#SOBBING SHAKING THROWING UP THIS COMMUNITY IS SO NICE I LOVE YOU ALL

[lavalampstealer]

I want to make an appreciation post for the IEYTD tumblr community because its not talked about enough. I love you guys :)

When I first got into these games a few months ago, I had no idea how to find other people or content creators. I started out on insta where I had trouble finding other people and it was really lonely. The discord was/is better and there are some cool people on there as well but about 70% of the new people who were joining were just looking for the release date (it’s gotten better recently and there are great creators there but its more focused on the games themselves than the characters/story). Then because of a friend, I tried tumblr and my god I love it here.

There’s tons more art and people here than I thought there would be and I cannot stress enough how awesome it is seeing everyone’s takes on characters. The Phoenixes and Handlers in particular are my favorites because its like I get to see a little bit of the artist in Phoenix, and who doesn’t love the funny, quippy British voice? They’re so diverse, I love how something as small as a little scar has a whole backstory for it. I find it fascinating to see how many people see Phoenix’s color as red (no hate at all, I love them!). Not to mention the posts about the Fabricator, Juniper, Zor, Solaris, Prism, etc, I love all of these characters and the nuances in their personalities.

The fics I’ve seen are so interesting, shout out to all the writers you guys are AMAZING!! I’ve got to get better at sitting down to actually write my own but some of my favorites on Ao3 are Red String, Spying the Liar, Rising From the Ashes, or so to Speak, Issue is Spelt with a “U” (And an “I” too), Such Lovely Feathers on Your Turncoat, and last but ABSOLUTELY not least, all of Calivide’s works. Seriously I love all of these, I’m such a sucker for angst, fluff, and good writing. If I’ve missed any other good ones or if you have your own, PLEASE reblog or comment or ping me or share them in some way, I’d love to check them out :)

To all of the text posts and people who discuss the silly goobers with me, I love you. To all the people who analyze or make funny shitposts about the characters, I love you (shout out to @/calivide’s in-depth analysis of Juniper I want to use it as reference for something ITS SO DETAILED AND ACCURATE MY GOD I LOVE IT). To all the people who read my ramblings about characters, I love you. To all the artists, I love you. To all the writers, I love you. To all the people who reblog each other’s stuff, I love you. To all the people helping to keep this little fandom of spies going, I love you.

I haven’t been here long but I’ve felt so appreciated and welcomed, and I can only hope that I’ve gotten the chance to make other people feel the same way. Please never hesitate to ping me or leave an ask if you ever want to talk about these games, I’d love to chat <33

I love you all and I’m making you all grilled cheeses

(me whenever someone likes one of my posts (i cant say it enough all of you are so sweet and make me wanna implode /pos))

[bellafragolina]

Attached

gonna start by thanking @peachsodama for having such a big brain. i have not stopped thinking about this for a second, and if i have it's to think about things that tie into this, so thank you peach. i love you <3

none of this is canon by the way. i'm throwing my own spin on the hivemind au. it's up to peach if she wants anything to be canon or whatnot

🍓🍓🍓

Those before never treated their puppets nicely. They drained them, forced them to work themselves to death, then threw them aside when they were no long useful. Ingo and Emmet both were horrified by this treatment of puppets, things that should be cherished instead of abused, so when they set off on their own, they knew they would do things different, better.

Ingo is the first on to acquire a "guest," as he likes to call them. He attaches himself to you, feels your thoughts in his head, and your energy like a soft red wine (or whatever humans say). You cry, and you scream, and you rage within your own mind, but Ingo knows you're better this way. You're healthy, taken care of, and protected by him and Emmet too, as he searches out his own puppet while learning from Ingo how to take care of one.

There are battles, as Ingo struggles to understand what your body needs and how to accommodate it, but he's happy to do it. To feel your mind slowly calm, accept him, stop fighting him at every turn, and instead just be within its own thoughts and daydreams. He grows to enjoy the times where he lets you dictate yourself, no longer clawing or shouting at him, but instead lying with him to "cuddle" or something similarly calm.

So very calm.

You've become so calm.

Too calm.

Ingo doesn't know why he doesn't notice it. The lack of brain activity should be a red alarm, yet it doesn't strike him. The busy days at the Gear Station, guiding you and coaxing trust out of the other Depot Agents lead him to being distracted. Until he suddenly realizes he hasn't heard you think anything for quite some time.

Pains gnaw at him as he takes you to an empty break room. He checks you over for any injury he could've somehow missed, but there are none. Your eyes are hollow, your frown hard set into your face to match his own.

The pain makes itself known as hunger once he pulls away control from you, and you collapse to the floor.

You're not moving.

Ingo shakes you, prods at your mind, does anything he can think of to rouse anything out of you. But you don't respond, lying on the floor with gentle breaths and unseeing eyes.

Vegetative, the paramedics that come for you call it. Ingo watches them reel you away, communicator clutched in his hand, and by the looks of it, they're not coming back.

Emmet presses close to his brother as he sobs of the loss of his first guest, one he treasured so dearly. He already feels alone in his head, your daydreams of dancing Cutieflies in colorful meadows missing, leaving his world in sad monochrome.

"Don't get attached." The words echo in his ears. He connects to another human, hands shaking as he recognizes that soon this one will die like all the ones before it. "They are not worth it. Don't get attached."

He attaches anyway.

🍓🍓🍓

ta-da!

i'm embarrassed so that's all from me folks!

~Renee

[so-writing]

On Christmas, you tell the truth. 1/2 - Matthew Tkachuk

On Christmas, you tell the truth. But, at the same time, breaking up is hard to do.

*

December 3, 2020

Your nerves had you up earlier than usual and fussing around the kitchen like a crazy person. You were scrubbing counters that were already clean and constantly switching out the mug you were going to pour your coffee into as soon as it was done.

“Calm down,” you told yourself, “everything is fine.”

Apollo, the young German shepherd the two of you had recently adopted, could sense your anxiety and he was dancing around the kitchen the nearly the same as you were.

“Buddy,” you knelt down and scratched his ears, “I’m sorry. When dad’s home I’ll stop being a nutcase, I promise.”

Matthew Tkachuk was not someone you’d just started seeing. It was the complete opposite, actually, because you’d been together for almost three years. It was, however, the first time in your relationship that you went multiple days with no communication.

“Everything is fine,” you told yourself as you locked the door behind you and headed to your car to pick Matt up from the airport.

I know you haven’t landed but I’m on my way there now.

He didn’t respond, obviously, but you still couldn’t shake the weird vibe you were feeling as you drove to Calgary International Airport. The airport was spacious and it took you a few minutes to reach the arrivals gate where Matt’s flight would deplane but you managed to find it pretty quickly and tucked yourself into an uncomfortable chair in the corner of the room.

Here, Matty, can’t wait to see you.

Matt’s plane eased up to the gate and you did your best to keep your nerves in check as the passenger bridge stretched out to meet the door. You kept your eyes on the entrance to the airport, anxiously waiting for those gorgeous curls and beautiful white smile to appear.

When the passenger bridge began to fold up and pull away from the plane, and Matt was nowhere to be found, you began to panic. What the fuck was going on? Where was he?

Each time you called him, it rang once or twice before going to voicemail. Finally, on the fifth try, you got a response. Matt didn’t answer his phone but he did send a brief text message.

I’m not coming back yet, and I’m not coming back to you at all.

It felt like your heart stopped, like it fell out of your body and you were looking at it laying on the dirty airport floor as it struggled to beat and bled all over the carpet.

What happened?

He didn’t respond right away, giving you just enough time to run to the nearest bathroom and lock yourself in a stall before you fell apart.

This just isn’t working anymore. Honestly, it hasn’t worked in a while.

“Oh,” you said out loud, “that’s hilarious, Matthew.”

You did your best to keep your voice down but the love of your life had just ended your years long relationship via text message, so fuck it.

“It’s so funny that I’m actually laughing,” you weren’t, nearly sobbing was an option though, “because I’m pretty sure you fucking proposed to me last week, asshole.”

“Uh, miss?”

The voice of a stranger pulled you out of your episode, “what?!”

“Are you okay?”

“Definitely fucking not,” you sank to the ground while wiping the tears and ruined makeup from your face.

“Can I do anything?”

“Kill my fiancé? Well, he’s an ex now. Can you kill him anyway?”

“I can’t really do that, but I can walk you to your car or help you get a ride if you’d like?”

This stranger was showing you more kindness than Matt had of late and you couldn’t help yourself from crying again as you pulled yourself off the ground and exited the stall.

“Thanks, sorry, I’m so sorry, thank you so much for being nice to me while I throw a tantrum like this.”

“I’ve seen worse, miss, let’s get you out of here.”

His name was Nolan and he worked on the evening maintenance staff at the airport. He had been married to his high school sweetheart for three years and they had a baby on the way. He was kind, kinder than most people would probably be, and you were more than thankful for it.

“This one’s mine,” you spoke as you unlocked your car with the key fob, “thank you for this. You’ve been kinder and more accepting than you know.”

Nolan listened to you pour your heart out about Matt as he guided you through the airport to the parking garage without saying a word or passing any judgement. Lm

Thank fucking hell for people like Nolan.

“I just have one question, if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all, what is it?”

“Why is it that our relationship was solid only one fucking week ago with my family on goddamn Thanksgiving and all of a sudden he’s now willing to end it all? Like honestly, what the fuck? Why the fuck would he do this?”

“I.. I couldn’t tell you, miss.”

“Why would he propose, Nolan? If he knew he was going to end it, why the fuck would he ask me to marry him?!”

He said nothing and you suddenly felt guilty for unloading your bullshit onto a complete stranger.

“I’m sorry, Nolan, I’m so sorry. I’m just, I’m fucking going through it.”

“I know,” he was solemn, “if I were you, I’d demand answers. As far as I know, you don’t propose to someone you really love only to end the relationship a week later, just my two cents though.”

He wasn’t wrong, and it was in that moment that you realized you were more grateful to a complete stranger to anyone else in your life.

“Thanks, Nolan.”

“You’re welcome, good luck.”

You watched him walk away before unlocking your door and jumping into the driver’s seat.

“One more thing,” Nolan shouted across the parking garage, “make him pay for it.”

***

November 26, 2020, Thanksgiving

“We’re going to keep this to ourselves, right?”

“Of course, babe. None of my family knows your nutritionist so we’re good to eat whatever the fuck we want with no consequences!”

Turkey, ham, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, stuffing and everything else Thanksgiving sat on the table in front of you both.

“I am going to eat until I explode.”

It was the second Thanksgiving with Matt, but the first one you spent together and with your family.

“Matthew,” your mother asked, “more mashed potatoes?”

“Yes, ma’am, always.”

“Anything else?”

You didn’t miss the brief look shared between your younger sister and him before they returned their attention to the table.

“Not yet, ma’am.”

Matt was entirely too proper, always calling your mother ma’am, but she found it adorable and didn’t discourage it.

“Are you guys done with the fancy shit? I want pumpkin pie!”

Everyone at the table laughed but you were too fixated on your father cutting up the pie to notice your mother, sister and Matt making stealthy moves behind you.

“Here,” your father handed you a plate full of pumpkin pie, “let’s eat on the porch?”

“Sure.”

Snow started to fall in the most perfect way. Big, thick flakes fell slowly as they landed in your hair and on your pie.

“Dad, we should go in, it’s snowing.”

“I know, not yet though. Just wait.”

The two of you continued to eat your pumpkin pie on the porch as the snow fell around you. When your pie was gone and your hair was nearly soaked with snowflakes you started to protest.

Your words caught in your throat when you turned to go back inside and saw Matt standing just outside the door in the most dashing suit you’d seen him in yet.

“Can I have a minute?”

Yes. Yes. Yes. Absolutely fucking yes. Matthew Tkachuk could have a million fucking minutes and if he asked for more, you’d gladly give them to him.

“I suppose so.”

He stepped out into the snow and your eyes caught the snowflakes falling into his curls.

“What’s going on, Matty?”

“Well,” he dropped to one knee and pulled a ring box out of his pocket, “I was thinking about proposing.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely yeah.”

He gently grabbed your hand and pulled you off the porch and down into the yard. Snow was falling heavily but it only added to the moment.

“You are my person, my girl, my everything. You are it for me, always have been.”

You were both wet from the cold snow but there wasn’t a time in your life you’d felt warmer. It was always obvious to you that something about Matthew was different than all your other relationships, but this clinched it. This was the real thing and this was the man you were going to spend the rest of your life with.

“Will you make me the happiest man in the world? Will you marry me?”

***

December 15, 2020

If someone knocked on your door right at that moment, and you actually willed yourself out of bed to answer, they would probably think you were a homeless person squatting in a disgusting apartment.

Thank god for contactless delivery.

The kitchen sink was full of dirty dishes and the counters were cluttered with empty takeout containers. There were random articles of clothing spread throughout every room in the apartment and your bedding hadn’t been changed or washed since you returned home from the airport the day Matt ended things.

You showered everyday but it never actually made a difference because you didn’t bother to wash your hair or clean your body, opting instead to lay in the bottom of the tub and cry while water poured down over you.

It was pitiful. You were pitiful but you didn’t care. The only thing that had been keeping you sane was Apollo and even he got tired of your misery. You had asked a friend, Avery, to keep him for a few days while you got yourself together but a few days turned into a few weeks and when she finally called around to ask what was going on with him, you took a few more blows to the heart.

“I know you’re going to be mad at me,” she sighed on the other end of the line while you braced yourself for whatever it was she was going to say.

You could take it, probably, “but I reached out to Matt.”

“For what? Why?”

The sound of someone else saying his name made your stomach hurt, and the thought of someone in your life speaking to him while you weren’t had tears sliding down your cheeks once again.

“Babe, Apollo is not my dog, I love him, but he’s not mine. You’re not in a place right now to care for a dog and since he is also Matt’s, I figured maybe he could come get him.”

“He can’t. He’s not even in Calgary.”

“Babe, he is in Calgary. He can’t have stayed in St. Louis this whole time, there are games between now and Christmas.”

Matt was back in Calgary and he never bothered to tell you or come home? As far as you were concerned, he still fucking lived in your apartment and it definitely showed because all his things were there.

“Well, that’s news to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So what’s happening? Is he coming to get Apollo? Does he not want him anymore? What?”

She was silent for a moment before speaking slowly, carefully planning what to say.

“He’s coming to get him but he asked me not to tell you when because, well, he didn’t go into detail or anything but he doesn’t want to see you.”

Another hot knife sliding across your skin, another wave of tears and this time, for the first time, anger.

“Tell me when he’s coming to get my dog. Tell me right now, you are closer to me than you ever were to him, Avery.”

“I know.”

“So tell me, now.”

“He left about twenty minutes ago. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d come over here and confront him and you’re not ready for that.”

“You don’t get to decide that. He’s back in fucking Calgary and we haven’t even spoken! This is his home and he hasn’t bothered to show up here! Where the fuck is he even staying?!”

You felt your voice rising as anger flooded through you. She was obviously right, you were definitely not ready to see Matt but it felt so deeply personal and painful that he was back in town and hadn’t bothered to even show up to gather his things or offer you any type of explanation for the current events.

I don’t know where he’s staying, he didn’t divulge that information and I wasn’t going to ask. Fuck, I didn’t keep this from you to hurt you, I would never do that. I did it because I don’t want him to see you like this. I don’t want him to see you still so broken while he isn’t at all. It isn’t fair.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re probably right,” you squeezed your eyes shut to stop another wave of tears from falling, “what am I supposed to do though? He’s back here and now he’s got my--our--dog and I'm just nothing to him. I’ve never felt so fucking small, Avery.”

The two of you spoke for a few more minutes and she convinced you to meet her for breakfast in the next couple of days because you ‘needed to get the fuck out of both your head and your home.’ You said goodbye to her and placed your phone face down on the kitchen counter as you pondered over the conversation.

I don’t want him to see you still so broken while he isn’t at all. It isn’t fair.

He wasn’t hurting at all? Probably because he was fucking thriving with whoever the fuck it was that got in the way of your relationship. She was probably skinny and beautiful with perfect skin and flawless hair and a credit score of 850.

It isn’t fair.

No it wasn’t, it definitely wasn’t fucking fair. Matt dropped you like a bad habit on fire and you got no reason as to why it even happened in the first place. He owed you something, whether it be the legitimate reason or a lie entirely, he owed you. You’d been together for years and he had just placed a gorgeous diamond on your left hand with a look in his eyes that read forever. What had happened to change everything?

***

December 24, 2020, Christmas Eve

“Merry Christmas, Apollo,” you waved a new dog toy in the air, “wherever the fuck you are, because you’re definitely not here.”

Twenty one days had passed since Matt ended your relationship and you still hadn’t had any contact with him. He was probably home in St. Louis now, but he’d been back to Calgary since you last had contact because of hockey. Three weeks alone in your ‘shared’ apartment and it sounded like it was just the first of many to come.

You missed him. You missed Apollo. You missed Matt. You missed your past and everything that came with it. Roadies were nothing compared to this. It had gotten pretty obvious that he wasn’t coming back, probably ever, and you needed to pick yourself up from the ground, dust off, and move on.

It didn’t feel right putting up the big tree that you and Matt usually decorated together while dancing around sipping wine and listening to Christmas music, but you couldn’t abandon the holiday entirely. The sparse, cheap two foot christmas tree you bought last minute and hastily decorated felt like enough that year.

Christmas wasn’t truly Christmas without a classic movie, and you were too focused on the television in front of you to hear a key turn in the lock.

“Hello?”

The sound of a man’s voice had you jumping off the couch and screaming louder than probably necessary.

“Whoa, whoa, sorry.”

He held his hands up in defense and it wasn’t until you realized who it was that you let your guard down and stopped yelling.

“Johnny, what the fuck are you doing here?! It’s Christmas eve!”

“I’m here to grab some stuff for Matt.”

“On Christmas eve? He’s probably not even in town.”

Johnny looked to the ground as he hovered in the doorway. It was the second time you guessed Matt wasn’t in Calgary and it felt like it was also the second time you were wrong.

“So he is in Calgary then? That’s surprising, he’s such a family man.”

Johnny winced at the tone of your words before breaking his silence and surging forward.

“I’m sorry,” he said into your hair as he pulled you into a tight hug, “I don’t know what the fuck he’s thinking right now.”

It felt good to finally get the tiniest bit of closure. Johnny wasn’t Matt but maybe he could offer some kind of explanation, you’d take anything at that point.

“Why are you here, Johnny? Why isn’t he? Why hasn’t he come home yet? What is going on? What did I do?”

Word vomit fell past your lips faster than you could stop it but it was the first, tiniest bit of line Matt was throwing for you and you were definitely taking the bait.

“I can’t answer most of that, but I can tell you that he’s been staying with us and that Apollo is good, really good. He’s such a happy dog.”

“I know, it’s like he takes after his parents, oh wait..”

“Shit, I'm sorry. This is weird and I don’t like it. Matt’s staying at mine though, and he’s fine.”

“Of course he is. Is he ‘new girl fine’ though?”

“I’m not supposed to be on your side, but yeah, he’s that level of fine.”

“Holy fuck.”

Holy fuck. You collapsed into yourself and began to sob while Johnny broke your fall and helped you to the ground, holding you while you sobbed into his jacket. If Matthew was already with someone else, there was no way they weren’t communicating when he asked you to marry him. There was no way he wasn’t emotionally, and maybe physically, cheating on you.

“How long?”

He shrugged his shoulders and pulled you closer, “longer than you want to hear. I know you don’t want to hear any of this but I'm tired of lying for him. He shouldn’t have proposed to you.”

If you didn’t want to disappear into a black hole before, you definitely did now. What was the point anymore? The man you trusted and loved and planned to spend the rest of your life with had been fucking around on you and lying about it. You weren’t sure how long you sat on the floor and cried to one of Matt’s closest friends and teammates but when you finally started to get it together, you asked the real question.

“Why are you here, Johnny? It’s Christmas eve, you should be home with your wife. What did he send you to get?”

“The ring. The better question is for you though, why are you still wearing it?”

“I don’t know,” the diamond sparkled on your finger, “I guess I was hoping for the best.”

The ring Matt had picked out for you was beautiful, more beautiful than you could have imagined but it felt fake and cheap now, almost like it was given to you based on a total lie.

You weren’t going to give in so easily. If Matt wanted his precious ring back, he would have to man up and come get it himself. He wasn’t going to get away with sending someone else to do his dirty work and ride off into the sunset with his new girl.

“If he wants it, he knows where it is. He can come get it himself, he knows where I live. Once upon a time, he used to live here too. Will you remind him of that?”

You and Johnny spoke for a little while longer before exchanging goodbyes. He went without the ring and you were left alone wondering who the fuck Matt had left you for.

Do not ask other people to get their hands dirty just so you can keep yours clean, Matthew. It’s all for nothing because they were never clean anyway, you fucking cheater.

You had no idea whether or not Matt had blocked your number, but you were so pissed off and hurt that you didn’t care. He had no problem leaving you in the rearview mirror so you matched his energy, deciding to call him out on his bullshit.

***

December 25, 2020, Christmas

It would’ve been easy to go home to your parents, who happened to live only twenty minutes away, and spend the holiday with them but you weren’t exactly up to it. Johnny’s surprise visit and the news he shared broke your heart even more than you already thought was possible.

Matt didn’t respond to your text, but it was delivered and read a few hours later, so he at least acknowledged it. How nice of him to not block your number, what a kind soul.

Determined to keep wallowing in your own pity, you googled ‘sad christmas movies without a happy ending’ and started with the one people thought was the most miserable and started working your way down the list.

At about 9pm, your phone rang and when you saw who was calling, your breath caught in your throat.

Chantal Tkachuk.

Other than Johnny, who was kind of forced into it, no one in Matt’s life had reached out to you since before the break up. You were close to both Matt’s younger sister, Taryn, and Brady’s long term girlfriend but neither one of them made any attempt to see how you were doing. They were obviously Matt’s people before they were yours, so it made sense, but it still hurt a lot.

The Tkachuks had become a second family to you and not only had Matt ripped himself away from you, he also took them too.

“Hello?”

You couldn’t stop the waver in your voice and she definitely heard it.

“Oh, honey,” she instantly went into mom mode, “how are you?”

“I’ve been better,” you were openly crying now, once again.

“I know, and I'm so sorry. I really don’t know what happened.”

“Me neither, because everything was fine and we were engaged and the next thing I know, I’m waiting at the airport for someone that isn’t going to show up and i’m getting dumped through text message.”

Chantal was silent for a few moments and you could feel tension easing itself into the phone call. On one hand, you’d been like another daughter to her for several years now, but Matt was her oldest son and she was always going to take his side regardless of the situation.

“I don’t even know what to say right now, I'm just so sorry. Whatever he was thinking or going through, he shouldn’t have handled it the way he did. He shouldn’t have proposed if he wasn’t ready.”

It flew out of your mouth without a thought and you immediately regretted it, “you mean he shouldn’t have proposed if he was cheating?”

You weren’t talking to just anyone, you were talking to Matt’s fucking mother, stop speaking so candidly, “oh my god, Chantal, i’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

“I can’t exactly be mad at you for it, I don’t know for sure if that was what was happening but based on the timeline of events, assumptions can be made.”

That was the most you were going to get out of her and you knew it. She was wording her thoughts delicately to avoid using ‘cheating’ and her precious son in the same sentence. It shouldn’t have, but like everything else that was fucking happening, it hurt.

“I still shouldn’t have said it, not to you. I’m sorry.”

The call got kind of awkward as she brushed off your apology and began asking you about your life and how you’ve been, like her son hadn’t ruined your fucking life.

Did you have a good holiday? No. Do you have any fun plans for New Years? No. How has work been? I’ve been calling off a lot because I'm constantly having a breakdown.

“I know things are tense and weird right now, but I’m still here. You can always reach out to me if you need anything at all.”

It wasn’t true, but you thanked her anyway. You knew this was probably the last contact you’d have with Chantal Tkachuk. The word goodbye felt heavy on your tongue but you said it anyway and ended the call.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered into your once happy, now empty apartment.

***

December 31, 2020, New Year’s Eve

“I’m glad you’re coming out with me tonight.”

“I don’t know why I am, you gave my dog away.”

“Shut up,” Avery gently punched you in the shoulder, “i’d still have him now if I didn’t. Besides, it’s not like I threw him out on the street.”

“Yeah, I guess, I wonder how he likes his new mom.”

“Shut up, we’re not talking about Matthew tonight. Tonight is about you and moving on. Moping time and feeling sorry for yourself is over.”

“Does it have to be?”

“Yes.”

In the spirit of new beginnings, Avery chose a bar neither of you had ever been to. It was a little more high end than you expected but it was a nice change of pace. With the exception of work and running to the grocery store, you’d barely been out of your place in almost a month.

Avery made sure your glass was never empty as more of your friends joined the party and you mingled with them and strangers alike. You had to admit that it was nice to get out of your head and spend some time around people that actually care for you. You’d been spending so much time thinking about the one that didn’t that you’d been taking for granted the ones who did.

Midnight crept closer and you were pleasantly tipsy and enjoying yourself quite a bit.

It was nowhere near perfect but this evening, surrounded by your friends and drinks and excitement, was almost ok. It was the first time in a month you felt whole and even a little bit excited about what was to come in your future.

You decided you were going to start looking for a new place to live as soon as you woke up the next morning and a few of your friends were even coming over to help you start packing later in the day.

No one was openly saying it was time for you to move on, but they were hyping you up in such a way that it only felt right. Finally.

“Three minutes to midnight!”

Someone out of sight shouted and you froze, because you knew that voice and if Brady Tkachuk was here at this bar in Calgary that meant one thing.

Turning in the direction his voice had come from, your eyes desperately scanned the rooftop in search of him, hoping he would be with just his brother and teammates and that what you actually saw wasn’t real.

It was real though, it was too real and the sight of them together made your stomach hurt. You did your best not to think about what she might have looked like, but seeing her in the flesh had you spiralling. This girl, Matt’s new girl, the one he had completely abandoned you for, really didn’t look any different than you did. It was almost worse than her being your complete opposite. You couldn’t focus on her too long though, as usual, Matt’s presence alone commanded your attention.

You hadn’t seen him in such a long time. His curls had gotten longer and he had more facial hair and you hated how good he looked in the sleek black suit he was wearing. You’d never seen it before and it was another knife to your heart to realize that he’d gone out and bought new clothes instead of coming home to get his own.

“Let’s go downstairs, come on,” Avery had seen him too, “this is not going to happen.”

Throwing back the contents of your champagne flute, you thrust it into her hand, “of course it is. This was bound to happen right?”

The liquid courage running through your veins and stopping your brain from thinking rationally had taken control and you were marching over to Matt before anyone in your group could stop you.

“Well if it isn’t my roommate, so nice to see you’re back in Calgary. I’m glad you got home safe, where have you been staying? Because it’s definitely not been our apartment.”

The tone of your voice was sharp enough to cut glass but Brady was in front of you before you could get a reaction from Matt, “this is not the place. Please, go back to your friends.”

“I think I’ll stay here, actually.”

Stepping around Brady, you made eye contact with your ex for the first time since he left. He looked a lot less worried and a lot more smug than you’d hoped.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

The crowd around you began chanting the countdown to the new year but you stayed in place, refusing to be the one to break eye contact first.

“Seven! Six! Five!”

Avery was beside you now and begging, “come on please, let’s get out of here?”

“Four! Three!”

“He’s going to fucking kiss her in front of you,” Brady shouted over the chant, “listen to your friend, you don’t want to see!”

“Two! One!”

You won the battle, but not the war, because Brady was spot on. When Matt’s eyes left yours they met those of his new flame and their lips connected.

“Happy New Year!”

It probably should’ve hurt, like everything else he did in the last month, and maybe it would at some point, but anger had taken control at that point.

A bitter, hollow laugh crawled up your throat, “you’re such a dick, I can’t believe I’ve been wasting all this time moping over you.”

“I can’t believe I’ve been so hurt over a guy who broke up with me over a text message and was too much of a coward to face me that he just literally never came home. Nice suit by the way, you’ve got a closet full of them back at my apartment.”

While strangers around you were celebrating, no one in your bubble said a single word. So you kept going.

“I don’t have your ring on me,” you turned your attention on the girl attached to him briefly, “he proposed to me actually, but if I did I’d throw it off the side of this building. She’s above used merchandise. That’s why you wanted it back, right? So you could give it to someone else?”

Matt kept silent as you hurled accusations and insults at him but his face had fallen considerably and it wasn’t until a soft “can we please go?” came out of his new girlfriend’s mouth that you stopped.

You were done, completely and entirely, with Matthew Tkachuk.

“I’ll actually remove myself from the situation, let you lovers enjoy your night. Happy New Year, bud, take care, hope to see you never.”

You crowded into an Uber with Avery and a few others, everyone excitedly cheering you on for standing up to Matt. It felt good, better than you thought it would, and you didn’t even cry.

Your phone vibrated with a text message that you definitely didn’t expect.

Didn’t think you had that in you. Not mad at it though and definitely glad I got to see it. Take care of yourself, bud.

***

January 3, 2021

You knew he was coming, he’d finally reached out to you to let you know, but you were a ball of nerves anyway. The last time you saw Matt, you were screaming at him on a crowded rooftop bar while everyone around you celebrated the new year.

Your liquid courage carried you through that evening but you’d been sober since, so seeing him was going to be really fucking weird. Not just weird, seeing him was going to make you sad. As much as you didn’t want to be, you couldn’t help it. You weren’t over him yet.

“Come in,” you were quick to respond to his soft knock on the door, “you still live here, Matt, you don’t need an invitation.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’ll be quick, just here to get my stuff.”

“Cool.”

Cool? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, that’s how you respond?

You shook off your nerves but gave him space as he made his way into the bedroom and began to pull his clothes from your shared closet.

“We should probably go through this together,” he called out as soon as he entered the bathroom, “we shared a lot of bath stuff.”

“Sure, i’ll be in shortly.”

This was it. You’d said it plenty of times before but this was really, truly it. Your relationship with Matthew Tkachuk was coming to a close and the only thing left between the two of you was this apartment.

You slowly wandered into the bathroom and stood next to him while the two of you began to separate your bath products.

“Should I leave this body wash?”

“No, I know how much you like it, keep it.”

“You sure? I know you like it too.”

“I know where to order it from, but I'm pretty sure you don’t.”

“Shut up, it’s like, Lucky or something, right?”

“It’s Lush, Matty.”

“Yeah, Lush sounds right. So does that.”

“What?”

“Matty.”

“..What?”

“Matty sounds right. It sounds even better coming from you.”

Hold the fuck up.

There was no goddamn way he was going to try and appeal to you like the sad ex when he was the one who cheated! No fucking way!

“Yeah? That’s interesting, because ‘i love you’ sounds pretty good to me but you couldn’t honor that, right? Actually, instead of Matty, I should’ve called you a cheating, lying asshole.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what? Call you out? Make you accountable for your actions? Fuck you, Matt. Get your shit and get out. I don’t want to see you again.”

He listened, and he left. Goodbye, Matthew.

***

March 21, 2021

“Did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“About Matt?”

“No, I'm not interested in anything to do with him.”

“You might like this.”

“I probably won’t.”

Your relationship with Matthew had been over for a long time and you were finally past him. There was no need to bring anything up from the past.

“His girl has been cheating on him, like the entire time they’ve been together.”

“I told you I didn't care. I don’t care. I don’t want to hear about him.”

“Sorry,” she scrambled for the right words, “I'm sorry. I didn’t know. Don’t fire me?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, get back to work though, the Palmer wedding isn’t going to plan itself.”

“On it, boss!”

You chuckled to yourself, Matt had never been the one to prove himself to be a decent human. As much as you didn’t want to hear any update on his life, you couldn’t deny the minuscule amount of pleasure you felt when you heard he cheated.

Since your breakup with Matt, you boarded the success train and rode to the top. You were a single, small event planner when you first got together, but now you owned a company with your name on it and had a slew of employees.

There was nowhere but up for you to go and you couldn’t have been happier.

“We had a cancellation, it was a big one.”

“Oh? What was the last name?”

“Tkachuk?”

“What was the first name?”

“The groom’s name was Matthew. He was the one who cancelled. A bunch of emails from the disgruntled bride have come in since.”

No. No. No fucking way. This was the last thing you needed.

“What did the emails say?”

“They were mostly complaining about you. Which is really weird because how could you possibly know the groom?”

“No idea,” you lied, “I'll handle it though.”

--

Part Two coming soon!

[h2bakugou]

Hi! Can I please request some headcanons for Izuku, Katsuki, Shouto, and Denki with an s/o who doesn’t like getting into arguments and will always try to avoid getting into one with their boyfriends either by compromising and/or just throwing in the towel and just admitting that whatever their boyfriend said is right and it’s because they didn’t have a great home life growing up and want to avoid becoming like their parents and the boys finding out and their reaction to that? Thanks!

a/n: hiya!! of course hun! i did a similar argument hc a while ago, but this one is vastly different in a few ways!! thank you for the request love!!

headcanon: them reacting to their s/o’s refusal to argue with them

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: fluff, swearing, some angst, one mention of sky high, endeavor is trying™

;cut for length;

»»————-　★　————-««

izuku midoriya

»»————-　★　————-««

Surprisingly enough, there are a good number of times you’ve had an argument arise with Deku.

Not the ones where you playfully tease him about not sitting with you on the long trips you took as a class to places.

But the ones where you’d find him training for hours on end with no text or call to let you know that he’d be running late for a date, or a study session.

The ones where he’s so caught up in everything else that he doesn’t really make time to focus on your relationship.

Which wouldn’t be that big of a deal, had he just told you upfront that he was busy. But with the promise of always finding a way to make time for you, you were beginning to feel like maybe there was someone else, or maybe he didn’t really like you, like you thought he did.

But even when you were upset or angry, and Deku cornered you to talk about it, you’d shut him out and tell him it was fine, and that it really wasn’t his fault. It was yours for being so devoted to a relationship during such a serious time.

But Deku knew it was more than that.

Every time you seemed upset, or angry, or frustrated by something that seemed like something he’d done or may have had a part in, you always shut him down, telling him you’d get over it like an adult, and handle it.

“You don’t have to handle everything by yourself, let’s just talk about it, why are you feeling like this? You can talk to me, you know I’ll listen.” Deku’s comforting arms wrapped around you, preventing you from leaving this time around.

He’d spent maybe a few too many hours trying to learn some new moves and forgot that he was supposed to text you after the first hour to check up on you and your studies.

And when he finally came back after a shower, he realized you’d sent him a few texts asking if he was okay and if he was going to be done training soon.

“It’s fine, Izu’. I have some work I have to finish-”

“It’s not fine. I upset you, I’m sorry. But please talk to me. Why are you always trying to dismiss what actually happened?” Deku tried to capture gaze, only to find your lashes sprinkled with tears as you gave a shaky breath.

“I just don’t want us to end up like my parents. All they did was fight and argue.” You’d never really told anyone about that. Let alone anyone you’d been in a relationship with. 

In that moment, all Izuku could do was hold you closer, laying his head in the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry. I should take your feelings into account when I make promises to you. I apologize for not keeping those promises.” Deku pulled back and looked into your eyes.

“And please don’t be afraid to talk to me. I know that’s scary to think about, but if I make you upset, just talk to me, we don’t have to scream or fight, we can have a civilized conversation together about something, and if you feel like we can’t, we can always have our friends help if you’re comfortable with that.” Izuku smiled softly, swiping his thumbs over your cheeks to wipe your tears away.

You pushed a small smile onto your lips, resting your face back on his chest as he held you close.

“I’m sorry too.” You apologized.

“Don’t be, it’s okay. Why don’t we watch a funny movie and relax? I can make us some popcorn!” Izuku was ready with some cheesy hero movie on hand, probably one about some superhero high school with a magical flying bus and a protagonist whose parents were the top heroes, a plot you’d begun to see more and more often these days with the progression of hero society.

“Sounds like a plan.” You giggled.

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

Bakugou argues with you because you won’t argue with him-

On a serious note, most of your ‘arguments’ start because he feels like you don’t trust him enough to talk to him about your feelings.

If you are upset with him for something, or if you feel an argument coming on, you’ll dismiss yourself, your feelings, say he’s right, and just back down.

And we all know Bakugou will not go down without a fight example a, the sports festival.

He gets defensive, if not a little more agitated when you don’t tell him what’s going on. Not that he’s entitled to know how you’re feeling constantly, but because if he’s going to be in a relationship, he wants communication between the two of you.

If there’s something you can’t communicate to each other, then it doesn’t need to happen or there’s a problem somewhere.

Which is why when you say that it’s nothing, or that you aren’t upset when he knows that that’s utter fucking bullshit, he gets angry. 

He won’t take his anger out on you, he’s not that kind of asshole. 

Even though he hates the assholes, he sometimes drops little clues to Kirishima or Sero.

But overall, he just wants to talk it out with you. He wants to understand what’s going on, why you’re feeling the way you are, what-if there’s anything-he can do differently to help you feel better or to prevent this feeling from happening again.

It all crumbles apart when Bakugou said he’d help you with some math homework that you’d be struggling on.

Only for him to be four hours late because he was sitting in detention for sparking a fight with some shit-talking smartass from a support class.

That night you had struggled to answer the problems on your homework, only to bomb the pop quiz on the same subject the next day. It was a mess, and you were upset.

Your grades of course were not Bakugou’s responsibility, but his responsibility was to at least give you a heads-up that the study session would’ve been moved, or cancelled.

Instead you stayed up way to late trying to understand problems that weren’t making any sense, and now your grade was sitting in a hole.

So you were upset. 

But when Bakugou questioned why you were so quiet around him, you just shrugged your shoulders.

“What gives? You not talkin’ to me or something?” Bakugou wasn’t exactly sure why you were mad at him until you packed up your things at the common room table, your low grade on the pop quiz and homework proving why you were in a bad mood.

And then Bakugou realized that was the homework he said he’d help you with.

“Shit, that was due Tuesday wasn’t it.” Bakugou grumbled.

“Yeah.” You mumbled.

“Hey what’s wrong with you? Did I do somethin’? Why you fuckin’ ignoring me and shit?” Bakugou’s fowl language was something you were used to. He wasn’t angry, he was confused, though his vocabulary could’ve fooled you.

“It’s nothing, you didn’t do anything, I’ve got to study to get this grade up, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You pushed on without another word, trying to escape back to your dorm.

At the mention of the word study, Bakugou then remembered the promised study session.

“Hey wait! I was supposed to help you do that shit, let’s go work on-”

“It’s fine, I got it. Go do whatever you want.” You didn’t look at him.

“No, now cut the bullshit let’s go study.” Bakugou tugged you up toward his dorm.

Inside you stood holding your things, your emotions beginning to bubble over as you watched him look for his bag, a stray bandage over his cheek from the punch the kid had thrown at him. Just staring at it made you upset.

“Why did you do it?” You asked quietly, your voice wavering.

“What? Do what?” Bakugou responded.

“I just wanted you to help me and...you-” You stopped yourself, realizing it was selfish to think it was Bakugou’s job to help you exceed in class. Shaking your head you held your things tightly and turned to leave.

“I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well-”

“Bullshit, what the fuck is goin’ on with you? You’re upset, I know you are, what’s the problem?” Bakugou stopped you from leaving, almost forcing you to sit on his bed and explain why you were so distant.

“No- it’s not fair to you, I can’t do this, I can’t argue with you over something so stupid, I don’t want to end up like my fucking parents.” You were crying at this point, tears flooding from your eyes as you dropped your things, your books scattering across his bed as you fell into his arms.

“Are you talking about the fight? You have to communicate with me if you want me to help you. Can you at least tell me what you’re feeling?” Bakugou wanted to help, but with no information, there was little he could do.

“I was just so frustrated, because I was looking forward to studying, and then I found out you were in that stupid fight and I felt like I was all alone, like you’d deserted me and so I just tried to do it on my own and I messed up, and I felt like it was all your fault. I know it’s not. Had I just talked to you we could’ve studied and I would’ve done fine.” You broke down, sobbing into his warm embrace.

“I’m sorry. Just call me out on my bullshit, okay? It’s not right that you gotta’ be affected by my own stupid actions.” Bakugou tugged you back from him to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Why don’t we try and do a few practice problems to help you better understand the material?” Bakugou offered, stroking his thumb over your cheeks to wipe your tears.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

After some silence of Bakugou helping you work through the problems, you thanked him silently with a long hug, just resting your head on his chest. He didn’t ask any questions about the comment you’d made, he knew it was probably a sensitive topic.

But he’d be there when you were ready to talk about it.

»»————-　★　————-««

shoto todoroki

»»————-　★　————-««

Todoroki doesn’t really like to argue, not like full on yelling and screaming at least.

If he’s having an argument, he’ll try his best to be civil about it, but sometimes he can get a little heated and possibly raise his voice.

He’s always been fairly outspoken, having to usually bide by someone else’s rules that he barely thinks for himself, but as of late, he’s doing himself a favor and being his own person, living by his own rules, and sometimes that means bucking up against others when they’re incorrect.

But when it comes to you, he can’t really see himself arguing with you, at least over little things.

However, he des find it rather upsetting that you didn’t mention you’d ran into his dad a couple days ago.

You’d just been out shopping and happened to bump into the pro and you said your hello’s, conversed for a few second about school before both continuing on with your day.

You didn’t think it was all that important, and for the most part you’d kind of forgotten about the entire incident.

You’d met Shoto’s father a few times before, which is why he recognized you as his son’s significant other.

So when Enji just so happened to mention the little meeting at a ‘family lunch’ on the weekend, Shoto was a bit surprised, and a bit concerned about the run-in.

Considering the first time Shoto introduced you to his father as his significant other, Enji was a bit opposed to the idea of his son having a relationship, but eventually he grew fond of you, thinking that it might be a good idea for his son to have something normal like a relationship, and go on dates, and live like a teenager.

Worried that he might’ve said something rude, Shoto brought it up in his room after eating lunch.

“Why didn’t you mention running into my father?” Shoto asked bluntly as he sat on his bed, watching as you straightened out your sweater.

“I didn’t really remember it when I came back to the dorms, it was quick, just said hi and talked about school for a few seconds before we went our separate ways.” 

“If it happens again just tell me, I don’t know what he’s thinking, just because he says he’s okay with us together doesn’t mean that’s what he really wants.” Shoto was almost dismissive of the fact that his father had actually just seen his son’s s/o in public, stopped to say hi and then get back to his busy day.

“It wasn’t anything like that, he seemed fine. He was busy, if he was upset it was probably just because he’d had a long day.” You lowered your voice, bowing your head before speaking again.

“I should’ve told you, I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.” You were on the offense now, leaving your old statement in the past.

“What? Be mad at you? I’m not mad, I’m just concerned.” Shoto stood up and walked over to you, quickly noticing how emotional you’d become.

“Hey did I say something wrong? Please don’t dry, what’s going on, talk to me.” Shoto lifted your chin only to see your eyelashes coated in tears.

“I’m sorry! You’re right I should’ve told you-”

“Hey, hey, shhh.” Shoto hugged you, his warm arms wrapping around you as he held you close.

“You don’t have to side with me, if he was nice I believe you. Are you alright?” He asked pulling away to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“I just-I didn’t want us to argue or fight like my parents and I just didn’t want you to be mad-”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad, and we don’t have to argue, we’re just talking, we’re not arguing, okay? It’s okay.” Shoto comforted you, allowing his hands to rub your back.

“I’m sorry.” You cried softly as he led you back to his bed to sit.

“Don’t apologize, it’s okay to feel differently than me, it doesn’t mean I’m mad or upset at you. I’m here to listen when you need me to, please don’t feel afraid to talk to me.”  

Lifting your head to look at Sho, you pushed a small smile onto your lips.

“Your hand is cold.” You nudged his right arm, his hand touching your skin under the hem of your shirt as he held you close to him.

“Sorry.” He smiled, wiggling his fingers to tickle you.

“Hey! They’re cold!” You laughed through your tears, trying to get away from his icy fingers.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” You pressed a small kiss to the back of his right hand, his cool skin resting against your lips.

»»————-　★　————-««

denki kaminari

»»————-　★　————-««

Kaminari doesn’t argue- at least not with you.

He’ll accuse Kirishima of cheating on some first-person shooter game, or yell curses at Sero for blue-shelling him in Mario Kart.

But he’s never really argued with you about anything.

That doesn’t mean you’ve never had opposing views. Most of the time, Kaminari just listens and tried to understand how you feel.

But more recently, as you progress through school, he’s been doing weird things.

Training longer, forgetting to text you-and he always texts you.

It hurts your heart when you see him smiling and goofing around with Kirishima when today was your movie-night.

You’re not angry at him, you don’t own him for the day, he’s allowed to do other things, but you feel upset. You feel like he doesn’t care about your feelings.

So you head up to your room early, not even bothering to say goodbye to him.

Only about thirty minutes go by when he’s knocking on your door asking for you, asking if you’re feeling okay and why you went back to your room so early.

“I’m fine.” You lie, your expression was more than telling of that factor. You had a pout on your lips, your brows weren’t up and happy, and your eyes didn’t sparkle at the sight of your handsome boyfriend.

“You’re not! What’s goin’ on shawty?” Kaminari always uses humor to make you feel better, that’s just what he’s good at. He can be serious too, but he likes putting a smile on your face before he gets all serious.

“It’s nothing, you were having fun with Kirishima, I don’t want to interrupt.” And without meaning to, you’ve spilled exactly why you were feeling so upset.

Kaminari stares at you with his wide golden eyes, shaking his head as he practically tackles you through your dorm-room door frame into a hug.

Wrapping his arms around you he hugs you close and smiles.

“I didn’t ignore you! Kirishima just talks a lot.” Kaminari is quick to assume you were slightly jealous.

“I-I, no no you’re fine! Go have fun!”

“No. I’m staying with you.” Kaminari’s voice is a bit rougher this time, forcing the fact that he was going to spend time with you now.

After speaking he realized you’re crying. He quickly starts panicking, wondering if his stern ‘Bakugou’ voice scared you.

“Hey, hey! Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” He’s rubbing your arms and trying to wipe your tears away as they flow from your eyes.

“I didn’t want us to argue-I was just feeling weird and left-out and I-I’m sorry for being so jealous over something so little and stupid, please don’t be mad at me, I don’t want to fight and bicker like my parents do.” You don’t realize Kaminari’s expression softening at the mention of your fear, becoming like your parents.

“I’d never yell or argue with you over something like that. It’s okay to feel jealous or hurt, just talk to me about it okay? I can’t help you if I don’t know how to. We can converse like this about things, it doesn’t have to escalate.” Kaminari is soothing surprisingly. His touch is gentle even though it wanders.

Holding your hands is a nice feeling, and he enjoys holding them. Rubbing his thumb over your knuckles relaxes you as you lean in to rest your head on his chest.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize. I love you.” Kaminari kisses the top of your head and hugs you tightly.

“How about you pick out the movie this time! If it’s scary, you get the pleasure of cuddling into me!” Kaminari wiggles his brows.

“You were the one terrified to turn the lights off last time.” You giggle, lifting your head to wipe your eyes.

“I don’t remember that at all.” Kaminari teases, walking over to your bed to get comfy while you looked for a movie to watch.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

[shadow--writer]

Hello there, hope you're having a great day! What about mc×main 6 from the arcana in a bitter argument? (Angsty as possible pls) thank-you and have a great day❤️

I AM SO SORRY THESE TOOK SO LONG LOL. I had most of them written out and then the muse decided to LEAVE. *shakes fist at the sky* 

I hope you don’t mind me going buck wild with Lucio lol. He is PRIME for this kinda angst. And as a reminder, COMMUNICATE WITH YOUR PARTNER. 

Requests are open! I move at the pace of a sedated turtle but I WILL GET TO THEM LOL. 

Enjoy!

Main six x MC argument

~~~~

Julian

Fights with Julian get a little...intense

He’s not really good with the whole, fighting with the person he loves things

Will probably cry from frustration

It also gets LOUD. You both will start at a normal voice and slowly it will rise to yelling 

Never hurles insults, but hearing the hurt in his voice? Almost worse. And hearing how hurt you are? Man that’s a gut punch

He’s most likely gonna storm off (dramatically but I digress)

Sorry it’ll take him quite a long time to cool down

Feels SUPER awful about what he said in the head of the moment

Like just plain: “I’m a terrible person” awful

Brings you flowers to apologize. His voice is always super soft and nervous

You guys don’t fight super often but they can blow up when you do

Bring him flowers after you fight please. He’ll keep them on either his desk at work or on his bedside.

When he sees you’ve cooled off as well he’s going to hug you. Scoop you up if he can in a nice strong hug.

Asra

Asra fights get um...super nasty. You two know one another super well and things get blown up super quickly

They don’t happen often at all. Only when something boils over

But it’s always crying and almost incoherent worry and yelling. They’re a mess over you, running their hands through their hair so much you fear they might tear it out

Will leave to let you calm down and give you space. Usually goes to the dock to cry by himself and think things over. Faust is always conflicted when you guys fight

She doesn’t want to leave you to die again. 

Asra never stays mad at you long, just needs time to cool down

Says tons of things he doesn’t mean but in the moment it’s all he has. Of course you throw things back and loads of feelings get hurt

Always feels terrible after. Always. Sometimes he even cries quietly to himself if it was really nasty

After arguments might take him hours or days to cool off enough to apologize

Likes talking things out with you over pumpkin bread and tea over big extravagant gifts

After an argument they’re good at talking things out with you. Always ends with a hug and him rocking you back and forth while trying to memorize your feel and smell

Nadia

Her words are SO sharp and they cut SUPER DEEP

Doesn’t hold back sometimes it feels like her words are tiny knives being thrown at you

If she says something truly uncalled for, her eyes go wide and she covers her mouth with her hands

She’s always a poised kind of angry. When she’s super upset she’ll be in tears. 

She has siblings, she knows where to get you where it hurts. She aims to hurt in arguments 

Never means it and always realizes in HORROR what she just said to you

Stays in another room for a bit after the fight. Depending on how bad the argument was she cries herself to sleep

You don’t fight with any of the Main Six often but sometimes things happen and people snap

Fighting with Nadia usually happens when she’s exhausted and you want her to sleep and things just explode

She’s usually the one coming back to you to apologize. Even if you were wrong, she hates upsetting you. When you apologize back her feelings come to a head and she just moves in to hug you so hard your back pops

Muriel

He kind of spaces out 

Like he’s super upset but his replies to you are usually little grunts and he doesn’t quite meet your eyes

Unless you did something. Then he’s all up in arms, upset and sometimes he’ll tear up (especially if you put yourself in a ton of danger and he almost lost you)

He tries to keep his voice level. The first time he raised his voice at you you flinched and he ran away after seeing the reaction

He tries not to raise his voice at you, but sometimes it’s hard and usually you two will be loud at one another. Inanna is no fan

Fights with him are once in a blue moon. Usually they’re little lectures and you two understanding one another. But sometimes they do happen and they are just awful for the both of you

Feelings are up in the air, anger and worry is palpable. If you don’t take care of yourself, who will? kind of stuff

Wants to hug you after you’re done so bad, but stays stiff as a board to watch your reaction. It hurts sometimes

Makes you a little gift as a peace offering, (bring him back forget-me-nots)

Will hold you for a long time after you make up after a fight. (cuddle him PLEASE I BEG OF YOU)

Portia

Lots of yelling. Not intentional she’s just loud and you have to yell to be heard as well

Pepi usually runs to hide when you guys fight

Portia is the type to pace and throw her arms in the air. 

And she’ll cry. She hates it, but she cries when she’s furious. Who knows what you two are mad and fighting by this point everything comes bubbling to the surface 

She’ll storm out of the house to cry alone somewhere and get herself together 

It can um...get fairly nasty at times. Hurling insults doesn’t really happen but her breaking down sobbing with every word does

Not a pretty sight 

It’s hard arguing with someone you love so much, so she’ll come crying back as well. She just wants a hug ;-;

It’ll be awkward for a while after, but after you failed to bake something as a peace offering it’s broken. She’ll help you bake something new (cottagecore WIFE)

Lucio

So the question is what do you guys NOT fight about

Lucio is a tricky guy to be with I’m not gonna lie. He’s done some shitty things and doesn’t understand a lot of those

Will take time for him to get there and fully understand why people don’t like him 

But man is it a sore spot and he will fight with you about it. A lot. And it just...lord it gets really bad 

He’s not the type to cry during an argument. After though? Fair game. 

And he always wants to be by you after. Talk to me I’m lonely type beat. If you don’t want to talk that’s further salt in the wound

But things just blow UP. He’s dramatic, childish, and ANGRY. His voice is so thick with fury it hurts to have it directed at you 

Like chest heaving, near tears, regretting everything you just said kind of spats. When Lucio is mad he is MAD. Like Nadia, his words are like ice 

Without meaning to, he aims to hurt you. And hurt he DOES

When he comes to his senses he’s running away 

Will come to you first, with gifts anywhere from super extravagant to something only he would get you. And apologizes. Even if you caused the argument he blew it all up

He’s lonely and touch starved, he’s not gonna let you go (and he’s gonna be crying)

Cookies are a good thing to give to him back. It’ll prolly make you two end up on the bed snacking on them while just talking and cuddling. 

[itsdanii]

omg hi i binged read all your works (angst to fluff is srsly my fave aahh you write it so well!!) i really like your baby daddy scenario and i was wondering if you could one with suna (if youre comfortable!) 🥺 tysm i hope u have a nice day 💗💗

Hey, bub. Thank you so much for requesting, I'm glad to hear that you've been loving my works. Here's your request ♥️ I hope you like it. Have a good day and stay hydrated!

Baby Daddy pt. 2

1 |

genre: angst to fluff, comfort

warnings: cursing, rude behavior (resolved), mentions of nausea, self doubt, insecurity

a/n: please do read the warnings everytime before you proceed. warnings have been put there for a reason.

ft. suna rintarou

lesson 1: always communicate

lesson 2: the moment you hear your wife sobbing, abandon your pride, apologize and resolve the argument at hand

"Rin?" you mumbled sleepily as you sat up from the couch, groaning at the ache you felt for sleeping at such an uncomfortable position.

You've been waiting for your husband for almost three hours now. You messaged him beforehand to come home at around 8 pm because you have something important to tell him yet here you were, already 11 pm and still in the living room with a blanket wrapped around you as you watch your husband finally enter your house.

You knew that being a professional volleyball player for the national team was hard. You knew how passionate Rintarou is when it comes to his sport, and as his wife, who were you to discourage him?

But lately, Rintarou had been coming home late, sometimes even as late as midnight. What's worse is that he leaves too early in the morning, just settling on giving you a forehead kiss before heading out.

You weren't only worried about his health but as well as your relationship. You felt secured with your relationship but the longer this goes on, the more that security wavers.

What if one day he just realize that he no longer wants you?

"You're still up?" Rintarou said, throwing you a quick glance before taking off his shoes.

He made his way to you and cupped your cheek to angle your face to him. Leaning down, he kissed your forehead lovingly. "We have a bed, you know? You should've slept there instead of the couch."

"I was waiting for you," you answered with a small frown, "I sent you a message awhile ago but you didn't reply."

"Ah, I must've forgot." Your husband sighed and adjusted the strap of his sports bag, eyes still looking down at you. "I'm sorry. Is it okay if we just talk about it tomorrow? I'm really tired right now."

As Rintarou reached for your hand, you forcefully took it away and glared at him. "It's important, Rin. You should've went home early just like what I said!"

"Can you stop being a brat? I'm not in the mood for your tantrums."

You stood up angrily upon hearing that. With one hand on your hip, you pointed a finger at him out of frustration. "I'm not being a brat! You've been so busy these past few weeks, it's starting to feel like I don't exist to you anymore. You come home late, leave early, and repeat! I can't even remembered the last time we had breakfast, lunch, or dinner together!"

"Well, what do you want me to do? Abandon everything and focus on you? For fuck's sake, y/n, we're not in high school anymore! Not everything is about you, okay? Fucking grow up already." Rintarou fired back, his voice raising up making your blood boil even more.

"Grow up? You're telling me to grow up?" You chuckled for a bit before continuing your argument, "How hypocritical of you to say that, Rintarou. Have you even noticed what changed these past few weeks? I bet you haven't because you're too focused on yourself that you failed to notice your negligence towards your responsibilities as a husband."

"You know what? Leave me alone. Im too tired for this petty argument," he said before turning his back on you.

However, before Rintarou could even slam your bedroom door shut, he felt his entire being panic at the sound of you sobbing.

He immediately turned around and dropped his bag on the floor before making his way to your shaking figure. He encircled his arms around you and pressed your face to his chest, his hand rubbing circles on your back to calm you down.

"Don't you love me anymore, Rin?" you sobbed against his chest as you gripped his shirt tightly.

"Shh, of course I do, y/n. I didn't mean what I said, okay? I'm sorry, baby. I love you so much," he whispered beside your ear as he continued to comfort you. "I was just t-"

"I'm pregnant, Rin."

Rintarou froze. His hands stopped rubbing your back and no words were able to escape his mouth. He felt speechless and the feeling of guilt inside him only intensified.

"W-what?" he whispered as soon as he composed himself. He unwrapped his arm around you to take a closer look at your face.

"I'm pregnant," you repeated, blinking out the tears before looking down. "That's what I wanted to tell but we got into an argument instead. I've actually been feeling nauseous these past few weeks, I missed my period and I was having these weird cravings. I took the pregnancy test and I found out that I am indeed pregnant."

"Shit.." he murmured before shutting his eyes tightly. "I didn't know... I've been to focused on the upcoming tournament that I failed to notice. I'm so sorry, y/n."

Noting the way his voice quivered, you placed a hand to his cheek and guided his head down to your shoulder. "It's okay, Rin. I'm also sorry for overreacting. I know how much this tournament means to you and yet I still acted childish and inconsiderate."

"No." Your husband pulled you even closer to him, your body now basically pressed flush against his chest. "I'm sorry. I should've paid more attention. I can't believe I said such offensive words to you.."

"It's alright now, Rin. Just promise me that you'll balance your time, okay? I'm not demanding so much of your time, I just want you to acknowledge that you have a wife waiting for you, soon a family. I don't want our child to grow up feeling like they aren't their father's priority."

"I promise." He lifted his head from your shoulder to look down at you, his thumb wiping away the tears streaming down your cheeks. "I'm going to be the best father they could ever ask for. I love you so much, y/n."

"I love you too, Rin."

His hand slid down from your cheek to your nape as he leaned closer to you, lips hovering just above yours as he whispered, "Let me kiss you."

You stared at his lips with half lidded eyes, your arms wrapping his neck as he carefully lifted you up. "You don't even have to ask," you answered before finally crashing your lips with his, a small sigh of satisfaction emitting from you at the feeling of finally being in his arms.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated ♥️

a/n: never let someone disregard your feelings. Your feelings are valid, stand your ground and fight for it.

[meltwonu]

| 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔦 𝔪𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 |     [Chapter 1] 

pairing; fratboy!wonwoo x reader

this chapter’s notes; fratboy!wonwoo, dom!wonwoo, dirty talk, masturbation, sex toys, mentions of sexting/sending photos/videos, baby this has hella plot lmao dkhf 🥴💕 WELCOME TO UNTIL I MET YOU!! THE MINI-SEQUEL TO CAFFEINE! A bit of a shorter chapter but I didn’t want to overload with too much everything in the first chapter, ykwim? 😎 Thank you so much for your patience with this sequel, I know there were a ton of people asking for a sequel for months after I said I would 💕😭😭 As always, inbox roundup tomorrow! And don’t forget, next chapter for UIMY goes up on Feb 26th! T|H ch 1 next Friday! 🥰💕 Enjoy ch 1, have a great weekend and I love you! 💕

chapters; 1 - x - x - x - x

“Mmh… Wonwoo…”

His hands roam all over your naked body; warmth spreading all over when he digs his blunt fingernails into the skin of your waist.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Did you miss me, sweetheart?” His voice is soft, gentle, yet teasing; barely above a whisper as your back bows off of the bed to lean into his simple touches. “I missed you, sweetheart. Missed your ‘lil cunt too.”

A choked sob falls from your lips, followed quickly by rushed, hurried cries for Wonwoo to move faster.

“Don’t you want me to take my time? We haven’t seen each other in months.” 

There’s a smirk on his lips, eyes twinkling with mischief when you reply back with a shaky whine. “Don’t you want me to slide my cock into your pretty ‘lil pussy nice ‘n slow? Let you feel every inch of me filling you up, just like it’s the first time all over again.” He stares at you dreamily; fixated on the way your body chases his hands when he drags them down to your thighs. “Or would you prefer it if I fucked you hard and fast? Your cute body squirming and trembling from how good I give it to you and my cock slamming into your tight ‘lil cunt.”

Wonwoo’s fingertips spread your folds as he licks his lips; appreciating how wet you already were for him.

“Bet your toys don’t feel as good as the real thing, huh?”

You shake your head ‘no’ furiously, “N-no, god, no! Wonwoo, p-please!” The male grins down at you, pouting mockingly at your desperate, pleading eyes. 

The wetness between your legs is unbearable and the sobs are caught in your throat when Wonwoo leans over you, lips ghosting across your own.

“Okay. Just say--”

You’re shocked awake by your alarm clock; chest heaving in deep breaths as you sit up in your crumpled sheets. “Oh, fuck...” Groaning, your clammy palms reach for the ringing device as you shut it off and sigh.

The clock reads 10:02AM; tired eyes trying to blink away the sleep that threatens to take you back to the dreamland you much preferred. Although, dreaming about Wonwoo was becoming a little bit too common these last few days.

Sighing once more, you move to get out of bed; already finding your panties soaking wet and sticking to you like a second skin when you stand.

“Ugh... Damn it.”

You press the vibrator harder onto your clit; teeth chattering with the pleasure that pours over your body.

“Oh, god, please, p-please…”

Images of Wonwoo dance behind your eyelids; sultry smirks and teasing glances bringing you closer and closer to the edge of an orgasm.

If there was anything that the last few months without Wonwoo taught you, it was that you couldn’t afford to lose him - in more ways than one. And despite his lack of calls or even text messages, you held out in hopes he still felt the same way that you did despite the distance.

You sent him pictures and videos of yourself often; teasing images half naked, toys in hand, and videos crying out his name while you came. And while he took the time to reply to those with praise and adoration, he almost never sent anything back. 

When he did, it was always short, clipped replies of how exhausted he was and how he didn’t have much time.

“Ngh, h-harder…” Your toes curl against the bedsheet; phantom feelings of his cock fucking you hard and deep making you cry out in desperation to be filled by his cock.

Your phone rings on the nightstand next to you as you cum - vibrator pressed so hard against your clit that your back bows off of the sheets while your thighs shake uncontrollably. 

And for the first time in a long time, it’s an orgasm that feels like it’s worth something.

‘Gyu: hey did wonwoo text u?

‘Gyu: he’s back next monday he said

‘Gyu: idk abt classes tho, might be out of commission for a while bc jetlag

‘Gyu: thinking abt throwing him a party on friday after he comes back...

‘Gyu: u wanna plan with us orrrrr? U got a private party or sth 🥴😏

‘Gyu: lmk

You’re nervous. Shy, even.

After you’d come down from your orgasm and checked your phone, your mind momentarily went blank from shock and the first thing you’d done was text Wonwoo to ask if he was really coming back that soon.

‘Ah, yeah, I was just about to text you. Prof said we can go home early if we wanted since we finished up classes. I’ll see you sometime next week? Jetlag and stuff.’, was all he had said and in your excited state, the only thing you had responded with was an, ‘Okay, great!’, without asking when, where, or what time.

You figured you’d give him some time to readjust instead of bombarding him as soon as he got in. But each second that you knew Wonwoo was home, you found yourself itching to just be in his presence.

You just had to be a little more patient.

Wednesday morning comes and you find yourself skipping your morning class to go to the library.

For studying, you tell yourself.

The male at the receptionist table shoots you a small smile to which you awkwardly smile back before ducking into an empty aisle. All you knew was that it seemed like Wonwoo wasn’t here.

Maybe he’s still at the frat house, you wonder.

Sighing slightly under your breath, you decide that maybe getting some work done would actually help distract you from looking for the male.

You find an empty table, setting your things down before pulling out your phone. 

In all honesty, you weren’t even sure why you were being so shy and nervous about contacting Wonwoo, especially when you so unabashedly sent him nudes every few days when he was away. 

Although, with how things had been before he left and the prospect of actually dating once he came back from his semester abroad - the butterflies in your stomach had been nonstop with the different scenarios that played out in your head. You’d even gone so far as to plan what happened if Wonwoo had decided he didn’t want to make an attempt at dating you.

“Sweetheart?”

The grip you have on your phone only tightens as you whip your head around to find Wonwoo standing behind your chair and you swear your heart stops beating the same time your breath gets caught in your throat. “H-huh?”

He smiles gently down at you and you can’t help but wonder how long you were spaced out to not notice him there. 

“Is this a dream too?” You wonder aloud - Wonwoo chuckling in response as he moves to collect your things for you.

“Have you been dreaming about me that much, sweetheart?” You stutter and stumble over your words; embarrassment eating at you every second that Wonwoo has a knowing smile plastered on his lips.

“C’mon, let’s go get something to eat since we both know you’re not really here to study.”

The version of Wonwoo that sits across the cafe table is… different.

Not bad, just different.

His arms are much tanner and definitely more muscular and the glasses missing from his face lets you appreciate his eyes even more when they’re not hidden behind the thick frames. He had even opted to wear a sleeveless shirt; something that you weren’t used to when he usually was around campus in long sleeves and sweater vests.

Although, you can’t and won’t deny the way your body reacts to this Wonwoo.

“Hey, I’m talking to you and you’re just spacing out.” Muttering, he leans over the small cafe table until his face is only inches away from yours and the smirk on his lips already lets you know that you’ve been caught staring.

“Listen, I know I’ve been gone for three months but you’re lookin’ at me like you haven’t had a fix in all that time.” Your lips press into an embarrassed firm line, avoiding his stare as he raises a brow at you.

“Wait, you didn’t fuck anyone in the three months I was gone?”

“No… did you?” Your voice is barely above a whisper; a little afraid that his answer will be ‘yes’ when he takes a second longer to respond.

“Nah,” He settles back into his seat, “I told you, didn’t I? I was willing to try the whole… dating, relationship thing with you when I got back. Although, I’m somewhat surprised one of the others didn’t try to seduce you while I was gone.”

You laugh slightly, cheeks warm as Wonwoo teases. “I wouldn’t have given them the time of day anyway.”

Your entire body burns hot, palms clammy in your lap from how giddy you were to be with Wonwoo and it made your heart do backflips knowing that he’d still been willing to try with you.

“Ah, how was it abroad anyway? You… didn’t really say much over the past few months so I feel like I don’t know how you were. Just some messages about how tired you were...” He takes a sip of his coffee; unintentionally making you internally scream when his lips form a pout while he thinks.

“Honestly? Other than the days we were excavating ‘n stuff, it was pretty boring. Really hectic though, and a lot of documenting which meant a lot of paperwork. I swear, I closed my eyes and I saw the inside of my textbooks.” He chuckles lightly, eyes focused on the cup of coffee in front of him.

“I just want to say sorry for my lack of communication. I really didn’t expect to be so busy that I couldn’t even pick up a call.” There’s a genuine apologetic look on Wonwoo’s face when he looks back at you. “And the time difference was really rough too. I didn’t want to take it out on you over the phone if I was stressed about not sleeping or the workload. I know we can get a little rough when we ‘play’ but this wasn’t that and it wouldn’t have been fair.”

Oh.

“T-that’s okay, I understand!” Your heart does somersaults in your chest, “I--thank you for thinking about me too.”

The feelings you have bubbling up inside of you make you feel like you’re falling in love for the first time, all over again. “Um… Sorry I sent so many pictures ‘n stuff.”

Wonwoo laughs, this time throwing his head back slightly before he tries to hide his wide grin. “Oh, sweetheart. Don’t apologize.” Your eyes meet his and for a split second, you see the familiar dominating look in his eyes before he leans over the small cafe table again.

“I might’ve not had all the time to entertain you those times but I thought about you alllll the time. I missed everything about you.” His voice is barely above a whisper - careful to not let anyone else in the cafe hear the topic of conversation. “Which, by the way…You piqued my interest earlier with your question. You never really answered my question about having dreams about me.”

You shift in your seat as you avert your eyes from his; eyes flitting down his toned body instead as you mentally curse yourself.

“I… kinda? I m-mean… not normally but just--just these last few days. It’s almost been every night… I wake up and--and it’s just… I’m...” You trail off; somewhat shy to say the rest of what you were going to say even though you’re almost certain Wonwoo already knows.

“Odd. Me too. I kept dreaming about you, which is, honestly, kind of why I thought to come back earlier.”

“Oh?”

“Mm, we still had 2 weeks left, technically. A bit of a spillover since my professor wanted us to explore the city once finals were over. But I just wanted to come home.” He finishes with a chuckle - a soft look in his eyes.

You pout back at him, “You didn’t come home early just for ‘lil ‘ol me, did you?” You say it jokingly, but deep down you do wonder.

“Would that be so bad?” Grinning, Wonwoo sets a couple of bills down onto the table to cover the meals you both barely have touched.

“Like I said, I missed everything about you, sweetheart.”

Wonwoo walks you back to your place afterwards; laughing and joking with you as if he hadn’t been gone for the last 3 months. 

There’s a certain playfulness about him that makes your heart bloom and part of you wonders if he’s opening up to you more now that there’d been some time apart.

“Are you gonna be working at the library again? Or is that done forever now?” “Mm.. I mean, it’d be kind of weird if I stopped, don’t you think?”

The grin of his face is telling and you have to mentally stop yourself from letting your mind wander in the middle of the sidewalk. “Y-yeah... Studying in my apartment isn’t really the same, y’know…”

Laughing, Wonwoo takes the opportunity to swing an arm around your shoulder as he tucks you under his arm. “I was actually at the library earlier to ask about my position back. I start tomorrow.” Goosebumps rise on your skin and the close proximity is enough to make you whimper.

“I’m only taking two classes this semester to give myself a bit of a break so I’ll be in the library more often to fill up the time. You can always call me if you need to know where I am. I promise I’ll respond this time, sweetheart.”

Before you know it, the two of you are already standing outside of your complex as Wonwoo takes his arm off of you.

“Will I be seeing you tomorrow?” There’s a hopeful lilt to his voice that has you nodding feverishly in return.

“I have a morning class but I’ll come by in the afternoon? I can text you to let you know, just in case.” You offer back.

Wonwoo licks his lips, tilting his head before leaning down and kissing you on the forehead.

The soft gesture momentarily throws you off as you freeze but the smoldering look in Wonwoo’s eyes when he pulls away lets you know that he’s already scheming.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

Chaconne (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: You are an aspiring concert violinist who attends an audition for the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra, under the new direction of famous conductor Agatha Harkness

Word Count: 4.2K

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NBNquKkKcF4

A/N: Hello! This is an AU fic heavily inspired by one of my favorite tv shows Mozart In The Jungle. This is going to be at least 3 more chapters, and I already have the second part done so it should be uploaded by the weekend. Also, I added a link to the piece that is heavily mentioned throughout this fic. It’s not necessary to listen to it before reading (or at all haha), I just thought I’d add it in for anyone curious :) Hope y’all enjoy! Please let me know what you think, and my inbox is always open for any questions. Also: I do not own Mozart In The Jungle...Jeff Bezos please do not sue me. 

You rushed through the bustling streets of Manhattan, silently cursing yourself for not getting a cab. Not that it would’ve made much of a difference; rush hour in the city was horrendous no matter what form of transportation you chose. But at least you would have been sitting in an air conditioned car and not running through the crowded streets. You tightened your grip on your violin case as you hurried across the street, destination clear in your mind.

You had been finishing up your final private lesson of the day when you received a call from one of your old college friends. They informed you to drop everything you were doing, not literally because that would include your very expensive and very fragile violin, and hurry down to symphony hall because one of the first violinists in the Manhattan Symphony had sprained her wrist and they were holding open auditions.

A part of you knew the odds of being selected from hundreds of the best violinists in one of the most affluent cities for music was slim to none, but you also knew you had to take this chance. It’s what you had been working so hard towards during undergrad and grad school, and it would be nice to have a more...stable job. The Manhattan Symphony Orchestra was one of the greatest and well respected orchestras in the world, and you would kill to earn a chair.  

You ran faster than you had in months, and made a mental note to add more cardio to your basically nonexistent workout regime because wow, you were out of shape. Rounding the corner, you quickly dodged running into other pedestrians and could see symphony hall a block away. Despite the burning in your lungs begging you to stop running like a mad woman, you picked up the pace and sprinted to the building.

Ever since you started playing the violin you swore to anyone who would listen that you would play in the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra. Your siblings would always ask for concert tickets to see their favorite band, or sporting tickets, but you always begged your parents to take you to the symphony. While your siblings hated it and complained how long and boring it was (and the outrage that they weren’t allowed to bring food inside), you were enraptured by the entire experience.

You fell in love with the sounds of Dvorak, Beethoven, Brahms, and Tchaikovsky. Sitting in the concert hall you waited in anticipation to watch the musicians who had spent their entire lives preparing for that moment; to pour every ounce of their soul into their instruments. Ever since the moment you stepped inside your first concert hall at the young age of five, you knew this is where you wanted to spend the rest of your life.

Shaking those thoughts aside you hurried through the building to where the blind auditions were being held. You silently thanked whatever genius came up with the idea of a blind audition, because you were a mess after running over twelve blocks from your apartment. Following the signs on the walls, you found the warm up room, but was surprised to find everyone packing up.

There were over a dozen people of various ages, and you noticed one of them crying. A woman around your age noticed your disheveled appearance and sighed. “If you’re here for the blind auditions, they were cancelled.”

You felt your heart drop. “What? Did they already find someone?”

“No, because the new conductor is a total psycho,” Someone else said angrily. “She kept yelling about how we’re all wasting her time and she’d rather have her pet rabbit play New World Symphony.” He motioned to the girl who was sobbing. “And she told Megan her tone was so bad that she would personally throw her violin into a wood chipper so no one would have to suffer through her performing again.”

The new conductor he was referring to was one of your favorites. Agatha Harkness. She was beloved throughout the music community and had many fans, but you had heard rumors of her hard work ethic and ability to make people cry in under a minute. You thought back to your undergrad violin lessons where one of your professors told you that your tone while playing Mendelssohn sounded like a dying donkey. Musicians were often times very blunt.

“That’s a bit harsh.”

“A bit?” The guy rolled his eyes. “This job isn’t worth it. I’m going to audition for the second violin chair in Iowa. It might not be as great of an orchestra but at least their conductor isn’t the devil incarnate.”

As the others continued to pack up, you still felt your gut twisting at what could have been. Feeling rejected, you left the room and saw the back entrance to the stage open. From a quick glance around it appeared the hallway was deserted, so you quickly ran through the door, violin case still in hand.

Time came to a stand still as you walked on stage and stared into the seemingly empty concert hall. You dreamt about this moment more times than you cared to admit. There was something so peaceful about being on stage. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and pictured a scene you had spent years dreaming about. Realizing the opportunity to play in this hall wouldn’t likely come again, you made the split decision to open your violin case.

Staring at your violin, you briefly wondered if this was a good idea. But, you silently argued that no one else was around, and besides, you did run half a mile to get here. It would be a waste to not play and appreciate the gorgeous acoustics. Plus you could feel your fingers aching to play something, anything, to let out the feelings of  disappointment from missing the auditions.

Gently pulling out your bow, you applied a generous amount of rosin before grabbing your violin. You took a few minutes to tune, and the moment your bow hit the strings you felt a shiver at how the sound bounced off the walls. You went through a condensed version of your normal warm up and played a few different scales before debating on what piece to play.

Although your friend had briefly explained the audition would be sight reading and then playing excerpts from Dvorak’s New World Symphony, the auditions were over and you wanted to play something else. It wasn’t the flashiest piece, or one of the better known violin concertos, but it felt right. Vitali’s Chaconne arranged by Charlier. You had originally learned the gorgeous piece during your junior year of undergrad for a concerto competition and it had quickly become a favorite.

Clearing your mind of everything but the music, you closed your eyes and began to play. Your bow swept across the string, producing the opening g-minor chord. The melodic sound rang through the empty hall and you felt your heart ache at how good this felt. It had been a while since you had the time to play this piece, but it was like it had been no time at all. Your fingers danced across the strings and you felt all the uneasiness leave your body.

While this wasn’t the most complex piece you had ever played, it required your full attention. The chaconne was structured as a simple sixteen bar phrase that was rephrased and dallied up with different techniques and melodies which made it easy enough to memorize, but hard enough that you needed to focus on the pattern your fingers made.

With every movement of your bow, every run you made up and down the fingerboard, you were letting out the pain and sadness you felt radiating through your body. It was hard to put into words how playing the violin made you feel, but the best explanation you had come up with was that it was your salvation. There was no sweeter medicine than performing. No matter how out of control life was, how bad things got, your solution was turning to music. It saved you.

As you neared the end of the piece, you felt your bow arm gently ache and you knew you had to have complete focus if you were going to hit the upcoming octave slides that led to the double stops of doom. Octaves were never a violinist’s favorite technique, and they were your own personal kryptonite. You had rather tiny hands, which made the stretch from your index to your pinky rather difficult on a good day. You changed the position of your hand to make the reach to hit the upper octave, but briefly winced when you realized you had fallen flat on the lower note.

You ended with a flourish of your bow on the final g-minor chord and let out the breath you had been holding in. You stood there for a moment, soaking in the afterglow of your performance and enjoying the quiet that radiated throughout the spacious room. Just as you went to clean off your violin and leave before you got kicked out, you heard the sound of slow clapping from within the hall. The hall was dimmed and you saw a figure sitting far up in the upper rows. The mystery figure continued clapping and they stood up and walked down the steps towards the stage. There in all her glory stood Agatha Harkness, the newest conductor of the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra.

“Not bad, but your octave slides could use some touching up,” Agatha offered as she stood at the bottom of the stage. “You tend to go flat on the lower notes.”

You felt your breath hitch as you saw the famous, and apparently very scary, conductor staring at you. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was still here.”

“Ah so you aren’t here for the auditions?” Agatha questioned, arching an eyebrow up at you. “What are you doing here then, breaking and entering? I’d hate to have to call security on you.”

“What? No, no I’m not...” You stammered, feeling your cheeks turn red. “I came for the auditions but I was told they were cancelled.”

Agatha laughed, and you noticed how it was more of a cackle. “They were. But believe me dear, I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in my shoes.”

“One of them said you threatened to throw their violin in a wood chipper. Isn’t that a little mean?” You pointed out.

“You did not have to listen to that imbecile butcher the opening of Mendelssohn,” Agatha argued, folding her hands across her chest. “Throwing her violin in a wood chipper would be the least I could do to ensure no one else suffers hearing that disgrace of a sound ever again.”

You stifled a giggle that threatened to escape. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

Agatha waved her hand in the air. “Maybe. But you,” she pointed a finger at you, intrigue colored her features. “You were good. Vitali’s Chaconne is a personal favorite of mine. Everyone always chooses to play Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D Major, or Mendelssohn, or Brahms, or something big and flashy. I’ve always preferred a more subdued piece like Vitali. Violinists don’t take enough time to appreciate the beauty of a chaconne.”

You stared at her in disbelief. Almost no one had even heard of Vitali’s Chaconne, but she did and it was her favorite. “Thank you, Miss Harkness. I-“

“Ah ah ah,” Agatha waved a finger to silence you. “I’m not finished. You were good, but not great. Your octave slides were flat. Your bow hold is giving me a headache, you need to relax more. Your vibrato is too fast, we need to work on slowing it down. Didn’t your teacher ever tell you that? And don’t even get me started on your opening chord.” She eyed the younger woman before continuing. “But despite all that, you have promise.”

You were speechless. She wasn’t yelling at you? “You think I have promise?”

Agatha nodded. “Which is why I’m offering you a job.”

“I got the position?” You smiled. “I can’t believe it.”

Agatha’s eyebrows furrowed. “What? No, don’t be ridiculous. You’re not ready to play with the Manhattan Symphony.”

“But you said you were offering me a job,” you repeated the words of the older woman.

“And I am. As my personal assistant,” Agatha explained as if it was the most obvious answer.

“You want me to be your assistant?” You said in disbelief. “Miss Harkness I’m not so sure if I’m qualified-“

Agatha cut you off again. “If you’re serious about being a violinist, especially being a violinist in my orchestra, we need to work on your technique. Natural talent only gets you so far my dear.” She shrugged. “And I may have just fired my newest assistant for being entirely incompetent.”

“I don’t know what to say,” You admitted. This certainly isn’t how you expected your day to go.

“I’m not going to force you to work for me, dear,” Agatha drawled out. “You can walk right out that door and continue on with your presumably simple and boring life.”

“And if I stay?” You prompted, already knowing what you were going to choose.

Agatha slowly walked up the steps of the stage and approached you. “Well then I’ll have my work cut out for me. As will you, darling. I’ll be working you quite hard.” You blushed at her suggestive tone and she smirked at your reaction. “Blushing already? I’ve barely even started.”

You cleared you throat before nodding. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

“Then let’s get started.” Agatha smirked. “This is going to be fun. Now, let’s take it from the top.”

Working for Agatha was interesting. She was very hard to read, and you could never tell if she was mad at you or if she was just in a mood. You had spent the past few weeks helping her prepare for the first symphony rehearsal of the season. Granted you weren’t doing much to help, all she was asking you to do was make copies of parts and to organize folders for each section.

Today was different. You entered the mostly empty building with a drink holder containing two cups of coffee in one hand and your violin case in the other when the sound of Agatha’s heels came click-clacking down the hallway. From the moment she rounded the corner, you could tell she was in a foul mood.

She was mumbling something incoherent but she stopped when she spotted you. “You’re late.”

You chose to not comment on the fact you were an hour early and instead carefully set down your violin case to hand her one of the cups of coffee. “Bad morning?”

“Hayward is an asshole,” Agatha seethed. “I had the entire season planned out but he thinks I’m not appealing to our investors.”

Well that explained it. Tyler Hayward was CFO of the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra and was a Grade-A asshole. You only had a few interactions with the man but they had all been quite unpleasant. He was less than pleased to discover Agatha had fired the assistant he hired and chose to hire you without consulting him. Luckily Agatha had all but kicked him out of her office and told you to come to her if he gave you a hard time.

“How is Dvorak’s Symphony No. 9 not appealing to investors?” You asked in confusion. “Everyone loves The New World Symphony.”

“That’s not the problem. He thinks I’m playing it too safe with the soloists,” Agatha explained and you thought of the soloists selected thus far. You could see how they would be safe options, but who doesn’t love Joshua Bell?

“But it’s too late to get out of those contracts without losing money,” You pointed out. “Does Hayward not know that?”

“Oh believe me, Hayward always gets his way,” Agatha spat out, and you noticed she appeared to be growing angrier. “He’s still mad I was voted in as music director by the board instead of his choice for the position, so he’s punishing me. And now I have to deal with Maximoff.”

You made a mental note to address the first part about Hayward later when Agatha wasn’t as grumpy, but grinned at the mention of the famous pianist. “Maximoff as in the Wanda Maximoff? She’s-“

“A wild card and not the soloist I envisioned having,” Agatha finished for you, glaring at the mere thought of the woman as you both walked towards her office.

“But she’s an amazing pianist,” You argued, remembering the one time you had the opportunity to watch her perform live with the Royal Philharmonic. “The way she plays is beautiful, and magical, and-“

Agatha growled and glared at you, picking up the speed she was walking at. “And she has no control. She doesn’t listen to direction and thinks she’s always right. Her ego is her downfall.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Wow, that sounds absolutely nothing like you.”

Agatha let out a laugh but still sent you another glare. “Don’t push it, darling,” Agatha warned you as she unlocked the door to her office. “I am nothing like Wanda Maximoff.”

You rolled your eyes after she turned around. “Right. So I’ll take the Beethoven parts out to make room for Wanda’s piece?”

Agatha sighed and combed her fingers through her wildly curly hair. “Well I’d rather just tell the little Sokovian princess she’s not allowed anywhere near my orchestra. But since that would be frowned upon, yes put the Beethoven back. Her agent should be emailing us the parts later today.”

You set off to prepare the dreadful task of reorganizing each folder while Agatha studied different scores. She had her baton out and was mindlessly conducting as she went through the fourth movement of the Dvorak. Over the past few weeks you had started to fall in love with watching her conduct. There was something so mesmerizing by the way she could bring different pieces to life with the mere movement of her hands. You watched her right hand lightly grip the baton and noticed the position of her fingers lightly grasping the silver object while her blue eyes scanned the score.

She felt your staring and smirked as she continued conducting. “See something you like, dear?”

Blushing furiously you went back to your task of sorting music, but every once in a while you allowed yourself to take a break to watch Agatha conduct, and although she smirked whenever she noticed, she didn’t make any more comments. Eventually you finished the work and put the folders away while filing the Beethoven in the cabinet.

“Good, you’re done,” Agatha said as she stood up. “Now it’s time for my favorite part of the day.”

You internally groaned and realized what she wanted. “Where you make one of the interns cry and go get lunch?”

“Close, dear. But no.” She motioned to your violin case. “Come.”

This was your least favorite part of the day. Now, you were used to receiving constructive criticism, and even just good old fashioned criticism. Over the years you had less than kind violin teachers, and you shuddered at the memory of Stefan throwing a chair across the room when you only had three pages of Mendelssohn fully memorized two months before your recital preview. He kept yelling in Russian that he would not be the first faculty member to have a student fail a preview. Or the time Jacqueline caused you to have a panic attack right before your sophomore year concerto competition because she didn’t ‘like your stage presence’ and went on some insane rant, and then yelled at you more while you were sobbing. Ah, the fond memories you had of college.

But there was something so intensely nerve wracking about performing in front of Agatha that it made all of those encounters seem like fun and games. You weren’t sure what it was about the woman, but there was just something about her presence that constantly had you on edge. What made it ten times worse was that Agatha seemed to be aware of the effect she had on you, and did whatever she could to make you blush.

You took a few moments to tune your violin and roll your shoulders back while Agatha made herself comfortable in the audience, but you both knew she wouldn’t stay out there for long.

“Now darling,” Agatha called out from her seat. “I want you to remember what we’ve been working on. The first impression you set when your bow hits the string needs to be dominating. I want to feel like you’re pinning me down on the stage. Make me want it.”

You stared at her incredulously and shook your head, trying not to visualize what she just said to you. “Right...pinning...dominating,” You murmured as you straightened your stance and took a deep breath. Setting your bow on the string, you made sure it was positioned at the frog.

“I can see you tensing from all the way out here,” Agatha said in a mocking tone. “Do I need to come up there and help you relax?”

You knew her coming anywhere near you would do the opposite to relax you. “Nope. Just stay where you are!”

“Oh, are you the one giving orders now, my dear?” Agatha teased as she slowly got out of her seat and made her way towards the stage. “I’m just trying to help. You need to relax your shoulders, otherwise you’re going to end up with a hunchback.”

“I like the Hunchback of Notre Dame,” You offered weakly as you watched her stalk her way up the stairs, her heels clicking up each step.

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.” She closed the distance between you and put her hands on your shoulders. “You need to relax.” She examined you closer and arched an eyebrow. “And breathe, my dear. Unless you want to fall in my arms.” You had taken to staring at the floor of the stage until you felt her hand gently cup your chin, forcing you to gaze at her. “Am I that hideous to look at that?”

“Ha, you’re so funny,” You managed to get out before taking a deep breath, and once again tried to relax your shoulders.

Despite your best efforts, you still felt tense, and Agatha noticed it as well. Letting out a gentle huff she moved behind you and began to rub your upper back. “Jeez, have you ever had a massage? It seems like you need one.”

“That’s a bit above my current pay check,” You quipped and blushed when you heard her responding chuckle.

“If you’re asking for a raise, you’re going to have to do better than that,” Agatha replied, her breath tickling your ear and sending delightful shivers down your spine. “You need to let go, darling. This much tension in your shoulders will do too much damage to your posture.”

She hit a particularly hard knot and you couldn’t help but moan at the sensation. You thought you heard Agatha mumble something under her breath but you were so lost in the sensation you didn’t ask her what she said. Agatha continued rubbing your shoulders and you slowly felt yourself relax into her touch.

“That’s it,” Agatha murmured. “Good girl.” Your eyes shot open at the praise and you heard her lightly chuckle. “Relax, dear. I could do this all day.”

Your shoulders eventually loosened up and you couldn’t help but groan when Agatha took a step away from you. “Quit your whining and play that chord,” Agatha demanded as she turned away from you, clapping her hands loudly. “I want to be wowed.”

Taking a deep breath, you fixed your stance before setting your bow back on the string. You were hesitating, and Agatha knew it too.

“Any day now. It’s not like I have anything else to do,” Agatha’s words were sharp but you knew she meant it as encouragement.

You let go of any fears you had of what would come next as you positioned your fingers on the string and rolled your bow to produce the g-minor chord. Your left wrist was loose enough to slow down your vibrato and you went through the first section without any interruptions from Agatha. As you began the next phrase you remembered what Agatha had told you about making it bigger and better than before.

“Always leave them wanting more,” Agatha had instructed her. “Make each phrase slightly different. No one wants to suffer through ten minutes of the same few notes.”

You added more vibrato for this phrase and changed the dynamics so you were growing in sound until you heard her calling for you to stop.

“Stop! Stop, that’s enough,” Agatha yelled as she walked back towards you. “That was...better.”

“Dare I say you sound surprised?” You joked causing her to glare at you.

“Fishing for compliments, are we?” She questioned, but eventually relented. “You’re getting better.”

You grinned wildly at her praise. “That was the nicest thing you’ve said to me so far today.”

“Keeping score?” Agatha mused, a smile threatening to tug at her lips at your enthusiasm. “Like I said, you’re getting better, but there’s a lot of work to do. I want to hear those octave slides and not feel like my ears are bleeding from your intonation. Chop chop.”

[samstree]

and the wolf was nowhere to be found (3/4)

It dawns on Jaskier that in the span of only a few days, his and Geralt’s roles have reversed.

(3.2k, lying spell/potion, cursed jaskier, blood and injury, miscommunication)

The reverse trope series masterlist.

AO3

Jaskier is perched on the edge of the bed, exactly where he woke up an eternity ago. The barmaid is filling the bathtub with one bucket of water after another, but he pays no attention.

He fidges with the splints on his arms, careful not to tug on the tendons. With how swollen his wrists are, that seems like an impossible feat.

“You alright by yourself?” the girl asks, pouring the last of the water.

“Yes.”

Jaskier lets the word out without a fight. It wouldn’t do much good anyway. The barmaid is gone within a second, and Jaskier sits alone in the inn room with both arms immobilized and a hot bath waiting.

Untying the laces is painful. Jaskier ends up with a head full of sweat by the time his doublet hits the ground, and the intricate bindings on his chemise give him an even bigger headache. His arms tremble like they are getting more broken by the minute.

It takes forever for Jaskier to strip himself nude and notice the bloodstains all the way down his neck. The wound at his nape is sewed close neatly, barely stinging by now, but with one look of himself in the mirror, Jaskier knows he’s a mess. The dried blood, added by the dark circles under his eyes, makes quite a harrowing picture.

He sinks into the hot water and rests his arms by the edge, the warmth loosening his muscles and clearing the smell of blood. Gradually, he lowers himself under the surface and feels his lungs burn.

Drowning himself would be a nice idea, if only he isn’t sticking out his forearms just so the splints don’t get soaked. Also, Geralt will blame himself even more, so there goes the thought.

Jaskier emerges and shakes away the droplets like a wet dog. He can’t get soap into his hair anyway. Sitting there in self-pity and regret is his only option.

And what right does Jaskier have to feel sorry for himself? Geralt is the one hurt by the poison he spewed, curse or not, and yet he still sewed up Jaskier’s neck and bandaged his wrists. He even ordered a bath for Jaskier when he left, for good this time, Jaskier is sure. There’s no reason for Geralt to stay after all, now that he believes Jaskier is ready to turn on him at every chance just like everybody else.

In the end, it doesn’t matter that a fae in the woods made him say it. Geralt will never be his friend again, let alone anything Jaskier has only allowed his heart to entertain in the wildest dreams.

That’s why he sucks in a surprised breath when a knock comes from the door. Jaskier bites into his lips, just to be safe.

“It’s me.” Geralt’s voice is small, tentative. “Do you need help?” After a stretch of silence, he pushes open the door slowly. “I only want to check on you—Gods, Jaskier, are you in pain?”

Is he? Perhaps soaking his wound in hot water and clutching at the tub with his broken hands isn’t that wise.

“I…” The chair screeches against the floor and Geralt settles next to Jaskier. “I know you don’t want to see me, but you can’t treat your injuries so carelessly. Here.”

Geralt picks up a bar of soap and dips it into water. The next thing Jaskier knows, gentle hands are threaded through his hair and massaging his scalp.

“I’ll just clean it and bandage it. It won’t take long.”

Jaskier looks into the unbearable sadness in those amber eyes, and hates that he’s doing this to Geralt.

“I hate that I’m doing this to you, Jaskier. I—” Geralt sighs. “I wish I could go back and leave you alone after the mountain. I’d make sure we never meet in that damned tavern in Posada if it means you won’t get hurt. Seeing you like this, I—”

Jaskier catches Geralt’s gaze, pleading and seeking, and feels the witcher still under his attention. No, he doesn’t deserve any comfort, not when he’s the one completely at blame. It’s bad enough that Geralt believed all those awful things, and Jaskier won’t ask for more.

“Jaskier?”

He looks down again and lets Geralt go back to his ministrations.

Geralt sighs with relief, and Jaskier swallows the lump in his throat.

Gods, he wants to explain, wants more than anything to erase the hurt he inflicted—if that is still possible. Letting Geralt believe those things is so fundamentally wrong. But how will Jaskier explain? With his voice gone and wrists ruined, there’s no real way of communication, and the thought of more awful things slipping out by accident is enough for Jaskier to wish for death by drowning again.

He let twenty years pass without ever admitting his love, and now he’s lost the chance.

The water trickles down Jaskier’s temple when Geralt rinses out the soap. His movement is achingly gentle, rough calluses ghosting over Jaskier’s skin only by accident. If only tenderness can kill. Tears well up again, and he’s losing control.

“Does it still hurt?” Geralt asks while retrieving a towel.

“No.”

The first preferable lie of the day.

Slowly, Jaskier turns around to let Geralt dry the curls near his forehead, his jaw clenching tight again. There’s a crease between Geralt’s brows, his amber eyes unconvinced. A large sheet is wrapped around Jaskier’s frame when he steps out of the tub.

Jaskier hisses when he tries to catch the hem of the sheet, and Geralt stills. “Let me see your wrists.”

Jaskier stares into amber eyes, silently hoping that without an answer, Geralt will leave him to his misery. He can’t afford another slip. And yet, determination creeps into Geralt’s features, and there’s no point in fighting anymore. A determined Geralt is not someone Jaskier can refuse.

“I’ll be quick,” Geralt pauses. “Please?”

It’s unfair how kind Geralt is being.

Jaskier’s shoulders sag when he pads across the room to sit on the bed, arms gathering the sheet into a heap near his midriff. He should maintain at least a shred of dignity.

Geralt sits down next to him, shoulders weighed down, looking just as tired as Jaskier feels. Still, when he unwraps Jaskier’s wrists, his motion is the most precise thing, touching just enough for practical purposes, not sparing even a brush of knuckles.

Even the slightest probing sends a sharp bolt of pain up Jaskier's arms, but it’s nothing compared to the torture of being so close to Geralt, dreading his fate—being left alone once again. This time, it’ll be permanent and he’ll deserve it.

Jaskier holds his breath, waiting for the inevitable blow that is Geralt declaring he’ll leave on first light. For reasons beyond this world, it doesn’t come. Instead, Geralt lets out a strangled sound.

Jaskier frowns. His wrists are painted with a plethora of black and purple bruises, the edges fading into green and yellow, which is just to be expected.

“You’ll never play again,” Geralt whispers. “If we don’t do anything about it.”

Does it matter? He has long since forgotten how to sing without Geralt in his songs.

“I—” Geralt wraps the gauze around the splints, one by one, tucking in the end. “I asked around just now. Word says a mage is only a day’s ride away. No one at the market was sure, but I am. Yen is only a day away. We can make it tomorrow.”

At the mention of the sorceress’s name, the press of teeth against his tongue is the last of Jaskier’s worry, and he retracts his arms instantly. Under the thin sheet, Jaskier shivers.

“Jaskier, I can’t leave you like this. You need your music when I—” Geralt shakes his head, the pursed line of his lips impossibly sad. “—When you go. Yennefer can fix it. I know you can’t stand me, but at least grant me the peace of mind. Let me know you will be all right, after.”

The dim room turns hazy in the candlelight, and Jaskeir can only curl into himself to stem the tears. He sits there for too long, not sure if he nodded. Wrapping the wound on his head doesn’t take long, and then Geralt is gone without a word.

Jaskier hugs himself tighter, and sobs into the quiet night, the aches of his body finally tiring him out.

 ~~

Strapping the lute case to Roach’s saddle is a task Geralt has done hundreds of times, and yet he fidgets with the contraption in the morning, adjusting it so many times, pulling at the knot again and again.

It’s almost like he wants to stretch their journey longer.

But then, one look at Jaskier’s splinted arms and bandaged head, he smoothes a hand down Roach’s mane and deemed her ready to go.

Riding on the mare while the witcher walks ahead of them is not the most novel experience for Jaskier. Despite Geralt’s overprotectiveness of his mare, he’s always let Jaskier ride if he was truly distressed—or simply complained loudly enough.

There’s no complaining during their one-day journey, even Roach is behaving like the good girl she is. Jaskier gladly endures her glares as long as she doesn’t throw him off her back. Perhaps she senses that will certainly kill him.

The small village looms by the end of the road, right next to the setting sun, and Jaskier’s knees almost buckle under him as he dismounts. He catches the saddle by instinct and chokes in a grunt. There’s fresh blood between his teeth. Geralt’s hands steady Jaskier by the elbows as he breathes through the pain, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Walking into Yennefer’s cottage like this is the last thing Jaskier wants, but what choice does he have? She has long since figured out how pathetic he is. A mere human plastered himself to a witcher’s side, never once considering the possibility that he’s unwanted. A mock or two from Yennefer of Vengerburg aren’t anything new.

To Jaskier’s surprise, when violet eyes meet him, there’s no mockery.

Yennefer stands from a workstation full of vials and bottles. Without sparing a glance at Geralt, she walks right past the witcher.

“Oh, bardling,” she says, “what have you gotten yourself into?”

It takes a brave man to not cower under her knowing gaze, and Jaskier is far from one. He wishes to hide in the setting sun and the darkening room, his feet quiet on the wooden floor and lips sealed. Without a voice, Jaskier is left with no presence anyway.

Pulling Yennefer away, Geralt must be explaining the situation. Once in a while, they will both turn their heads at Jaskier with a pinched look, an almost identical one. Paying attention to the conversation becomes difficult as exhaustion hits Jaskier at full force. The blood loss from the makes him dizzy after traveling on horse, his bones aching from all the jostling. Jaskier sinks into a soft armchair and lets low grumbling witcher baritone and Yennefer’s silvery voice wash over him. The sorceress could make a singer in another life, he muses. A great one, even. Not that he’ll ever admit it to her face, but a bard should recognize talent anywhere.

When Jaskeir is shaken awake by the shoulder, the sky is pitch dark and the tiny cottage is lit by a single candle. It gives out way more light than it should, illuminating everything in sight. Witchcraft will never stop giving Jaskier the creeps.

Geralt is nowhere to be found, and Yennefer looks down at him in pity.

“Come on.” She sounds even gentle; perhaps Jaskier is dying from these broken bones, he muses inwardly. “Do you want it fixed or not?”

Jaskier sits up against soft cushions while Yennefer gathers her herbs and medicine. A cup is shoved before his face and he barely manages to catch it with his hands heavily wrapped, and the content is the most disgusting thing he’s ever tasted.

Shuddering, Jaskier lets loose of his lips just for the momentary satisfaction of revenge. “You are vile, witch.”

Yennefer’s hands stop mid-air right before grabbing another bottle. Sharply, she turns around to observe Jaskier closely, her expression stone-cold, raven hair falling to frame her face elegantly. Jaskier swallows hard.

“Gods, you are the ugliest person I’ve laid eyes on.” Stopping seems an unlikely task right now. Jaskier feels horror sinking into his very core as the warm light gleams in violet eyes. “Your eyes are the most dreadful, and then there’s your voice. Utterly uninspiring. You’d make the most terrible singer if given the chance.”

Seconds tickle by, and Jaskeir expects to be turned into a toad on the spot. It seems Geralt has miscalculated. Bringing Jaskier here will solve his problem once and for all, because he’ll never play the lute again if the rest of his life will be spent on a lilypad. Jaskier feels heat draining from his cheeks, but for the second time, Yennefer surprises him.

The corners of her mouth turn upwards as she casts a silent spell with her fingers. Eyebrows raised, she asks without heat, “more comments for me?”

With a huff, Jaskeir launches again. “Has the great Yennefer of Vengerburg gone soft? I’d imagine with the amount of broken hearts you left in your wake, you would have remade yours with stone.” There’s a sizzle in the air, like magic appearing and fading at the same time, but Jaskier ignores it. “Now what? Not even one insult for me? After I called you the most beautiful person on—” Jaskier snaps his mouth shut, and feels for his tongue.

He’s free.

“Oh,” he lets out the longest exhale, and immediately, “shit.”

Jaskier watches in horror as a smile spreads across Yennefer’s face, the smugness unmasked in the way her arms crossed before her chest. Oh, the price he’d pay just for the ground to swallow him whole right now.

“The most what?”

Jaskier stares at the empty cup in his lap, and then back up at Yennefer.

“You—” he splutters. “Of course.”

“The fae curses come in all shapes and forms. This one was particularly whimsical.” Yennefer leans against her workstation, putting down two corked vials on the table. “Your wrists are bad, but not unsalvageable. Drink these in seven days and they’ll be fine.”

“I thought you could do magic.”

“You might have time to nurse a broken heart, but the rest of us don’t have the luxury. There’s a war. It costs magic.”

Yennefer turns away, and Jaskier looks at her—really looks at her for the first time since stepping into this town. There’s a weariness in the way she carries herself and the self-soothing gesture of pressing her palm on her stomach from time to time. Her make-up is immaculate as ever, but the droop of her lashes speaks of a haunting experience.

“Are you okay?” Jaskier clears his throat, legs tense and ready to go to her, but thinks better of it.

Violet eyes meet him sharply. “And you’re calling me soft?”

Jaskier huffs, almost offended. “You just lifted a fae curse for me out of the goodness of your will. I’d say that’s a reasonable accusation. I … I realize I haven’t said it. Thank you, Yennefer. It was kind of you. Despite what I may have said a few years ago in a drunken fit, I’d hate it if the war claimed you too.”

Remembering that night has Jaskier cringing, but Yennefer only lets out a dry laugh. After all, she did get him back on a few hours later, by tripping him on stage with the wave of a hand. Geralt was never amused by their petty squabbles.

“You are never what I expect you to be, Jaskier.”

“Did you think me incapable of a little gratitude?”

“I thought you incapable of many things.”

“Such as?”

Yennefer straightens her back, the soft curve of her lips fading. “Such as hurting Geralt.”

Shame washes over Jaskeir anew, and he winces. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Jaskier has always been aware that the mountain was not just an ending to his world, but one for the fated romance between Geralt and Yennefer as well. And yet, no matter how angry at the djinn wish, Yennefer still sounds fiercely protective of Geralt.

“I see this is where you turn me into a toad.”

Yennefer taps the vials absently, eyeing at Jaskier’s broken body. “Somehow I feel like you’re punished enough.”

She says that as if Jaskier’s physical wounds are anything compared to how deeply he must have hurt Geralt. The absence of him takes up all the space between Jaskier’s ribcage, and the grief is almost crushing. He sniffles, his nose sore and throat tight.

“You told him?” Jaskier asks, voice small. He doesn’t know which is worse, Geralt leaving believing those words were genuinely Jaskier’s, or him learning about the curse and then choosing to go. A liar, Geralt once called him with affection. Did he anticipate Jaskier would be lying to him too?

He’d hate either answer from Yennefer, but she doesn’t give one. Instead, her tone gentles, “did he realize?”

Jaskier snaps his head up with a crease between his brows. “What?”

“When you were cursed and bleeding, did he realize those lies weren’t yours?”

Jaskier sags with sorrow.

“You know the answer.”

Yennefer moves around the table and sits behind it, the magic candle obscuring her expression. There could be a hint of regret, but Jaskier doesn’t dare to assume.

“He didn’t recognize the looks of a man with his choices taken.”

Jaskier shakes his head like a rattle. “It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t have known.”

“Because Geralt was ready to believe your lies from the start,” she sighs. “As if you could ever utter those words. As if someone might want to stay with him simply because they wish to.”

No, his heart was not the only one that broke on top of the mountain.

“Do you think,” Jaskier tries, “if he told you about—”

“It’s too late for us,” she waves him off, readying parchment and a quill. “I don’t bother myself with could-have-beens, and neither should him, but.”

The implication hangs in the air.

Jaskier gets up, observing Yennefer’s long, meaningful look, and chuckles tightly. “You truly have gone soft, witch.”

“Don’t come to me dying again, bardling. A third time, I might just let you.”

“No, you won’t.”

Thanking Yennefer again is easy, so is the jab she returns, but finding Geralt becomes the only thing on Jaskier’s mind, so much so that he’s only doubling back after rushing out the door.

“Almost forgot.” He pockets the potions, albeit clumsily. “And where…?”

“There’s only one way out of town. He left not long ago.” Yennefer has begun writing a letter, not even looking up.

“Perfect.”

“I’m serious about the dying.”

Jaskier suppresses the urge to give her a kiss as they bid a final goodbye, and runs out into the night.

It’s not too late for them.

He just needs to make it right. Apologize, explain… Anything that can convince Geralt that he never meant those words, that he’s never seen Geralt as anything but the truest friend, that he’s loved, completely and unreservedly.

It dawns on Jaskier that in the span of only a few days, his and Geralt’s roles have reversed.

~~

A big thanks to Beginte on AO3 for pointing out the parallel between Jaskier and Geralt. Now they've switched roles and Jaskier is the one who said words he didn't mean and desperately wants to apologize.

Ah, the final chapter, here I come. Although I have no timeframe for my writing these days; school is starting to get busy and I am whelmed by the amount of paperwork involved in moving to a new country. Be patient with me, as I am with the local banking efficiency.

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon @holymotherwolf

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[twinklelilstarkey]

“Please don’t go” with Freddie Andersen 🥺

"Please don't go" - Frederik Andersen

Words: 3.6k+

Type: ANGST

Warnings: A lot of crying from both Y/N and Freddie. Break up. Mentions of long distance relationships.

It was a tough decision to end your relationship with Freddie.

You two had dated for a few months, after being extremely good friends for years. The whole relationship was a quite sudden decision, but right as it started, it felt so right that you felt stupid for not admitting your feelings sooner.

You feel like it’s fair to say that everything, absolutely everything, was just pure perfection when you were together. And that is why what you two shared will always be kept in your hearts:

All the smiles, all the laughter, all the hugs, all the kisses. The way one would always support the other on whatever decision. Or the way you two believed in one another, no matter what. 

There was just nothing bad about it. There were no arguments. If anything there was just disagreements, which if they did escalate, you two would fix it or just calm down in the same breath. 

Ending it, even though expected, was as painful as anything can possibly be. Both of you cried, constantly itching to comfort one other, feeling as helpless like never before.

You two sat opposites on your couch. Freddie looked at the ground, elbows over his knees as he listened to you, and you stared at a wall to contain your tears. Yet as soon as the first one escaped, you were done for.

Sobs in the middle of sentences, almost as if your heart was pleading your brain to stop you from putting an end to it. To what made you happy. 

An imaginary weight, which would always be lifted off when together, had now set over the two of you again. As well as the cold of familiar loneliness, and the horrible pain of heartbreak.

But it was for the best... right?

You got a huge offer for your job, some kind of promotion, which consisted of you moving to America.

It has been so many years since you started calling the Toronto streets your home, that you just know that this change will be unfamiliar and hard, yet the outcome always seems worth it. 

In your eyes, there’s absolutely no way for you to refuse it.

But for you to have it, you have to lose a lot too since work never makes it easy for anyone to take days off. Especially if those few days are to be in another country. Canada, in your case.

And sure, you had holidays and a week or two offered to you as some sort of vacation in a whole year of work. But not enough for you to try and leave everything behind you intact and act as if it will stay like that while you're away.

Whether you like it or not, strong friendships will become weak, the constant communication with your family will not even seem like half of what it used to be, and when it comes to relationships, trust will be tested. And god, even if you trust someone with your life, nothing can stop your brain from thinking of all awful possibilities. As well as your heart from hurting due to missing them so much.

Long-distance relationships are painful and you do not want to go through them. You would prefer to let the love of your life live his life with someone else, then let them wait for you for only God knows how much time.

That decision is the opposite way of looking at life selfishly. You prefer to go through an immense amount of pain if that means that the ones you love will be happy. Something Freddie always loved about you and sometimes would bring it up in conversations.

He also wouldn't let you refuse such an offer and you know it. The opportunity of you going after your dream was more important to him than anything, because it is your dream. He just didn't really know what would come with it.

He didn't know how much he would cry, how much he wouldn't want to open his eyes in the morning to see an empty bed, how much he would come to hate the silence in his home, or the absence of your perfume in his hoodies. It was a whole list of horrible things that he feels while following the same routine as before, yet all it gives him is pain. 

While you were packing your whole apartment to move far away, fighting off tears, Freddie had to work.

In morning skates, he would find himself skipping almost half his playlist when stretching because everything would remind him of you. He wouldn't look up at the clock in anticipation to go home. Or even be quick with getting off the ice when the last minute of work ends.

Sometimes he would sit on the bench for so long that the lights would eventually turn off around the arena. But he would just sit there. Head hung low with his eyes either closed or staring at nothing in front of him, letting his head run free.

Those weeks were rough. If rough could even come to describe half of what you two felt.

Today is your last day. The day to get on an airplane and not be sure when you're going to step foot into Canadian soil before Christmas. Or even see your loved ones before that too.

Your family and your friends have texted you a lot this morning, letting you know that they'll meet you at the airport. As well as asking how excited you feel.

You truly aren't even slightly excited to leave. All you feel is regret. And it's heavy and painfully stabbing its way into your back while closing its fists around your heart.

Why didn't you start dating way before all of this? Maybe that would've worked out in a way. You two could've argued and hated each other for what you've swarmed it could be forever. 

Or why did you have to meet him at all? Why didn't you ignore him like every other guy that talked to you on that specific bar? It would've made your friendship impossible and he would be nothing but a goalie you would see on the TV.

Getting up from bed today was just as bad to you as it was for Freddie. You two both dragged your feet into your separate bathrooms and undressed, pulling yourselves under the water of the shower. The water would soak you but neither of you moved to actually start doing anything else, you just stood there for a minute.

And with that, a loud sob jumped out of your mouth and you're back into your circle. Back to doing the same things with the same make-up-less face, your eyes swollen from tears and gaze fixed in nothing but the tiles of your floor.

Freddie didn't sob, but he isn't sure if he didn't cry either. If tears fell they left with the water falling from on top of him. The water that is trying to embrace him back to comfort, but failing miserably.

You throw the rest of your things inside your last bag and close the zipper slowly. Your gaze lifts up to the mirror of your bathroom and the reflected image breaks you as reality sets in.

You have to leave.

Walking around the apartment to check on everything was difficult as you continue to battle your emotions and throw all the memories to the back of your mind.

After that, you leave the key on the place you had previously planned with your landlord, and off you went into your Uber to the airport with your last belongings in your bags. Ready to leave home.

The driver was nice. He made small talk about where you were going and how he had gone there with his family last summer. He also must have sensed your uneasiness, so he decided highlight how nice the locals were and how everyone would always be ready to help you.

It relaxed you in a way, but not entirely as that wasn't even what was on your mind in the first place.

On the other hand, Freddie's late. Stuck in traffic to be more precise. His leg bounces with stress as he hides his face under his hat and hood of his shirt. All he could think of is how he won't get there in time.

His driver is silent, bobbing his head to the soft music playing on the radio while he stares at all the cars in front of them.

When taking a quick peek at the lines of cars in front of him, Freddie's starting to lose hope, no matter how hard he tries to be more optimistic.

He unlocks his phone as his fingers itch to text you, but he freezes at the picture of his home screen. He still doesn't have to heart to change anything he had with you, not even his god damn home screen.

A picture just a few weeks old, before you even had told him about the job offer. You were smiling at him behind the camera while holding a puppy up to your chest, eyes bright and wide with excitement. And your smile... just as breathtaking as heart-wrenching.

Freddie blinks harshly at the painful happy memory and looks ahead of him as the car moves ever so slightly. He has to at least say bye to you.

"You're going to love it, I know it!" Your mom says excitingly.

She squeezes you into another hug and you close your eyes at the feeling of her squeeze. Your hands are shaking for some unknown reason so you hesitate before wrapping your arms around her as well.

"You'll meet so many new people and learn so much new stuff."

She's starting to sound more excited than you at this point, yet you don't do anything but a short nod against her shoulder.

When you pull away, you look down at your phone, expecting to see any sort of notification... but there's nothing.

"Hey, I want a hug too." Your friend says over everyone's voices as she elbows her way to you.

You offer her a broken grin and she sadly smiles at you, throwing herself and her arms around you. 

Freddie almost rips the door open as the Uber parks right in front of the airport's main doors, not even realizing that he hasn’t acknowledged the driver verbally ever since he got inside the vehicle. 

His feet feel heavy and his legs tired, even though they have no reason to feel that way, yet he drags them into the building.

He walks fast-paced through the airport, looking through every group of people. His eyes scanning every single backpack, shirt, head of hair, beanie. Everything to find you.

You unwrap your arms from around another one of your friends and she smiles at you while cupping your face in her hands.

"If you ever need anything, I'll be on the first plane to you." She tells you and you grin at her.

"Promise?" You ask.

"I promise."

She kisses your nose and that's able to make your scowl break onto a smile, making everyone around you feel a sudden weight being lifted off the air around them, relief.

You adjust your backpack on your shoulder as you look around the group to see if you've hugged everyone and it sure seems like it. Your heart tightens in your chest and you take a deep breath.

"Are you ready to go?" Your mom asks you, laying her hand over your shoulder.

"I think so." You tell her.

She gives you a light squeeze in comfort and looks over behind her to see the line where you need to do your check-in.

"Well, I believe you just need to go over there," She starts, looking back at you, "and get your-"

She stops talking out of nowhere and you lift your gaze from your bag at her. She’s staring at something behind you.

Your heart quickens and at the sudden bit of hope runs through you. You look over your shoulder and your eyes meet Freddie walking towards you.

He's wearing grey sweatpants, a black hoodie, a hat over his head, and the hood of his shirt over it. If it wasn't for all the light coming from the large windows beside you, you wouldn't have noticed his reddened eyes and the broken look he's giving you.

Without any sort of hesitation, you take the backpack from your shoulder and lay it on the ground, taking steps towards him.

Freddie meets you halfway, wrapping his arms around you as yours move up to wrap around his neck and cling onto him. He holds you by your waist securely and lifts you in the air to hold you as close to him as possible.

A soft sob you’ve been holding in falls from your lips, sounding slightly muffled by his clothes, and you lay your head over his shoulder. Freddie closes his eyes to stop his tears from coming up again, snuggling his face close to you.

Your family and friends, when seeing and noticing you two, let sad smiles appear on their faces and decide to step aside, giving you two some space and privacy.

"I ran the whole airport to find you." He says, some humor deep in his tone.

A small smile lifts over your face as you cry your eyes out again, more out of relief than anything else.

One of his vacant hands lays on the back of your head, almost as it holding steady and his thumb caresses the nape of your neck, softly and carefully.

"I thought you weren't coming."

You pull your face away from his shoulder and take a look at him, locking gazes with him. Your hands rest over his shoulders and Freddie looks back just as directly.

"I got stuck in traffic." He explains.

Your hands come up to his bearded cheeks, a small pout influencing your forced smile, and your thumbs caress his skin.

His hand also rises up and he quickly wipes the tears off your cheeks.

“Don’t cry, come on.” He tries to tell you in a whisper over the sound of everyone’s loud voices around the airport.

“Sorry.” You tell him almost automatically, voice slightly cracking.

“No, don’t be sorry.” He corrects you. “I just don’t want to see you sad.”

You sniffle, your hands still over his cheeks, and give him a little nod, almost as your way to acknowledge his words since you’re not really trusting your voice right now.

Freddie kisses your palm and you lift your hands to wrap your arms around his neck again. He holds you as well and tries to swallow the ball of emotions at the back of his throat as your body shakes as you let out another overpowering small wave of silent sobs.

His eyes water ever so slightly and he blinks the tears away. 

“Do you feel ready to go?” He asks against the fabric of your hoodie, leaning his head closer against you.

“No.” You tell him.

Freddie swears his whole body reacted to your words. Maybe it was because you said it so close to his ear and that was the reason why he felt all those chills, but in a way, he knows it’s more than that.

He gives you more squeeze and your heart aches over what it could possibly mean. His hand rests over your leg and he leans forward to motion you to get back on the ground.

You do as requested but your body almost acts as if in denial when you order it to let go of him.

Freddie’s hands lay loosely by your waist, while your arms still hug his neck close to you, making him have to lean down over you.

“You still want to go, right?” He asks.

He doesn’t even know if he’s just checking on you or if he’s just hoping for an answer that would mean that you could go back home with him, but either way, he awaits it.

“I think so.” You try to say, but your voice falls in a whisper.

He forces your arms a bit away from him and you lift your head from his shoulder, sending him a look so broken that Freddie swears it broke his heart even further. He stares back into your eyes silently and observes your expression.

Without thinking twice, you close the small space between you two and lay your lips against his.

The sweet kiss is more than welcomed by Freddie, who can’t help but feel the small bit of hope course through his veins. The relief he felt over feeling you just hugging him again was able to destroy so many doubts in his head, and now that you’re kissing him, it’s like he’s falling in love all over again.

His hand rests in the back of your head, not letting you pull away just yet from the kiss he has been thinking about and needing for the past few weeks.

When you do pull away, you two just feel reality wash over you like a ice cold bucket of water. It’s heartbreaking to the point of you to want to gasp for air. 

You feel horrible.

Freddie looks back into your eyes as he pulls away further and he feels his eyes well up in tears again. And this time, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Why do you have to go?

Your hands lay over his shoulders even when he stands upright and his hand continues rested over your head, against your hair, feeling it under his fingers.

He breaks his gaze from your eyes to check the time on the screen a few meters behind you. You follow his gaze, hands now sliding and resting over his chest, and your heart skips a beat at how the time flew since you had gotten there.

You don’t have much time left.

Your eyes go back to Freddie and he looks absolutely broken. And that is not making anything feel any easier for you.

“I love you.” You decide to tell him, “So much.”

He looks down at you and brings his hands back to your cheeks, holding your face.

“I love you too.” He answers.

His voice is so much lower and so much weaker than you’ve ever heard it before, it feels like a nightmare. 

It feels so unreal and so scary that it seems like something only the back of your mind can create to terrify you.

You grip onto his shirt and pull him down to you again, ignoring how the tears are starting to come up your eyes once more. He does as you request him to and this time doesn’t even even think twice before kissing you.

Your lips press against his as he lays various small pecks onto them while holding your wet cheeks in his larger hands.

“Please don’t go.” You hear him plead after a kiss.

You reopen your eyes and stare back at his. A tear has been able to escape his eyes and you’re quick to wipe it with the end of your sleeves.

“I need to go, Freddie.” You tell him, fighting off a sob. “I already signed everything.”

Frederik lays his forehead against yours and looks back onto you.

“Then I’ll wait for you.”

No.

You shake your head at him as a sob escapes your lips again and he fights off your denial with a nod.

“I will. I’ll wait for that contract to end, or I’ll retire early, I don’t care.” He tells you, feeling some more tears wet his face again, “We’ll be together again. I’ll visit you as many times as I can. I promise.”

You wipe his tears and quickly lean back to just pull him into another hug.

You cling onto his shirt, feeling more powerless than anything. 

The pain you’re feeling due to leaving is so strong that you almost don’t feel like yourself. Your body is shaking, you feel light headed, your chest is aching as your heart beats just as fast as your mind runs through all your options. 

You didn’t want it to be like this. For you to feel so sad and in so much pain. 

Freddie holds you back before you pull back, squeezing you close to him.

“Honey, it’s time to go.”

Your mom’s voice.

You quickly wipe your tears and lift your head from Freddie’s shoulder. He lets you go and a sudden rush of cold fills your body. The lack of his warmth is almost able to freeze you.

After that and a harsh and hard swallow of all your emotions, you pull your parents and friends into another set of hugs. Rushing back to Freddie for a last hug.

His hand is over your back, moving up and down to try and comfort you. You lay your wet cheek over his shirt, not caring if you wet it. And as soon as you look at him, your chin over his chest, he kisses your cheek.

A last squeeze later and you step back, offering everyone a small smile. Freddie grabs your backpack from the ground and gives it over to you. You take it silently and look up at everyone once more.

A small broken whisper moves past your lips as a small ‘bye’ to everyone that is looking at you and you soon turn on your heels, and... leave.

You don’t look back. Scared that if you do, you’re not able to keep going. And with that, Freddie stays back, standing right next to your family and friends.

Your mom has her hand over his back, comforting him just like he just did to you, in silence. And as soon as you’re out of the view from everyone’s eyes, she doesn’t hesitate to pull him into a hug.

“You’ll be together again. I’m sure of it.” She reassures him.

I hate this, but it can’t stay on my drafts for longer than it already has. Hope you like it...?

[cosmicgoddesswrites]

The Nanny - Chapter 2

Single Dad!Kuroo x Nanny!Reader

Summary: Kuroo Tetsuro is about at his wits end; there's only so much a man can take with work piling up, his divorce getting messier by the minute, and his 6-year-old daughter raising hell at home. Hiring a nanny sounds like a band-aid solution, but who knows, maybe this will work out?

Word Count: 1738

Warnings: Female!Reader, Some cursing, mentions of v!olence, implied panic attack

Prev. Masterlist. Next.

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

Pulling up to the house the next morning was just as nerve-racking, if not more so, than it was the day before. (Y/n) was excited to meet Emiko, but couldn’t help the anxiety bubbling in the pit of her stomach.

What if Emiko didn’t like her? Kuroo said if she did well then she would get to stay on as her nanny. Did that mean if she did a shit job that he would fire her?

(Y/n) pushed her worries to the back of her mind as she approached the front door, gripping the spare key Kuroo had given her so hard she thought it might bend. With a deep breath she unlocked the front door and made her way inside.

Her footsteps practically echoed in the spacious house. One would think she was there completely alone. 

Making her way to the kitchen, (Y/n) set down her messenger bag in one of the island chairs. Should she start cooking? Should she wait for Kuroo to greet her? Would he even greet her? Did she have to wait until she knew Emiko was up?

Her inner monologue was interrupted by a loud crash followed by a shrill scream that could have easily been mistaken for an emergency siren.

Instinct had (Y/n) rushing to the source of the noise and almost bumping into a frantic and half naked, very wet Kuroo.

“O-oh my god-”

“Oh, hi. Uh, I was showering, should we-?” Kuroo interrupted (Y/n), pointing to the door they were both standing in front of. (Y/n) prayed he didn’t notice her staring.

“Yes, yes we should-” she mumbled, moving to let him open the door.

Kuroo swung open the door, rushing to his daughter’s bedside and checking her for injuries. The father sighed in relief when he found none, only for his smile of relief to drop when he saw a very expensive looking night-light had been thrown on the floor.

“You scared me half to death,” he huffed, picking up the night-light, “did you throw this? You know daddy paid a lot for that.”

The little girl’s attention had shifted from her dad to the stranger in the room, her intense, amber eyes almost sizing the woman up. “Who’s that?”

Kuroo frowned at the lack of response from his daughter. “That’s (Y/n), she’s going to be your nanny, okay?” he explained, inspecting the light for any damage.

(Y/n) smiled and opened her mouth to speak only for the 6-year-old to cut her off.

“I don’t like her.”

Ouch.

Kuroo choked on his saliva and quickly turned to face his daughter, “Emiko that isn’t nice, you just met her. Can you give her a chance?”

Emiko stayed dead silent, continuing to stare (Y/n) down.

(Y/n) tried her best to play off the insanely awkward encounter, kneeling down to meet Emiko’s eye-line. “That’s okay, buuut do you like pancakes?”

The girl’s eyes lit up for a moment, she was obviously trying to mask any reaction to the mention of food, but her stomach betrayed her as it rumbled loudly.

“Well I like pancakes too, I make them nice and thick and fluffy with lots of syrup. How about I go make you and your dad some right now?” (Y/n) offered Emiko a bright smile as the little girl glanced over at her father.

“I know that sounds good to me!” Kuroo said, “How about we get dressed for the day while (Y/n) starts cooking?”

Kuroo didn’t even wait for a reply, he just stood straight and began getting Emiko’s clothes ready for the day. (Y/n) gave Emiko one last smile before heading for the kitchen.

(Y/n) could hear arguing coming from Emiko’s room as she cooked breakfast. It was clear the little girl would pull no punches on (Y/n)’s first day, making this a difficult start to what would hopefully be her new, permanent job.

Kuroo eventually entered the kitchen, frustration evident in his features as he carried Emiko to the small dining table. The little girl kicked and struggled in his hold, whining and grunting as she tried getting away. Her school uniform and hair was a mess, it couldn’t have been genes making her jet-black hair stick up like that.

(Y/n) served Emiko her breakfast as soon as the young girl was in her chair, ensuring she wouldn’t try running off to get her father to chase her. Those adorable amber eyes identical to Kuroo’s lit up as she began digging into her breakfast, not even bothering to wait for her dad to sit beside her.

The older man adjusted his tie before sitting at the table and beginning to eat breakfast as well; he seemed very pleased with the comfortable silence that enveloped the three of them.

(Y/n) turned her back to them to start washing dishes. And that’s when things took a turn.

“Can we stop at McDonald’s on the way home from school, daddy?” Emiko asked, her mind already on her next meal despite the near-empty plate of pancakes in front of her.

“You’ll have to ask (Y/n), sweetheart. From now on she’s going to be the one taking you to school and bringing you home.”

Emiko didn’t like her father’s reply. Not one bit.

She practically threw her fork down on the table, a fire in her eyes (Y/n) was all too familiar with. “I don’t want her to take me! I want you to take me!” she shouted, mouth still full of half-chewed pancakes. 

“Emiko, the earlier daddy gets to work the earlier he can come home to you.” Kuroo reasoned, only to be met with a glare from his daughter.

“You always say that then pick me up late from school anyway!” she snapped, “I don’t want her!”

Kuroo gave Emiko a stern look. “Emiko. I’m the parent and you’re the child. I’m saying (y/n) is taking you to school. She’s taking you to school.”

(Y/n) internally cringed at that. Maybe she externally cringed too. She could have a talk with him about that communication later.

Emiko kicked her legs under the table, causing it to thump as Kuroo hardened his gaze. “Well if you’re done eating you can go ahead and get to school.” Kuroo stood up and scooped Emiko out of her chair despite her protests, ignoring her as she screamed her head off and thrashed in his arms.

In the midst of her thrashing, her closed fist collided roughly with Kuroo’s nose. In shock, he set Emiko down and cupped his nose in pain, the pain causing his eyes to water. Emiko looked shocked for a moment before continuing her tantrum.

Kuroo wordlessly picked Emiko back up, grabbed her schoolbag, and carried her to (Y/n)’s car. (Y/n) followed behind silently, unlocking the car so he could get Emiko in the back seat. Once she was strapped in, (Y/n) turned Kuroo to face her and cupped his cheek.

“Let me see that, do you need ice?” She asked before he quickly pulled away.

“I’ll be okay… Drive carefully.”

(Y/n) bit her lip before getting into the driver’s seat, wincing at the volume of Emiko’s screams. Despite how upset he was, Kuroo blew a kiss to the crying child in the car before turning to go back in the house.

Emiko sobbed and screeched and wailed the whole way to school, somehow not tiring herself out at all no matter how hard she thrashed in her seat. (Y/n) was almost grateful to pull up to the school parking lot and get the screaming child out of her car.

She opened the backseat of the car, noticing how Emiko flinched away as she was now practically hyperventilating through her tears.

(Y/n) immediately set beside her and cupped her cheeks so Emiko would look at her. “Hey, hey- it’s okay. Just look at me and breathe, okay, pretty girl? It’s okay, breathe.” (Y/n) cooed, gingerly wiping Emiko’s tears.

Emiko continued breathing hard, her tiny chest heaving with each breath she took. “D-Dont yell at meee!” She wailed, “Pleaaase don’t yell at me! Don’t be maaad!”

“Sweetie I’m not mad at you, I’m not going to yell at you,” (Y/n) assured her, brushing strands of messy hair off her tear-stained cheeks. “I’m never ever going to yell at you, okay? Please just be a good girl and breathe with me, okay?”

Emiko nodded quickly, staring up at (Y/n) as she mirrored her breathing. A couple moments later, Emiko was breathing normally, blinking back tears and shaking in her seat.

“Good girl,” (Y/n) gave her a gentle smile as she praised her, continuing to stroke her head. “Can you tell me why you’re upset?”

The little girl sniffled, her bottom lip quivering, “I hit my daddy…” she whimpered.

(Y/n) frowned as she began to try combing down Emiko’s messy hair with her fingers. “You didn’t like hitting your daddy, huh?”

Emiko responded only by shaking her head. “He hates me…”

“That’s not true.” (Y/n) quickly corrected her, tilting her head. “Your daddy loves you soooo much. And I bet more than anything he just wants a great big hug from you to make it okay. How about when he gets home, you apologize and kiss and hug him better?”

Emiko nodded sadly, nervously picking at her fingers.

“We have to get you into school now, okay? I want you to think about what you want for dinner and I’ll take you grocery shopping with me after I pick you up, okay?” (Y/n) smiled down at her. “Anything you want I’ll make, then you and daddy can sit down at dinner and share it.”

(Y/n) felt relief wash over her as Emiko nodded and unbuckled her own seatbelt, moving to get out of the car. “Do you know how to make spaghetti?” She asked quietly.

(Y/n) giggled and helped her out of the car, walking her to the front doors. “That’s my faaavorite thing to cook! I’ll make a list for the grocery store, sound good?”

Emiko nodded, already looking like she had perked up. The two said their goodbyes and (Y/n) left her teacher her phone number before going back to the house. Hopefully Kuroo would be gone and the two could avoid an awkward encounter.

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

Taglist:

@kellyyween @whore-for-anime @lilith412426 @yourstarvic @prinkipissa-aa @syynnaaah  @boosyboo9206  @lowkey-falling-apart  @chwlogy  @chichibia  @chirity-chu @faithfulferns @fi-chanwrites

[maybe-its-micheal]

Ghostbur tapped his feet against the ground, creating a rhythmic sound that made him smile. His shoes made such a nice sound against the blackstone bricks, he thought. Wait... blackstone? Where was there blackstone?

He checked his surroundings. Oh! The nether hub! Why was he here again? He didn't remember. He walked over to the edge, thinking maybe if he saw whatever he was here for it would jog his memory, but all he saw was lots of lava.

He looked down. "You know, someone could fall down there. Maybe someone should build a fence," he said absent mindedly, before heading back through the portal. He had many books to read back home! And lots of people to speak with

-----

The nights seemed to last longer every time Tommy tried to sleep. He turned over in bed, knocking against the white wool that made up the sides of his tent. This sent rainwater cascading down from the thin material, soaking him.

"MMMMMM, FUCK!" Tommy yelled, sitting up. If he couldn't sleep before, he certainly wouldn't be able to now. He got up out of bed and stepped outside the tent. This, of course, only served to expose him to more rain, but he hardly cared. He needed some fresh air.

He marched across the beach down to logstedshire, but paused at the enterence. What was the point in going in? It was empty anyway- Wilbur was back in L'manburg, he had been for days. He turned around to walk in the other direction, mud splashing against his shoes.

As he walked he thought of Tubbo. He was so impossibly angry about his banishment, and he knew it was Tubbo who gave the order, but he couldn't bring himself to hate them. He would have loved to point his finger at Dream, or George, or anyone else for that matter, but what would be the point in that? It's not like he could fight back, he had nothing, and so he was left with only one man to blame it on- himself.

He moved a lock of soaked hair away from his eyes. Burning down George's house was probably the thing he regretted most in all his time here. He wished more than anything that he could go back and just not do it- but what's the point in wishing? He's already been exiled. He may as well put up with it.

The splash of his shoes against the wet ground slowed to a stop. He may as well... put up with it. He sniffed, and moved his hands upward to his face. May as well put up with it. He looked at them through the darkness, they were shaking, and covered in small bruises and scratches he'd collected while scavenging. Put up with it. Rain blurred his vision, and his hands became two unidentifiable blobs that faded into the rest of the dark. Put up with it. The rain was so cold- why did he come out here? Put up with it. He shook his head, sending droplets flying off of his hair in every direction. Put up with it. He was shivering. Put up with it. Put up with it. Put. Up. With. It.

His knees buckled and he fell to the ground with a pained yell. His tears mixed with the rain as he cried out every name he could think of. He wanted them back! He wanted L'manburg back! He just wanted to go back- why was he here? Why did he have to be away from everyone?

"QUCKITY!" He sobbed. "Wilbur! FUNDY! Please! PLEASE! TUBBO! TUBBO PLEASE!" But he knew none of them could hear him. They were a thousand blocks away, sleeping soundly. They were all together- happy, and at home. "Tubbo... Tubbo please..."

But what was the point in yelling for people who couldn't hear him anyway? He put his head in his hands as his crying got quieter and quieter- he tried to wipe his face dry, but his hands were just as wet. "Fuck this rain."

He got up, and trudged over to his nether portal. As soon as he stepped in the rain evaporated off of him; he was warm and dry, at least, but still not ready to go back to his tent. His bed was covered in rain anyway, so what would be the point of going back?

He chose a random direction and walked some more, not really caring where he ended up. He couldn't stop thinking... Tubbo really did choose appeasing Dream over him. He really did say the discs were meaningless. How many days had it been? It didn't matter, he still couldn't believe it anyway. He hardly believed he was out here alone... how could that happen?

He had a secret world in his heart. A world where Wilbur never died, and Techno never fought against L'manburg. A world where he had all of his discs, and he listened to them with Tubbo at the end of every day while they watched the sunset. Sometimes he retreated to that world when the real one became too harsh... but he always had to come back.

He was standing in the middle of the nether hub, right outside the portal to the community house. He noticed that he was still shivering, which was odd. The nether is so hot.

He swished his hand through the purple smoke of the portal. On the other side... was a world he was no longer a part of. His brother who betrayed him, and his brother who died. His best friend, who stabbed him in the back. His discs, in the hands of people he didn't trust, and his nation so far alienated from its original purpose that he could hardly call it L'manburg.

He moved his hand back out, purple dust swirling around his fingers for a few moments. He thought for the first time... maybe he didn't want to be a part of that world anyway. He retreated back to the world in his heart... that was the world that was his true home.

He closed his eyes as he walked out of the main portal room, and down the suspended blackstone bridge. He could see Tubbo... no longer in a stuffy suit acting all important, but in his ussual green button down. They were laughing. Tommy smiled, still walking, eyes still closed, and began to laugh as well.

Wilbur was there. He was alive, and sane. Phil and Techno were there too... and Quckity, and Fundy, and Niki, and everyone. And they were all laughing. Tommy's feet stumbled about over the path, landing sloppily against the blackstone, laughing so hard he almost lost his balance. He laughed, and laughed, and-

His eyes shot open. As his weight shifted from one foot to the other, he realized there was nothing beneath it. He tipped backwards, body falling towards the lava put hundred of blocks below. He gasped, and just as quickly as the realization that he wouldn't survive set in, and hand wrapped around his wrist, and he was pulled back onto the bridge.

Dream.

"Tommy! What are you doing? Its 4 am, and you just- are you ok? What are you laughing at?" His voice was higher than ussual, strained by panic.

Tommy caught his breath. "I didn't..." his eyes met Dream's. "Did I just..."

It was clear his mind was racing, and he had no idea what to say. Dream sighed. "You need to be more careful, this is the nether." He shut his eyes tight and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to recollect his thoughts. "Do you want me to walk you back home?"

Tommy looked up at him. Home.

For a moment- just a moment, less than a second- he thought he meant the home he'd imagined, but before he said yes it all came rushing back. He didnt mean home. He didnt mean L'manburg where everyone he cared about was- he meant the place he was exiled to. To the world he didn't want to live in.

His faced scrunched up with frustration as he faced the Green Man, hate burning in his eyes. He did want to go home. But he didn't have one anymore.

He looked at him- he symbolized every aspect of this world he hated. But then he closed his eyes, and he was back in his L'manburg. "Where did you go, Tommy?" His Wilbur asked him. "Let's all go back to the van- I'll play us a song!" He smiled again.

"Tommy?" Dream asked, but Tommy didn't hear. Tommy wasn't a part of his world anymore.

"There he is!" Tubbo called. "Hey big man! Come on, you're late!" He slowly picked up a foot, swinging it backwards ever so slowly. Dream didn't notice.

"I'm coming, Tubbo," Tommy whispered. "What?" Dream asked. "I'm coming home."

His foot was back, dangling over the lava again. He shifted his weight to it, and with a smile, he made his choice. He'd never have to leave his world again. He was finally home.

"TOMMY!" Dream shouted, lunging forward with arms outstretched. He missed, just barely, and the teen fell over the edge of the bridge, plummeting down, down, down... Dream wasted no time, biting into a god apple and throwing himself down after him, but as they both reached the bottom it was too late. He wasn't able to hold his body over the lava, and after a few minutes of struggling, there was nothing recognizable left- just blood that ran down both of Dream's arms and stained his white mask.

He couldn't breath- what had he just witnessed? How had he failed? Was it his fault? Guilt and nausea began to set in as he floated there- alone in the lava. A killer in a way he never could have imagined he would be. He felt sick.

-----

Ghostbur returned to the nether the next morning- netherwart! That's what he needed! He stepped through the portal, only to find Dream waiting on the other side.

"Hello Dream!" He greeted with a smile. "I'm here for some netherwart so I can make more potions!"

Dream didn't answer him, he must be busy. Ghostbur's eyes danced around the hub- what would be the best direction to go?

"Wilbur..." Dream choked out.

"Yes?" The ghost replied.

"Tommy is dead..."

"Who?" He asked in his high, scratchy voice. He ambled care free down the path, dragging his hand across the walls that lined the edges. "Oh! They've added barriers! How handy!" He exclaimed to himself

[nugnthopkns]

i’ll wait and i’ll listen

word count: 2.1k

warnings: mentions of deafness/hearing loss, cursing, i think that’s it

recommended listening: new song | maggie rogers & del water gap

a/n: hi! first and foremost, i want to say that this is based off my own personal experiences with a deaf father, and it is in no way a reflection of how other people or families with hearing issues operate. this is just how we live and how my dad goes about life. with that out of the way, enjoy some soft nolan content i threw together in 45 minutes. pretty sure i made this gender neutral, but please point out any mistakes!

There’s no legitimate reason for you to be so apprehensive about Nolan meeting your parents.

He’s a great person who is all you could ever ask for in a partner. The two of you get along like peas in a pod, and honestly most of the time your relationship feels like two friends hanging out. Of course there’s a bit more romance involved – but being with Nolan is so easy you barely have to think about it. 

Your parents aren’t the issue either. They’re both incredibly supportive of your relationship, and anything else you do. If it weren’t for them, you never would have left home – they’re the ones who packed the car and drove you all the way to Philadelphia. You never would have met Nolan if they hadn’t practically forced you out of the house and into the world. 

Truthfully, both parties would probably get along great. Your mother is kind and welcoming, and your father has interests similar to Nolan’s. Your younger siblings adore him – they came to visit one weekend and you took them to an afternoon game at Wells Fargo Centre, and afterwards the four of you went out for burgers. Since then they talk to him regularly, and have been begging for you to return home with Nolan. You can tell your parents are getting antsy too – after all, you’ve been with Nolan for nearly two years. 

Yes, Nolan has a busy schedule that doesn’t allow for much travel, but there have been plenty of opportunities over the years for everyone to get together. You’re the one who always comes up with a reason for him not to meet your parents. One time you were ‘sick’, another you were too busy with work to make the trip home. It isn’t that you’re worried they won’t approve or that Nolan will resent them. You’re apprehensive about bringing Nolan around because you’re worried there will be a communication barrier. 

Your dad is deaf, and Nolan doesn’t exactly enunciate his words well. His voice is also exceptionally deep, which doesn’t help much. It isn’t a secret, your father’s hearing issues, and you’ve spoken to Nolan about them numerous times. Most of the time it’s you fretting about it getting worse and he listens intently while you sob into his chest. Since the hearing loss came from years of working around loud machines, it was gradual, which was frustrating for him. You were in high school when he got hearing aides, but eventually they lost their desired effect. Now your dad relies on reading lips and other non-aural markers like hand gestures to fill in the gaps. 

“Babe, I have to meet them at some point,” Nolan says through a mouthful of pasta. “Especially since I plan on sticking around.”

Your mom had called earlier in the afternoon to ask when you were coming home next. The upcoming weekend is free in your schedule, and when you told her she insisted you bring Nolan. He’s out for the season with the migraine related issues so you couldn’t exactly lie and say he was going to be out of town. Instead, you fed her some bullshit excuse and said you’d check to see if he could move some stuff around. 

“I know,” you sigh. “I just don’t want you or my dad getting frustrated if talking doesn’t go smoothly.”

Nolan pushes his chair back from the table and walks to stand behind you. He rubs your shoulders soothingly and leans down to whisper in your ear. “There are a million and ten other ways I can communicate with him Sweetheart. Don’t worry about it.”

Deep down, you know he’s right. There’s no reason the two of them can’t communicate, even if they can’t do it verbally. After discussing it more and ironing out all your doubts, you call your mom back to let her know both you and Nolan will be coming. A small weight lifts from your chest, knowing that you’ll get the first meeting over with, but dread slowly creeps in. There are so many ways it could go wrong. 

☼☼☼☼

You and Nolan stand on the doorstep of your childhood home hand in hand. As if he can sense how nervous you are, Nolan squeezes gently, reminding you of his unwavering presence. 

“Whatever happens isn’t going to change the fact that I love you,” he says, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. 

To steady yourself from the negative thought swirling in your brain you lean closer to Nolan. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and uses his free hand to knock on the door. Less than two seconds your sister is bounding towards the door and flinging it open. 

“Mom! Y/N and Nolan are here!”

She steps to the side and lets the pair of you in. You shrug off your jacket and hang it on the rack behind the door – Nolan copies. As soon as you’re inside the entryway your mother is wrapping you in a massive hug. 

“I’m so glad you’re home darling,” she says, arms tight around you. “Was the drive okay?”

You go to answer her question but her attention is turned to your very tall boyfriend who is standing beside you like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“You must be Nolan. It’s so nice we could finally meet. Y/N has told me a lot about you.”

Nolan clears his throat before speaking, his deep voice echoing slightly off the ceiling. “All good things I hope,” he laughs, looking to you for reassurance. 

Nodding your head, you join in his laughter. You travel farther into the house, giving your brother a fistbump when you pass him in the hall. When you moved out your parents converted your room into a sophisticated guest bedroom, so there aren’t any embarrassing posters from your teenage years on the walls for Nolan to make fun of. You quickly unpack your suitcase, wanting to get back downstairs and spend time with your family. It’s been a while since you’ve been home, and you missed them more than you thought. 

“Is your dad here?” Nolan asks, hanging the couple of sweaters you guys brought up in the closet. 

You glance at the clock on the wall, you shake your head. “He’ll be home from work just before dinner.” 

The two of you head downstairs to chill with your siblings, but not without sharing a few kisses that make your spine tingle. At your brother’s insistence the four of you head to the basement to partake in an air hockey tournament. Though Nolan can hold his own in the NHL, he’s rather miserable at this iteration of the game. Your sister eliminates him in under five minutes, and after a hard fought battle you defeat your brother. 

Nolan tries to coach you before the gold medal game but you laugh him off. “Nol, you were terrible. I think I can hold my own.”

He breathes out harshly through his nose, but you know he isn’t upset with your teasing. “Fine,” he mumbles, “See if you can win without my all-star advice.”

Your sister manages to win in a shootout. It was a close game, and you challenge her to a rematch after dinner. She accepts, insisting you’ll lose again. Nolan bets he can race her around the property, so you move outside. Your mom lets you know dinner will be ready soon, and you throw her a thumbs up. 

Though your sister is a fast runner, she’s got nothing on Nolan’s six foot frame. He passes her with ease, cheekily throwing her the finger as he rushes by. You’re the finish line and instead of stopping when he reaches you, Nolan throws you over his shoulder and continues running through the yard. 

Your laugh rings out as you kick your feet. “Put me down!” you shriek. When he makes no attempt to prove he listened to your cries, you try again. “Nol, come on, put me down. If you fall it’ll be really bad.”

Knowing you’re right, Nolan stops moving and gingerly places you on the ground. His hands move to cup your face and he plants a warm kiss on your lips. You refuse to let it get too far, but you lean into him slightly and sigh when he pulls away. 

In the distance you hear your mom calling for dinner. “Kids, it’s time to eat,” she says. “Your father just got home.”

Your heart beat rises exponentially, and your steps drag slightly as you get closer to the door. Nolan notices, but doesn’t say anything. Instead he flashes you a smile that’s reserved just for you and makes your heart melt. 

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll make sure I don’t mumble.”

In the dining room, you guide Nolan to sit beside your dad. You figure it’s the spot where he has the best chance of hearing your boyfriend, and no one seems to protest. They give each other a polite nod while the rest of you rush to place everything on the table and serve the food. 

Once everyone is sitting, Nolan takes the initiative to introduce himself. “It’s nice to meet you Sir,” he says a bit slower than his normal speaking voice, making sure to clearly enunciate his words. 

There’s no response from your father, and you suck in a breath. You watched him focus on Nolan’s lips while he spoke, but you fear he still couldn’t quite understand what your boyfriend said. It takes a few more beats for him to process what was spoken, but then your dad is cracking a smile and holding his hand out for Nolan to shake. 

“Glad Y/N isn’t hiding you from us anymore. I thought the first time I’d meet you was at the engagement party.” His voice is a few decibels louder than everyone else’s, due to not being able to hear himself, but Nolan doesn’t seem to mind. 

They slip into an easy conversation about work and hunting, asking each other a million questions. There’s barely room for any one else to contribute but the rest of you don’t mind – it’s been a long time since your dad has been able to go this long without asking someone for assistance. Of course there’s a few bumps in the road – Nolan not speaking clearly or looking elsewhere while telling a story, but that was to be expected. You step in when needed, repeating phrases and recreating scenes with hand actions. Overall, the meal goes swimmingly, and the two men leave the table eagerly to swap stories. 

You spend the time catching up with your mother, and she gushes over how Nolan is handling everything. “He’s doing so well,” she exclaims. “He’s so patient with your dad, waiting to make he understood what was said before continuing, and he doesn’t have an issue repeating himself a few times. You really lucked out Y/N.”

“I know,” you say honestly. “He’s simply the best.”

It’s a few hours later that Nolan finds his way back to you. You arch your brow, wondering what he got up to, and he explains that your dad took him for a walk in the forest to show him the deer he’d been tracking the past couple of weeks. It’s heartwarming that they get along so well, and you feel a little silly for fretting over what would happen. 

☼☼☼☼

“Your dad is nice,” Nolan shrugs as you crawl into bed beside him. “I could hardly tell he was deaf most of the time.”

You tuck yourself into his side and hum. “He does a great job of not letting it define him,” you agree. “But thank you for being so patient with him.”

A small peck is placed to your shoulder blade and you sigh at the contact of Nolan’s lips on your skin. “He did grumble about how my voice is too deep,” he laughs. “Said he could barely hear me. Once I knew that I made sure to speak clearly and let him read my lips.”

You’re speechless. None of your friends or past romantic partners had made that much of an effort to treat your dad like he was a person. They got short with him for needing them to slow down or repeat themselves, and often would refuse to see him again. It’s part of the reason you were so hesitant to introduce Nolan – you wanted to protect him from another person who might treat him differently because he can’t hear.

“I really fucking love you,” you whisper into the darkness. 

You can practically hear the grin in Nolan’s voice as he speaks. “I really fucking love you too.”

The rest of your stay will go just fine, you think as you drift to sleep. There was nothing to worry about, and you can’t wait to watch a friendship blossom between your dad and boyfriend. 

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales @kiedhara @tortito @boqvistsbabe​ if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

[gojoscloset]

Stand Still.

Geto Suguru x F!Reader Angst!

Synopsis: Geto allows his insecurities to take over his mind resulting in him hurting your feelings when you show a little too much interest in Gojo.

Please read the notes at the bottom uwu ❣️

Warnings: ANGST! Swearing???? DIDNT PROOF READ LOL

PT. 2

❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌

You stood in the living room you shared with your boyfriend, the usual loving and welcoming atmosphere was no longer there. The reds and oranges you felt when you spent time with him was now replaced with emotions that felt like muggy shades of blues and grays. *

Everything felt like it was slowed down, like you had just witnessed everything in slow motion.

You looked into Geto’s eyes filled to the brim with bewilderment. Chest heaving as the remainder of adrenaline rushed through him. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him, You've never seen him this worked up. You have never seen him this...mean.

Every last word he spat out was Accusatory. Harsh. Unfiltered. All the words came from a place of insecurity, an insecurity even he didn’t know he had.

It took you a minute to process everything that was said, well rather spat, to you. It was like your mind couldn’t fathom the fact that your sweet boyfriend stood before you in the aftermath of an emotional bomb he just dropped.

You knew this would happen at some point. You knew that relationships came with obstacles that you would have to face together. You knew that, but you were so hopeful that you would be able to talk things through like adults.

You two were always so adamant about communicating, and speaking up when something is bothering you, promising each other to put pride to the side and speak up and compromise on whatever the issue may be.

All it takes is one to fuck it up.

You finally processed what he said to you, the weight of his words crushed you into a million pieces. The heat reached your face and the stinging in your eyes was what made you finally look away.

You plopped down on the couch giving yourself a moment before you looked back up at him.

“I...” You approached with caution as you spoke, afraid he would cut you off as he has been since the argument started. Spewing Words as sharp as a knife not allowing you to get a word in edgewise and raising his voice over your calm one in order to try to get his point across, and oh did he get it across.

“You……..it’s…….Uh….” You lifted a finger up. Silently asking Geto to give you a moment to gather your words. Quickly you looked away ,your tears beginning to flow, not seeming to stop anytime soon. But still, you couldn’t talk, the lump in your throat stopping you, words only coming out in hiccups.

You cursed yourself for not being able to hold them in long enough to explain how you felt about the situation. About his accusations. Cursed yourself for not being able to speak freely, or be upset without looking like a crybaby.

Getos anger diminished the instant he saw the tears roll down your face. His knitted brows relaxed and his eyes softened at the sight of you, shaking as you tried to speak your mind. Unaware of the weight his words had.

He has seen you worked up and upset like this countless times, but never because of him. To say the guilt hit differently was an understatement.

You took a deep and shaky breath and held it for a few seconds. You were quite surprised at the fact that Geto didn’t move or say anything to interrupt you the entire time.

How long have you two been here?

“I tried so hard to avoid this, Suguru..... I looked past my insecurities….pushed the doubts to the side and all of that so you could receive my love without obstacles….without me projecting my fears onto you and the relationship.” You somehow managed to speak shakily of course, voice cracking almost the entire time.

He internally cringed at the formality, the lack of pet names made his heart wrench in pain, reminding him how bad he really messed up.

“And to know that you feel this way about me...and to know that my efforts are evidently not reciprocated...hurts like a mother fucker..”

You covered your mouth, eyes on the wall beside you, still unable to look at him.

“But honestly Geto… what hurts the most is that I already know you could do better…” you rolled your eyes upwards, dropping more tears and shook your head, your own insecurities laying themselves out on the table.

Geto’s eyes widened then immediately his expression turned to a pained one, remembering the words he spat in the heat of the moment. **

‘If I would’ve known that you would turn into Satoru’s little cheerleader, ready to kiss his ass whenever he came around, then I wouldn’t have asked you to be my girlfriend!! I could’ve and should’ve done wayyy better I swear!’

For someone who was talking so much shit five minutes ago, he found himself at a loss for words.

There was a lump in his throat , and when did his mouth turn dry?

Was it when he recalled the things he said after that? Mentions of how many opportunities he had in the duration of your relationship in order to hit you where it hurt most?

Or was it when he mentioned that ‘Gojo wouldn’t date you anyway’ in attempts to mask the underlying jealousy he had at the very thought of you falling for the man who could quite literally do anything.

Who could have everything.

Who had the world crafted specifically for him.

“and I always wondered…” he snapped out of his thoughts and his brows furrowed once again, creating a displeased look. He was disgusted with himself, disgusted that he selfishly ran his mouth without considering your feelings.

“Like….what I could have possibly done to have been chosen by you? Geto Suguru….chose me? Of all people.” You wiped tears away from your face, you looked so small doing so, Geto wished he was the one wiping those tears, but he couldn’t move. His feet betraying his commands. Knees weak knowing he did this to you.

“And for you to even think that I would betray you and break your trust.” It was your turn to speak now, holding in so much up until this point, however you did not raise your voice, nor did you cause a scene. You loved him way too much for that.

“Geto Suguru, a man the gods have blessed not just with looks but with a heart of gold..dating me? And you think I would throw all of that away to be with your best friend?” You choked on a couple of sobs, continuously wiping your tears away, seriously wondering if you have ever cried this hard in your life.

The fact that you still somehow managed to praise him while scolding him made his blood run cold. Guilt through the roof, enough to make his fingers cold and shake slightly by his sides. A stark contrast compared to his words.

‘What have I done?’

It was no surprise to him that you were still somehow being kind despite your anger. You were kind, not nice. ***

The love was there and he knew it, he felt it. Because if it were anybody else the results would’ve been different.

“I’m...sorry if I make you feel that way...but please know it was not in my intentions to hurt you ..” You finally looked at him while apologizing, you made sure he knew you were being as genuine as possible.

You pushed yourself up from the couch and made your way to the bedroom. Geto’s eyes followed you, but still he couldn’t not move.

‘Move you fucking idiot!’

A Switch in his brain went off as soon as you were out of his sight. He sped walked in your direction, but he was a little too late. You locked the door behind you just before he was able to put himself in between the door.

“Y/n! Please let me in! I’m sorry!” The knob shook as he tried the door. He knew it would be locked but he’d be damned to let you go through this alone. He already did enough damage, he was determined to at least try and fix this.

The knob shook harder and soon the whole door shook. He slammed his hands against the wood and called out your name desperately begging you to let him in.

You ignored the cries to the best of your abilities, stepping away from the door. The sounds of his voice begging for you made you want to throw up, it hurt so much.

“Y/n please...I just want to talk..” his voice cracked and you began to sob quietly just at the mere sound. You wanted to open the door, you really really did, but at the same time you didn’t want to see him.

He was adamant though. He could hear you try to muffle the sobs on the other side and that’s what put him into overdrive.

“Move away from the door!” He commanded, kicking it down easily, startling you in the process. Thankfully he gave you time to step away before doing so, and his heart broke again at the sight of you.

Your eyes were dull but still streaming tears, but the duffle bag slung over your shoulder full of your items made him feel so powerless.

“Hey hey hey……what are you doing..” his eyes desperately scanned your figure, moving from the bag to your eyes then to the room, noticing drawers were left open and things tossed around the bed.

“...W-Where are you going…?” His voice was small but he stood his ground in the doorway, blocking the exit unintentionally but intentionally.

You didn’t look at him, but more so past him. Your eyes were on him but they weren’t on him.

“I’m going home for a little bit, until I’m-“

“What do you mean? Home..is here..”he cut you off. Again his voice was small, not matching with his towering form that slowly began to deflate when he noticed how the love in your eyes was nowhere to be found.

You sighed and placed a hand on your temple. He cut you off again, and you didn’t want to do this anymore. You didn’t want to fight him anymore.

“Suguru. You know what I mean. I’m going to my paren-“

“No!” He yelled, causing you to flinch. “You’re not leaving me!” Geto snatched the bag from your grasp and unzipped the bag, he made his way into the room and dumped the contents into an already opened drawer, a majority of the clothes and items dropping to the floor but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to lose you.

His breathing was heavy again, and tears threatened to drop. Oh how you wished you hadn’t seen the way his eyes looked at you.

“Suguru...please…” you cautiously approached the bag he flung on the bed, and repacked the bag slowly, afraid of him snapping again.

“Can we Please just talk about this?” He forcefully grabbed you by the forearms, pulling you away from the duffle bag and pushed you up against a wall, not in a harsh way, but in a way that felt desperate.

“Please let me explain myself, I didn’t mean anything I said I-“ he tried spilling out what he had to say before you tried pushing him away, but now it was his turn to be interrupted.

“I know, Suguru…I know..but before we talk about this...I really need to clear my head..Otherwise I won’t be able to do things in a rational way...and you know I can’t do that if I have you around to influence my thoughts.”

Your eyes searched for his and you regretted it, you were feeling so many things but your eyes held no emotion. However, seeing the way he looked down at you, hair messy and in his face from going awol earlier, his face flushed from the raw display of emotion brought life back into your eyes.

Tears dropped on your cheeks when you looked up at him. That was enough to get the waterworks going again.

He never realized how afraid he was of losing you until now. It never occurred to him that this would even be something to happen in your relationship until this very moment.

He realized how much he fucked up, allowing his emotions to have snowballed into this big ass mess. You were always so open to talk about things, but he never took the opportunity because of his pride, and now the consequences of his actions are coming to bite him in the ass.

“I gotta go..” you whispered and easily got out of his grasp, he didn’t fight back, he knew he couldn’t change your mind once you had your mind set on doing something. Another reason he fell in love with you , another wave of regret.

He watched your form as you left, eyes never leaving your body.

You didn't look back and that was a sight that would haunt him in his dreams forever.

—————

**** notes:

* - in the paragraph where it talks about feeling colors

When I think of memories and how I felt, I associate them with colors, reds oranges, pinks, yellows green = warm/ happier memories

Shades of blue = cold, more depressive moments

So when it talks about y/n feeling the blue, gray atmosphere, it’s because the tension was so thick, the usual ‘red’ atmosphere was now ‘blue’ at the flip of a switch.

Lol super self indulgent

**- this fic is so self indulgent, I do this. Well used to, but when I used to get mad and things would get heated I won’t remember what I said or what I did because I was so upset.

***- to me, Being nice is superficial and being Kind comes from within.

——-

Hello! Welcome to my new blog!

I was GOJOSGLASSES

But something happened to my account and I think I’m being shadowed and I’m sooo sad cause I had a whole theme and master list (a short one but still) now I have to start over )^:

Anywho! Welcome! Requests are open and hopefully I’ll get around to moving the fics here or maybe just linking old ones but I think I may transfer them over here )^: big sad!

—————

Hello babies! Thank you for taking the time to read this!

This fic is super super self indulgent

I love Angst so much. I don’t know why LOL

Of course this is an Angst to fluff type stuff and I’ll get to part 2. When I feel like it

(Or if it’s highly requested) but I just felt like being extra dramatic.

Also LOLOLOL I love angst but please don’t leave your partner in the dark like this, communicate please. I’m just being extra dramatic because I love hurting myself with fics.

BAHAHA Also this Drabble thing was inspired by the song:

Stand Still - Sabrina Claudio

Very angsty and I feel like I’ll make more drabbles and stuff based off this song because I love love love it so much omg very sensual very sexy!

Thanks for reading!

[writinglizards]

Make me Happy

Summary: "I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous." - Mary Shelley's Frankenstein He is created. He is abandoned. He is found.

Read on Ao3

The first thing he knows is agony.

He feels set on fire from the inside, bright white pain arcing through his veins. He cries out, voice hoarse. The sharpness of it ceases as quickly as it came, but the ache persists.

A clatter to his left draws his attention. He shifts. Distantly, he’s aware of the scratch and shift of the rough-hewn shirt and trousers he’s dressed in, but there are larger concerns, at the moment. His limbs feel awkward but otherwise cooperative, so sits up.

There is a man across the room with his back pressed against the counter. White hair, a beard. The man’s face is drawn in an expression he can’t parse. Beneath the man’s feet are shards of glass.

He doesn't understand where he is or what's going on. He opens his mouth to speak--and finds he doesn't know the words to communicate this. He makes a quiet, wordless sound, questioning. He hopes it's enough for the man to understand. He so wants answers.

In response, the man jolts for the door.

He starts at the abrupt movement, makes another quiet noise of surprise, reaches out a hand toward him, wait, please--

The man makes a shrill noise, "Stay away, you, you--" he flings the door open after a brief scrabbling with the lock and bolts, a high pitched terrified noise leaving his throat. He throws the door closed behind him, but it hits the doorframe and bounces back, hard.

He follows because he doesn't know what else to do. The other man is scared. Should he be scared?

He lets the smell of terror, sickly and awful, lead him down a spiral staircase and out a partly concealed door onto the street where he's abruptly hit with an overwhelming wave of scents and sounds. It's too much for him to understand; all he knows is he needs to find the man again. He hopes he can help.

He sees someone, not the man from the room, on the street a few feet away. He approaches, timid. He's trying to work out how to ask what he wants to know--where did the man from the room go?--when he catches the other's attention.

"What the--what the fuck?" He doesn't understand the words, but the tone--the man spins on his heel and sprints away, terrified. It catches the attention of several people up the street. The first man was scared, but these men--help, maybe?

He takes a few slow steps in their direction, still trying to figure out how to ask what he wants to know when he catches the glint of steel. He freezes. He takes quick stock of their expressions, the naked weapons in their grips, and hesitates.

"You'll get the fuck out of here if you know what's good for you, monster." He doesn't understand, doesn't know how to respond in a way that will ease the aggression of their posture. He just wants help.

"Well? Get," one of the men shouts, rapping the flat of his blades together. It makes a harsh sound, makes him whine with how the sharp noise hurts. He ducks his head, cups his hands over his ears to try and make the hurt stop. "I said get," the man shouts again, repeats the movement of his weapons. He keens, a low, quiet sound full of pain. He doesn't understand--

"You got to the count of fucking three," another says, and he doesn't wait for them to make the noise again. He runs.

Every person he sees in his mad dash down the street and away from the pain reacts similarly. Either they flee or they bare steel and make threats, loud and angry. The mixing scents, the noises, his own fear, it's all too much. He doesn't know where he is or where he's going. He just runs.

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

By the time the sun is beginning to rise, he's finally broken out of the rows and rows of buildings and into the trees, where he runs until his lungs burn and his feet hurt before he collapses in the shade at the base of a tree. He doesn't know where he is or what's going on, doesn't understand the fear and hostility of the people he'd seen. He sits there, somewhere in the middle of the forest, and finally feels it hit him. He doesn't know, he doesn't understand. He sits and he cries, deep chest wracking sobs, until he's too tired to keep his eyes open. He curls himself up small and tight in the roots of the tree, and sleeps.

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

He's woken some indeterminate time later, to the sound of footsteps. Lots of them. The sky is going grey at the edges, so he knows he must have slept a while. There's shouting coming from the direction he came from yesterday, words he can't understand in a tone he can--they sound like the men who made the awful noise.

"If you see that fuckin beast, just kill 'em. No need to leave him loose to terrorize the city again."

“Nah, the mage wants ‘em. Said--”

“I know what he said and I’m saying just kill ‘em.”

They're not that far. He knows enough now that he doesn't want to run into these people, doesn't want a repeat of last night. He rises very quietly, and treks farther into the forest, away from the sounds of the approaching men. He'll walk all night if he has to.

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

He walks until he can't hear them any longer, and then he keeps walking, for good measure. He walks until he stumbles across another group of buildings, much smaller than the one he'd fled last night. He lingers at the edge of the trees, watching a trio of young women leaning against a wooden fence not far, talking. One of the women has something she appears to be eating in her hand, and his own stomach growls loudly in reminder that he has eaten nothing since...he doesn't know when.

These women look nothing like the men with their weapons, which is the only reason he steps out of his hiding spot in the trees, starts towards them.

"Sara, look--" one of the women catches sight of him and goes pale. She steps backward, hands shaking, and he freezes. He doesn't want them to be afraid. He only wants--

The one eating turns to look back over her shoulder and their eyes meet. She drops the thing she'd been eating. There's a shriek--the third woman--and then all three of them are running pell-mell back towards the rest of the buildings.

He tamps down on his hurt and darts forward to scoop the food off the ground--an...apple?--and then he's running again, farther into the forest. He knows better than to stick around for the angry men and their weapons.

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

He doesn't pause until he feels he's far enough away he'll be able to hear anyone coming with enough warning to escape. He settles at the base of a tree and gnaws on the apple slowly, trying to savor the small thing. It's a little better than nothing, but it reminds him he's hungry, sets his stomach to rolling uncomfortably. When he's gnawed the thing down to its core he finally sets it aside, disappointed.

He’ll have to see if he can find more food, or venture back towards the buildings to see if there’s anything he might be able to take that won’t be missed. But not tonight.

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

In the end, he ends up doing quite a bit of stealing from the village at night while he hides in the trees during the day, watching the way the people interact with one another. He feels bad about just taking, but there’s nothing much that can be done for it--there’s no easily accessible food in the forest and the people still spook and run at the sight of him.

So that’s the way he survives, for a bit. It's not a comfortable existence and he knows the people of the little town both know he's there and are upset by it. He tries not to scare them, only slips down into their fields at night, when most are asleep, only takes as much food as he needs to quell the emptiness in his stomach.

Watching the people interact with one another is helpful, though, even if he can’t approach them. The field workers do a lot of talking to one another as they work, and over time he starts to pick up what the words mean, in a roundabout kind of way. So he lingers and he watches and he hopes for...something he can't put a name to.

He's finally forced to move on when he tries to slip down into the town about three weeks later and there are men with swords again, lining the outskirts of the village. He knows enough about people at this point from what he's observed and he doesn't want problems. He moves on, just picks a direction and starts walking.

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

When he stumbles across a tiny cottage out in the woods all on its own, he assumes it must be abandoned--people don't live alone, after all. He would investigate further, but the sun is already peeking over the horizon, sky dusting pink, and he knows he needs to find somewhere to settle before daybreak.

There are several little shacks sprinkled around the clearing that he doesn’t know the purpose of so he picks one--the shack behind the cottage--to test the door and finds it unlocked. It's a storage shed and moderately well-stocked, despite how the little room seems to be on the verge of collapse. He settles to the ground on the far side of a crate and tucks himself into a tight little ball. He'll stay here today and investigate more closely tonight.

Shortly, he dozes.

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

He wakes much too soon to the sound of...something. He's never heard it before, this softly twanging noise. It's good. Nice.

He knows it must be well past mid-day from the way the light slants in through the chinks in the walls. He's just thinking it's too early to try venturing out when the singing starts, soft and lovely and he thinks, oh, It's a person.

He rises very slowly and quietly and crosses the tiny storeroom to the wall that's shared with the cottage. The music is a little louder here, and he can make out the words, a story of a knight saving a fair maiden and true love's kiss. He can understand what those words mean a bit now--language has come slowly, but he's getting better at piecing together bits and pieces from the things he's heard, although not all of it makes sense all the time. And well, some things just feel right, like he's known them all his life. Language has been a little like that, even if speaking is a challenge.

So he can follow the story, vaguely, even as the song ends and another quickly takes its place. He hears no other voices or movement in the adjoining room, just that smooth tenor singing of heroics and heartbreak. He settles down beside the wall, rests his temple against the rough wood grain, and listens.

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

He wakes again an indeterminate time later. It's late, the sun is down and the man in the cottage sounds as if he's retired for the night. It's quiet. He...probably shouldn't stay here, but it's warm and quiet and the man sings so beautifully. He borrows a small meal of hard bread from the stores and tells himself he won't be back when he slips out of the storeroom to stretch his legs.

By the time the sun rises, he's tucked back into the storeroom anyway, curled up against the wall that joins the cottage. What's one more day?

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

One day becomes two days becomes a whole week. He's reluctant to leave the security of the little storeroom, the pleasant singing. A few days in, he finds a chink in the wall that lets him see into the cottage room and he now spends his daylight hours pressed to that wall, watching, listening. The man is...beautiful. He looks like they would be of a height, even if the man is a little leaner than he himself is. Despite that, the man is still broad-shouldered and strong looking, with brilliant blue eyes and a sweep of brown hair he can only think of as pretty. And he can tell the man is not just beautiful; he’s also intelligent, witty. He talks to himself constantly, sings, reads, dances his way around the room. The man moves through life as if he has not a care in the world. He wants so badly to be a part of that.

Despite how much he yearns to join the man, he still won't reveal himself, too afraid of the potential reaction to him. He finds himself growing attached, despite how much he shouldn’t. If this soft and delightful man is as afraid as the village people were, it will break him.

So he watches and he dreams and he tries to help around the cottage, at night. It starts with some chopped wood when the woodpile gets a little too low, which the man reacts to with delighted confusion. Then it's a few rabbits and other small animals, here and there, to replenish some of the food stores he's been dipping into to feed himself.

"Well, looks like we've got ourselves an admirer," the man says softly the morning he finds the first rabbit. He'd been...nervous about leaving the little thing. Nervous it might upset or scare the man. Instead, he looks...pleased. He smiles all day, even when he comes back in from caring for the chickens, which he knows the man dislikes. It's nice, kindles a warm feeling in his chest.

He wants to be the cause of that smile more often.

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

A few days later, he wakes to the sound of more than just the man in the yard out front. There are several people he can't see but he can hear them, carrying things to and fro.

"Jaskier, where do you want this?" one of them asks.

"Oh, that's fine there," the man says. Something flutters in his chest. Jaskier.

There's a few more crates the other men bring into the cottage that he can see through his chink in the wall. The man, Jaskier, watches the stacking of these crates on the far side of the cottage along with another man who stands at his elbow. Compared to Jaskier, the man is very broad and well built with short cropped dark hair. He carries a sword on his hip and stands like he'd be ready to draw it at a moment's notice. He reminds him of the men who'd threatened him the first night.

"I should also warn you there's been sightings of some kind of monster lately." Jaskier turns to the man with the sword, effectively presenting his back to the chink in the wall. He wishes he could see his face.

"What kind of monster? Monsters have been gone for almost a hundred years."

The other man is already shaking his head, "not a monster, monster, no. This is some kind of abomination. Looks like a man but...not. Wrong. He's been spotted at one of the nearby villages as little as a few weeks ago."

"And? How do they know he's a monster then?"

The man puffs out a tired sounding breath, "I'm just relating what I heard, Jaskier. I don't know."

"Of course not," he says, tetchy. There's something beyond the words that have upset him.

"Look, I--"

Jaskier pulls away from the hand hovering over his shoulder. "I don't care, Vincent."

"Jask, you know I didn't--"

"We're not talking about us," Jaskier says, tone sharp in a way he's never heard, "just...let the men finish and then you can run on home to father and tell him what a good little disowned son I've been, hm?"

Jaskier doesn't give him a chance to respond, just steps over to watch the men bringing in the crates more closely, steps just a little too heavy.

When they're gone, he watches Jaskier cry, head in his hands. It makes his chest uncomfortably tight but there's nothing he can do.

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

When night falls and he's sure Jaskier is asleep (and he feels a little flutter of delight in his gut when he thinks the man's name, elated that he knows it after all this time), he slips out of the storeroom and into the pooling moonlight of the little clearing, stretching his legs. His goal tonight is to chop some more wood so Jaskier will have enough to stay warm tomorrow. Then...maybe a walk. He'd seen some blackberry bushes a few nights ago. Maybe he'd pick some, leave them for him in the morning.

The wood chopping goes quickly and he stacks the split logs nicely with the other chopped wood against the wall by the front door. He does so quietly, not wanting to rouse his sleeping friend. Not that he thinks it likely the man will rouse tonight. He'd been somber the rest of the day and he'd cried again, curled in his bed when he should have been sleeping. He finds he wants to do something to ease the unhappiness that's settled over him since the men had come by.

It's with that thought he wanders off in search of those blackberries. He takes one of the wooden buckets Jaskier usually uses for gathering eggs and sets off to find the blackberry bushes.

They're right where he remembered them, just a short walk from the little pond where the ducks gather from time to time. He goes about picking them to fill the bucket, careful of their little thorns. He gets the bucket three-fourths or so full before he calls it good. By then, he's covered in sticky juice and the sun should be up soon. He's got just enough time to visit the pond, wash off his hands and leave the bucket out front before he’ll settle back in the storage room.

The pond is silent and still when he wanders up, the bucket dangling from one hand. He sets it aside on the shore and kneels at the edge of the pond. He tries not to peer into his reflection in the water, even as the moonlight reflects back off its surface.

Unbidden, then man's words resurface in his mind. Like a man but not. Wrong. He knows he looks...different. There are harsh scars scattering his face, his temples, his arms, his torso. His eyes are wrong, too bright, too strange a color. His hair is unnatural, too pale, too wild. He understands why the villagers are startled by him, understands why they react with fear. He's...wrong. He just doesn't know what to do about it.

He pushes the thoughts from his mind and doesn't let himself linger. Instead, he washes up quickly and treks back over to the cottage. He leaves the bucket of berries on the doorstep and retreats to the storeroom.

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

He rouses just a little when Jaskier rises. He listens to him sing and go about his morning routine with half an ear, still mostly asleep. The sound of his friend awake and back to normal is a comfort, so it's disturbing the way he abruptly goes silent when the door creaks open.

"Oh--" he's obviously found the berries. The quiet stretches out for a beat too long and then there's a sniffling noise. "Shit," Jaskier mutters. The door clunks back shut. He hears the noise of the bucket being sat down somewhere in the cottage. "'s stupid to fucking cry over berries, Jask, pull it together," he tells himself, voice thick with tears.

He can't help the surge of alarm that rolls through him--he didn't mean to make Jaskier cry. He presses his face to the wood, eye at the chink in the wall, and is surprised to find him smiling despite the tears, gazing down into the bucket of berries as if they are something far more precious as he wipes aggressively at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Blackberries," he repeats, once his breathing is a little more under control, "I'll have to make a pie." He's still smiling. Maybe they weren't such a bad idea, after all.

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

Jaskier continues with his daily routine after that, and he lets himself sleep again, after a time. He's fairly attuned with the noises of Jaskier going about his day, so he doesn't startle when Jaskier begins going through the crates of supplies the men brought yesterday. By the time he realizes what that means, Jaskier's already at the door of the storage shed, dried goods tucked under his arm.

He lays very, very still where he's curled in the corner, pressed against the wall of the cottage, eyes squeezed shut, and waits for the inevitable.

The gasp is expected. The sound of the bundle Jaskier is carrying hitting the ground is as well. What is not expected is the hands that land on his shoulder, tug him over gently. He blinks up at the face of the man he's only watched from a distance, startled. He expected revulsion, fear, the sound of footsteps fleeing. Instead, he's peering down at him with concern.

"Oh, thank the gods you're alive," he sighs out on a breath, patting reassuringly at his shoulder where his hands still rest. "What are you doing in my storage shed, darling?"

And oh, this is...not something he'd been prepared for. He swallows hard and can't seem to force words out.

"You don't have to tell me," Jaskier says softly, "but let's get you inside, alright? It can't be comfortable out here."

He follows in a daze when Jaskier tugs him gently upright and leads him into the cottage. This doesn't feel real. He must be dreaming. Why else would Jaskier be looking at him like that?

"Have you had anything to eat? Are you hungry?" Jaskier asks once he's settled at the table. He at least can follow that much so he shakes his head, still afraid to speak. Jaskier jumps to preparing him a small meal of hard cheese and fresh bread. “Sorry, I haven’t had the chance to make that pie yet,” he says as he sets the little plate before him and settles across the table from him, smiling. "Go on, eat," he says, and he doesn't have to be told twice.

The food is the best thing he's ever tasted. The pleased look never falls off Jaskier's face. "Thank you," he whispers once the plate is empty, wincing when the words fall rough like gravel from his disused throat.

"Oh," Jaskier breathes, freezing with his hand outstretched to take the empty plate. He thinks maybe he's made a mistake, but Jaskier's smile stretches impossibly wider, eyes sparkling, "you're very welcome, dear heart." The look on Jaskier’s face, that tone, settles something warm in his chest.

Jaskier puts the plate on the counter and resumes his seat. He doesn't know what to do with himself in the face of Jaskier's kindness and keeps his eyes averted. Jaskier doesn't give him time to start feeling self-conscious, though.

"I'm Jaskier. Do you have a name, darling? Something I can call you?" And he knows Jaskier’s asking a question but--

Jaskier can tell his mistake almost immediately. “Oh! Um,” he fumbles to press his hand to his chest, “Jaskier,” he repeats, and he nods. Then, tentatively, Jaskier holds out his hand to him. He doesn’t move, not quite sure what Jaskier means until his palm makes careful contact with his chest. His breath catches. “You?”

He shakes his head, understanding that Jaskier is asking for his name. He feels a bubble of shame rise in him. It's not his fault he doesn't have something to go by like everyone else, he knows, but that doesn't lessen the feeling he's let his friend down.

"Oh, sweetheart," Jaskier breathes, and he doesn't sound upset. Or at least, not at him. "What should we call you then?” He looks thoughtful for a minute before, “Hold on, I’ve an idea.”

Jaskier rises and crosses the room, bringing back something from one of the shelves. “I’ve got a book here,” Jaskier says, settling it on the table in front of him, “It’s a storybook, but I could read you the names of the characters here until you find one you like?” and that was a lot of words but…“Just nod if you hear one you like, yes?” He can do that.

So Jaskier flips through the book, stopping periodically to read out the names as he finds them. And they’re...fine. But none of the names sound right to him.

“Hm, Eric?” He shakes his head, “No, I agree, too bland. Jakob? No? Alright then, Alice? That’s typically a lady’s name but--nope okay, um, Geralt?”

And that’s--“Yes,” he says softly. Something about that feels right.

The smile on Jaskier's face is small and delighted. "You want to be called Geralt?"

"Mm." And something about choosing the name makes his face hot. He ducks his head.

The grin that stretches Jaskier’s face looks like it hurts it's so wide. "A good name. Heroic. Kind." His gaze softens as he reaches across the table to rest his palm on Geralt's forearm. The touch is reassuring, even as he burns hot under Jaskier's fingertips. "It suits you."

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

He doesn't pressure Geralt for an explanation of anything, but he reassures him several times that he can stay, that it's no trouble. He even sets him up with new clothes, soft cotton that isn’t as scratchy as what he’d been wearing.

"Really Geralt, I have to insist. I won't be able to rest knowing you're out there somewhere with nowhere to stay. And," he continues, “if you stay long enough, I’ll even send for some clothes of your own, if you’d like.” And well. He can't let Jaskier worry (and the new clothes would be nice, too).

He sleeps on the little divan and marvels at how quickly Jaskier drifts off, breaths evening into sleep. The trust inherent in the action shakes him to his core. He follows a while later, chest overly tight.

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

They settle into a habit surprisingly quickly in the weeks that follow. Geralt picks up many of the tasks he'd already been performing for Jaskier in the twilight hours and Jaskier provides excellent company. He still sings and plays his lute in the evenings, preening to have an audience that Geralt is happy to provide.

He's thankful Jaskier asks no questions, although it's obvious Jaskier would like to know more about him, about what happened. He catches him staring at the scars when he thinks Geralt isn't looking, but it's not with revulsion. Geralt can't name the emotion on his face, but it's not a bad one necessarily.

There's only one question he does ask.

"So, do you know who my admirer is?" he says finally. Geralt’s just starting to feel truly comfortable here with Jaskier and is less worried about Jaskier changing his mind about keeping Geralt around. He’s proven he’s helpful and he’s trying very, very hard not to scare him (he’s beginning to think Jaskier can’t be scared, actually).

Geralt's in the middle of chopping wood when he asks. "Because you know, it was really very sweet of them." He's grinning.

"Uh," is the very elegant response Geralt comes up with, cheeks hot. He’s not sure why he’s embarrassed. Jaskier obviously knows it was him. He chops the next piece of wood with a singular focus, doesn't shift his gaze back over to Jaskier.

"He must have very fine arms. He chopped all my wood for weeks, you know," Jaskier says offhand, and oh. He's teasing. His tone is friendly. Geralt only flushes harder. He’s not sure why Jaskier can fluster him so quickly. "Not as good as yours, I'm sure," he continues, and Geralt nearly jumps when Jaskier's hand settles on his bicep, squeezing. "Mm, not sure anyone's as deliciously built as you are, darling."

"Jaskier," he finally bites out, mortified. He feels--he feels--he doesn’t know the word for it, but he’s pretty sure it’s not appropriate. Jaskier laughs.

"It's alright sweetheart," he grins and shoots him a wink, "your secret's safe with me." And Geralt doesn't know what to do with himself, but he likes the way his stomach clenches when Jaskier touches him, the soft way he speaks. And he does trust that he's safe with him. It's...reassuring.

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

Despite how safe Geralt feels, he still can't bring himself to tell Jaskier how he ended up hiding in his storeroom. He's fairly certain Jaskier won't care at this point, but every time he tries to say something, he finds the words have abandoned him. Unlike Jaskier, he struggles to voice his thoughts, even when he has the words neatly arranged in his head. Jaskier reassures him that it's fine, not everyone is gifted with their speech and it's normal for words not to work the way you'd like, but it frustrates him anyway. He...cares...about Jaskier. He’s…different. He wants to share this part of himself with him. He just doesn't know how.

His efforts are further complicated by the way his stomach flips uncomfortably every time Jaskier is close. He's not an idiot, he knows what it means (Jaskier is a big fan of love ballads, the raunchier the better, he says and it’s…that) but it feels...dishonest to entertain Jaskier's subtle flirting, especially when Jaskier knows nothing about who he really is, how he came to be. After all, who could love a monster?

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

"Geralt," Jaskier calls from his mound of blankets as Geralt stokes the fire for the last time that night, "come to bed with me, darling."

Geralt can feel himself flush. "Jaskier," he admonishes, but Jaskier only laughs, lifts the corner of the blanket invitingly.

"It's been cold at night and it will only get colder. Come on, Geralt." He bats his eyes enticingly, pats the corner of the mattress again.

"I can't," he says, quiet, and something in Jaskier's expression softens.

"Alright, darling," he says, letting the blankets fall closed around him, "but that's a standing invitation."

"Hm."

Jaskier doesn't press further, but Geralt lays awake thinking about it for far longer than he should.

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

"I'm a viscount," Jaskier says apropos of nothing a few days later. It's early morning and they're outside, returning from the chicken coop. Geralt turns to where Jaskier's stopped in the middle of the yard, bucket of chicken eggs forgotten on the ground beside him. "Or at least, I used to be. My father disowned me about a year ago now."

"Why?" Geralt asks, because Jaskier seems to need the encouragement. He wouldn't have brought it up if he hadn't wanted Geralt to know.

"I...embarrassed him. With who I chose to take to my bed." He's staring hard at the tree line opposite the cottage. He's not even facing Geralt. "My father's head of the guard. Vincent."

The name brings to mind the day the crates were delivered. The man with the sword who stood too close.

"I was disowned either way and I knew that, but Vincent..." he trails off.

"Thank you, Jaskier. You don't have to tell me." His eyes meet Geralt's finally and he smiles. It's a tiny, watery thing.

"No I--he chose to stay. With my father. And I'm...here. It bothered me. For a long time." He's quiet so long Geralt thinks maybe that's the end of it, but when he steps forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Jaskier, he keeps talking. "I thought...who would want a disowned viscount? Vincent certainly didn't. I'm damaged goods."

"Jaskier, you're not damaged," Geralt says, horrified at the prospect. Jaskier is...wonderful (even if he talks a little too much for Geralt's taste, sometimes). How could anyone think him lesser for loving who he loved?

Jaskier extends his hand to catch Geralt's and squeezes tightly. Geralt squeezes back, stomach fluttering when Jaskier smiles at him. "I know," he says softly, "and I know you’re not ready to talk about yourself yet, but whatever it is, it’s okay, okay?" And when Jaskier says that, looking at him the way he is, Geralt can almost believe him.

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

They settle deeper into their routine, something Jaskier calls "disgustingly domestic" with a smile that nearly splits his face, so Geralt's pretty sure he doesn't think it's a bad thing, actually. Geralt certainly enjoys it.

Jaskier talks incessantly about anything and everything and Geralt likes listening.

“You know,” Jaskier says one night, after he’s wound down his playing and put the lute away, “I haven’t had many guests out here since I was disowned. It’s been...nice.”

“Why not?” Geralt asks, stoking the fire before settling back on the fur rug. Geralt can’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to spend time with Jaskier.

“Being disowned is…” he pauses, obviously searching for the right words, “it’s not something that’s done lightly. It means the people I grew up with, the people who were close to me, they can’t see me anymore, or risk having their own reputation tarnished.”

Geralt feels his lips twitch in a frown. Jaskier laughs.

“Oh, don’t make that face, I know. But that’s how it is. I’ve spent some time with the village locals, but it’s...not the same. I’m still nobility to them and I’m no longer nobility to the actual nobles.” He shrugs, but Geralt can see the thought still bothers him.

“You were lonely,” Geralt says. He’s not sure he should have pointed it out, but Jaskier doesn’t seem angry.

“I was,” he agrees softly. Something in his eyes pins Geralt to the spot, “until you.”

And that’s...too much to think about. “Hm.”

The smile that creeps over Jaskier’s face is blinding. “Yes,” he agrees, “hm, indeed.”

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

"My father's men should be stopping by in the next few weeks," Jaskier says on a morning like any other.

"Did you want me--"

"No," Jaskier corrects hastily before Geralt can offer to hide, "No, I want you here. I just--wanted to give you a heads up."

"Oh."

They don't talk about it again. They probably should have.

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

"Jaskier?" Geralt calls across the small space of the cottage, sitting up.

There's banging outside. People. Jaskier shifts in his cocoon of blankets that is his bed, only the top of his head visible. "No," he mumbles fuzzily, "don't wanna." He's...not really awake.

"Jaskier," Geralt rumbles, voice still thick with sleep himself, "we should--"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before the door is swinging open and a man is striding through. When he sees Geralt, his hand lands on his sword.

"Jaskier, what the fuck--"

"Vincent," Jaskier gasps, nearly tripping in his haste to extract himself from the blankets. He’s eyeing the space between Vincent and Geralt with panic, "ever heard of fucking knocking?" he bites out, shifting to put himself between them as much as possible.

"Jaskier, you've got a--"

"Don't finish that sentence," he says, tone flat and threatening, "and I'd appreciate it if you'd give my companion and I some fucking privacy. I'll meet you in the yard in a moment."

Vincent's hand tightens around the pommel of his sword, "I don't think--" he starts, but the look Jaskier pins him with is cutting. He hesitates, but he leaves without another word, pulling the door shut behind him.

"Fucking prick," Jaskier growls, stalking over to his wardrobe to put on some clothes before facing their company.

"I should--" Geralt starts, but Jaskier cuts him off.

"You should get dressed and let me drag you around the yard to hang off of while I make sure my father hasn't fucking shorted me on supplies. I'm already disowned, what more can he do to me?" The grin on Jaskier's face is brittle.

When they exit the cottage, Vincent is hovering by the door, obviously nervous. He's still got his hand wrapped around the pommel of his sword like a lifeline. Jaskier scoffs at it, but Geralt stays carefully back and works to make his posture non-threatening.

"Jaskier," Vincent says the minute he's out the door, "what is--"

"This is Geralt," Jaskier cuts in smoothly, "my companion." Vincent winces.

"He's--"

"My companion," Jaskier reinforces.

"The mage in Novigrad is looking for him." Geralt stiffens.

"I assure you we have no idea what you mean," Jaskier bites out, even as Geralt feels his stomach drop uncomfortably. The mage. The man from the room. He no longer cares one way or the other who the man is or what he wanted from Geralt. He’s happy here, he doesn’t want to leave. Vincent opens his mouth to respond, but he snaps his jaw shut a moment later with no protest.

"Okay," he sighs. Then-- "Where do you want the supplies?"

The men don't stay any longer than they need to, but it's a tense affair for everyone involved. Jaskier takes Geralt's hand in his and doesn't let go until long after Vincent and his underlings have left.

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

The rest of the day, Jaskier’s filled with a frantic sort of energy. He breezes through chores, drags Geralt on a walk with him out to the pond where he paces the water’s edge for near an hour before they head back. And it doesn’t dissipate even after they’ve returned to the cottage and had dinner.

The fire’s lit and Geralt is settled on the fur rug before it the way he normally does. Usually, this is about the time Jaskier would fetch his lute, or perhaps a book to read from. Instead, he’s still pacing.

“Jaskier,” Geralt finally says, breaking his focus as he comes up short in another circuit of the room, “come sit. Your pacing makes my head hurt.”

“Sorry,” he huffs, flopping down beside him with a heavy sigh. He leans against Geralt’s side for a bit, but he’s still restless, still shifting.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says again and Jaskier sighs hard. He pulls away only to lay beside him, pillowing his head on Geralt’s thigh. Immediately, Geralt slips his fingers into Jaskier’s hair, soothing.

"So that was awful," Jaskier mutters.

"Mm."

He rolls so his face is pressed to Geralt's stomach. Geralt's fingers stay tangled in his hair, gently petting.

"I don’t want you to go," Jaskier says into the silence, muffled against Geralt's bulk.

Geralt’s chest siezes.

“I know you aren’t ready to tell me anything and that’s okay, but I--” his breath is warm against the thin cloth of Geralt’s shirt, “If that mage really is looking for you, I don’t want you to go,” he repeats, voice small.

Geralt feels as if his throat has closed. "I'm--I want to stay here,” he forces out, swallowing roughly. He should explain because Jaskier doesn’t know, but Jaskier sags with relief, presses his face closer to Geralt's stomach, fingers digging into his side and Geralt doesn’t want to take that relief from him, not now.

"That's--I'm glad." They don't say anything else for a long time as the fire burns down.

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

Geralt can’t stop thinking about the fact Jaskier doesn’t know, though. He needs to tell him. So that he’ll understand. Geralt owes it to him to tell him, whether he wants to or not. And if Jaskier wants him gone after? It will hurt, but he’ll go.

"Jaskier, do you have a minute?" he asks while Jaskier's tuning his lute that evening. He'd been getting ready to play, as he usually does.

"Of course, sweetheart. What is it?" he asks, strumming through a simple, uncomplicated tune. He meets Geralt's eyes with a playful smile, but his expression sobers when he sees the seriousness in Geralt's gaze.

"You asked me," he says carefully, "about before."

"Only if you're comfortable, dear. You don't have to--"

"No," he says, "I do." He needs to understand. He drops his gaze to his lap where he's wringing his hands together nervously. He stills them with effort, but that only makes the scars there stand out more starkly. He startles when Jaskier catches his hands in his own, traces those scars tenderly with lute-calloused fingertips.

"Well then, I'm listening," he says and smiles, small and encouraging when Geralt's gaze flickers back up to his face. It makes his chest tight. He doesn't deserve this. Jaskier. He tries to take in his face now, that tender care, that concern. Just in case it’s gone, after. So he knows. So he can remember.

Despite the fear churning in his gut, he takes a deep breath and starts talking, gaze glued to their still joined hands.

"My earliest memory is--uh. I. I woke up in a...room. I didn't know where I was. There was...a man. The mage, I guess." Jaskier is very, very still but his thumbs rub soothing circles against the back of his hands, a grounding point of contact.

"I tried to ask him what was going on, but I--" he trails off, unsure how to phrase what he means. He shakes his head. "--I didn't know how. I didn't have the words. And I--scared him. I think. He ran."

Jaskier sucks in a noisy breath and squeezes his hands briefly. "Go on," he encourages when Geralt glances back up.

"I followed him. I didn't know what else to do. I was in a town, I think."

"Novigrad," Jaskier interrupts before wincing. "Sorry, go on."

"The people there--I tried to ask for help but they--" he can feel the tears burning in his throat and tries to breathe through it, keep going, "they either ran or they threatened me. I didn't know what was going on." He feels the tears spill and ducks his head. If he stops now, he won't be able to continue. "I ran."

"Oh, Geralt," Jaskier whispers. He lets go of one hand to bring his palm up to Geralt's face. His fingertips brush the corner of his eye, wipe the tears away gently.

"I ended up in the forest. There's a village not too far from here," Jaskier makes a quiet noise of acknowledgment. It’s the village Jaskier goes to sometimes when he needs things his father won’t or doesn’t send. "I stayed around there for a few weeks. Until the men with the swords showed up." Jaskier makes another small noise, rubbing his thumb along Geralt's cheekbone. Geralt closes his eyes. "So I picked a direction and started walking. And I found you."

"And I'm glad you found me, love. Sounds like you've had quite the rough go of it."

The calm acceptance is...too much. Does he not understand? He's a monster. Not natural. The mage wants back his creature. "Jaskier, I'm--"

"Shh," he cuts him off, grip still tight on his hand as he caresses his face, slips his fingers back into his hair, "I'm glad you told me, darling, but it doesn't change how I feel about you. You're a good person." He tugs him into his arms, gentle. Geralt goes, feeling like he did when he woke--unmoored, lost. He feels the tears slip down his cheeks, feels the way his breath catches on a sob. "I love you."

"Jask--" he can't get the words out past the lump in his throat so he just tucks himself a little closer, presses his face into Jaskier's neck. His lute sits forgotten beside them.

"You don't have to say it back, sweetling. It's okay," he says, stroking his free hand through Geralt's hair, the other tucked around his waist.

"I do, though," he whispers, lips brushing his throat, "I do." Jaskier sucks in a shuddering breath and holds him tighter, presses his lips to Geralt's temple, right over the mass of scars there. It's gentle, reverent.

That night, Geralt sleeps in Jaskier's bed, curled against his chest. He’s nearly asleep when the gentle tenor of Jaskier’s voice cuts through the soft haze of near-sleep. “--don’t know where I’d be,” Jaskier is saying softly, lips pressing intermittently to the top of his head, “gets hard being alone out here. And you’re so--” he cuts off, presses a kiss to Geralt’s hair again. He obviously thinks he’s already asleep. “You keep me grounded,” he says. “This is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.” He breathes it like a secret.

As Geralt lets sleep finally pull him under, swimming in Jaskier’s quiet confession, it's the most cared for he's ever felt.

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

And that’s how things continue, for a long time. Jaskier frets over who may or may not be looking for Geralt and vacillates wildly between stressing himself out about it and pretending it’s not a problem. Vincent and his men show up about every eight or so weeks with supplies from Jaskier’s father and Jaskier drags Geralt out with him to watch every time. Vincent eyes Geralt skeptically still, but he no longer comments or reaches for his sword. And as Geralt begins to experience what contact with other people is like when they’re not running from him or threatening him, he’s further convinced that Jaskier is special. He doesn’t feel this way about Vincent or the other men who deliver their supplies, or the people in the village who Jaskier’s taken him down to meet a few times now (they still won’t come anywhere near him without Jaskier around, but Jaskier is insistent they treat him like anyone else and it’s...it helps).

But Geralt doesn’t know how to make it clear to Jaskier that he’s interested in more. They share Jaskier’s bed, they touch frequently, but things are...remarkably tame. They already say “I love you.” At some point, Jaskier’s flirting had tapered off and now he’s just...sweet. And Geralt loves it, but he also wants...that. The raunchy flirting and the...the things that come after. And the happy ending, like the ones from the fairytales Jaskier readers, sometimes. He just doesn’t know how to let Jaskier know that he wants everything.

It turns out he doesn’t have to ask at all.

"So I know this is a dumb question but," Jaskier's paused over making their eggs one morning, gaze downturned and intense, "I'm--uh. I mean, you--fuck. I have no idea how to say this," he huffs, taking the pan off the open flame and tipping the egg onto a plate. "You want to stay. Here. With me." It's obviously supposed to be a statement, but it sounds like a question.

They’ve already talked about this, haven’t they? "Yes, Jaskier," he says softly, "as long as you'll have me."

Jaskier lets out of a gust of breath, "Fuck okay, so--" he turns to face Geralt, egg abandoned, to take his hands in his, crouching at Geralt’s knees, "I want you here with me, too. More than I, uh, probably should."

Geralt makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat. This sounds like--

"And I know there's no real practical purpose for it since I have nothing but this--" he gestures around them at the cottage, "--to give, but, um. I'd--If you'd be so inclined I'd like to marry you, Geralt." He pauses, eyes downcast and face flushed. Geralt for his part can't seem to put words in any order that might allow them to come out of his mouth and communicate just how much Jaskier's offer means to him.

"It's, uh, a little bit of protection. If the mage does come back for you, or something. But," he's rambling now, words falling from his lips so quickly his tongue is almost tripping over them in an effort to get them out faster, "but it's not like I don't want to marry you, or anything like that. I've been thinking about it quite extensively and I--"

"Jaskier," he cuts in, and he shuts up immediately, wide eyes focused on Geralt's face, nerves pouring off him. "Yes," Geralt says simply, and Jaskier gives a giddy little laugh, tips forward to hide his face in Geralt's lap.

"That's--yes. That's good. I'm glad." When he pulls back to look up into Geralt's face again, his eyes are shining. "Thank you, Geralt."

Geralt's not sure why Jaskier is the one thanking him when Geralt's the one who will most benefit from the arrangement, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

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

Jaskier makes a special trip to the village to bring the priest of Melitele back to their cottage to officiate the hand fastening less than a week later. Geralt's nervous the man will balk when he sees him, but other than going a little pale at the sight, he stands fast. Even the temple boy that he brought with him doesn't do more than flinch when Jaskier levels him with a look.

"Are you sure--" the priest begins, but Jaskier cuts him off quickly.

"We are. And we want a small, private affair. No fanfare. I'm disowned, remember?" he says sardonically, and Geralt knows it's a tactic to keep the man from asking too many questions, they'd talked about it beforehand, but it still makes his chest ache. Jaskier is so good, he doesn't understand why everyone isn't as drawn to him as Geralt is.

"Now?" The priest asks, fiddling with the cord he's brought with him.

"Geralt?" and Jaskier's expression is so cautiously guarded--

"Yes," he agrees, stepping forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with him in their little clearing, just outside the door of the home they've already shared for months. The priest heaves a gust of breath.

"You'll need to kneel," he says, "Jaskier, give him your right hand. Uh--"

"Geralt," Jaskier supplies, eyes hard.

"--Geralt, give Jaskier your left." They kneel before the priest, hands clasped and held up in offering. The priest slips the cord around their joined hands, talking all the while. "Now, you don't untie this once it's done. Bad luck and all that. Ready?"

"Yes," Jaskier says, and Geralt nods.

"Alright." The priest waves the boy over to watch and serve as witness, and then he begins.

"As this knot is tied," he says, twisting the cording together in the first of several knots, "so are your lives now bound."

Jaskier squeezes Geralt's hand so tightly he can feel how he trembles.

"Woven into this cord, imbued into its very fibers, are all your hopes for your new life together." Another knot.

"With the fashioning of this knot do I tie all the desires, dreams, love, and happiness wished here in this place to your lives for as long as love shall last." He ties off the third and final knot and leans backward.

"Hold tight to one another through both good times and bad, and watch as your strength grows." The silence that rings out after the priest ceases speaking is deafening. Geralt can hear the blood rushing in his veins. "It is done."

"Geralt," Jaskier whispers as their joined hands fall to rest on Geralt’s thigh. He can't help but follow the movement of those lips with his eyes. "Kiss me, Geralt." And who is he to deny Jaskier anything?

He squeezes their joined hands, free hand rising to cup Jaskier's cheek. The look in Jaskier's eyes, the tenderness, the love, the thinly veiled excitement, twists his chest. How could he have ever feared this man would reject him?

"Geralt," Jaskier says again, and Geralt doesn't make him ask twice. He leans forward and presses their lips together in a tiny, chaste kiss, hardly more than a brushing of lips. It's still electric, especially when Jaskier makes a tiny, wounded noise and presses in closer, nearly in Geralt's lap.

Somewhere behind Jaskier, the priest clears his throat and Jaskier draws away reluctantly.

"You'll make it official in the books?" Jaskier asks without actually moving from where he’s perched on Geralt's knees.

"Of course. Should I send word to your father?"

"No," Jaskier scoffs, "don't bother." Geralt sees the priest nod behind Jaskier's shoulder. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome, son. May Melitele bless your binding. Come, boy." Before Jaskier or Geralt can say more, the man is hurrying away with the temple boy who's eyes are still wide and fixed on Geralt.

"I'd like to see them take you from me now," Jaskier says once the man's footsteps have faded from hearing, "husband." Something in Geralt trembles at the word.

"Husband," he repeats slowly, testing out the word on his tongue and finding it to his liking. Jaskier grins, wide and bright.

"Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" He leans forward to kiss Geralt again, as if some dam has broken and he can't help himself. "My beautiful husband," Jaskier breathes against Geralt's lips.

When he pulls back, breathing hard, Geralt brings their still bound hands up to his lips to kiss Jaskier's knuckles, tender and reverent.

"How could anyone not look at you and see how sweet you are," Jaskier breathes, pulling his knuckles away from Geralt's mouth to give Geralt's scarred fingers the same treatment. "So beautiful, so full of love, my husband is."

"Jaskier--"

"Shush, I'm basking," he teases, giving another deliberate kiss to the back of his hand.

"I'm not--"

"No," Jaskier corrects immediately, "you just don't see yourself the way I see you. You're beautiful, Geralt and I love you very, very much."

He feels his face heat, ducks his head so his hair falls in the way, hiding his eyes.

"And I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it. I love you and I'm not going anywhere. And--" he continues, slipping the fingers of his free hand under Geralt's chin and tilting his head up until their eyes meet, "--I'm not letting anyone else have you. You're mine, husband dearest."

"Yours," Geralt agrees easily. The mage may or may not be looking for him, but it doesn't matter. Geralt wants nothing to do with him anyway.

"And I'm yours, darling. As long as you want me."

"Mine," Geralt echos, "Always."

And that's enough.

[h2bakugou]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request Bakugo with a s/o who is originally from Mexico and is feeling a bit homesick due to the fact that it’s gonna be her first Christmas away from her dad and even admits to Bakugo that she was even thinking of not even attending U.A in the first place but it was her dad that convinced her to attend, at the end she gets a care package from her dad with all her favorite things ( sorry if the request is long!)

a/n: hello!! of course! i did a bit of research for this, so i hope i did alright, if there is anything that needs to be changed please feel free to correct me!! i hope you enjoy this love!! 

summary: as the holidays begin to grow near, you can’t help but feel a little homesick. missing your father and the place you grew up in, you go to bakugou for comfort.

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: swearing, fluff

word count: 1.3k

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»»————-　★　————-««

Plopping down onto your bed with a ‘hmph,’ you laid back and stared at the ceiling of your dorm room. You were missing home. 

It was going to be your first Christmas away from home, away from your dad, away from your cozy bed and room that was decorated as if you’d never gone away to attend U.A.

You’d been bummed out recently, especially with the nearing of Christmas itself. As the date drew closer, you missed sipping hot cocoa and watching the classic movies that you did every year with your father, sometimes around a cozy fire, or just cuddled under a nice blanket.

The knock on your door quickly pulled you away from your thoughts, bringing you back to reality where you were forced to get up and go see who was banging on the door now.

Pulling the said door back, you were met with your explosive-blonde boyfriend, Bakugou. Your expression quickly changed from agitated to somewhat less agitated.

“Hey dumbass.” Bakugou quickly leaned into your room, planting a kiss on your lips away from anyone who could possibly be in the hallway. You pulled him inside, lips still connected, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey.” You smiled, finally breaking the kiss. Bakugou wrapped his arms around you, his soft side shining through. He must’ve just got done taking a shower after training. He smelled good, and the lingering burnt sugar scent mixed with his shower gel, putting you at ease.

“You seem tense, what’s on your mind?” Bakugou commented. The tension in the air was thick and palpable. 

“Just thinking thoughts, ya know?” You returned to your spot on the bed, only this time making room for Bakugou.

You had thought about telling him, but it looks like now you need to. It was honestly sort of comforting how he’d just stopped by, almost like he could tell you were in distress. Bakugou just sort of had a way of knowing whenever you weren’t feeling good.

“Elaborate.” Bakugou sat against your wall, pulling you into his lap so your back could rest on his chest. His hands jumped to your hair, massaging your scalp as you leaned back into his touch.

“I guess I’m homesick. That’s about the only word I can say to describe how I’m feeling. I miss home. I miss being back home, with my dad. And it’s my first Christmas away from home. I just, miss it all.” You explained, closing your eyes, trying to imagine the positive side of being at U.A.

“Have you thought about writing him a letter?” Bakugou asked, raising a good option to get back in touch with him. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about sending him letters. You had text and call to communicate, but perhaps writing a letter would feel a little more personal.

What you’d give to see a letter with your name and a stamp from Mexico again. Much like the days you’d wait on the edge of your seat for the mail to run every year for Christmas cards addressed to your family when you were younger.

“I haven’t really, but I could definitely start.” You admit, turning to hug your boyfriend. He moved his arms to hold you in his arms, snuggling you against his chest.

“This wasn’t even my idea. All the credit goes to my dad.” You can feel your tears beginning to pour, staining Bakugou’s shirt as you clung to him. Bakugou rubbed your back, but sat confused by your words.

“What does that mean?” Bakugou asked, unsure of what you meant by ‘this.’

“Coming to U.A. I wasn’t going to attend, I didn’t really think I was cutout for it. But my dad encouraged me, and supported me through it all. He’s been there for me for as long as I can remember and I just feel alone now.” You sobbed, shaking your head trying to stop your tears from flowing. Bakugou only hugged you tighter as you cried, laying his head against your own, kissing the top of it sweetly.

“You being here is not a mistake. You’re badass. If anyone deserves to be here, it’s you.” Bakugou’s words weren’t forced despite how much you may have wanted to believe they were just a cheesy way of trying to make you feel better.

He knew that deep down, even past his own egotistical side, you were meant to be here. You were born to be here, to attend U.A., to become one of the best heroes. 

“And you’re not alone. It may feel like it, but your dad is always just a call, text, or letter away. And besides, you could always invite him over, I’d like to meet him. show him just awesome your boyfriend is.” Bakugou smirked, lifting your chin to look up at him.

You cracked a smile as you stared into his crimson eyes, kissing his lips sweetly.

“He’d love you.” You commented, smiling as you laid your head back on Bakugou’s chest, wiping your eyes.

“I love you.” Bakugou whispered, watching as you closed your eyes, laying in some calming quiet.

“I love you too.”

About a week later, a few days before Christmas, Bakugou had come barreling toward you with a large box in his hands.

“Babe.” He yelled toward you across the common room. The tips of his ears were red as your face flushed, realizing he’d yelled a little loud. Kaminari and Sero just whistled at the two of you, the sight of soft and lovey-dovey Bakugou being a rare one.

“This is for you.” Bakugou handed you the box wrapped in pretty paper. The second your eyes landed on the postal stamp, you felt like you were going to start crying. It was from Mexico, more specifically, from your father.

“Bakugou! Come here.” You pulled his wrist back, slamming him down on the empty couch cushion beside you. You quickly tore into the box, excitement pouring out of you.

Filled to the brim inside the box were all sorts of goodies. Some of your favorite candies from back home as well as some snacks, a few toys and games, and some old souvenirs from your room.

You could feel your eyes beginning to water. Happy tears of course. Bakugou only smiled as he watched you dive into the box, offering him to try some of your favorite candy.

“That’s good.” Bakugou commented, sucking on the lollypop you’d given him.

“Right?!” You smiled, opening a card from your father. As your eyes scanned over it, you could only feel your heart warming more and more.

‘There’s also a little gift for this Bakugou you tell me so much about. I hope he’s treating you well.’

Searching for the other wrapped gift, you finally find it and hand it to Bakugou.

“For me?” Bakugou asked, staring at you.

“My dad said I was for you.” You smile, excited to see what it was. Bakugou quickly opened it, a grin on his lips.

Unwrapping all the paper, it was a small All Might figurine. You snickered as you watched Bakugou’s face turn red.

“Stop laughing. You’re gonna draw attention to us.” Bakugou mumbled quickly trying to examine and both put the cool figurine back.

“I told him you liked All Might.” You laughed as he just carefully throws it back into the box, hiding it under the stuffing paper as he tackles you and places his lips on yours. You can’t help but smile, knowing a few other classmates were looking.

“Fanboy.” You tease quietly as he stands up and marches away with the box, hiding his figurine.

You couldn’t be happier. You were so thankful, and feeling a lot better. You decided to send your father a box full of things from Japan. You were excited to see what he’d think, and even more so, you were going to send him an invitation to the next big school event. You were over the moon about introducing him to Bakugou.

And Bakugou, was probably even more excited to meet him.

»»————-　★　————-««

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