer. I didn’t want to go to sleep without seeing you first,” Steve says, low and earnest. His gaze wanders around Tony’s face, as if he were cataloguing each and every facial feature and trying to locate any changes he might’ve missed during his absence.

“Oh.”

Steve steps closer, arms snaking around Tony’s waist and pulling him close. His next words are whispered against Tony’s shoulder.

“I knew you’d make it home safely.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You were wrong.”

“I was… wrong.” Tony swallows. “Uh, turns out the bad feeling completely disappeared after I woke up from my nap on the plane, so I suspect that perhaps the bad feeling I got was due to my severe hunger and sleep deprivation. I mean, I’ve heard about hallucinations caused by hunger or exhaustion, but this was—” 

Steve presses a soft kiss to the column of Tony’s neck, effectively cutting off Tony’s ramblings.

“Tony,” Steve whispers against his skin.

“Yeah?” Tony squeaks.

“Please don’t call me before a flight and say that you think the plane is going to crash, ever again.”

“Right. Noted. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Steve says, pulling away slightly and loosening his hold around Tony.

Tony allows himself to relax, letting out a quiet sigh. This thing with Steve is so new and delicate that every single physical contact still sends his heart fluttering, butterflies going crazy in his stomach.

Which makes, in retrospect, his abrupt love confession—as truthful as it was—that much more insane. God, Stark. Never do that again.

Except, it turns out that Steve only pulled away to slide his hands down the back of Tony’s thighs, wrapping his hands around them, and then lifting him up without warning.

Tony yelps, and in his alarm, promptly locks his ankles around Steve’s waist. When Steve begins moving, Tony quickly wraps his arms around Steve, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“Uh, Steve?”

“Hm?” Steve says, calm and nonchalant, as he begins walking away from the elevator. 

“Um— Wait— My suitcase—”

“Leave it. It’ll still be there in the morning.”

Tony blinks, staring dumbfoundedly at his lonely suitcase, abandoned by the elevator. It becomes smaller and smaller with every step Steve takes. 

“Where are we going?”

“Your bedroom.”

“Why are you carrying me there?”

“Because I want to.”

“You know it’ll be faster if you just let me walk, right?”

“Maybe. But you won’t be in my arms.”

“Um.”

“Bear with me, will you? I missed you.”

“I, uh, missed you too.”

Steve hums, satisfied. Tony lets himself settle more comfortably in Steve’s arms.

When Steve has successfully carried him to his bedroom, Tony fully expects Steve to deposit him on the bed. 

That is not, in fact, what happens. 

Instead, Steve turns around and begins walking backwards towards the bed before sitting down on it. Tony, still seated on his lap, swallows and pulls back slightly to look at Steve. 

“Look, Steve, as much as I’ve missed you, I’m kind of tired right now. I mean, don’t get me wrong. This whole carrying thing? Great. Very romantic. Ten out of ten. But I’m just not in the mood for sex, you know? Like, I’m not even sure I would be able to get it up if—”

“We’re not going to have sex.”

Tony blinks.

“We’re not?”

“We’re not. I’m just here to tuck you in.”

“Oh.”

Steve reaches up and begins undoing his tie. After setting it aside on the bed, he begins to unbutton Tony’s shirt. He takes his time, one button at a time.

“So…” Steve begins with a deep breath as he unbuttons the final button. “Did you mean, uh, what you said to me? On the phone?”

Tony closes his eyes, feels his own cheeks heating up. “Steve—”

“I’m sorry, Tony, I know you told me to drop it. But— I feel like if you did mean what you said, I owe it to you to… set the records straight.” When Tony opens his eyes again, Steve is looking up at him, blue eyes solemn.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… We have only been together for a week. Well, eight days. In fact, we’ve only been on one date. And it was interrupted. By giant lizards.” Steve chuckles incredulously. 

Tony remembers that day very well. They were in the middle of dessert at Tony’s favorite Italian place when they received the call to assemble—something about giant lizards wreaking havoc in Central Park.

The lizards had green, gunky blood that got into the nooks and crannies of the suit. It had taken forever to clean.

“But Tony…” Steve gathers the material of Tony’s unbuttoned shirt in both of his fists, pulling him closer until their noses are only inches apart.

The second their eyes meet, Steve smiles the sweet, lopsided smile that never fails to make Tony’s stomach flip.

“I need you to know that… I didn’t have to date you to know that I loved you. I figured that a long time ago.”

Tony stills, breath frozen in his lungs.

“I guess, what I’m saying is… I love you too. I’ve loved you for a very long time, Tony. Even way before—” Steve breaks eye contact, looks down as he clears his throat. When he speaks again, his voice is tight. “Way before we got together. I’m talking… years before.”

Tony still finds it hard to breathe. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, the word more breath than sound. He meets Tony’s dazed gaze. “So you don’t have to worry about… jumping the gun. Not with me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“...Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels a lightness growing inside of him, spreading outwards to his extremities.

“Good.” Steve smiles, warm and impossibly fond.

“...Glad we’re on the same page.” Tony’s gaze drops down to Steve’s lips.

“We are.” Steve inches closer, nose brushing Tony’s. He then tilts his head ever so slightly and takes Tony’s lower lip between his, kissing him so tenderly Tony’s heart feels like it’s about to burst with it.

Steve’s warm hands slide up Tony’s naked back under his open shirt, sending goosebumps breaking across his skin. Tony buries his hands in Steve’s hair and relishes the feeling of the soft strands caught between his fingers. They stay caught up in each other for a few moments, capturing and releasing each other’s lips until the need for breath becomes too unbearable.

They break apart eventually, accompanied by soft chuckles. Steve smiles up at him, lips slick and cherry red, courtesy of Tony. He reaches up to caress Tony’s right eyebrow with the pad of his thumb, fleeting and affectionate.

“Get some rest, okay? You must be really tired. I should probably go to bed, too.”

Tony looks down at his lap, clearing his throat. “Uh, I know that we haven’t done this before, but…”

Steve waits patiently for Tony to gather his thoughts, hands stroking up and down Tony’s sides.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” Tony finds the courage to meet Steve’s eyes, holding his breath.

Steve’s blue eyes are gazing at him intently, looking at him like he’s the only person in the world worth his sole, undivided attention.

Tony swallows. “No sex. Just to sleep. If you—”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels his own lips slowly curve up into a smile, wide and unbridled. 

“Good.” Steve nods, lips twitching, his eyes never leaving Tony’s. 

Tony grins, feeling near giddy with delight. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“We are, sweetheart.” Steve looks up at him, blue eyes fond and smile radiant. “We definitely are.”

[moodykylo]

Sleep Deprived

CW: Sleep deprivation, canon typical self loathing

Spoilers for tpp season 2&3

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

Juno Steel was exhausted. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept a full night on the Carte Blanche, and it was starting to catch up to him. 

Juno’s sleep was becoming increasingly restless as the nights came and went; each night leaving old memories rearing their ugly heads. When he was able to sleep, it was anything but peaceful. Whenever Juno found himself drifting off, nightmares would begin behind his eyes, jolting him awake. He had to stop sleeping in the same room as Nureyev in fear of waking him. Now, he was alone, nightmares becoming worse and worse. He had really thought he was done with these childish nightmares of Sarah and Benzaiten, but now they were increasing in both frequency and fervency.

Now, Juno was sitting in his own room, on his bed, eyes burning with fatigue and brain on fire with memories. He sat in his bed, eyelids drooping as he fought with sleep. 

After about half an hour, sleep finally won and Juno’s dreams were anything but sweet.  Sweat beaded on his forehead and he thrashed in his sleep, mumbling quietly, behind his eyes a scene of the past replaying like a favorite movie, until finally, he woke with a gasp, chest heaving. 

Juno groaned, standing from his bed. He wandered out into the hallway - if he was going to be awake, he might as well make himself useful. He stopped in the middle of the hall to lean on the wall as dizziness hit him with no warning. Frustrated with the spell, he pushed through it, rubbing at his eyes.

Juno entered the kitchen, taking out his comms and squinting at it. The rest of the Carte Blanche crew would be up soon. At least he’d gotten some sleep that night, he thought to himself with a bitter laugh. He got himself a glass of water before walking over to the stove and starting to cook a simple meal as breakfast for the crew. 

Contrary to popular belief, Juno did know how to cook. Sure, his ability wasn’t anything spectacular, but he did know how to cook something decent. Today, “something decent” was pancakes. He made almost every pancake perfectly round, saving the oblong one for himself (although he could only manage to eat half of it).

Juno was just finishing up making the pancakes for almost everyone on the ship - although Buddy would be having her usual morning cocktail instead - when Jet walked into the kitchen, bright and early as usual.

“Juno. You’re awake before usual,” Jet said before gazing at the pancakes. “And you’ve cooked. This is out of character, you sleep the latest of everyone,” Jet observed. 

“Hey big guy. I was just awake early, couldn’t sleep.” Juno shrugged. He wasn’t exactly lying per se, but he wasn’t telling the truth, either. Juno rubbed his eyes as another dizzy spell threatened to make him lose his balance.

Jet looked Juno once over without saying a word, and then he grabbed a plate of pancakes. Rita walked into the kitchen next, eyes wide upon seeing Juno standing there. 

“Mistah steel! You’re never awake this early! You made pancakes too!? What, is it my birthday or somethin’? No, no my birthday ain’t for another few months-” Rita rambled before Juno cut her off to explain.

“Just couldn’t sleep. Wanted to do something nice for once, I guess,” he mumbled, leaning against the counter to keep himself steady - why was he so dizzy? Well, it could be the lack of sleep, but it had to be more than that, he thought to himself before Rita’s voice pulled him out of thought. 

“Awww Mistah Steel, that was awful sweet of ya. Thanks, boss!” Rita said before grabbing her pancakes. 

“Not your bo- You’re welcome, Rita.” Juno sighed, a tired smile playing on his lips. 

There was a short wait before the rest of the crew was in the kitchen all with varying reactions. 

“Woah Steel, didn’t know you were capable of being awake before noon, or that you could cook!” Vespa joked before taking a look at Juno, he looked absolutely exhausted. She walked closer to him, talking so only he could hear. “You alright? You look tired.” 

Juno sighed before pushing the heel of his palm into his eyes. “Just fine Vespa, just couldn’t sleep last night.” He blinked hard, trying to get rid of the thick weight of exhaustion from his eyes. 

Vespa almost said something else before Buddy walked into the kitchen. 

“What’s this about Juno cooking?” Buddy said looking over at the pancakes and her cocktail sitting on the counter, not missing how utterly wrecked Juno himself looked. She had known Juno had not been sleeping and saw it was now catching up with the ex P.I. “I’m impressed, wonderful job.” she praised. 

“Thanks…” Juno replied timidly. He was always struck with an odd pride when Buddy complimented his work.

Before any other words could be said, Nureyev entered the kitchen. “Juno, you’re up early…” His eyes were filled with an unspoken worry. Juno just shook his head, already knowing Peter wanted to ask what was wrong. 

“I’m fine, Ransom.” Juno replied before sitting down abruptly; standing was becoming too much work, his knees felt weak and his vision was fading in and out, he was cold, was anyone else cold? It didn’t seem that way… 

“Look everyone I’m fine, I just couldn’t sleep so I figured why don’t I make myself useful for once in the morning.” Juno said again, a tad too crankily. The tone made both Nureyev and Buddy raise an eyebrow, but the conversation was already moving forward when Rita started talking about a stream. Nureyev grabbed his pancakes and Buddy grabbed her meal replacement, a pinot noir, and sat down. 

When everyone was distracted from the discussion, Juno snuck out of the kitchen and into his bedroom to hide under his blankets - he was freezing. He knew that this probably meant a fever. The chills doubled with the room spinning when he moved too quickly and the splitting headache he had, he knew he was completely fucked for the day. 

He closed his eyes for a second before someone was knocking on his door, next thing he knew he was on his feet grabbing clothes from his closet. “Come in,” he said quietly. 

“Juno darling.” Nureyev’s gently called out before walking into the room. “Are you alright? You left rather quickly.” Peter looked over to Juno picking out clothes from the closet. 

“Yeah, just changing into some actual clothes…” Juno responded, putting his selected clothes on the bed. He discreetly grabbed onto the bedpost as the worst dizzy spell that day hit him.

“Juno?” Peter asked as he watched Juno grip the bedpost and sway dangerously. “What’s going on?” 

“‘M fine, just need a minute.” Juno straightened himself out trying to pretend nothing had even happened. “What’s up? What did you need?” Juno looked at Peter, shaking his head to clear the blurriness that was obstructing his view of his beautiful boyfriend, his makeup already done for the day, and suddenly he was embarrassed to be seen in his current state. 

“Are you okay? What happened just then?” Nureyev walked closer to Juno, taking note of how tired he looked, of the slight flush he could see on Juno’s face. “Are you sick? You look exhausted.” 

Juno mentally cursed himself, he was busted - he knew he couldn’t lie to Peter Nureyev, whenever he tried the thief saw through his lies immediately. 

“No, I’m not sick. Just haven’t been sleeping very well lately. It’s kind of starting to take a physical toll.” He sat down on his bed, too weak to stand, a chill running up his spine, accentuating his weakness. 

“Nightmares again?” Peter asked Juno, to which the other nodded. Peter took note of Juno’s state and frowned, concern evident on his face. 

“Are you sure you’re not ill? You seem to have a fever.” Nureyev cupped Juno’s face, frown deepening at the heat he found. 

“Careful Nureyev, you don’t want to get frown lines.” Juno joked before leaning into the coolness of Peter’s hands. 

“Now isn’t the time for jokes, darling, I am rather worried about you.” Peter said to Juno, cupping his too-hot cheek. 

“‘M okay.” Juno said, still leaning into Peter. 

“You don’t seem okay, dear… I’ll be right back, alright?” Nureyev asked, sitting Juno down on his bed. He was going to get Vespa, she was the ship’s doctor, after all, she would know what to do. 

“...Okay,” Juno responded after a beat. 

Peter took a final look at Juno, smiling at him worriedly before walking out of the room and beginning the search for Vespa. 

With Nureyev’s absence, Juno laid down on his bed, wrapping himself in blankets, trying to keep his eyes open. It was a grueling task, but he didn’t really feel like reliving every traumatic event he’d ever had upon falling asleep.

Sleep almost won, but just barely, Nureyev was back in Juno’s room with Vespa before the former P.I. could succumb to slumber. 

“Steel, I knew something was up with you this morning,” Vespa said as she entered the room, looking Juno over. 

Nureyev stood out of Vespa’s way, nervously watching, he’d seen Juno deal with quite a lot, and perhaps that’s what made him more nervous. 

“So, you wanna tell me what’s wrong, or am I going to have to examine you?” Vespa asked Juno, who only nodded listlessly. 

“Yes to which one Steel?” Vespa asked sharply, her worry coming off as impatience, she was used to Juno’s sharp tongue, and seeing him acting so unlike himself was worrying. 

“First one. Haven’t been sleeping well.” Juno slurred exhaustedly. 

Vespa looked at him sympathetically, she understood sleepless nights due to nightmares, she, however, had never had a time where the sleeplessness caught up to her quite as bad as it did Juno. 

“There’s nothing I can really do besides treat the fever Ransom told me about.” Vespa explained, pulling out fever reducers and handing them to Juno, who swallowed them dry and laid down. 

Vespa and Peter exchanged a worried look before Vespa left the room. 

Juno watched Vespa leave through half-closed eyes, fighting against sleep. He ultimately lost the battle, however, when he was asleep within minutes of Vespa’s departure. 

Peter watched Juno fall asleep, sighing in relief watching the ex-detective’s features grow soft and unguarded in sleep. Unfortunately for Juno, this peaceful sleep didn’t last long. 

After about an hour of Juno sleeping “peacefully”, Nureyev watched Juno’s expression twist into discomfort, sweat rolling down his boyfriend’s face, cheeks slightly flushed from fever. Juno started mumbling incoherently, terrified of a threat invisible to Nureyev’s eyes. 

Nureyev considered waking Juno as he watched him grow more and more terrified, but ultimately didn’t need to, Juno woke on his own, a strangled cry ripping from his throat. 

Juno couldn’t remember what his dream was about when he woke, hearing his own screams and feeling tears slipping down his cheeks, but he was still shaken anyway. He remembered hearing screams and feeling cool tears in his dream but maybe that was just his own. 

Nureyev was staring at him, looking at Juno with such worry that it made the P.I. feel sick to his stomach. He didn’t like being the cause of such a look. 

“Sorry, I’m okay.” Juno said timidly, watching Peter relax a little. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter asked, but regretted it when he saw Juno visibly tense at the question. 

“I don’t exactly remember what happened.” Juno explained, weariness seeping out with every word. 

Nureyev only nodded, letting Juno drift off again.

____________________________________________________________________________

Many hours passed of the same cycle of Juno sleeping and waking with a strangled noise, whether it be a gasp or a scream, and Juno could tell it was only stressing Peter out, so when dinner finally came, Juno practically begged Nureyev to take a break from watching him. 

“I’ll be fine, It’ll only be an hour at most.” He’d said, Nureyev, nodding and leaving with a look of apprehension. 

Juno sighed, he knew why Nureyev was hesitant to leave, why he was always hesitant to leave; because Juno himself had left him alone. 

After the guilt wore off, Juno found his eyes growing heavy once more and he fell back to sleep. 

It was quiet for a while before Juno awoke again, sweat pouring down his face, and a faint knock at the door. 

“Come in,” Juno said quietly, expecting Vespa to be checking in on him, however, that was not who it was. 

“Ah Juno, I hope I didn’t wake you.” It was Buddy, her heels clicking on the floor as she walked into Juno’s room. 

“You didn’t wake me, I was already awake,” Juno said, embarrassed; he respected Buddy, and here he was looking like a mess. 

Buddy frowned. “Ah well, I’d like to have a chat with you,” Buddy said, her nerves ever slightly showing. 

Juno’s chest tightened with fear. “Um, yeah, sure…” Juno replied, feeling like a child caught with their hand caught in the cookie jar. 

“You’re not in any sort of trouble. I just want to ask, are you alright? I’ve just noticed you haven’t been sleeping recently, and well, I’ve been woken up a few times from hearing you scream.” Buddy explained looking at Juno with pity. 

Juno felt small and weak. “I’m sorry.” He responded meekly, guilt ever so evident in his tone. 

“Nonsense,” Buddy replied sitting on Juno’s bed, keeping her distance but still sitting close enough to be a comfort. “It’s no bother to me, it only concerns me that you’re bottling things up again.” She gave Juno a knowing look. 

“Sorry.” Juno replied, looking at the floor. He felt the guilt crawl up from his chest and into his throat and before he knew it, he was crying in front of the person he respected the most. 

Buddy felt a pang of sadness but did not let it show, she kept her composure and began to speak again. 

“I know things haven’t been easy for you. I don’t want you bottling all these emotions up, how about you talk about these nightmares of yours with me? No pressure but, it might help.” Buddy said, placing a comforting hand on Juno’s back. 

And with that, Juno began to sob, spilling his guts to Buddy, telling her everything that happened in his dreams. He wailed and retold the memories to Buddy, stopping with hiccuping breaths. 

Buddy had known of the former P.I’s struggles but hadn’t known the extent of them all. Perhaps she could blame the fever but she hadn’t expected all the walls Juno had built up to crumble at that moment, but she knew one thing - Juno trusted her. 

Juno couldn’t believe how easily he’d just said everything to Buddy, his captain, and the person who could kick him out of the crew at the slightest wrong move. He didn’t care, he finally felt light, lighter than he’d felt in months, and after a few moments, he spoke.

“So much for you not being my therapist,” Juno said with a tired smile.

Buddy laughed, the sound hearty and melodic, making Juno laugh along with her. 

“I may not be your therapist, but I do care about you, Juno, and that counts for something,” Buddy replied once her laughter died down. 

Juno smiled. “Yeah. Thanks, Buddy.” He laid down, suddenly too exhausted to continue sitting upright. 

“Any time dear, now I do believe it’s time you get some rest, hmm?” Buddy suggested, standing from the bed. 

Juno nodded, closing his eyes and drifting off, and as Buddy left he fell asleep, staying asleep, peacefully for the first time in a good long while.

[iwaasfairy]

𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝚃 𝙰𝙻𝙻

Being addicted to the wrong people is one thing. Being addicted to you is a whole other ballpark.

tw incest, very brief somno (? not really but just to be sure), little angsty thank you to my babies @bakatenshii​ and @writeiolite​ for the support ♡

For seven months he had fasted, starved in place of the gluttonous monotony of living life like he had been up to that point; swallowed uselessly around nothing but air. And then you had jumped into his arms at the airport like you’d missed him more than life itself and with the first breath of your familiar smell of your face buried into the crook of his neck, his addiction had been as present as ever. If not more. 

He’d driven you both home in the old, banged up car that he’d given you as a parting gift, and listened to your soft voice in the darkness of the road. Not daring to turn to you fully, should the vindictive truth stuck to the roof of his mouth scare you away.

It's not like he doesn’t know that it’s wrong. Hajime has always been good at knowing what’s wrong and what’s right, the thoughts about you falling without doubt in the former. He knows, he knows, he knows and yet; as he looks down on your face, pressed so close to his drumming heart where he carries you inside, allowing the guilt to chew him up and spit him out discarded, it doesn’t feel like it did when he was half a world away. It doesn’t feel dim, like grabby hands at his brain. More feverish than reason, ripping through his soul like a wet piece of paper.

With nails and teeth and ripping it’s ugly way to the surface like it had at every teenage pool party he had to fish your drenched, exhausted body to the side and you’d smile at him like he’d hung the moon and all of her companions high in the black abyss. Like he had when you’d fall asleep on his shoulder, mumbling in your sleep for him. Marked with streaks of warm, gushing sin like the blood that pumps through his arteries and colors his skin. You curl into a small ball when he puts you down on the unoccupied side of his bed, one that’s been abandoned and unused for months.

You let out a small whine. As much as he wishes to resist, habit comes faster than his brain can catch up and he’s already kneeling next to you, brushing your hair away from your face. You look so peaceful, undisturbed by the loud crunching of his brain where he sits. When he’s sure you’re not having a bad dream, he lets out a sigh. His face drops forward to allow it rest against your temple, nose pushed up against it in a futile attempt to calm his raging heart. He can’t look at you that long in the darkness, not when he’s so deprived it might split him in two and spill out at the seams.

But he presses a kiss to your hair, because in every way you have a hold over him. You still smell like the same shampoo, the same perfume. With your breathing calm and soft, he peels himself back enough to stare at your face again. Lashes dark, resembling flowers reaching for the sun. Lips dropped slightly open. The thoughts like a pack of wild dogs, unwilling to let go of him. Because it is written in big, bold letters as law that you are his, and he belongs to you irrevocably. Scared to chip or break you any further with his dirtied hands and worse ideas, he gets up from the floor to strip of the clothing of the long journey.

He should sleep on the couch, he knows, but desire is a terrible thing and he can’t think of being anywhere but near you now that he can finally hold you again. As much as he wishes it, he was never sober of you. In a shirt and his boxers, he slips into the free side of the bed, dipping it under his weight. Even in your sleep you seem to sense this, sense him, because you move back until the hard lines of his chest are against you. Your smaller form still fits as perfectly as it did when you much younger. With a shaky sigh, he allows himself to encase you in his arms, only this much and he convinces himself he’ll be sated. A prayer, a plea of forgiveness should any gods feel like hearing it now.

His body is slotted against you, around you. But you’re not contented with this closeness, never have been and it’s the thing Hajime always dreaded most about you when he started growing into his shape. The absolute love with which you touch him, take him, have him as yours entirely. Unknowing just how much he wants you. He feels like a disgusting, deprived creature when the touch of you makes his breathing hitch. “Niichan,” you whisper for him, and he responds by pressing his face into the exposed part of your neck. Yes, he knows it is as wrong as it is to long for you like a lovesick fool. But the darkness of what’s wrong will never take precedence over the brightness that you cary. The devotion you have for him even in your sleep.

Fuck. He shuffles his hips away from you a bit, ignoring your disgruntled twitch to place his hand on your hip and ground you in place. “Shh,” he breathes to you, scared to raise the volume any higher should you wake. “Niichan is here. I’m here.” You wouldn’t hate him if you were to wake up, that’s what’s worst of all. You’ve always been most protective over your big brother, standing up for him despite never hearing him say the words aloud. He didn’t need it, towering over your tiny, nimble shape before he even reached middle school and never differing since, but you had stuck through it nevertheless.

Your big brother first, all others vying for your attention second. He’s selfish when it comes to you. But no, this is too much for him. You wiggle in his grasp like you’re desperate to connect at every point of your bodies and even though he prays that you’ll settle down, you don’t. You’re unrelenting, and at this point he’s afraid you’ll wake yourself up. So he gives in with a noise, a sigh or a soft moan, slotting his body along the entire length of yours closer, too close. The hand on your hip releases its grip to slide a little lower, stuttering when it glides over the warm expanse of your thigh.

Feather-light touches enough to make his brain short circuit. His body feverish. He almost passed out when you’d wrapped your legs around him in the hug at the airport, skirt riding up way too high for comfort. He thinks of that now, the little noise of approvement you had made when his hands came to support your butt, trying to steady his grip. His hand freezes instantly when you whimper, turning over. “Missed you, Haji—nii,” you push your lips together into the cutest pout, rolling until your face is in his chest, and you drape your leg to rest in between his ones. Hajime stays frozen for what feels like eternity, attempting to think of anything worth distracting him from the rise of your chest as it pushes up against him, but it’s a useless endeavor.

He swallows, having to stay exactly in place not to fall off the side of the bed. Your beaming, gentle body pressed to the hard ridges of his, breath on his throat and thigh pressed in between his legs. The urge to shove you away from him, to hide far from his shame, guilt, longing trickles down his veins like hot tar. So this is what torture feels like. His body doesn’t have anywhere to escape. It’s glued to your hips, your arms reaching up to cling to his shirt. As foolish as he knows it to be, there’s no fiber in his body that wants to be away from you. So he does what Hajime does best, and deflects to draw attention elsewhere.

Your big brother rests his lips on your face, peppering all the kisses that have piled up for months onto your face, your nose, cheeks, forehead. He picks up your hand and presses kisses to your fingertips, your palm, the inside of your wrist. For a moment he wonders that if he were to listen, your heartbeat might just be failing like his is. But that thought is gone when you shuffle, wiggling closer and pressing your leg higher in the process. He stops breathing. No, this is too much. He won’t survive tonight. “Hey, wake up,” he softly shakes your hand in his larger one, putting on his best big brother voice. It can’t be very convincing, but your eyes have yet to open so it’s a forgivable offense. Hajime knows he’s pink in the face, but there’s no other way to avoid death. Not when it comes to you.

“Can’t sleep ‘cause of m’fucked up timezones,” he explains, “but if you’re clinging to me like this, I can’t go.” He’s not even sure if you understand him, eyes still fluttering, thick with sleep. He smiles, unable to help it. Ever so gently, he starts prying his shirt out of your death grip. You shift towards his body at the disturbing motion, and it takes all of his willpower to ignore your leg as it presses up more against him again. You’re not doing it on purpose. You’re not. But his head is swirling with the pressure, so scared that if you get any closer at all you’ll finally know how fucked up he is. That can’t happen, it can’t— 

“Don’t leave me,” you say. It’s a hollow and fearful sound. He freezes. Hand on yours and long legs tangled with your smaller body and his face so close to yours that it’s impossible not to see how soft your lips look, how much they look like they’re made for him. He swears at himself thinking that for what feels like hours. But this isn’t about him anymore, not when you open your eyes and wetness clings to your lashes. Even in the complete darkness, you’re still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Please don’t leave me again, Hajime nii.” You’re panicked, knuckles turning white from the strain. His heart breaks a little more at the sight.

He lifts a hand to brush his knuckles over your cheek, with the complete tenderness of touching something made of sand. Like you could crumble into nothing should he be too rough, too harsh, too— him. He knows he wasn’t fair to you when he left, barely saying goodbye for longer than a second and willing himself to ignore the absolute dread in his stomach, but he didn’t expect it to be like this. Like he was the sole reason for your suffering. “I’m so s-”

“I know you had to go,” you cut him off, pouting at the ceiling, “I know you had to, and I’m really proud of you.” You’re crying now, you can’t help it. His absolute mortification of being this close to you mixes with his urge to protect you, and he sits up to tug you into his arms despite knowing better. “I just don’t want you to forget about me,” you sniffle, hiding your face into his neck. Your lips are at his collarbones, pressing a gentle kiss there. His resolve crumbles with the second.

But in this he can’t be lenient. He’ll never allow you to think you’d fade from him. “Oi,” he says, wincing at the overly familiar tone. Doesn’t matter, really. He is familiar. He is family. That’s exactly why this closeness shouldn’t drive him crazy, yet it’s exactly the reason he diagnoses himself with insanity. “I am never, ever, going to forget you. You’re my everything, I know I don’t say it enough. I will never be able to think of anyone more than I think of you, every day.” He pulls his hands through your hair softly, hating the way you’re looking at him even now. With a reverence that should be reserved to no one man.

He hates how much he longs for you to stay right here. In his lap, brushing up against him in your cute panties and your flimsy shirt that leaves little to the imagination. He looks away from you, to glance at the covered window instead. “I don’t like saying it out loud because that is like speaking it into reality,” he confesses. You’re quiet, tears dried by just the sound of his voice. He’s quiet too.

But then you move, and at once he’s struck by lightning from heaven itself. His eyes still fluttering, struggling to understand. You’re kissing him, like you used to do when you wanted to comfort him before he got to middle school and he told you off for that exact thing. It’s not long, but so much longer than he would’ve asked for, it sets him alight. His brain frenzied, he feels you pull back. Hajime presses forward though, toppling into you like the broken thing he is and he grabs your face between his two palms to kiss you, really kiss you. You make a noise, opening your mouth when he pushes his entire body into you, shaking with how hard it aches. More, more, he kisses like he’s chasing life itself. Your lips are so soft, sweet against his and building him to a high. And you moan out something he can’t make out, sounding so small and sacred and he hates having tainted you with his filth.

It sends him away from you, his mouth ripped from yours to breathe. Heaving over on top of you, hands either side on his knees like the begging monster he is, he waits. Eyes shut so tightly it burns. He can’t bring himself to see the hatred on your face too, he already has too much of it himself. So he waits, for something to save his soul before it’s eaten away entirely by guilt.

Your hands come to cup his face. Of course that something is you. He always underestimated your goodness growing up, he probably still does now. But he still shakes his head in those soft palms, too fearful and too pained. You smile, he can hear it in your voice. “I love you, Hajime nii. Even if you say nothing at all.” You move under him to wrap your arms around his body, tugging him towards the bed. He could resist if he wanted to, he knows he could. He gives in to you each time though, always. And he allows you to press kisses on his lips until he finally cracks open his eyes to linger them where your heart is. He’s doused, drenched in shame and self-doubt, glancing for a sign from you.

But you smile. You rest your hand on the back of his head and smile at him and God— he swears his heart swells with love until it chokes him. “I know you love me. You have for a long time,” you say. You’re petting at his chest, hand pressed between your two bodies as you gaze at him, star-eyed. “And I’ve loved you for even longer.” You lift your head to press your lips over his ear. “It’s going to be okay, I’m never going anywhere. I love you, oniichan. I love you so much.”

“I can’t,” he mumbles, frowning so deep it might stay. “It’s wrong.” All the strength has long left his muscles. Even before he arrived at the airport today, he’d run himself ragged trying to save you. But in the low light of the room, pressed so close, you seem happy to belong to him. “I don’t want to be the thing that ruins you,” he is able to bring out, but it’s lost when you roll your body against his, clinging, asking.

“Please, niichan. I don’t want you to run away from me anymore.” You kiss him, and the whine in your throat is a plea. “I can’t pretend again, please don’t make me do it again.” Your face hovers so near him that it makes his head spin, your warmth and the last of your perfume digging into his weakened state.

He’s begging for the world to save him as much as you’re begging for him to drag you into the abyss. And after spending his entire lifetime with you, he should have known. You’d always have a power over him that no one else did. He kisses you. Tastes you, devours you, never letting go. He shoves your shirt up and over your head, littering you in all the built up love he’s spent too long collecting. The brunet presses his lips and wet tongue to the plush of your chest, groaning at the sheen it leaves behind on your skin. But he’s back to your lips soon enough, unable to get his fill. Maybe that’s his punishment for leaving you behind, he thinks, that he’ll never be entirely saturated of you.

Not that he won’t try. Hajime licks at the inside of your mouth and sucks on your tongue, moaning into you like you’re saving him of a world of pain. And you cling to him, so close. Your legs wrap around him to keep him right in place atop you. He rolls his hips into your doughy center, mouthing at your neck, your collarbones. He hovers his lips next to your head, his chest flush with yours. You can feel his heart as it bangs viciously against the bone cage. “You’re beautiful.” He grinds his hips into you with a pant. And then he lifts himself up onto his elbows so he can look at you with the most loving gaze you’ve ever seen flicker in his bright eyes, pressing two fingers at the seam of your mouth.

You open your lips for him and encase the digits with your tongue, sucking softly as he growls your name. He remembers the night that had scared him half a world away like it was only a few hours ago. You’d had too much alcohol, and he’d had too much frustrations running through his blood to control himself when Shittykawa had dropped you off, saying something about ‘taking better care of you than your big brother did’. It had snapped the last of his strings, and he’d never been so mad at you. Because deep down he feared more than anything being left behind in your shadow. 

You had forgiven him so quickly, like always. You did when he had his first kiss with a girl from his class, someone he played spin the bottle with. You did when he brushed off your concerns about his health regarding his volleyball, saying he knew himself best. You did when he kissed you after you’d first told him about your fears of going to university and that you felt alone and confused without him. You did when he left, too. Now he watches in fascination as you suckle at his fingers, dragging them out to wet your lips, your chest, down your body and into your panties. He’ll make it up to you. He will.

As a small drop of sweat rolls down his chest, you call out for the person you love most, in a million words how you express it best. Loud, vibrant, colorful. And Hajime… 

He loves you, always. Even saying nothing at all.

///

//

/

Listen, big brother hajime has been living in my brain rent free for the last month and I just had to write smt gentle for him before going back to my degenerate bullshit so,, I was feeling pretty emo when i was writing this and it shows ((: but I still hope you enjoyed it!! thank you so much for reading!

[starlightrows]

Sleepless

Pairing: Boba Fett x reader 

Word Count: 1k

Trigger Warning: PTSD, processing trauma, disturbing dreams, hurt/comfort 

Summary: Boba comforts you through a bad night 

AN: This is not what I was originally planning on posting today, but I needed to get this one off my chest. This story is extremely personal to me. This past summer I purchased my first car, and drove it up to college for my senior year. On the first day I had it up there, I got into a violent car accident and totaled the car. The last 6 months have been an ongoing process of dealing with the physical, and mental/emotional consequences of surviving a trauma. On Friday night I was driving home from work, in my new vehicle, and I was almost in another collision exactly the same as the previous one. I’ve taken quite a few steps forward since the initial accident, but this near miss has really knocked me back more than I am even ready to admit to myself. So this fic really is just me, processing what I’m going through, and giving myself the emotional support I wish I had to help me cope in real life. 

My heart is pounding in my chest and my whole body is flushed and sweaty. I tear myself out of sleep, unable to take another second of seeing, feeling, or hearing the sounds that plague my mind and crowd my dreams. I open my eyes, the room is dim, illuminated only from the night of the full moon coming through the window. The desert air is chilly and bites at my overheated skin. Beside me Boba is sound asleep, looking peaceful in his slumber. I don’t often get to wake up beside him, he’s such an early riser, and I’m... well... not. 

I really want to be able to slide closer to him, nestle myself in his arms and fall back asleep for the remaining few hours I have him to myself, but the mere thought of falling asleep again has my heart hammering away against my rib cage. I can feel myself getting worked up and upset, but I refuse to interrupt Boba’s rest. I have to take care of him, especially when he works so hard to provide for me. It’s the least I can do, to give him the peace and quiet he deserves to sleep. 

So I slip out of bed as silently as I can, and wrap my robe around myself. My feet carry me out of our bedroom, and I find myself directionlessly turning down hallways and ducking into open doors as my breathing starts to get shallow and gaspy. I feel like I’m trying to escape something, but there is nothing to fear... just the impending panic that follows me like a dark cloud. 

Finally I find myself in the kitchens, vaguely I think to myself about making a cup of caf. But instead my knees give out, and I am forced to sit against the cabinets and ride out this storm of terror and bone shaking sobs that wrack my body. I cry so hard I feel as though I may start gagging, or potentially crack a rib from the pressure. I can only hope I made it far enough away from our room so Boba won’t wake up. 

Realistically I know that Boba would so much rather I have woken him up in bed on purpose, and asked him for help. But in my sleep deprived, broken mind, that is unthinkable. I sit with my head in my hands, unable to stop the ugly moaning sobs that have more control over my body than my brain does. The wild, untamed, intrusive thoughts and fears and exaggerations of my suffering roll over and over in my mind. Unrelenting in their torturous presence. 

The sound of footsteps breaks the feedback loop of fear, and fresh tears stain my cheeks. Boba is coming into the kitchen on swift feet, immediately dropping down in front of me. I’m so embarrassed he’s found me in this state, and so upset I’ve woken him up. 

“I’m sorry,” I sob 

“Cyare,” his low rumbling voice seeps into my soul 

“M’ sorry... so sorry... I’m sorry,” I keep repeating, unable to look him in the eye. He catches my wrists in a firm, yet loving grip. 

“Cyare, please. It pains me to see you this way,” he says “And it pains me more when you run and hide when you’re suffering so greatly” 

I can’t bring myself to speak. I launch myself into his arms and allow the pain to flow through me. I sob and shake until my body is completely worn out. Boba shifts me slightly, wrapping my legs about his hips and rocks me gently. One arm locks around my back, holding securely to his chest, while the other cradles the back of my head and tangles his fingers in my hair. He whispers sweet things to me. 

When the sobs seem to have fully subsided, and I’ve calmed down enough. He stills his rhythmic rocking, but continues to massage my scalp. 

“Cyare, I know this isn’t easy. And I know these things take time, and patience to heal. But I must ask you, don’t shut me out of this,” his words are gentle and sincere, but his tone is serious. 

“I feel so helpless Boba. I feel like everything is out of control. I am so afraid of it happening again, I can’t sleep,” I want to start crying again, but there truly is nothing left in my body to cry out. So I cling to him, and keep my eyes squeezed shut as my head rests on his shoulder. “I feel so weak. I’m not strong enough....” 

“That’s okay,” he says “You don’t have to be strong every single day. Let me be strong for you when you’re feeling weak. Let me help you through the harder days,” 

I don’t say anything, but I squeeze him gently with my arms and legs. Boba resumes his rocking. I know he can not promise me that nothing bad or scary will ever happen to me again. I know he can not take away what has already happened. I know he can’t prevent me from having bad nights, and rough days. But I know in my heart, he wants to do this for me. Be strong for me. Protect me in the ways he can. He wants to help me heal, and grow.

“Can I take you back up to bed Cyare?” He asks. I wonder if he can feel my heartbeat quicken. 

“Will you stay with me?” I ask. I hate how childlike I sound in this moment. But it’s really what I need from him right now. Sleep would befall me eventually, even if I try to avoid it. What I really need is just to be held. 

“Of course,” he says carefully beginning to start the process of standing the both of us up “I’ll stay until you wake up again if you’d like” 

He’s got me tucked back in bed before I even realize we’ve left the kitchen. Perhaps I’m already fading back into sleep. He climbs in beside me once more, and brings me to his chest so I can hear the steady beat of his heart. In the back of my mind, I still want to resist sleep. Sleep is where the vividness of my memories live and haunt me. But with Boba’s firm embrace, and his promise of love and support, the wall of fear seems less high. And I feel a little stronger. Strong enough to allow my body to rest.

[silvermoongirl10swfics]

Learning to deal with emotionally crippling pain

For @codywanweek 2021 Day 2: AU (Modern University AU.)

You can also read this fic here on A03.

(The title of the fic will make sense after reading the fic.)

This is set at Manchester Metropolitan University in the UK, where I went to uni. As I wanted to combine the uni I loved going to with one of my favourite ships.

No major warnings, but there is a slight, non-graphic, description of how bodies were buried during the Black Death (this may seem very random, but I don’t want to gross anyone out.)

(I was inspired by @catawampuscorner​ drawing adorable baby clones in animal onesies, the cuteness now lives rent free in my brain and my brain desperately wanted to add baby clones and baby Jedi in animal onesies to this fic due to their wonderful drawings of the baby clones. So, I have referenced codywan and some other clones being youngsters in animal onesies near the end of this fic.)

Also Wolffe and Fox are twins because I thought of the idea about a month ago and loved it so much. 

Cody hefted his kit bag onto his shoulder and nodded in thanks to the bus driver as he stepped off the bus on Oxford Road. He turned hearing a loud thump and rolled his eyes, Fives had, against Cody’s and Rex’s advice, decided to sit on the top deck of the double-decker bus while carrying his heavy rugby kit bag. Unsurprisingly Fives stumbled and hit the wall of the stairs as he tried to walk down the steep steps, his bag over balancing him. Rex threw out an arm to steady their younger brother and then the two of them joined Cody on the pavement.

“We did warn you,” stated Rex with a roll of his eyes.

“Whatever,” griped Fives. Without another word, Fives was walking through All Saints Park, no doubt heading back to the student halls where he shared a flat with his twin Echo and six other first year students.

“I really hope Echo is better soon. I don’t know how much longer I can take Fives in this mood,” sighed Rex shaking his head.

“You and me both,” agreed Cody with a nod of his head at his younger brother.

Cody was the eldest of the four brothers, and was currently in his third and final year of studying his undergraduate history degree at Manchester Metropolitan University. Rex was eleven months younger than him and was in his second year studying law, Echo and Fives were their younger brothers who were twins. The family hadn’t thought that Fives was interested in going to university, which was fine with them as they didn’t want to push him into something he didn’t want. But when Echo announced his intention of going to study mathematics at the same university where Cody and Rex were studying, Fives suddenly announced that he was also going to Man Met to study physiotherapy. The twins were in their first year and two years ago, at eighteen, Cody had thought he would be getting some peace from his three younger brothers, in the end he only got one year of peace before his brothers joined him in quick succession. But thankfully he only had to put up with living with them when they were all home for the holidays. As Cody shared a one-bedroom flat with his long-term boyfriend Obi-Wan who had also chosen to study at Man Met, also in his third year, studying English literature. Obi-Wan and Cody had been best friends since their first day at primary school aged four, later confessing their romantic feelings for each other when they were sixteen, both coming down from the stress of getting their GCSE results. They hadn’t actually told each other where they were applying for university, not wanting to influence each other’s decision. But they still ended up at the same university anyway, not that Cody was complaining.

Like Cody, Obi-Wan had not been able to escape his younger brother. Anakin was friends with Fives and Echo as they were the same age, Anakin was in his first year studying engineering at Man Met. It was funny to Cody, because Echo and Anakin’s subjects were in the same faculty, they often saw each other as their lectures and seminars took place in the John Dalton buildings, whereas Fives went to lectures across the main road on the slightly smaller campus in the Brooks Building. Fives had always been protective of Echo, his reasoning being he was the older twin so had to look out for Echo. But after Echo got hurt in a car accident when they were fifteen driving home with their dad, Fives had grown even more protective, somehow blaming himself because he wasn’t there in the car with Echo. The youngest of the four brothers hadn’t been seriously hurt, but the accident had gained him a constant shadow. So, when the twins applied to the university, they looked at the map of the two campuses and picked Oxford Court for their student halls accommodation because it was pretty much in the middle of where the two of them would have their lectures and seminars.

With another look in the direction Fives had gone, feeling a rare moment of relief at seeing his brother walk away. Cody loved his brothers, but because Echo had gotten injured in their last rugby game, he couldn’t take part in practice and it had left Fives in a mood for the past week. Neither Echo, Cody or Rex could seem to talk Fives out of his mood, leading to Cody thinking he may have to call their parents to talk some sense into Fives. But he didn’t want to worry his mum, which is what would happen if Cody had to tell her Fives still wasn’t okay a week after Echo badly spraining his ankle. So, Cody’s only other option would be to call his twin cousins, Wolffe and Fox who were both in their third and final years of studying at the same university in London. Wolffe was studying sport science, while Fox was studying history like Cody, but with more of a focus on medical history while Cody preferred military history.

Wolffe and Fox were the closest cousins Cody and his brothers had, due to their parents all moving to Britain from New Zealand due to his father and uncle getting jobs with the same tech company before Cody, Wolffe and Fox were born. Leaving the rest of the aunts, uncles and cousins back in New Zealand with their grandparents. Cody then reflected, calling the other twins might not be a bad idea. Wolffe would be gruff but caring in talking to Fives and if that failed, Fox would just beat sense into him either verbally or physically. With there being direct trains from London to Manchester, Cody wouldn’t be surprised if Fox came in person to beat some sense into Fives. Fox had no patience for Fives’ protective older brother routine of Echo and that was down to Wolffe being protective of Fox. Which he hated, but to be fair to Wolffe, he was fully justified going by the amount of coffee and lack of sleep Fox was powering through to work on his assignments and dissertation. Despite the fact it was still January and Fox had three months left until he had to hand in his dissertation.

Thinking of dissertations, Cody waved goodbye to Rex and headed towards the cafeteria in the Business School building to get some tea for his boyfriend. Once he acquired the tea in a take away cup, he went next door to the library where Obi-Wan was working on his dissertation, thankful that their university library allowed food and drink as long as it was silent. Fox was insanely jealous as his university library forbade any food or drink to enter the building, meaning Fox was deprived of his precious coffee. Which was why Wolffe pushed Fox to work in the library as often as he could. Cody didn’t mind plying Obi-Wan with tea, because while he could say Obi-Wan was additive to his tea, he didn’t drink any caffeinated tea two hours before going to bed, unlike Fox who was known to drink a mug of coffee before going to bed if Wolffe hadn’t managed to stop him. It was a wonder Wolffe hadn’t gone grey with the amount of time he spent worrying over his twin brother.

Cody scanned his student card to let him past the barriers and started walking up the two flights of stairs to the floor Obi-Wan liked to work on. The library was massive, with its different wings and five floors, but Cody was glad it was so big because it could be divided into silent study areas and group study areas, where you could talk so long as you were quiet. Obi-Wan, like Cody, hated working in complete silence and in their first year they found a nook between some shelves that had a table where they could bring their own laptops to work on their essays together. But were conveniently close to university computers so they could log on to print their work if needed. It was also a space their brothers had been unable to find them in, although Cody was fairly certain Rex knew where he liked to work, but was kind enough to leave him alone. Anakin, Echo and Fives would not be as considerate.

He walked through the doors into the study area and walked halfway into the big room with its rows of computers and shelves of books, until he found Obi-Wan hunched over his notes and two books he was using for his dissertation. Cody silently reminded himself that he was due to meet with his dissertation supervisor tomorrow to check the progress on his second chapter. He placed the cup of tea on the table beside Obi-Wan’s laptop and pressed a kiss onto the mess of copper hair, noting that his boyfriend hadn’t shaved again, making him wonder if Obi-Wan was committing to growing a beard. If he did, it would be because Obi-Wan was fed up of people thinking he was sixteen or seventeen, rather than being almost twenty-one years old, something that delighted Anakin to no end. Obi-Wan slowly sat up and blinked owlishly at him and rubbed a hand over his face. “Rugby practice is over already?” he asked in confusion as he looked at his watch.

Cody snorted in amusement, “thankfully yes.” Obi-Wan had come to the library just after Cody left their flat for practice, that had been two and half hours ago.

Obi-Wan reached for his tea and sighed in pleasure when he sipped on the hot liquid. “Fives still in a mood then?”

“Yes,” he sighed in exasperation as he sat down beside Obi-Wan and putting his kit bag on the floor with a roll of his shoulder.

Raising a knowing eyebrow over the rim of his cup, Obi-Wan asked. “Are you going to call Wolffe and Fox?” Cody nodded in agreement, smiling to himself, happy at how easily Obi-Wan fit into his family. Obi-Wan, Cody, Wolffe and Fox had all gone through school together. Obi-Wan and Anakin’s dad, Qui-Gon, was a friend of Cody’s parents and often came over for dinner. According to his dad, Cody’s mum and Qui-Gon had been having wine nights when they lamented over their empty nests and how it was unfair how quickly their children were growing up. While Cody’s aunt just laughed at them because Wolffe and Fox had left home for university almost three years before.

They lapsed into silence, and Cody just let himself day dream as he listened to the clack of Obi-Wan’s keyboard. He also ran through a mental list of things he needed to do for his dissertation and thought he could do with another trip down to London to go to the National Archives again for some more primary sources. His phone buzzed and Cody snorted at the text message from Echo.

[Echo] Fives is in SUCH a bad mood! Please help me!

[Cody] Sorry Echo. Rex and I had him for two hours, we need a break.

[Echo] WORST BIG BROTHERS EVER!!!!

[Echo] I hope you marry Obi-Wan so I can adopt him as my favourite older brother.

[Echo] You know what. I’m not waiting until you marry him. He’s my favourite brother now.

Cody chuckled to himself, he couldn’t argue with Echo, Obi-Wan was his favourite person too.

[Cody] What WILL Fives say?

[Echo] Right now I don’t care. He’s driving me INSANE!!!!

[Cody] I was going to call Wolffe and Fox to see if they could help.

[Echo] PLEASE!!! I am BEGGING YOU!!!!

[Echo] You know what?

[Echo] Just skip straight to Fox.

[Echo] And record it. I want to relive that future moment for forever. Fox’s position as my favourite cousin will be secured.

Cody snorted in amusement again, Obi-Wan turned to him in question. So, Cody just showed him the messages and Obi-Wan shook his head in amusement, but he blushed slightly. No doubt due to Echo’s comments on Cody marrying Obi-Wan.

“Echo wishing harm on Fives. I never thought I’d see the day,” commented Obi-Wan, his blue eyes sparkling with laughter. No doubt remembering the times Fox lost his patience with bullies and idiots they went to school with and just went for them. Their aunt had to give Fox the disapproving lecture, but she also slipped Fox money for standing up to bullies for other kids. So, Fox’s handling of bullies and idiots had never been stopped, only been encouraged.

“Oh, Echo can be pushed to it,” chuckled Cody, recalling the few times Fives had made Echo lose his temper. Echo was a nice and quiet person, which also made him one of those people you did not want to make angry, because when his patience snapped. It snapped. He could be worse than Fox, and that said something.

“By the way, your dad text me. He’s invited me to a family reunion dinner in a month’s time. So, is anyone coming over from New Zealand?” Obi-Wan asked as he started to tidy his books away and turn off his laptop.

Cody nodded. “My grandparents are coming over in three weeks and are staying until the summer as they want to be here for mine, Wolffe and Fox’s graduations. Then a few of the cousins are coming over in the summer.” He smiled to himself; it would be nice to see his family members again. They all saw each other every year, one year Cody and his family would fly out to New Zealand and the next year the family would fly over to Britain for a few weeks. With all of the cousins now at university, it made sorting out reunions easier due to the longer holidays they all had.

Obi-Wan’s eyes sparkled with amusement again, “anymore family arguments to look forward to?” he laughed.

“Probably,” Cody sighed as he rolled his eyes. Obi-Wan had come out to New Zealand with him last summer and witnessed some truly spectacular family arguments and rather silly ones as well. The most prominent being about Fox and Echo’s names.

When Fox had been a toddler, he and Wolffe had been put into animal onesies (Cody and his brothers also shared that misfortune with their cousins, but the less said about that the better), Wolffe into a wolf onesie and Fox into a fox onesie. Ever since Fox wanted to be called Fox, as he hated his proper name, the name being Frederick. If anyone ever called him Frederick when he was a small child he bit them, leading to his parents to tell their school when they started that it would be best if they didn’t call Fox Frederick for the safety of their own fingers.

Then when Echo had been four and in school, learning about words that began with the letter E, he heard the word Echo and wanted to call himself that, because he didn’t like being called Eli. Cody’s mum had tried to tell Echo his name was Eli, but Echo said Fox picked his name, so why couldn’t he? Cody’s mum tried her hardest to get Echo to forget about calling himself Echo, seeing as he was named after his mum’s father-in-law Elias and didn’t want to offend him. But Echo just started repeating everything everyone said, until the point their dad begged their mum to just let Echo call himself Echo. Fives didn’t want to be left out, and chose the nickname Fives, but he wasn’t involved in the arguments because he let their grandmother still call him Felix. Echo and Fox on the other hand, both refused to answer to their given names. And Obi-Wan had witnessed their grandmother once again getting annoyed when Echo and Fox didn’t answer her when she called them Eli and Frederick. That was also the visit where Obi-Wan learnt just who Echo and Fox inherited their stubbornness from. Grandpa Elias was not offended and found the whole thing hilarious and continued to congratulate Echo on his name every time he saw Echo. Cody was also convinced, his grandmother only continued the argument for the sake of it, he had seen her handwriting in birthday cards calling Echo and Fox by their chosen names. But she still wrote Eli and Frederick on family Christmas cards, again probably just for the drama.

But some uncles and aunts were not happy with Echo and Fox changing their names, albeit not legally, because other cousins began following their lead. Namely their four cousins who were all siblings (two sets of twins), Hunter, Crosshair, Wrecker and Tech. The four of them changing their names and even happily calling themselves the Bad Batch at family gatherings much to the ire of their mother. Fives was blamed for their collective nickname, as Obi-Wan found out and thought it was hilarious. The Bad Batch had invited Echo to play with them when they were small, and Fives who had not been invited to play had been jealous and called them the Bad Batch, the four of them had loved it and adopted it as their group name.

Obi-Wan started to laugh quietly to himself as he put his laptop away in his bag. At Cody’s questioning look he smiled and said. “I’m just wondering who will be the first to say something to disrupt family dinner. Either you, your brothers or your cousins will say something. You have done ever since the first family dinner I was invited to when I was five.”

Cody smirked to himself and nodded, “honestly I’m expecting it to be Fox again. You know he deals with stress in the weirdest ways.”

“You mean like putting everyone else off their food?” teased Obi-Wan, his eyes glinting at the memory of the last dinner everyone had together.

Over the four-week long Christmas holiday, Cody’s parents had hosted numerous family dinners, wanting to spend as much time together as possible. As it was understood with Cody, Obi-Wan, Wolffe and Fox graduating university later that year, they may not get to come home as often anymore. Also, as Cody’s uncle and aunt lived next door to them and Obi-Wan lived five houses further down the road, it was very easy for Cody’s uncle and aunt, Wolffe, Fox, Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon and Anakin to join their family for dinner. Which also meant, Cody and Obi-Wan had to suffer the embarrassment of watching Qui-Gon and Cody’s mum tearfully looking at photos of them growing up, mourning the loss of their ‘little ones’. While Cody’s aunt sipped on her glass of red wine and cackled at them, saying it was better to have both her kids leave the nest at once, as she didn’t have to go through kids moving out more than once.

Cody had also been horrified to learn there existed a photo of him in an animal onesie after all, and to make it worse, he was four in the photo. He was at school, but because his mum wanted a picture of all her boys in their animal onesies, he had been put into his old lion onesie (mane included on the hood) that was getting too small for him. But it had interested him to see it was a group photo of all of them sat on the living room floor. Obi-Wan was also in the photo, in a onesie that resembled the fictional varactyl creature he had been obsessed with when he was four. His unimpressed look matching Cody’s, in the photo both of them had their arms crossed as they glared at their parents off camera. Wolffe and Fox were also in the photo, but too busy pulling on each other’s hoods, Wolffe almost taking off one of Fox’s onesie’s ears. Rex, at three, was happily beaming at their mum in his elephant onesie that included a small trunk attached to the hood. Leaning against Rex on his left was Anakin, who at two, was too busy trying to eat his own foot as he sat in his dog onesie. On Rex’s right was the little twins, Echo beaming at the camera in his giraffe onesie as he lifted a hand up to squeeze the felt face of the giraffe attached to the hood and Fives, in a moose onesie (seriously where had his parents found these?), was busy trying to grab one of his felt antlers and eat it. Apparently, their parents had kept all of the onesies, what they planned to do with them Cody couldn’t guess.

But while the onesie group photo had been embarrassing, it hadn’t put anyone off their food. No, that came when Cody’s dad asked all of them how university was going. Everyone listened as one by one, all the boys explained what they had been doing. The adults patiently listened as Cody, Obi-Wan, Wolffe and Fox talked about their dissertations and skilfully manoeuvring the conversation so as to avoid third year meltdowns as the families had taken to calling their tearful, stressed rants. While Rex, Anakin, Fives and Echo stared at them in dawning horror as they realised what was in their immediate future. Fox had given Cody advice on where to find primary sources, as Fox was writing his ten-thousand-word dissertation on the Black Death and at this point, was basically an expert on where to find medical documents from varying time periods. Which was immensely helpful for Cody because his dissertation was on the treatment of shell shock in the First World War.

Dinner seemed to then settle, with all the boys commenting on funny or interesting things they had heard at university. When Fox piped up, “I was reading a chapter for my dissertation when the author commented that they buried people who had died of the Black Death by lying down a layer of bodies, then a layer of soil, another layer of bodies, more soil, more bodies and then the final layer of soil. It was interesting that the author used the analogy of the bodies been buried like how you make a lasagne.”

Everyone stopped, many of the people gathered around the table stared at Fox, with forks paused in the air. Fox, oblivious continued to eat his dinner with a smile on his face. Which was lasagne. Wolffe just shook his head and sighed in exasperation as he stopped eating his portion of lasagne and instead reached for a piece of garlic bread. Obi-Wan, taking interest in the analogy, was asking Fox if he had come across any other analogies like it. Rex, Echo and Fives dropped their forks and looked at their food in faint disgust. Qui-Gon and Anakin, who normally didn’t find anything disgusting, looked down at the lasagne on their plates in muted horror. Cody’s parents and uncle just sighed, with his uncle massaging his forehead in exasperation, while Cody’s aunt lifted her wine glass up and saluted Fox with it before taking a sip (Fox was a lot like his mother). Cody raised an eyebrow at his cousin, Fox smirked and then reached for the serving dish in the centre of the table. “Oh, no one else wants anymore? Guess I’ll finish the lasagne up then,” Fox stated with a mock innocent look on his face. Wolffe just sighed again and thumped his head down onto the table. Leaving Cody with the impression that Fox was hungry and saw how quickly the food was disappearing and decided to take matters into his own hands.

As Cody and Obi-Wan walked out of the library holding hands, Cody turned to Obi-Wan and smirked. “It is safe to say, lasagne will not be on the menu.”

Obi-Wan laughed loudly as they made their way into the cold air outside, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. Obi-Wan also admitted that neither his father nor Anakin, had been able to eat lasagne since that dinner. Anakin had seen lasagne being served for lunch at the university one day and had practically fled the cafeteria.

Together they walked to the bus stop that was less than a minute walk from the library and sat in contented silence as they travelled from campus on the short bus journey to their flat. Their shoulders knocked gently together as they swayed as the bus pulled in and out of bus stops. Their hands were still clasped together, and Obi-Wan was looking out of the window with a smile on his face as he watched people go about their day. Cody found himself unable to tear his gaze away from Obi-Wan’s face, watching as his eyes crinkled as he smiled at the sight of a giggling child play peekaboo with their younger sibling. The bright winter sun turned Obi-Wan’s copper hair into flames and it was a sight that always memorised Cody without fail. It was the sight that led to four-year-old him talking to Obi-Wan on their first day at school because he had never seen someone with the same-coloured hair as Obi-Wan before. Cody only realised they had reached the bus stop they needed when Obi-Wan pressed the button to alert the driver to stop. He reached down for his kit bag and swung it up onto his shoulder, they walked off the bus, thanked the driver and continued walking while holding hands. Obi-Wan began to talk about a book he had had to read for one of his modules and while Cody never heard of the book before, he enjoyed seeing how excited Obi-Wan was about it.

Once they got inside their flat, Obi-Wan put his bag, that contained his laptop and some books, on the floor by the door and went into the kitchen. Cody watched him for a moment, glad to see Obi-Wan was distracted making them both some lunch. Cody sat at their table and turned his laptop on and logged into the website where he was creating a photobook of photos of himself and Obi-Wan throughout their lives as a birthday present. There were hundreds of photos of them together over the years they had known each other, there were photos of primary, secondary and sixth form last days. Seeing how they had changed in those years was endearing and funny at the same time. Cody caught Obi-Wan looking over at him and Cody playfully tilted his laptop screen away from Obi-Wan’s view, not that his boyfriend could see it from where he was anyway. Obi-Wan smiled and then turned back to the sandwiches he was making. Obi-Wan knew he was getting his birthday present, just as Cody was aware Obi-Wan was also organising his birthday present, as Obi-Wan’s birthday was two days before Cody’s.

Cody checked through the photobook one last time and then seeing that everything was as he wanted it, he clicked order and waited for the confirmation email to arrive. Once it had, he closed his laptop down and smiled as Obi-Wan, at that moment, walked up to him and handed him a plate with his sandwich and an apple.

“I love you,” Cody said with a smile.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes fondly, “ah yes. You only love me for my sandwich making skills.”

“You caught me!” chuckled Cody as he held his hands up in defence. They shared a smile and then both began eating their sandwiches in earnest. They chatted about friends from home who had gone to other universities or who went into work, the friends they had made in Manchester, the antics of crazy younger brothers and they also talked about if they wanted to do a Masters degree in their subject and if they did, where should they go? As it wasn’t a question about if they would go together, even if Obi-Wan decided to do a Masters and Cody didn’t, he was still going to move to whichever city Obi-Wan chose to go to for his Masters. But Cody was also liking the idea of doing a history Masters himself. “We could go to London. Wolffe and Fox are both going to do a Masters, we could go to uni with them.”

Obi-Wan frowned at him in amusement. “I thought you loved living in Manchester.”

“I do,” agreed Cody. “But I also want some peace from my brothers.” He added with a faked whining tone.

His boyfriend chuckled and then said. “You could apply to University of Manchester. So, you can stay in the city, but be in a different university to your brothers.”

Cody rolled his eyes. “As if that would stop them just turning up on Uni of’s campus,” he grumbled under his breath. He didn’t even think moving to the moon would stop his brothers from turning up to inconvenience him.

Obi-Wan just chuckled to himself as he shook his head, having to admit that going to Uni of would not stop Rex, Fives and Echo from turning up to see Cody. Within three weeks of starting the academic year, they had already worked out what rooms Cody had his seminars in and at what time they finished, so they could stand outside and wait for him. Despite Cody never once showing them his timetable.

After lunch, Cody began looking through some books for information he could add to his dissertation, while Obi-Wan turned his laptop on to work on one of his assignments. At the sound of an exasperated sigh, Cody looked up with one raised eyebrow to find Obi-Wan glaring at his laptop screen. “Problem?” he prompted lightly.

His boyfriend rolled his eyes and stated, “I hate this. We have a dissertation and other essays we need to complete that count towards our final degree. But then we are asked to write a two-thousand-word essay on the skills we have learnt doing our English degree and how those skills can help us in the workplace. While also having to give examples of jobs that use and need those skills.” Obi-Wan growled in frustration, “it is so pointless, but we have to do it otherwise we can be penalised if we don’t. But it’s wasting our time, we have other more important things to do.”

Cody grimaced and then reached out to squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand. “I totally get your frustration. We have been asked to do the exact same thing.”

Obi-Wan just groaned and thunked his head on the table, “I hate this. This is stress I do not need.” Cody smiled to himself and with his free hand, he ran his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair, gently scratching at his scalp with his nails.

When Obi-Wan had relaxed, Cody recalled the lecture when he had been told about the assignment and how the career’s department guest lecturer and one of his usual history lecturers asked for people to give examples of skills, they had learnt doing their degree. He must have laughed to himself, because Obi-Wan was turning his head, leaving his face resting against the table top, and gave him an unimpressed glare. “Are you laughing at my pain?”

“No,” soothed Cody, brushing the hair out of Obi-Wan’s eyes. “Just remembering what Bly said in our lecture about the skills we have learnt doing a history degree.”

“Care to share? It might help me out,” asked Obi-Wan.

Cody smirked, “we have learnt to deal with emotionally crippling pain.”

There was a pause, and then Obi-Wan was laughing, his shoulders shaking as he lifted his head up from the table and instead rested it against Cody’s shoulder. “Oh, that’s a good one. I wonder if I could get away with using it?” he mused.

“I have no idea. But like you, I am tempted to use it,” stated Cody, happy to see a bit of life back in Obi-Wan’s eyes. There was nothing more depressing that having to complete a pointless assignment when you had a hundred other things to do that actually mattered for your degree.

They made the collective decision to stop working for the rest of the day, they were both mentally tired and decided they could do with a break. So, they found a film to watch, which led to another film, which led to another, until it was time for them to eat dinner. After they had shared the cooking, eaten and then shared the washing up, they decided to have an early night. Seeing as they both had nine am lectures on campus and arranged to meet in the library afterwards before Cody’s meeting with his dissertation supervisor.

As they stretched out on their bed, Cody pulling Obi-Wan to half lay on top of him, their legs tangled together. Despite the early time of the evening, the warmth and the presence of each other led them both to become drowsy and their eyes flickered heavily.

“Good night Cody,” yawned Obi-Wan, his jaw cracking at the force of the yawn.

“G’night Obi. Love you,” Cody breathed out on a sigh, his eyes closing as he felt himself begin to drift.

“Love you Code,” mumbled Obi-Wan as he pressed his face into the crook of Cody’s neck. With his nose pressed into Obi-Wan’s hair, Cody pressed a kiss against Obi-Wan’s forehead and felt a kiss pressed against his neck in return. With a smile on his face, Cody drifted off into sleep, where university stress faded away until it captured his attention tomorrow, but for now, he was able to sleep peacefully with his boyfriend in his arms.

End note:

I would draw the photo of all the boys in their onesies, but alas I cannot draw so let the image live on in our imaginations. 

Also I really enjoyed writing this AU, so if anyone wants to see more from it (including Rex, Fives, Echo, Wolffe, Fox and Anakin) let me know!

I went to Manchester Metropolitan University and as I loved it there so much, I chose to make it the setting for my AU for codywanweek. The road, buildings, halls and park are real places at the university and writing this fic has just made me want to go back there. I couldn’t come up with a degree for Cody so I just gave him my degree and dissertation focus (so yes there does exist a 10,000-word dissertation on the treatment of shell shock in WWI). At MMU we did call the University of Manchester Uni of, to differentiate between the two universities.

The Black Death lasagne analogy does actually exist in a historical book somewhere. I didn’t actually read it, but one of my flatmates in first year, who also did history, did. He was revising for one of our exams and he excitedly burst into the shared kitchen, saw me and geeked out over the funny analogy, we laughed about it, about how it was such a random analogy to use. (But after a few years I still remember it, so I guess it’s useful.) But then one of our other flatmates, who wasn’t studying history, turned around and complained at us, because she was in the process of making lasagne for her dinner. So, the reactions to Fox’s gleeful explanation of the analogy are based on truth. Our flatmate didn’t want to eat her dinner because of us. As I was writing this fic, the analogy popped back into my head and I felt it would be such a Fox thing to say.

Cody’s line of “we have learnt to deal with emotionally crippling pain” during a career’s lecture. Is something that I heard said in a career’s lecture I had to sit through in my second year. So again, something else in this fic that is based on truth.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Hot Peppers

Pairing: Geraskier

Warnings: i mean unless youre scared for life from a bad experience with spicy 

___________

"I'm not kissing you if you eat that." Geralt's nose crinkled in disgust at the plate of hot pickled peppers a barfly had challenged Jaskier to eat. 

"What? These?" Jaskier, with his flair for the dramatic, stabbed a fork through one and held it under his nose,  the acids bringing tears to his eyes, "Don't be daft, they're just peppers." 

Geralt pointed at him with a fork full of blandly seasoned meat and a small chunk of cheese, "I'm not kidding. Your mouth will not make contact with my body if you eat even one." Geralt regretted it as soon as he said the words, seeing Jaskier’s eyes light up at what he took as a challenge. 

Turning back to the original challenger, Jaskier smirked, “I never was one to back down. Here goes.” He toasted the idiot across from them and popped the whole thing in his mouth, biting off the stem with a rather disgusting squelch. 

Geralt sighed and shook his head, watching as his bard slowly went from pale to crimson, looking more like a tomato than human after a moment. When he ate the second one his heart started beating furiously. On pepper number three he was sweating. By the time he finished the plate, Jaskier was nearly dancing around the table, but he still hadn’t taken a drink of ale. 

The local grumbled in bitter disappointment as he handed over the few gold pieces he’d wagered and disappeared as Jaskier downed his, and then Geralt’s ale. 

“Was it worth it?” Geralt asked, handing him a chunk of cheese meant to suffocate the fire.

Jaskier just grunted, popping the dairy in this mouth and straddling the bench next to him, resting his forehead on Geralt’s shoulder. 

“Can I say ‘I told you so’ yet?”

Jaskier shook his head with a high pitched whine as Geralt flagged down the barmaid for more ale, cold if they had it. 

-------

Hours later, after Jaskier had eaten his weight in cheese and nearly drowned in ale, he was finally able to breathe normally and his heart slowed enough to ease Geralt’s nerves. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier called from the sink in their room, “I can’t feel my tongue.”

The witcher felt a pang of adoration despite the ridiculousness of it all, “I told you so.”

The bard shot him a pout over his shoulder, now brushing his teeth vigorously and attempting to speak around the brush, “Doo shoonb”

Geralt grinned back at him, settling into the chair in the corner with his leather polish and Roach’s bridle. He only managed to clean her chinstrap before the leather was being tugged from his hands and his bard fell into his lap.

“Kiss it better?” Jaskier asked, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s shoulders, one hand cupping the back of his neck in a way that always made him shiver. 

Geralt sighed and leaned his forehead against his bard’s, “No.”

“Geralt!” Jaskier’s whine of protest only made his smile widen.

“I warned you.”

“But I brushed my teeth!”

“I can still smell it. If I can smell it, it’ll definitely burn.”

Jaskier leaned back against Geralt’s arm keeping him from falling off his lap and rolled his eyes, “A kiss for your lover isn’t worth a little spicy burn?”

Geralt brushed his fingers through his bard’s soft, dark hair, doing his best not to look him in those irresistible blue eyes, “If it were just peppercorn, then it would be.”

Jaskier gently gripped Geralt’s wrist, bringing his palm to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on his callouses. When he saw his witcher’s jaw clench, not in the way it was supposed to, he heaved a deep sigh and clasped the hand between both of his. 

“Those damned senses.” 

Geralt hummed in agreement, pulling his bard close to his chest, resting his chin on the crown of his head when the brunet nuzzled into him. His arm draped over Jaskier’s back, hand resting on his shoulder where his thumb lazily drifted back and forth over the edge of his clavicle. It didn’t matter to Geralt how often they touched, he always did his best to commit every moment perfectly to memory. These were the nights he wanted to remember in his old age, not the beasts he fought or the nightmares that haunted him. He wanted to bottle up the peace and comfort for safekeeping when he needed it most. 

Jaskier was smoothing his fingers over the spot on his palm that still stung, his featherlight touch not doing much to soothe the pain, but it spoke of his apology. 

“I love you.” Geralt whispered his declaration as he pressed a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head.

“I love you too. ...you big softie.” 

---------

Geralt woke to Jaskier gently tracing his fingers over his scars, head resting on the witcher's shoulder as he hummed a soft slow tune. He took another beat before opening his eyes, savoring the closeness and basking in the feeling of floating between states of consciousness. When he finally greeted the morning in earnest he was nearly blinded by the light from the window. As he squinted and willed his eyes to do their job, Jaskier propped himself up on an elbow to gaze lovingly down at him. 

His hair, tousled with sleep caught the light like a golden crown, "Good morning, darling." 

Even decades into their relationship, Geralt had to remember how to breathe with him so close sometimes, "Morning love." 

"Did I wake you?" Jaskier asked, resting a hand over Geralt's chest and his chin on the back of his knuckles. 

Geralt shook his head slightly, drinking in his ocean blue eyes like he'd never see them again. 

The bard frowned, "Did you have a bad dream?" 

Geralt simply shook his head again, a small smile gracing his lips. 

"Then why are you staring at me like that?" Jaskier giggled as he spoke, shaking the two of them ever so gently. 

The witcher tilted his head, bringing his hand up to draw a line down his lover's forehead to the tip of his nose, "You're exceptionally beautiful in the morning." 

"If I'd known all I had to do to hear such lovely words was be here when you wake, I'd have done it so much earlier." The blush in Jaskier's cheeks betrayed his cool words. 

"I try to talk more. I do." Geralt mumbled, tapping at Jaskier's bottom lip, momentarily fascinated by the little popping noise it made when he let it snap back up to it's partner. 

Jaskier shimmied up the bed to eye level with his Witcher to kiss him, a little passionate for such an early hour, but he'd been deprived the night before, "I know." 

For a moment Geralt was going to say something so sickeningly sweet even the bard might laugh at him, then the tingling and stinging reached his brain. 

"Ow! Oh shit. Fuck me, that's hot!? What the fuck kind of fucking torture peppers were those!?" He sat up, frantically wiping the spit off his lips, tongue, teeth, anything he could think of with his shirt sleeve.  

Jaskier rolled into his back, more than a little stunned, "You can still taste them? They were just habaneros." 

Geralt scrambled out of bed to turn on the sink, leaning over to stick his whole head under the faucet. 

"No! Geralt, that'll spread it around. Here, I've got some dried meat here somewhere…" Jaskier gripped him by his collar and pulled him away from the sink, keeping a grip on him as he dug through their packs. 

The salt did little to soothe the burn, but the chunks of smoked fat did wonders for his sensitive nerves. After a few minutes of chewing at the gummy tissue the sensation faded to the background and Geralt noticed the delight on Jaskier's face. 

"This isn't funny." 

Jaskier raked his teeth over his lower lip, "I never said it was." 

"You're practically giggling." Geralt argued, standing to spit the chunk of gristle out in the bin.

"You're just so cute. The infamous White Wolf taken down by the day old remnants of a pepper on his lover's lips." Jaskier crossed to him, resting his hands on his hips and laughing in earnest at the pout his words earned, "No more spicy then." 

Geralt kissed his forehead, "No more spicy." 

[goldencatchflies]

𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗺𝗮𝘀 𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗹𝗲𝘀

⇾ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @blakes-dictionxry @spencerreidstie @reese-the-edgy-enby @moreid187 @reidrights @agentshortstacc @hotchnerslut @ssaemxlyprentxss @abitcriminalminds @moreidism @pretty-b0yy // @thestrawberrygirl

⇾ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Jennifer JJ Jareau/Emily Prentiss

⇾ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3737

⊹ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: The BAU finally decides to have a Secret Santa after they realize how much Penelope deserves it.

⊹ 𝐀/𝐍: This was originally gonna be separated into two chapters, but I didn’t wanna keep y’all waiting, so I’m posting it all at once. Credits to @sapphicstruggle for helping me with one of the gifts (Penelope’s), ily babes!!! PS. Like half of this isn’t proofread, so if there are any spelling errors or something sounds off, I apologize :// (yes I’m sleep deprived, no I will not go to sleep)

The month has barely started and the bullpen of the BAU was already the more festive place any of the members had ever seen. Courtesy of one Ms. Penelope Garcia, of course, and even though they weren’t too big on Christmas, they always appreciated the nice little decorations she put up every year. It was a nice change of scenery from that of gruesome bodies and psychotic killers.

As the team exited the elevator on December 11, coming home from a case, they were met with the most beautiful rug. It was large, and a vibrant shade of read, that was just vibrant enough to grab the attention of the team, but not too vibrant to hut their eyes. It had golden swirls at each of the four corners, and the fur was so soft, it almost felt... homey.

They continued walking in, knowing something big would be waiting for them, and they were not disappointed. As the profilers passed through the open glass doors they saw the lights dimly lit, and each of their desks was covered in fairy lights from the outside, and above the desk dividers. Golden garlands were set in hoops at the top of the walls, and rolled around the handrails that led them from the center of the bullpen to the conference room. All of the doors to separate offices had dark green painted door frames, and decorative wreaths that matched each other.

They each looked at their desks and noticed the name tags had changed as well, and once they sat at their individual posts, they all saw a little card with a candy cane tied to it with a nice little ribbon. All but Emily’s. Emily had 2, one assigned to her, the other to the blonde that always sat her desk after cases. The team smiled around at each other, before opening their cards and reading them silently to themselves. They smiled, some chuckled, but no one asked for what was in the other’s cards. It all felt too personal.

“Guys... how do we repay her?” Spencer asked in a soft voice. An idea popped in Derek’s brain, as he started to open his candy cane.

“You know,” he started, getting the team’s attention as Hotch and Rossi left their offices. It was so quiet in there, even through closed doors they could hear Morgan speak. “Every year, she asks for one thing we can’t provide...” they all looked around, watching each other’s reactions.

“You know we’re always away on cases, so we rarely get to spend Christmas together?” He asked, earning a nod and some guilt filled looks from the rest of them. “How about this year... we say screw it!” They all looked around wondering where he was going with this.

“Secret Santa...” Spencer said in a low tone, as realization hit him, and Morgen nodded. They all looked around wondering how the little genius could’ve guessed it.

“I mean think about it!” Morgan said after a while, the rest of them stayed silent. “We never get to do anything just us! Well, anything that isn’t work-related.”

“I agree!” Rossi chimed in. “We could all go to my place on the 24th, I’ll make diner, and with Secret Santa we only need to buy one gift!” He said, earning nods and smiles from the rest of them.

“We could have a sleepover!” Emily said jokingly, but smiled happily when Rossi said it would be fine by him. They all smiled, making small talk, mainly about Jack, Henry and Michael, and how they’d love to have a sleepover at Uncle Dave’s, but the conversation died as they heard an all-too familiar clacking of heels.

They turned around to the hallway leading to Penelope’s office, and saw as the blonde walked away from it, head down as she fumbled around in her purse, too focused to notice the team was there. She was pulled away from her thoughts, however, when she felt 8 arms all around her, looking up to see Emily, JJ, Derek and even Spencer huddled around her, thanking her in hugs. She hugged them back with no hesitation, obviously, but when she saw the bright smile on Hotch and Rossi’s face is when she realized how appreciated she truly is.

They all pulled away from her, and Derek was the one to break the silence.

“Baby girl, we uh...” he started shyly, looking around at the team for some form of confirmation, which he received in form of nods. “We were thinking on doing something a little special this year! We thought we’d all have diner at Rossi’s, spend the night and uh...” he said hesitantly, her smile only getting wider and wider. “We thought about doing Secret Santa!” He revealed, as if he were telling a child they get to go to Disney Land, and her reaction matched it perfectly. She gasped, and when they though her smile couldn’t get any brighter, it did! She wrapped her arms around Derek’s broad shoulders jumping in uncontrollable happiness, and rushed to place a kiss on all their foreheads.

Secret Santa was something she’d been asking for for so long, but every year they never got around to it. This year, with the promise of no cases, suggested by Derek and enforced by Hotch, they knew they had enough time to do all the things they’d been missing out on. And with that they all left the bullpen, each with a card in had that was way too special to be left forgotten in a drawer.

The next day, Penelope sprinted through the office with a colorful box in hand. She called everyone into the bullpen, and placed the box at the exact center of the round table. They all sat down with confused expressions, as the woman started to explain herself.

“In the box, there are 7 papers, each with our names on it.” She began, but couldn’t finish because of Spencer’s rude interruption.

“For Secret Santa? Nice!” He leaned from his place on the table towards the middle, reaching for the box only to get his hand slapped away by Garcia.

“Yes, and you will get your turn, eventually...” she squinted at him, and he leaned back in his chair, murmuring something of an ‘I’m sorry’ under his breath.

“Emily you get to go first, and we’ll go clockwise!” She emphasized. Given that Emily was sitting right next to Spencer, that would mean he’d be the last one, and the team chuckled at the punishment. They took their turns getting each of their papers, smiling and grinning smugly as they eyed the rest of them.

The rest of the week had gone smoothly, and the only cases they had were regional, so they didn’t have to fly to anywhere where their plans could be ruined. They made plans to go to Rossi’s mansion, given that it would mean they each had their own room.

—————

As they entered Rossi’s house mansion, one by one, they set the presents under the Christmas Tree, while they sat around the coffee table centered in the living room, and the couch right behind it. Hotch and Jack were the last ones to arrive, earning mocking cheers from the rest of the team as if it were a miracle. They shared some lighthearted conversation and laughter before Penelope grew impatient with excitement, and decided to start the gift exchange. Luckily, the kids had fallen asleep, and were taken to a guest rooms where they could sleep in peace.

“I’ll go first!” Derek said excitedly. “My person!” He announced, gathering everyone’s. “Can be mea-“

“Emily!” They all said simultaneously, not even letting Derek get a sentence in.

“Well, you’re not wrong, but you could’ve at least play dumb, no?” Derek mocked annoyance as Emily got up from her seat with a smirk. Derek leaned down to pick his present from under the tree. She tore the wrapper apart and gasped when she saw what laid underneath.

“You didn’t!” She said, a large smile growing rapidly on her face. “Derek Morgan, I love you, I love you, I love you!!!” She hugged him excitedly, bouncing on her feet with happiness as she opened the box to show a pair of two butterfly knives, one black and one white. She grabbed one on each hand, but before she could do anything, Derek took it away from her.

“We don’t need anyone loosing eyeballs on Christmas, now do we?!” She scrunched her face, faking mad, while the rest of them laughed. She put her knives back in the box, and gave Derek a tight hug.

“I guess I’m next,” she chuckled nervously before continuing. “My person is...” she pondered on how to describe the team member without making her feeling obvious. “Caring...

They’re always able to connect with the victims, and make a safe space for them. They value family over anything, and they could be a real badass with a gun!” They all shared a chuckle and started calling out JJ’s name. JJ got up, looking down as she made her way to stand next to brunette, trying to hide the blush that had mysteriously made its way onto her face. Emily handed her a flat box covered in colorful paper, and JJ quickly unwrapped it. She gasped, as she let the Christmas themed wrapping fall on the floor and opened the box. Tears started forming in her eyes, as she pulled Emily into a tight hug.

“Thank you!” She managed to choke out between tears as she handed Emily the box. “C-can you-?” Emily nodded as JJ turned around, and removed a silver locket from the box. The team watched the exchange in awe, realizing this was too personal to ask what the gif was. Emily placed it around JJ’s neck, and the blond looked down, opening it one more time. She stared at the picture of her and her sister for a few moments, tracing the oval shape of the necklace with her thumb, before wiping her tears away, and smiling at Emily.

“Jennifer Jareau, you are the strongest person I know!” She said, a whisper so low it sounded like nothing but soft mumbles to the rest of the team. “You have no idea how much you mean to me, Jayje.” Emily brought a hand to rest at JJ’s jaw while she praised the woman.

“And you couldn’t even dream of how far I’d go to protect you. And little Henry. And what I’d do to make sure you were safe!” JJ let a tear stream down her face before leaning forward, and pressing her lips to the brunette’s. The kiss was tender and sweet, as they held each other, even after they broke apart. JJ wrapped her arms around Emily, giving her one last hug. The team cheered lightly, and Spencer gave Emily a knowing look.

“I love you Jennifer Jareau!” Emily whispered against the blonde’s lips. “I love you, Emily Prentiss!” She let another tear fall, before they were pulled out of the moment once more by the team’s ‘awe’s.

“Right!” JJ sighed, as Emily sat back down. “Um, my turn, I guess.” She chuckled lightly, re-composing herself, as she removed her present from the Christmas tree. She smiled back down at Emily one more time, before looking at the rest of them. “My person is... often belittled by those around them, but they carry a special place in our hearts. Others might look at this person and make them seem less, almost infantile, but we know them, and we know just how untrue that is...” before she could finish, they all started looking at Spencer, and she noticed the way Derek looked him like he was the only person in the room. I guess Penelope and I sure got into his head, she thought to herself, as Spencer made his way from the couch around the table to stand next to her. She gave him a warm smile as she handed him his gift. He unwrapped it, and smiled brightly once his eyes landed on the object under the paper.

“JJ!” He looked between her and his gift before giving her a hug. “Thank you so much!” He said, not even bothering to hide his excitement as he ran a hand over where the title was engraved on the hard cover of the book. The Giver, he read to himself, faint happy memories reapering in his head. He flipped the book, demonstrating it to the team, but looking only at Derek. “Look!” He whispered, shaking the book a little, earning a chuckle and a nod from Derek and smiles from the rest of them. “I never actually read it, but my mom used to read this book to me all the time when I was little.”

He looked at the book mesmerizingly, “Thank you so much, JJ!” He smiled at the blonde, pulling her into another hug, and placing a soft kiss to her cheeks. She she sat back down, Spencer placed his book on the table, and fumbled around looking for his present.

“Um, alright, I uh...” Spencer struggled to find his words as he started at the object in hand. He looked at his teammates before continuing. “My person is constantly overlooked by those around them. The one asset that makes them stand out from the rest of the team is constantly brushed aside simply because-“ he stopped himself before he could say something that would completely give away who his person is. “Wha- what I’m trying to say is that, um, they are smarter then people give them credit for, and more caring then people want to admit-“ Spencer sounded infuriated, and Derek got up from his seat, placing a hand on Spencer’s shoulders.

“Is it me?” He asked with a shit eating grin, making Spencer chuckle and blush lightly.

“Yeah,” he breathed out while he nodded, handing the gift to Morgan who gave him a forehead kiss before shifting his attention fully to present. Spencer blushed a little harder thankful that the only light source was the colorful lights from the Christmas tree behind him. Tears filled Derek’s eyes as he unwrapped the gift and opened the box.

“Pretty boy, how-“ he stood there staring at the focus of his attention as shock filled his every facial expression. The thing about Derek Morgan is that you’ll only see his emotions if, A) He wants you too, or B) he’s too comfortable around you to be able to hide them. Something in Spencer’s brain hoped for the latter.

“I managed to pull some strings...” He said, and Derek just smiled at him. He was so lost in Spencer’s eyes he forgot time was passing, and was brought back when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He chuckled awkwardly, removing and reading the text from his mom. Did you get the present? She asked him. He looked back up at Spencer who just nodded. He took a picture of the box in his hand-his gift- that held his father’s badge on a glass frame inside, and sent it to his mom.

“Thank you so much, Spence...” he hugged the boy tightly before letting go. The team looked at them in awe just like earlier, except this time all they got were nervous chuckles and longing stares. As the boys sat back down, Rossi got up from his seat.

Morgan sighed happily, and didn’t miss the way Emily and Spencer looked at each other. He knew how significant both his and JJ’s presents were, and that’s when he realized they probably got it together.

“I’ll go next!” Rossi said, making his way to the other side of the table, right in front of the Christmas Tree.

“My person is probably the only thing holding this team together! Highly likely the reason those two finally got together,” Rossi said pointing to JJ and Emily, “and the reason those two are about to!” He directed his pointer towards Morgan and Reid, where the boys looked down and away from each other, as a blush crept onto their faces.

“They are very charismatic, and always ready to help and make everyone happy!” They all turned their focus towards Penelope, and she got up with a smile. “Merry Christmas kiddo!” He reached around the tree, grabbing one of the enveloped boxes, and handing it to her. She unwrapped her present, her smile growing wider once she saw what the colorful paper had been hiding.

“I love it!” She smiled brightly at the object in hand. She showed off her new desk ornament to her team- a brightly lit frog carved on a piece of glass that was set on a rock with the label ‘don’t froget to love yourself’-before she gave Rossi a tight hug, and he made his way back to his seat. She removed the second to last present from under the tree, her smile not dropping for a single moment.

“My person has a very big heart despite the fact that they try to hide it. They can be very cold, but we all know they’re secretly a big softy!” She described her teammate as she looked around to all of them.

“Hotch!” Emily called out, while they all smiled, and Derek clapped Hotch’s knee with a chuckle. Hotch smiled at Garcia, as she handed him his gift. Hotch smiled as he unraveled a tiny box, revealing two tickets to go see Broadway’s Wicked musical.

“Ok, I know musicals aren’t your think, but-” she explained, but he cut her off giving her a smile.

“It’s perfect, Penelope, thank you!” He said, somehow sounding more formal then he did at work. She smiled at him, and resumed her place on the floor next to JJ and Emily.

“My gift isn’t something really meaningful, like the rest of your but...” Hotch leaned down to take the last present from under the tree as Rossi got up. “Merry Christmas, Dave!” He said, handing the older man his gift. Rossi removed the colorful wrapping to reveal a bottle of some fancy wine no one but Rossi (and Reid, probably) had heard of.

“Good shit, Aaron!” Rossi chuckled, giving Hotch a side hug, as they sat on the floor across from the rest of the team.

They shared lighthearted conversations after that, JJ and Hotch sharing stories about their kids, Spencer and Penelope bonding over Dr. Who while Derek just watched mesmerized, and Rossi seemed a little interested in Emily’s butterfly knife. Eventually they tired themselves out, and decided to turn in, each going to a separate room except JJ and Emily who bunked together.

—————

At around 3, Spencer finally stopped pacing in his room and walked out, heading straight to Morgan’s. He didn’t even think about knocking on the door, but luckily, Morgan was awake watching something on the TV.

“He kid, what’s going on?” He asked, intrigued, and Spencer didn’t let his mind wonder what the covers hid under Derek’s very naked torso.

“Um, about, uh... about your gift...” he scratched his head, struggling to find the right words.

“Is everything ok? Do I have to return it? It’s ok if I do, pret-“ Derek began, getting up from his bed, making his way next to Spencer, and getting cut off by the boy.

“No it’s nothing like that, I just-“ Spencer let out a frustrated sigh as Derek too Spencer’s hand in his. He guided him to sit on his bed, and Spencer immediately fell back, facing the ceiling. “Can I get a do over?” He asked.

“What do you mean?” Derek asked confused, laying down me to him, and they turned and moved until they completely facing each other. Spencer took out a tiny box from his pocket and stared Derek in the eyes.

“I have... something else for you- and you can say no-“ His words started out soft, but turned a little panicky, and Derek just nodded, intrigued. “Ok, so...” he started nervously, not lifting his eyes off the gift in his hand. “My person is the person with the biggest heart I know,” he lifted his gaze momentarily towards Derek before continuing.

“This person manages to get on every single one of my nerves...” he chuckled lightly, “but... they have a special place in my heart. I’d lay my life for them, and I trust them with every part of me. They’re the one I think of when everything is going to shit, and the simple thought of them bring me out of it. They mean more to me then anyone could-“ he tried to swallow his tears, but failed miserably. As tear slipped down his face, he looked up trying to stop the rest of them. “Then anyone could ever imagine...” he smiled sheepishly, as Derek took Spencer’s trembling hands in his own.

Spencer handed him the gift, and Derek took it hesitantly, not taking his eyes off Spencer’s. He opened it to find a ring with the words “bound together through space and time” engraved around the outside and “for 500 years” on the inside. Derek raised his eyebrow and gave the ring back to Spencer, expanding his hand. The boy slid the ring on Derek’s ring finger of his left hand.

“Pretty boy, I-“ Derek let a tear slip down his face, speechless at the gift. He looked at his hand for a few moments before he brought them up to cup Spencer’s face. He placed his lips to Spencer’s, and the boy reciprocated the kiss almost immediately. They broke apart after what felt like an eternity. Spencer chuckled lightly, between the mess of tears they’d made.

“I’ve been waiting so long to do that...” he whispered against Derek’s lips as they smiled. Derek pressed another peck to Spencer’s lips before whispering back.

“I’m glad you finally did... thank you, pretty boy!” He rubbed his thumb on Spencer’s cheek, leaning back in to give him a more passionate kiss. It felt sort of weird that their first kiss was at Rossi’s house, in one of his guest rooms, but laying here with Spencer, kissing him senseless is all Derek could ever ask for. Spencer looked almost angelic under the dim lighting of the room, like his own little angle had come to keep him safe. Even the experience itself felt so surreal to Derek. One could call it, a Christmas Miracle...

[krisdreaming]

A/N: Today is a special day because it’s Em’s birthday, @imaginethathaikyuu​!!! Em is such an amazing writer and a warm & caring person, and I’m so glad that I’ve had the chance to get to know her. This is my humble birthday offering, I hope you enjoy!

This is a college AU!

Here’s the 4+1 masterlist

Four times Keiji thinks he loves you, and the one time he finally says it out loud

i.

When Keiji gets to your dorm, you immediately pull him inside, closing the door quickly behind him. “I’m sorry,” You’re already apologizing, “I didn’t know who else to call.” You lead him to your bed, and there, in a shoe box laying on top of a folded towel, is a tiny kitten. It’s laying eerily still, and he can hear a slight wheezing sound every time it’s small chest rises and falls. 

“I found him on my way back from class, he was laying all curled up by the sidewalk. I couldn’t just leave him there. He needs help.” You reach into the box and ever so gently caress the top of the kitten’s head with your fingertip. 

He’s silent for a few moments, looking into the box and turning the situation over in his head. “I’m pretty sure there’s an emergency vet in town,” He says finally, “I can drive us there.”

You look at him, and there’s a relieved smile breaking across your face. “Really?” You breathe, “Keiji, thank you! You don’t have to do this,” You add quickly, looking back to the frail kitten. If he’s not mistaken, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.

“I want to,” He says firmly. You’re bustling around your dorm to grab a jacket and an extra blanket to swaddle the kitten, wondering aloud if your parents will let you keep the kitten at home if he recovers, but he’s completely still, just watching you.

It’s not the first time he’s caught a glimpse of your big heart. He knows how much you care, it’s part of what drew him to you in the first place. It’s just that now, especially, something is swelling up inside his chest, and it feels an awful lot like I love you. It’s the first time he’s felt it so clearly, and he can’t help the small smile that finds its way onto his face.

ii.

Keiji rests his head on his arms and closes his eyes, just for the few minutes until class starts. He’s lucky if he got three hours of sleep last night, and he hopes he’d studied enough. This midterm is a huge part of his grade, and despite the hours he’d spent in the past week preparing for it, he still doesn’t feel too confident.

He feels a gentle touch on his arm. “Keiji,” at the sound of your voice he looks up, surprised to see you standing by his desk. You aren’t supposed to be here - you have your own class starting in about five minutes. “I thought you might need this,” You laugh softly, and he finally notices the cup in your hand when you set it down on the corner of his desk. It looks like the largest cup of coffee the campus has to offer. He’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Thank you,” He wraps his fingers around it, pulling it closer to himself, but he doesn’t take a sip yet. He’s still looking at you. “This is perfect,” He smiles.

“Good,” You smile back, even bigger. “Good luck today, Keiji. You’ll do great.” You lean in and press the quickest peck to his cheek. The feeling of your lips lingers even after you pull away. 

“Thank you,” He says again, because he isn’t quite sure what else to say. “You should get to class too, right? I’ll see you after.”

“Yup! You’ve got this!” You grin before you lift your hand in a quick wave and duck out of the classroom. He watches the door even after you disappear from view, his hand resting absently on his cheek at the spot where you’d placed your kiss. 

he muses that it’s probably a good thing you hadn’t stuck around any longer. Something like the words I love you might have slipped out past his sleep-deprived brain.

iii.

Keiji glances from his spot on the court to the place he knows you’ll be in the stands. When you see him looking your way, you immediately lift both both hands above your head in an exaggerated wave. He waves back at you, quickly, before the next volley starts.

Even though he’s only on the intramural team and the stands are rarely packed, you still show up at every single one of his matches. Even though this is nothing like the Black Jackals match he took you to once, no roaring crowd or big, bright stadium lights or fancy official uniforms with sponsor patches, you’re always telling him how exciting it is to watch him play. You mean it, too. He can tell.

“You don’t have to come every time, you know,” He says, afterwards, as he walks you back to your dorm. “It’s nothing special, so I don’t expect you to always be there.”

“I want to be there, silly.” You shove your shoulder against his, and he uses it as an excuse to reach for your hand, sliding his fingers between yours. “You love volleyball, and I love watching you play. If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me.” You’re important to me. I love you. He thinks it, but somehow he can’t make himself say it out loud. Instead, he gives your hand a squeeze and tugs you a little closer.

“Thanks,” He says, stopping just for a moment to press a quick kiss to your lips.

You giggle softly. “What was that for?”

He shakes his head, a small smile playing across his lips. “Nothing in particular.”

iv.

Keiji is trying very hard not to move. The train is jostling enough as it is, and you had fallen asleep on his shoulder almost as soon as the train had started moving. He can’t blame you. It had been a long day, and you’d done a lot of walking. 

He can just make out your face in the reflection on the train window. It looks so soft and peaceful. Your lips are slightly parted, and you let out the softest sigh. Something washes over him, then - an overwhelming desire to protect you, to keep you safe, to stay by your side for as long as you’ll have him. He’s not sure where it came from.

While he’s still lost in thought, your stop comes up. Gently, he nudges you awake, and you blink at him blearily, confusion on your face for a few moments before you remember where you are.

“Oh, sorry,” You murmur, “Didn’t mean to fall asleep. You could’ve woken me.” You rub some sleep from your eyes, and he gives your cheek the softest pinch. You scrunch your nose at that, standing to exit the train.

“Nah, you looked so peaceful. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” He rests his hand at the small of your back for a fraction of a second as you step off the train, and when you’re on the platform, you turn to him and grin.

“Oh?” You ask cheekily, a teasing glint in your eyes.

He nods, then quickly changes the subject. “Okay, let’s go. We need to get you to bed.”

v.

This day is definitely not turning out the way Keiji had envisioned it. When he woke up to the patter of rain hitting the windowpanes, his heart sank. He’s been planning this romantic little picnic for a few weeks now, as a way of celebrating your six month anniversary and, as a bonus, the perfect time to finally, finally tell you what he’s been feeling for so long. And now it’s raining. Even if it stops raining, the cute little park near campus is going to be soaked. 

“We can do it some other time,” You say over the phone, and he sighs. Who knows when ‘some other time’ could end up being? The end of the semester is getting closer, and he’d been lucky this weekend had worked out for both of your schedules. He lets the gears turn in his head for a few moments before responding.

“No. Come to my dorm. We can still hang out.” He looks around the room, already figuring out what he’ll do to make the place look even a little bit nicer. All he’ll have to do is make sure his roommate keeps himself scarce, and it could work.

“Okay,” You say, and he can hear the smile in your voice, “I’ll be over around noon?”

“Perfect,” He agrees. It gives him just a little more than two hours to make some preparations.

When you get to his dorm, he watches the way your expression changes when you walk into the room. You look from the blanket and pillows spread out on the ground, to the candles he’d lit (and paid his roommate 2,000 yen not to tell anyone about), and to the big bouquet of flowers. Your lips form a small, surprised O, and he pats the spot on the blanket next to him, inviting you to join him.

“Keiji,” You breathe as you sink down, still taking everything in, “This is beautiful. Honestly.”

“For a dorm room,” He chuckles, handing you a bottle of your favorite drink. “Would’ve been better in the park, but...” He shrugs and gestures to the window, where you can see the rain outside still falling.

“This is so cozy, though!” You murmur happily, scooting in a little closer so you’re just leaning against him. He shifts so that the arm bracing him up is also resting against your back. “All this, just for six months.” You laugh softly.

“Of course,” He says, his nose just brushing your cheek when he turns to see your face better, “These last six months have been wonderful. Truly. I’m really glad that I could spend them with you.” 

“Keiji,” Your voice is almost a squeak, “So am I. It’s been perfect.”

“Yeah,” He agrees, turning so you’re practically face to face and reaching for your hand, holding it loosely and brushing his thumb across the back of it. Your smile drops off and you study his face, then, almost as though you’re waiting for something. He’s been waiting too.

“Y/N,” His voice drops lower and softer, “You’re incredible. I’m amazed by you, every day. Sometimes I don’t know why you’d want to be with me,” He chuckles softly at the frown that puckers your brow at that, “But I’m glad you do. And... I love you, Y/N. So much. And I will keep on loving you for as long as you’ll let me.” For a few moments, the only sound is the rain falling outside as his words sink in. Then, all at once, you close the distance between you and throw your arms around his neck.

“Keiji,” Your words are muffled against the skin of his neck, “I love you too. Oh my god, I love you so much.” You pull back, then, and with the way you’re looking at him, like he’s the only person in the world, he can’t help himself. He cups your face in his hands and kisses you like he means it, because he does. More than anything.

4+1 taglist (let me know if you want to be added!):

@luna-barnes14​, @herow1n​, @disgruntled-gay​