#also sorry to hear about the extra work + internet being shit i hope that fixes itself soon

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous. ҉   next.

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The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results). 

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be. 

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children. 

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy 

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim. 

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

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Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do. 

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

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“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point! 

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus. 

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping. 

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex. 

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him. 

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red. 

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!! 

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling. 

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!” 

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out. 

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you. 

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage. 

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her. 

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement. 

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.” 

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos​ - @fairywriter-oracle​ - @tsukishimawh0re​ - @ofstarsanddreams​ - @bbecc-a​ - @annshit​ - @leahh19​ - @letsloveimagines​ - @bellomi-clarke​ - @wineandionysus​ - @guiltydols​ - @onephootinfrontoftheother​ - @liamakorn​ - @thirstyfangirl​ - @lilysdaydreams​ - @pan-ini​ - @mxqicshxp​ - @tanchosanke​ - @yoshinorecommends​ - @flightsandfantasy​ - @liljennyx3​ - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible​ - @sinister-sleep​ - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat​ - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit​ - @unstableye​ - @simonsbluee​ - @shinyshimaagain​ - @ppopty​ - @siriuslystupid​ - @crapimahuman​ - @ofthedewthesunlight​ - @mythicalamphitrite​ - @artsyally​ - @corpsesimpp​ - @corpsewhitetee​ - @corpse-husbandsimp​ - @hyp-oh-critical​ - @roses-and-grasses​ - @rhyrhy462​ - @sparklylandflaplawyer​ - @charbkgo​ - @airwaveee​ - @creativedogs​ - @kaitlyn2907​ - @loxbbg​ - @afuckingunicornn​ - @fleurmoon​ - @yeolliedokai​

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[mostlycompetentwriter]

My Side

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Bang Chan (SKZ)

Warnings: language, lots of smut, prostate massage, fluff, some mentions of angst (but it’s very minimal)

Genre: Marriage AU

Word Count: 4K

Summary: Y/N has had her entire future planned out ever since she could remember: step one- graduate college (done), step two- find a good-paying job (done), step three- marry someone she adores (done), and step four- have kids (???). She understands that life is full of obstacles, but is it too much to ask for your husband to finally knock you up?

A/N: Big apology to this anon user who requested this and had to wait like 8 billion years for me to finish it.

The fertility clinic was unusually cold, and I found myself shivering in direct contradiction with the sweltering summer heat collecting outside of the office building. Maybe that was the point: the doctors wanted to keep you totally alert while you waited for what seemed like hours for a standard routine visit. Because I could’ve already fallen asleep at this point - taking advantage of my day off from work to do something other than fret over the working condition of my reproductive system.

Of course, there was also the issue of my grumpy husband who had been thoroughly displeased when he found out exactly what a pap smear test implied. “He was totally checking you out when we came in,” Chan said. “Then, he insisted on sticking that thing up your vagina?”

“Oh, give it a rest, Chan,” I said. “I knew they would do that before I even came here.”

“I think he just wanted to look at your pussy,” Chan insisted. “And he did it right in front of me like I didn’t even exist!”

“You weren’t forced to stay in the room,” I pointed out, which I would’ve preferred but Chan insisted on standing over me like some kind of jealous observer who actually wanted to watch such an intimate procedure. 

“Yeah, he would’ve preferred that,” Chan said, leaning further back in his chair. “How the hell is this even supposed to help us? We’ve only been trying for a few months.”

“Well, I want to make sure everything is working properly,” I said, and (just to spite him) I glanced down at his crotch. “What if you’re having performance issues, honey?”

“My dick works just fine,” Chan insisted. “But you know what? I think it’s partially your fault that we can’t pregnant. You’re putting too much pressure on him and it’s hard for me to focus.”

“Him?” I questioned with a grin. "Do you really want to personify your penis?”

“That’s not the point!” Chan exclaimed. “Did you even hear me, Y/N?”

“But what is the point, Chan? What exactly are you having trouble focusing on?” I asked. “We’re talking about fucking, not a tax audit. Keep the office out of our bedroom.”

“You don’t think I know the difference?”

“Apparently not since it requires more effort than necessary for you to orgasm,” I screeched, barely getting the words out before the doctor’s return.

Immediately, Chan and I were both forced smiles, pretending like we weren’t just having a pointless argument. “Well,” the doctor said. “Everything is fine on your end, Mrs. Bang. I guess that means we can perform some tests on your husband.”

“Oh, that would be great,” I said, even as Chan shifted restlessly from next to me. “Is there anything you need?”

“We’d like to ask you for a sperm sample,” the doctor replied while handing Chan a clear, transparent plastic cup that he accepted with obvious hesitation. “I’ll give you some time.”

“Thank you,” I said, looking over at Chan who was glaring at the cup as if personally offended by its presence.

But at least he waited until the doctor was gone before looking at me with wide eyes. “What do I do?” Chan asked, holding up the plastic cup while appearing thoroughly taken aback.

“It’s just masturbating,” I hissed at him.

“They want me to jerk off into this cup?” Chan gasped like the idea was so totally perplexing to him.

“How else will they get a sperm sample?” I asked him, rolling my eyes because I was growing impatient.

But Chan still hesitated, using one hand to hold the cup while his other traveled down to the front of his jeans. “Do I just...”

“Yes!” I shouted while standing up from my chair. “It’s nothing hard, Chan, you’ve been masturbating since 9th grade!” 

“Yeah, but it’s embarrassing to do it here,” Chan argued, and I sighed for what had to be the thousandth time that day.

“There’s a curtain for privacy,” I said, reaching for my bag from the floor. “I’ll be waiting outside until you’re done.”

“Y/N!” Chan whined, but I left without another word, hoping that Chan could get his shit together because I was exhausted and the prospect of the bed waiting for me at home was suddenly everything that I wanted.

It turned out that Chan and I were both perfectly healthy, and there should be nothing impeding my ability to finally get pregnant. Chan even managed to smile after our doctor complimented his sperm because they were powerful swimmers or whatever the hell that meant. But that had also been hours ago, and after a well-deserved nap, I was feeling exceptionally horny. Thankfully, Chan was never the type to turn down sex, and a few innocent kisses had turned into a full-blown pornography session within moments of me circling my hips against the front of his jeans.

“Fuck me, Chan,” I said, and he nodded eagerly as we both helped each other escape the obstacle of our clothes.

“You should apologize to my dick first,” Chan said teasingly when he had me spread open in front of him, fisting his cock as he started jerking himself off.

“What? Why?”

“You questioned my performance earlier,” Chan said with a shit-eating grin. “Maybe my cock isn’t good enough for you.”

“It’s fine,” I said, whining when I tried to wrap my hand around the base of his erection, only to have Chan knock it away with a sharp growl. "Alright!” I groaned. “I’m sorry I questioned your all-powerful shaft, okay? So, can you please just fuck me already?”

Chan chuckled at my easy compliance, and he ran his thumb across the slit of his cock before positioning himself at my wet entrance. “Remember that next time, Y/N,” he said, exhaling shakily when he started to push inside.

“Shit!” I cried, reaching out for his broad shoulders as I held on as tight as possible for the ride waiting ahead of me.

“Such a tight cunt,” Chan remarked, pausing a moment to grind himself against my insides just to feel the pressure around his cock.

“Go faster,” I requested, throwing my head back when he complied, smacking his hips into mine as he searched for the perfect angle to leave me seeing stars.

“Yeah?” Chan purred, and he started thrusting faster than before, dragging his cock against the pulsating walls of my cunt, forcing more arousal to leak out around him. “Look at how good you always take my cock, baby.”

I reveled in the praise, craning my neck to the side just so that I could watch him disappear inside of me over and over again to match the sensation of his thick cock filling me up so well that it was almost mind-numbingly good. The best part was the pleasing sound of Chan’s moans, and I admired the way that he held himself up over me so that his muscles were practically bulging as he rolled his hips with seductive grinds. Meanwhile, I was drooling over the visual of his bulging biceps, whining underneath him because Chan was being unusually rough. Not that I would ever complain since every thrust managed to brush the tip of his cock perfectly against my cervix.

But it was only after Chan reached down to add a finger to the already tight fit of his cock inside my pussy that I remembered something that I had read on the internet as part of my endless pregnancy research. My eyes flew open at the reminder, and the lustful haze surrounding my sex-addled brain quickly vanished. “Hold on, Chan,” I said, pushing against his chest and disrupting the steady rhythm he had been maintaining.

“W-what?” Chan stuttered, pulling out while watching me roll over onto my stomach. 

“This is a better position,” I said, raising my ass high into the air before giving him a teasing wiggle. 

“Whatever,” Chan grunted, still too gone in his pleasure to care that much about my shenanigans. He immediately caged me in with his thighs, fumbling with his erect cock before aligning the tip with my aching cunt. I was relieved when he started jostling his cock back where it belonged, meandering in elegant strokes that resulted in the best friction.

“Make sure you come,” I told him while decorating the pale skin of his shoulders with nail marks as I reached behind me. 

“You first,” Chan insisted, and my heart warmed at his selflessness even while it felt like all the blood inside of me was rushing south, moving through my veins and spilling over with a rapid descent that left me seeing white while Chan moved even quicker, thrusting like a man deprived. 

I felt him come only moments later with the familiar heat that I had grown to appreciate more and more over the last few months. Thereafter, I immediately reached for a pillow from behind me, wincing at the sensitivity that lingered between my legs. “What are you doing?” Chan asked when he collapsed on the bed next to me.

“It’s supposed to help,” I said, raising my hips to place the pillow directly underneath me. “This article said that raising your legs after sex can improve your chances.”

“That seems ridiculous, Y/N,” Chan said. 

“Hey! Blame your sperm,” I countered. “It’s not my fault they need an extra boost.”

“My sperm are just fine,” Chan grunted. “You heard the doctor. They’re excellent swimmers.”

“This is just a precaution,” I told him, sighing in relief when I reached down to cup my heat, ensuring that all of Chan’s cum stayed inside where it belonged.

For the past several weeks, work had become something of a chore that I was forced to endure on a regular basis. It was often a struggle to force my way through piles of paperwork or tedious emails that always said much of the same thing. After a while, I would find myself glaring at the clock because I was quite certain that time was moving slow for the sole purpose of annoying me.

There was also the issue of dealing with my colleagues, especially the ones who liked to gossip and had effectively made a whole thing out of my failed attempts at pregnancy. “Oh, Y/N,” they would tell me. “It’s been three months, hasn’t it?”

Like they didn’t have anything better to do with their lives besides meddle in mine. But the worst of them all were the ones who decided that they were some kind of authority figures and tried to give me helpful “advice.” Everything from the shit that I had already heard from my doctor and the articles online, to bizarre practices that left me wondering where they found their information.

My manager’s personal assistant was a frequent advocate. She was far more insistent than the rest of them because she already had two kids at home who she described as future Mozarts in the making. And because she had already been successful (twice, I might add), she always sat next to me at lunch with a new suggestion that supposedly guaranteed fertilization.

“It could be that he’s under too much pressure,” she told me before biting into her salad.

“I’m asking him to have sex with me, not invent a new computer,” I grumbled.

“Yeah, but I’m sure you’ve both been having a lot of sex, which might seem like a good idea,” she continued. “But it might actually turn out to be far worse.”

“What do you suggest then? Should I kick him out of the bedroom for a week or two?” I snarked, but she was hardly bothered by my sarcastic attitude.

“My husband and I tried stimulating him more directly,” she explained. “Maybe you could try it out.”

“How so?”

“It’s something like a prostate massage,” she revealed in a hushed tone as if it was top-secret information. “There’s all kinds of information about it on the internet.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I said, wanting nothing more than to brush aside her words, but maybe I was too desperate because I found myself skimming through countless articles after lunch, soaking in the vast amounts of information that I uncovered.

And I left the office that day with a new strategy in mind to surprise my husband.

The moment I first walked through the door, I was yanking off my jacket and calling for Chan who ducked his head out of our bedroom. “Why the hell are you yelling?”

“Because I have a wonderful idea,” I said, practically skipping over to him and offering him a deep kiss.

“Y/N,” Chan murmured against my touch, grabbing my shoulders to pull me back. “What are you going on about?”

“Just take your stupid clothes off,” I said, skirting past him into the bedroom. “I want you naked on the bed.”

“You’re already horny?” Chan chuckled, but he made no protest of yanking his shirt over his head.

“I want to try something,” I told him, opening the door to our closet to search for something that we hadn’t used together in a long time.

“Should I be afraid?” Chan asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as he fisted his half-hard erection.

“Not if you have an open mind,” I said, turning around to hold up the bottle of lube, and Chan’s smile instantly vanished.

“What’s that for?”

“Well, tonight I’m using it on you,” I said, laughing at the way his forehead creased in confusion. “My co-worker actually made a pretty useful recommendation today.”

“Okay?...” Chan trailed off with an expression of perfect concentration - like he was doing his absolute best to understand.

“The internet called it prostate milking,” I explained, biting my lower lip to keep myself from laughing at the horrified expression on Chan’s face. “I want to stimulate your prostate.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Chan asked.

“Look, it has a lot of medical benefits,” I said. “Plus, I read that it can feel really good.”

Chan squired anxiously on the bed when I sat down next to him, and I could see that his cock was perfectly flaccid between his legs. “I don’t know, Y/N-”

“Don’t worry,” I interrupted him. “This is perfectly normal. Now, be a good boy for me and get on your hands and knees.”

Chan frowned. “Good boy?” he grumbled before obeyed my command, crawling his way up the bed to position himself in the way I had suggested.

“There we go,” I said, softly running a hand down his spine. 

“So far, I’m not impressed,” Chan muttered.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” I said, situating myself behind him before palming his ass. “This looks better than I remember, Channie.”

“Yeah, I guess the squats helped,” Chan said, and he flinched when I snapped a glove in place over my right hand. “What’s that for?”

“You think I’m gonna mess around your ass without a glove?” I snorted. “That’s not very hygienic.”

“Hygienic, yeah, okay,” Chan huffed, and he let out a noise somewhere between a whine and a grunt when I opened the bottle of lube and drizzled some on my fingertips. 

“Hold still,” I said, trying to get him to relax when my finger started circling his asshole, pushing against the tight muscle which wasn’t so easy to penetrate. However, with enough perseverance, I forced one finger inside and heard Chan release a rather unattractive sound.

“How does it feel?” I asked him, trying to move my finger around like I had read online.

“It just feels like you’ve shoved your finger up my ass,” Chan snapped, and I knew not to take it personally since he wasn’t so willing to go along with my crazy scheme in the first place.

“Don’t be so tense,” I said, rubbing my hand along his lower back. “Should I use more lube?”

“Fuck, I don’t know, Y/N,” Chan groaned, and I could tell that he was growing frustrated.

I was also losing confidence - wondering if this had been a bad idea because it definitely wasn’t as easy as my co-worker promised. Plus, I could tell that Chan was uncomfortable, squirming around under me while his cock hung limply between his legs. Clearly, he wasn’t finding any pleasure from this, and maybe it was entirely my fault for jumping into this without more preparation. 

“Shit, Chan,” I said, removing my finger while releasing a sigh. “I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have done this.”

I cleared my throat, feeling increasingly anxious when Chan refused to respond to my apology. He was still supporting himself on his hands in front of me, chest heaving up and down with each breath. I could see that the bright red tint to his ears betrayed his embarrassment and that only made me feel worse because the last thing I wanted to do was make this bad for him.

Eventually, Chan rolled off to the side of the bed, collecting his sweatpants from the floor before walking into the bathroom. I closed my eyes when the door slammed behind him, and I quietly left the bedroom to give Chan some privacy because it was obvious that he wasn’t pleased with the situation. 

So much for my co-worker’s stupid suggestion.

However, in the grand scheme of things, I was always the first to recognize when my actions warranted reprimand. 

After sleeping on the couch in the living room, I woke-up with a sore lower back and a guilty conscious. Chan had already left for work that morning, and he probably hadn’t paid me a single glance. But I probably deserved his wrath, which meant I would do everything that I could to make it up to him.

Consequently, I found myself flashing a bright smile at Chan’s office secretary who greeted me politely before calling Chan’s phone to see if he had some time to see me. There was a small part of me which worried that Chan might send me away because of last night’s events. Thankfully, his secretary waved me inside and I took a deep breath before opening the door while carrying the packed lunch I prepared for him.

Once inside, Chan offered me a cursory glance that only lasted a brief moment until his attention was once again focused on the file in front of him. “Channie,” I said, wincing at my shrill tone. “I brought you some lunch.”

I hesitated when Chan didn’t respond - walking over to his desk to carefully deposit the bag on his desk. I waited for a brief moment, but Chan refused to acknowledge me, which meant I needed to approach him more directly.  “I’m sorry about last night, Channie,” I said, coming around his desk to perch myself on the edge. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m also sorry about the past few months because I’ve been so desperate to finally have my positive pregnancy test that I started to really neglect you.”

The pen Chan had been writing with stopped in the middle of whatever sentence he had been writing, and my husband finally allowed me the privilege of looking into his dark brown eyes. “It’s hard for me to stay mad at you, Y/N,” Chan said, and I nearly burst into tears at the simple declaration.

“You deserve to be mad at me,” I said. “I can’t believe you let me get away with acting like this. You should get the husband of the year award or whatever.”

Chan chuckled, tossing his pencil aside. “Sweetheart, I know how much this means to you, and I want it just as much, but maybe it would be nice if we could be intimate sometimes without worrying about whether or not we’re following all those advice columns you read.”

“You’re right,” I agreed, and I pushed myself away from the edge of the desk and fell onto my knees in front of him - reaching out to grab his thighs between my hands. “What if I blew you right here in the office?”

Chan’s answering moan was enough to solidify my resolve, and I easily worked apart the belt fastening around his suit pants. My fingers worked with an experienced touch because this wasn’t the first time we had done something like this in his big executive office and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. “Fuck, Y/N,” Chan said, grabbing large handfuls of my hair while directing my lips closer to his exposed cock-head. 

“Let me take care of you, darling,” I said, offering a tentative lick to his pulsating tip. Chan was already hard, and I gave him a few strokes with my hand before allowing my mouth to take care of the rest - opening wide to take him as deep as I could without gagging. 

“Look at you,” Chan snarled, and his fingers traced the seam of my lips stretched obscenely around his cock. 

I moaned around his erection, and Chan closed his eyes as he fingers tightened their hold - hips moving every so often to force his cock even further down my throat. But I’m sure it made for one hell of a visual, and I hollowed my cheeks as I ran my tongue across the distinct vein trailing along the underside. 

“Keep going,” Chan said, and I could tell that he was close. And I started bobbing my head up and down, mimicking the same effect of his cock fucking my pussy, relaxing my throat and encouraging Chan to do whatever he needed to push himself over the edge.

He eventually came with an exaggerated groan, and I wrinkled my nose at the taste of him. Yet, I knew better than to let anything go to waste, and I struggled around the rawness of my throat as I swallowed - swiping my tongue around the head of his spent cock to clean up the excess.

“Was it good?” I asked him with a hoarse voice.

“Of course it was,” Chan replied, encouraging me off the floor and into his lap. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close as I listened to his heart slow back down to normal. “Thank you, Y/N,” he said, teasing his lips across mine. “You’re not gonna freak out over the fact that we just wasted my perfectly good semen?”

I rolled my eyes before playfully hitting his shoulder. “It’s never a waste if it makes you come like that.”

He smiled, bringing out the fullness of his dimples, and we sat together while Chan ate his lunch and I mindlessly talked about the latest office gossip. It was moments like these that I loved more than anything about my marriage to Chan - pregnancy be damned. Ironically, it was only a few weeks later that I found myself looking down at a thin white strip with a blue cross displayed across the surface: positive.

[sanchoyo]

danny phantom 14-20 thoughts!! I finished up s1 :D these last few eps were actually really really good!!!

-did. did tucker really just say esperanto was a dead language only spoken as a secret code between geeks. google says around 100,000 people actively speak it. oh my god...it being an auxiliary language doesn't mean its 'just for geeks to speak in code' ...it helps bridge gaps between people who don't have a language in common...

-danny really isn't pulling punches when it comes to fighting the ghost-cop possessed people huh. like he SLAMMED KWAN INTO THE CONCRETE SO HARD. HE THREW PAULINA INTO A BILLBOARD. will that...I mean it WOULD carry over to their bodies non-possessed, right? like if the ghost piloting their bodies gets hurt?? itd be so upsetting to be possessed, lose time, then wake up covered in bruises (and possibly, broken bones??) real horror movie stuff im sure wont be addressed in any way

-tuckers parents seem nice! I like them :)

-WULF IS CUTE AND I FEEL BAD. im so glad the gang realized he was only causing trouble bc of the shock collar walker put on him and helped. also, him wearing that big hoodie with the hood on, and thinking its subtle. we can tell youre still a giant wolfie :) THEN GETTING SUCKED INTO THE PORTAL AAAAH :( anxiously waiting to see Him Again....

-DANNY BLASTING HIS PARENTS THINKING THEY WERE OVERSHADOWED LMFAO GET THEIR ASSES. maddie marking how many ghosts she gets with lipstick tallies on the side of her portal gun? kindaaa iconic tho. (ALSO, SHE WAS LIKE, 2 FT AWAY FROM HIM RIGHT AFTER SHE TRIED TO SHOOT HIM. HOW DO YOU NOT RECONINZE YOUR OWN SON??? like sure, he might have diff hair/eye colors. but like, if one of my family members dyed their hair, and was wearing contacts, its not like id be like 'wHO IS THIS STRANGER!!!' ...he still has all his facial features!! same everything!!! I hate it here)

-paulina being #1 girl realizing danny's a friendly ghost immediately. smart queen. lancer and kwan ran away right after he made this sweet baby face at them:

which is hilarious.

-ok. im not saying his bullying is JUSTIFIED, but. dash looked so pleased with the (cute!) poster he just painted, and danny comes thru the wall and spills paint on his nice letterman jacket. his anger is justified maybe 65% of the time so far...(not the way he handles it, but STILL.) at least lancer is stepping in!! and them making a silly little bet was...cute?? until dash pulled out his GROSS UNDERWEAR AND SAID DANNY WOULD HAVE TO EAT THEM???? WHAT THE FUCK MAN. TUCKER WAS SO RIGHT ITS FUCKING WEIRD TO CARRY THOSE AROUND EWWW. THIS KID IS UNWELL. lancer was right, his animatronic setup was SUPER IMPRESSIVE?? hes actually pretty creative. danny meanwhile is stealing the fright knight's design...I hope dash is taking art classes or smth with his sports

-fright knight is the most bestest ghost so far i LOVE THAT DESIGN. I am biased towards knights, and characters with swords, but he fucks so severely. and should sue danny for copyright infringement for stealing his design for his haunted house. if some 14 yr old broke into MY house and stole MY sword, id also be pissed. his evil winged unicorn rules too with its FANGS. and he just CAN SHOVE THE PORTAL OPEN WITH HIS HANDS??? is he the strongest ghost weve seen so far? idk but hes my fav. SOUL SHREDDER IS SUCH A COOL SWORD NAME TOO. ANY NAMED SWORD ALSO FUCKS. 'flaming bedsheets of DEATH' funny king. ALSO he was polite to dash and tucker when just asking for directions and telling tucker 'oh maybe, just a suggestion, maybe be nicer to me and be more respectful :)' I LOOOVE HIM.

-I noticed this in the Ember ep, but jazz has an electric guitar in her room!! talent musical queen!! its cool to see hobbies just in the bg.

-fright knight's murder castle reminds me of the booby trapped murder castle in zexal!! another supposedly 'for kids' show with murder/trap castles! we love that. if you are a dp fan reading this, give yugioh zexal a try. its also got 13-14 year old protags and involves (alien) ghosts. the cardgame is just a vessel for the plot, which is really good. (I just want more people to watch my fav yugioh, man)

-danny. with a SWORD.

-danny doesnt NEED TO WIN this contest, dash didnt STEAL HIS DESIGNS AND STEAL A SWORD. he also got excited to hear lancer got sent to a dimension with his worst fears too just so he could win the contest? DANNY WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!! BRO MAYBE YOURE 14 AND HAVENT FULLY DEVOLPED YOUR WHOLE BRAIN YET, BUT...THATS FUCKED. this kid casually says the most deranged things, I do worry for my spooky son. once again, therapy needed. that judo toss was great tho. I wonder if he actually did pick up some martial arts stuff from his mom?

-danny can fly 112 mph!!! thats so fast! I love the lil montage of him and his friends testing his abilities and stuff, very cute and a good way to showcase what he can do by now and how much more proficient he's gotten from ep 1!!! I'm sure he's going to get more abilities :)

-im glad...maddie's at least TRYING this ep. I do feel for her because her husband is a man baby. but the fact it took 16 episodes to get a kinda semblance of any kind of real concern or attempts at bonding. hmm. jack's 'BACK OFF SHES A MINOR' @ the ghost trying to attack jazz. also was very funny. and him wanting to make an action figure of her? are the parents redeeming themselves to me? slightly. they gotta Work Harder

-THE GHOST. IS FLYING. THE PLANE.

-fenton machete. but she doesnt carry a PHONE??? ???

-I mean I expected vlad when you namedrop him earlier in the ep, and also the title card picture, and dalv corp being fucking vlad backwards. but seeing him just pull up on a golf cart made me bust out laughing. WITH the gift baskets prepared. why wouldnt you at least be suspicious. also, if he wants danny to be his lil sonboy, why is he so fucking malicious?? dude you are going about this in such a bad way. stop it. get some help.

-maddie not even hesitating to drag danny out. fucking good. danny is so right, go on the internet to date. get a cat. how do you spend...how many years?? has it been since college?? at least 20, right, since the parents/vlad are in their 40s? hung up on ONE girl. my god, man. incel drama queen. her kung fu IS impressive, but dude. 'we both know hes a creep' SO right. it sucks but they do need a phone and shit being in the middle of NOWHERE. also, just stealing his helicopter was great. <3

-'you must be exhausted carrying the weight of that mistake you made years ago' 'well we all make mistakes. maybe I'll make one now!' WHY DID THIS EXHCHANGE SEND ME. AND VLAD WITH THE BREATH SPRAY EWWW BITCH. 'OLD BAIT BREATH' SOO RIGHT. both danny and his mom playing him HAHAH hes so dumb. or rather, I think he thinks with his emotions too too much and is...actually pretty gullible? lmao he believed danny was ready to give in SO fast. (which is sad hes that hopeful, like you have SO MUCH MONEY YOU COULD EASILY GET ANOTHER GIRL WHO HAS A KID. AND WOULD WANT TO BE WITH YOU AND BE SUPPORTED. GET OVER THIS (1) WOMAN ALREADY IM GETTING SECONDHAND EMBARRASSMENT AAAAH)

-GHOST BEAR GHOST BEAR GHOST BEAR. it was also in the title card, but I still got very excited. we love bears here

-SAM'S BAT SWIMSUIT COVERUP!!! her outfits are simply iconic.

-'i'd tell you to go to the mens room, but I don't think you qualify' top paulina transphobic moments. :( and him wearing a tanktop to the swim park? hmmm! (actually I think she was overshadowed by then, so, KITTY top 10 transphobic moments??)

-kitty just piloting paulina around makes me feel SO bad tho, paulina's gonna wake up and be like 'wtf do you mean I was dating this rando' like youre leading danny on to make johnny jealous, and also just POSSESSING POOR PAULINA. dude take your relationship problems ELSEWHERE. last time we saw them, they seemed like such a cute couple!! wtf johnny!! I mean, she sucks for trying to make him jealous, he sucks for looking at other girls...maybe they need a break, but Not Like This. or, you know, just. better communication...

-and the A-listers having a full packet and a stamp system. who organizes this. kwan fucking owning being the new danny though, this is hysterical. THE TUCKER/KWAN FLOWER FIELD TWIRL. UNIRONICALLY ADORABLE. and him giving it his all for the poetry slam. bless his HEARTTTT.

-Star owns. actually, all of the extra characters are shining this ep and I love it.

-INVISO-BILL??? NOOOO THEY DID HIM SOO DIRTY. DANNY SWEETIE IM SO SORRY.

-johnny and danny bein friends and staging a fake fight (which danny takes too seriously, once again this child has aggression he NEEDS TO WORK OUT) I hope these three stay friends, I said it before but danny needs more friendly ghosts to hang with.

-at this point, Danny's ghost enemies are a lot like, I dunno, batman's rouge gallery is the first thing that comes to mind. they all have their own gimmick and unique designs, but most of them are easy to beat after learning the Moral Lesson. I still get excited when any of them show up again, though. 18 is another valerie episode!!!! :D skulker really said you two will get along if I have to handcuff you together <3 and the gym teacher really said, youre married now, have a flour baby! ngl, I'm not really watching this show for the shipping stuff (which I am very scared to look at the fandom for after I finish this watch through- I feel like there's probably discourse/arguing about ships...) but. I'm gonna put my opinion out there. valerie/danny > sam/danny. maybe I just really love the enemies to lovers trope. And the secret identity stuff adds Extra Flavor.

-SKULKER JUST HAVING THE BOX GHOST AND DANGLING HIM BY A STRING. HILARIOUS. and him watching them with binoculars and making his silly little commentary. AND MAKING THE SACK BABY CRY. LMAO. THIS DUDE IS A BABY KIDNAPPER. skulker is super fun

-danny, you just...collapsed the water tower. and then attacked the nasty burger machine...mascot thingy...out of anger..I KEEP SAYING HE'S GOT ANGER ISSUES BUT. HE REALLY NEEDS A LESSON IN MANAGING COLLATERAL DAMAGE!!! So does valerie!! They're both pretty focused on each other. I mean it's good of Danny to say he's trying to make sure PEOPLE don't get hurt, but... (I mean I guess it's not something 14 year olds WOULD worry about, but as an adult im like, who's going to fix that? how much money will that take??)

-TUCKER MAKING BANK. and sam and tucker being super emotionally attached to their flour baby and being pretty good parents. that's cute...also him just straight kissing her and being like. WAIT. O_O JDSKAFHD. his mom baking them into cookies was the funniest possible result. tbh I dont feel like this is on tucker, if anything the other kid's shouldve been more responsible! He was just taking an opportunity to get that $$ which I respect

-Danny being more understanding of Valerie's situation in the end (helping her at her job, too, and trying to keep that a secret for her!!!) And seeing them work together this ep, and also her letting phantom get her out of the ghost zone...was very sweet. LOVE that. more valerie eps pls

-me when I realize vlad's big stupid house exploded because of his own carelessness with changing the ghost portal ectofiltrator or whatever: *pointing and laughing*

-me when I realize it means he's gonna go make danny's life hell for it somehow: >:(

-SCOOBY PARODY!!! I feel like there's gotta be some scooby doo/danny phantom crossover stuff, right? also, 'guys in white' men in black wishes

-'oh, that's right! dad married the love of your life! you're bitter and alone!' DANNNNNYY GET HIS ASS ONCE AGAIN WE ARE POINTING AND LAUGHING AT VLAD

-'jack, you captured the ghost boy!!' UMM. he did nothing <3 'we have a weapon's vault??' YOU HAVE A WEAPONS VAULT??? and jack didnt put a handle on the inside. of fucking course he didnt! why would you leave that to your son!! or expect him to clean YOUR LAB when its where you work with probably dangerous chemicals and weapons and hes 14!! give him normal chores, like, I dunno, vacuuming, laundry, dishes...CMON. I hate it here. But I'm glad Jack is more chill about danny while he's a ghost, and willing to work with him for this ep. AND. I DID ENJOY JACK PUNCHING VLAD IN THE FACE. AND GENERALLY JUST OWNING HIM. the ghost punchy fists are actually amazing. like yeah, just punch a ghost in the face. that rules.

-ep 20 opens with the coolest fucking ghost lady design. her tattoos can come off and fight. MA'AM. I like ur nose ring and your cape maam hello 👉👈😳

-sam's grandma is hilarious and the most valid member of her family and I love her. thats my grandma now. and tucker covering for sam by dressing as her. thats true friendship <3 also skipping school to go to a goth circus. just bestie things! sam's parents are haters but for all the wrong reasons.

-'my family has controlled ghosts with this for generations!' WAIT. WAIT FREAKSHOW /ISNT/ A GHOST? I didn't expect that...he's just a fucked up guy controlling ghosts? anyway watching danny shoot at police cars and rob banks while mind controlled. its like, the most stereotypical 'bad' things lmao. (tbh an evil ghost circus troupe is a sick concept)

this gives off big deviantart emo edit vibes

(I'm going to assume evil circus reaper danny has a lot of fan content. people love an edgy au, except this one is canon (even tho its via mind control...having the protag go evil otherwise might be hard, I guess?) but au where he stays with the troupe...that has to exist, right?)

ANYWAY. excited to start s2!! lowkey surprised by how many notes some of these posts have gotten. I've gone back and tagged them all with 'dp thoughts' so they're easier to find on my blog! ^^ and I will probably possibly do (more) fanart on my art blog after I finish the watch of the whole show, so like. @sanchoyodraws follow my art blog :)

[tomhollandstrash]

Nice

Here’s another friends to lovers trope. I’ve just been really in the mood to write about it lately! I hope y’all enjoy!

--

Peter, what are you doing?” You raised your eyebrow, watching Peter frantically digging through his backpack. 

“Ugh,” Peter groaned, removing his hands from his bag before resting his forehead in his hands. “I lost it,” 

“Lost what?” You asked, sitting in the desk next to him. 

“My pen,” He grumbled.

“You lost your pen? Pete, you can just borrow one of mine,” You chuckled at your friend’s antics before passing him your favorite teal pen.

“Your favorite pen?” Peter blinked as he took the pen from you.

“Yeah, so you better give it back after class,” You poked him in the side and gave him the sternest look you could muster.

“You’re so nice, y/n” Peter smiled, settling into his seat, ready for class.

—

"What are you doing tonight?" you asked Peter as the two of you walked out of the classroom.

You and Peter have been close ever since you were partners in biology last year. As it turned out, the two of you had a lot in common. You both enjoyed the same kinds of music, although you always argued about-who had the better taste. Peter never failed to brighten your day. He was always helping you with your schoolwork or telling you stupid jokes he'd picked up off the internet. You also knew that he trusted you deeply. You can still remember the night he told you that he was Spider-Man. Peter said he wanted to tell you because he knew that you were one one of his most trustworthy friends. Only you and Ned knew that particular secret.

Although you were glad that Peter felt like he could trust you with anything, sometimes you were privy to information that you didn't care to know. For example, Peter's massive crush on Liz Allan. Liz was great; she was the total package. She was beautiful, smart, and kind. You couldn't pin point exactly what it was that irritated you so much about Peter's crush on her. You always told yourself that it was simply because Peter was annoyingly lovesick over her. That was definitely it. It wasn't because you had any kind of romantic feelings for one of your closest friends. Definitely and absolutely not that. Besides, you and Liz were friendly with each other. All you could hope for was for your friends to be happy; and Liz certainly seemed to make Peter happy.

"I think I'm going to ask Liz if she wants to hang out tonight" Peter gushed nervously.

" That's great, Pete” you replied through a tight lipped smile.

There was that weird feeling again. If you weren't absolutely certain that you didn't have feelings for Peter, you would have mistaken that feeling for jealousy. There was nothing to be jealous of.

" Yeah, hopefully she'll say yes" Peter said as the two of you arrived at your lockers.

—

You put your chin in your palm as your elbow rested against the cool linoleum countertop. Since you had no other plans for the right, you decided to pick up an extra shift at the local coffee shop you worked at. The coffee shop wasn't too busy tonight, though you weren't particularly surprised. The only people who frequented the shop at 9pm on a Friday night were you and the extra studious college students. You were about to begin cleaning up when you heard the bell on the door ring and the sounds of laughter filling the air. You stood up and straightened out your apron, ready to greet the newcomers.

" Welcome to bi-" You began but stopped when you saw who your new customers were. " oh, hey Peter, Liz”

' She must have said yes' you thought somewhat bitterly to yourself. When you looked at them, you saw that they were linking elbows and looked like they were having the time of their lives. Peter was practically glowing he looked so happy.

" Hi y/n!” Peter greeted you after his Liz induced giggles subsided.

" What can I get you guys? " you asked, rocking back and forth on your feet. You hated how awkward you were being in this moment. It's not like you liked Peter like that.

" Can we just get two not chocolates, please?" Liz requested kindly.

"Sure,” you replied as you began to take out the necessary ingredients. "it's on the house"

"Thats so nice!” Peter grinned at you. “You’re so nice, y/n”

You tried to hold in your sigh. Was that really all you were to Peter? Just someone who was nice?

“ No problem, I'll bring you your drinks when they're ready" You said with a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

"Thank you!" Liz smiled at you as she whisked Peter away to a cozy table.

As you made their drinks, you couldn't help but steal glances at them. Why couldn't you find it in yourself to be happy for Peter? He'd been mooning over Liz for the past few months, and he looked undeniably happy. You frowned slightly as you watched Peter let out a full bellied-laugh at something Liz said to him. After you dropped their drinks off at their table, you went into the back to clean, preferring to avoid the love fest happening in front of you. Once they left with a cheerful wave to you, you turned the lights off and walked home trying to forget the Peter sized pit in your stomach.

—

In the weeks following Peter's date with Liz, they began officially dating. While you and Peter used to hang out most days after school, you weren't seeing much of each other these days. As far as you knew, Peter and Liz were still going strong. In all honesty you tried to avoid the topic whenever you and Peter had time to talk. In the time Liz and Peter had been dating, you had come to terms with the fact that you had feelings for Peter Parker. It wasn't something you liked to admit to yourself. How typical it was to be a person hopelessly in love with your oblivious best friend. And while rationally you knew you would just have to accept it, it sure didn't take the sting out of your best friend being in love with someone else.

“ Hi y/n!"

"Jeez Peter," You shouted and placed a hand over your racing heart. “You scared the shit out of me,”

“Sorry,” He smiled sheepishly as he smoothed out his messy hair. “What are you up to tonight?"

"I thought you had plans with Liz tonight?” You asked with a raised brow.

"I did but she bailed " Peter said, suddenly getting quiet.

“In that case, I’m free tonight,” You replied, making a mental note to ask him about why he’s acting weird later.

“Pizza and movie at my place?” He asked, his bright smile returning.

“Sounds like a plan, Parker,” You smiled at him before heading off to your next class.

The end of the day couldn't come fast enough. Not only were you excited to spend some quality time with Peter, you were also exhausted. Your teachers had been piling on the assignments and you couldn't wait to take a well- earned break.

You walked over to Peter’s apartment building and picked up a pizza on the way there. Even if Peter didn’t return your feelings, you had to admit that you missed hanging out with him like this. You missed the nights spent eating pizza and watching cringe horror movies, enjoying each other’s company. You wondered if you’d ever tell Peter how you felt about him. In all honesty, you didn’t know whether you would or not. On the one hand, you’d never know if he felt the same way if you never talked to him about it. On the other hand, you were almost sure he didn’t feel the same way and you didn’t want the verbal confirmation that he didn’t. 

“Hey, Pete! I have pizza,” You said through the door as your knuckles tapped the surface a few times. 

“Hi, y/n! Come on in,” Peter opened the door with a grin before taking the pizza box out of your hands. 

"what are we watching?" you asked as you took off your jacket.

"I don't remember what it's called," Peter admitted, helping himself to a slice of pizza. "I know that it's a Romanian film of some kind,"

"Well, I’m definitely intrigued!” You let out a light laugh, missing now Peter beamed when he heard the beautiful sound of your laughter.

—

“I was not expecting that ending,” Peter said looking blankly at the now dark screen.

“That was certainly something,” You nodded in agreement.

The two of you were seated comfortably on the couch, Peter's arm resting on the cushions behind you, both of your legs sharing a cozy blanket. You stretched and yawned, checking the time. It was getting late but you weren't quite ready to leave Peter or the coziness of the blanket. Peter glanced at you and subconsciously scooted his body closer to yours. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but he started to see you as something more than a friend. At first Peter thought maybe the way he felt about you was like family, but he quickly realized he was in big trouble because he like-liked you. Peter Parker had a full on crush on you, his best friend. It made Peter feel guilty having these feelings for you while he was with Liz. When he said Liz bailed earlier, it wasn’t because she had something going on, it was because they decided to break up. Peter decided not to bring it up unless you did out of fear of making things weird.

“Hey, Peter?” You sat up a little straighter to look at him.

“Yeah?” Peter looked at you.

“When I mentioned Liz earlier today, you got all quiet and weird. Is everything okay?” You bit your lip, anticipating what his answer would be.

“We uh, we broke up,” Peter cleared his throat awkwardly, looking everywhere but at you.

“Oh...” You trailed off. “I’m sorry to hear that, I know you really liked her,”

It was an entirely bittersweet feeling to hear Peter say that he and Liz were no longer dating. Bitter because you knew that Peter was probably hurting and he was your friend before anything else, no matter how much you wanted to be more. Sweet because maybe, just maybe, you had some kind of chance with him.

“Y/n? Can I tell you something?” Peter broke the silence that had fallen between the two of you.

You nodded in his direction in affirmation, not trusting your own voice not to waver. The way he was looking at you was making you nervous. He looked like he had something serious to tell you. Peter gave you the same look the night he told you that he was Spider-Man. You didn’t want to get your hopes up, but what if he was going to confess his love for you? What if this is the day the two of you cross the line from friendship into something more? It was more than enough to cause your palms to sweat and your heart to beat faster.

“I like you,” Peter breathed out, looking just as nervous as you felt.

“I like you too, Pete,” You replied, not fully understanding what he was trying to say to you.

“I mean that I like you in a love kind of way,” he said almost inaudibly. Although it was quiet, you heard him and you knew you heard him correctly.

You honestly couldn’t believe it. Here you were sitting in your best friend’s living room and he was confessing his feelings for you. This was a scenario you’d daydream about but it wasn’t something you thought would ever happen. Now that you’re in the moment, you don’t know what to say or how you should react. It’s so much better than you could have ever imagined it. Those words falling from Peter’s lips made your heart explode from fullness.

“I, uh, I like you like that too,” you said bashfully, biting your lip to keep your smile from growing too wide.

Peter let out the breath that he was holding before wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug, breathing you in.

“I so glad you feel the same way, I was starting to think you weren’t going to respond,” Peter laughed, wiping pretend sweat from his forehead.

“I didn’t know what to say, I’ve liked you since forever!” You laughed, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Since forever, huh?” He smiled that dumb adorable smile you fell in love with and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well, maybe not forever, but almost,” you chuckled before planting a quick kiss on the tip of his nose.

That night didn’t end in the way you expected it to when you originally agreed to hang out with Peter, but you couldn’t have asked for a more perfect ending. The two of you talked until the early morning hours, nothing changing between the two of you except becoming more in love with one another.

—

[panicinart]

A nanny to replace with someone new part 1

Brahms x transman/transmasc reader

Please take my writing privilege away when it's past midnight

There arnt any trigger warnings here and at the moment no gendered words or pronouns is used! I guess there is a bit of queer coding(???) if you squint but nothing to serious or specific

Your phone vibrated with a new message send to you. Scrambling it out of your pants with hasty and shaking fingers while the other hand tryd it's best to not let the travel suitcases fall on the floor. Giving it a quick glance your lips curled into a smile, it was your best friend asking how the flight into the UK was.

So you gave her a quick message on how you got the worst seat imaginable. The guy next to you constantly gave you weird glances, he tryd to be sneaky about it, looking at your way when he thought you were asleep or occupied with something else. The smell that receded from him wasn't pleasant either, betting your left arm that he didn't shower for at least 3 weeks straight.

A few seats away was a couple that constantly started a loud argument with each other about the most random and unimportant things imaginable. When the fly attended tryd to calm them down the whole scenario got even more chaotic, making a kid that was another few seats away cry loudly. You would feel bad for the child if it wasn't for your enormous migraine building up. The only good thing out of the situation was when a bag of salted snacks got accedntly thrown to your way, giving you a free extra snack.

As you clicked send an announcement made it's self know with loud static noises. The train had a one hour delay. At this point your nerves were on edge. With a heavy sigh you walked out of the airport to the underground, at least there was now some time to look at the airport stores. Buying a few snacks here and there and seeing the cute souvenirs lighten up your mood a bit, and you even found a pharmacy!

Munching at your last chocolate bar and swallowing the pill for your migraine as you clumsily walked down the stairs to the subway, you eyes skimmed for a clock, and there it was, old and a bit rusty but it worked just fine showing that it's currently 7:43 pm.

'20 more minutes'

you thought, as you gave it a quick glance with a groggy look,

'Might as well give her a quick text'

•hey,sophie the train has a delay probably will come in like an hour late if everything goes well.

It took a few minutes until she texted you back

▪︎Yea I already thought that, can't have shit in public transport >:/

•yea,,, so,,, how is the babysitting going? Is the kid as bad as the last one you took care of???

▪︎Nope! How should it when it's a doll :)

•....

....

....

a what???

▪︎A doll! It's one of those weird porcelain ones that look like a small child. It's even live sized! I was already weirded out that a couple this old would have small children of their own but that? A whole new level of weird

•,,,,what are you doing with it????

does it just hang around or do you actually take care of it??

As you waited for an answer another announcement was made, the train that should come in now 15 minutes should be here earlier.

You would have made a small victorious smile if the question didn't come crashing down like an avalanche.

Why do they keep it? Why do they need a babysitter when it's just a doll? Why is it live sized? And most importantly, how in the fresh fuck did they managed to let the train come earlier the thought. While being lost in your mind with questions your phone took you back into reality when it vibrated.

▪︎Nope! I just let it sit in the corner, sometimes I put a towel or blanket over it. It's stare is really fucking creepy....

•oh,,, so free money I guess, pretty cool.

hey sophie what was the name of the family??

Something with shire right??

Chestershire??

▪︎Heelshire, why do you ask?

•just out of curiosity, maeby there is an article about them and the doll.

i mean they are a well know family so I can imagine there is something out there about them. also my train is coming later then planned.

they made an announcement that it should come earlier the thought but,,, I think I won't come over today for the sleepover, I'm just too tired, sorry for the late cancelation

▪︎It's fine (Y/N)! You had a shitty flight so I can understand that! So we see us tomorrow :) ?

•ye

▪︎Awesome, can't wait to show you the creepy doll!

And with that the chat ended, your train already making a big entrance with the loud hald of it's heavy metallic wheels.

You took the suitcase back into your hands and tumbled your way into the train.

Looking around, you accepted defeat that there was no seat left for you, your mood slowly dipping from tired annoyance to about to having a small fit. But that wouldn't help your progress, so you swallowed your anger down and leaned to one of the metallic poles. Wobbling a bit from left to right and needing to catch your suitcase to not let it roll over a passengers feet as the train started moving again.

You grabbed your phone, hesitating for a bit

'Do I really want to know what the fuck is going on or???'

You just shrugged your shoulders and gave it a go, the heelshire family is a rich pompous family you're sure there is something about them on the internet.

Aaaaand you were right, it didn't even took a second when hundreds of articles pooped up with dramatic headlines.

Terrible fire at the Heelshire mansion

Mysterious fire in Heelshire property

Heelshire, how their live turned quickly into a nightmare

These were the few that caught your interest.

You gave the articles quick reads, your tired eyes switching between almost falling shut from tiredness and going wide at the gruesome details on the tragedy.

Well that gives you a few indications on why they keep it.

'It's probably some kind of coping mechanism....'

You don't really see yourself as someone who's heart gets torn apart everytime you hear a sad and tragic story, but you still can't shake the heaviness off it all, a family losing their only child in an enormous fire that up to this day nobody knows were it came from.

Too keep your mind off the whole thing you looked outside, still having a bitter expression of the new info as you admired the houses.

It looks like your heading towards a more suburban area, making it look like one of your old English telenovela that you watch every now and then.

As the sun slowly goes down and engulfing the area in beautiful colors was quite a bit breathtaking, infact so breathtaking that you almost missed your station.

In a moment of panic you pushed yourself out of the train almost dropping a few things in it, but luckily you had everything with you.

With lazy steps towards a billboard your eyes scanned the map for the area, the bus stop wasn't far away, just a few minutes walk, but your heavy arms slowly giving up and your feet starting to hurt didn't really help.

You got your headphones out in hopes that listening to your favorite music makes the whole thing a bit more bearable.

Even tho it was just a tiny bit left until you arrived at your destination, somehow everything went wrong one way or another. You almost missed the bus and then one of it's tire pooped, making you wait for the next one that came in like half an hour.

Then one of your water bottles wasn't closed properly making some of your stuff soaked in it, destroying your notes, drawings and a few comics you had with you in the process.

When you arrived in the small but cozy hotel a woman had a giant fight with the manager. One of her kids didn't stop bothering you with weird and uncomfortable questions about your appearance. While the other didn't keep their grabby hands off of you. Then when she finally finished her rant on how the room service didn't left a small piece of chocolate for her children like always, she had the audacity to give you a 'tch' when she walked passed you with a slightly disgusted expression. The manager and her assistant apologized for the inconvenience and offerd you some candy as a sorry gift for the inconvenience, you don't want to sound like a glutton, but it did make you forget about the whole thing for a bit.

Finally you managed to get your keys. On the way to your room you almost dropped all your stuff becoming a clumsy mess that just wants to sleep.

As you opend the door impatiently you more or less threw your stuff on the chairs and floor quickly unpacked your pajamas and hastily puting them on. Dropping your body on the softest bed you ever were able to sleep in like a rock. To say that you were happy to finally be here is taking things way to lighty. With a happy sigh you closed you eyes for the well deserving sleep.

[tangledstarlight]

days go by and seasons change (lets try again next winter)

julie's ready for a year away from home, studying and trying to refind the magic in music. luke's about to start on a summer tour around europe opening for a band. they meet one night, sparks fly and emotions run hight. now they've just got to try and see if they can maintain a long distance friendship.

ok hello hi so this is my wild ride of a fic that i’m working on, a scene (much later on) came to me in a dream, and much like how smeyer wrote twilight, i just had to find out how they got there fhbdj there’s some drinking which would be classed as underage in the us but is legal in the uk which is where it’s set so 

trigger warnings!! alcohol and swearing

also on ao3 –– [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | extras 1 & 2 ]

winter

There was a line almost outside the door for the coffee shop, people wanting something to warm them up or just to avoid the sudden downpour of rain. Julie had been in England for just over a month now and she still wasn’t used to the randomly changing weather, how were you supposed to plan an outfit for the day if it started mildly sunny and ended in a thunderstorm? It was January! She had come prepared for snow, not rain, damn it.

From her table in the back corner of the cafe, hands wrapped around a mug and headphones blaring music, Julie people watched. Sure, she was supposed to be working on an essay, but she’d been there for half an hour already. She deserved a little break.

Even through her music she can hear the sounds of the cafe around her. Customers placing orders and rain on the windows and cups hitting tables and people laughing and it’s comforting. The sounds of life going on around her while she pretends to be doing work.

Pretends, because she’s been trying to work on this essay for a week now and getting nowhere with it.

When she’d signed up for the study abroad scheme her mind had been on experiencing a new country, on the places she could visit, the new friends she could make, the thoughtful looks she could escape.

She hadn’t thought much about the work she would have to do, the essays that would need to be written, the awkwardness of settling into a new place, the strangeness of hearing new accents.

The actual creative side of her course she found easy enough, but when it came to writing about her stylistic choices and her themes and her influences and how they all tied back with what they’d been reading about? She was drawing a blank.

Blowing on her drink, Julie let her eyes wander around the coffee shop. It was a fairly small place with an extensive collection of teas and fresh baked cakes and free wifi. She’d found it by mistake while looking for a music shop her first week in the city, they’d lured her in with carrot cake and coffee and she’d been coming back at least once a week ever since. A group of boys push through the door, shaking off hoods and laughing at something as they join the queue.

Something about them seemed vaguely familiar, like she’d seen them from a distance in a dark club, or scrolled past a group photo of them on her instagram suggested posts. Or maybe it was because they just looked like every other group of young adults she’d come across, both back home and in Liverpool. One thing she had learnt pretty quickly was that boys were the same everywhere.

She was saved from mulling it over by her phone vibrating on the table with a text, Carrie’s name popping up on the screen and Julie swapped her cup for her phone, a small smile already tugging at her lips as she read the series of texts on her screen.

Julie’s attention is dragged away from her phone by something – someone – knocking into her table, sending her pen rolling off and her cup to shake. Pulling her headphones out of her ears she looks up as the culprits eyes widen, mouth pulling into a grimace as he stares at the coffee now running down the back of her jacket that had been happily sitting in the spare chair.

“Shit,” he mutters, already pulling a napkin out of his back pocket and dabbing at the mess. “I’m so sorry, I uh– wasn’t looking and the chair leg and fuck I’m so sorry about your jacket, can it be dry cleaned?”

And he looks so sincere in his apology, all wide sad eyes and words stumbling out too quickly and messy brown hair curling out from under a beanie and accent that sounds like home, that Julie swallows back the annoyed retort she had ready to go.

It was just an accident. Accidents happened. At least it wasn’t over her laptop. Blowing out a breath, Julie shakes her head at him once, pushing back her chair to inspect the damage.

“It’s fine, honestly. Don’t–” she pauses, holding up the denim on either side of the collar and frowning at the pretty large brown stain. “Worry about it.”

Can she wash it? She’s never tried, but well. She bites her lip as she looks at it, the stranger awkwardly standing just a short distance away with a wad of used napkins and his half spilt drink, and yeah, she definitely won't be able to wear it tonight.

“I’m so sorry.” He says again and someone must catch his attention over her shoulder because his eyes dart away from her, eyebrows shooting up and shrugging his shoulders and, it’s kinda cute. The way he seems to be hovering, unsure if she’s going to shout at him.

“Seriously, it’s fine. Accidents happen, right?” She shoots him a quick smile – though not missing the way his cheeks turn slightly pink – before turning back to her jacket, carefully laying it out on the chair to hopefully dry out enough for her to stuff it in her bag before she needs to leave. She really hopes it stops raining.

“I uh– shit I’m sorry. Again. I gotta–” He gestures to the door where Julie can see his friends waiting for him, barely contained grins on all their faces that has Julie rolling her eyes. Boys. She looks back at him, raising an eyebrow even as her lips tick up into a small smile, she’s rewarded by his cheeks going red, the hand still holding the napkins rubbing at the back of his neck and a stuttered ‘goodbye’.

Sitting back down, Julie rolls her eyes again, muttering under her breath about ‘annoying cute boys’ and ‘favourite jackets’. Leaning down to pick up her fallen pen with one hand while the other tapped out a reply to Carrie. An hour more of sitting here, attempting to do her essay and then she’d have to go if she wanted enough time to get ready.

\\

“So where are you?”

Julie couldn’t hear what was being said on the other side of the phone, but judging by the way Carrie was rolling her eyes the answer wasn’t correct. Flynn leans her head on Julie’s shoulder, their linked arms drawing them closer as they walk, it’s not the most comfortable way to walk, but they’ve already had a few drinks and Flynn gets a little clingy after one. Julie puts her head on top of Flynns as they stumble along cracked stone streets.

“She actually might end up killing Bobby at this rate,” Julie mutters and is rewarded with Flynn letting out a laugh that has Carrie looking over her shoulder at them, eyes softening for a moment before she’s rolling them again. If she hadn’t known the other girl as long as she had, Julie would be worried about permanent eye damage.

“Fucking hell. Okay. Yeah, okay we’ll be like, ten minutes then. Yeah, yeah, okay bye.”

Sliding her phone into her back pocket Carrie took a half step back so she was walking with them again, linking her arm on Flynns other side.

“They’re at the Cavern Club,” Carrie looks at Julie over the top of Flynn’s head and lets out a loud sigh, “I know. That’s where we were going to go anyway. They’re so annoying.”

But she says it in a fond sort of way. Like how you talk about your neighbour's dog that barks too early in the morning and wakes you up, but always runs over to say hello to you through the fence when you walk past and brightens up your day. Annoying, but sweet.

Julie’s only met Carrie’s cousin Bobby once, it had been a short ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ type interaction as he ran into Carrie’s house to pick up his bag and then run straight back out again.

She’s never met the other three members of the band at all, but she knows, after doing a little bit of internet searching, that their band isn’t half bad. They’ve got some pretty good songs and a small following that she is sure is bound to get bigger by the time they’ve finished being the opener for whoever they’re touring with and their first album is out in the world.

The three of them flash their id’s to the security on the door, slightly giddy smiles on all their faces even now, still not used to it all being legal for them to drink under the age of twenty-one. But the security guy doesn’t even blink and then they’re walking down a flight of stairs, the air getting warmer and the sound of drums and guitars reaching them.

Carrie grabs hold of Flynn's hand and Flynn grabs a hold of Julies and then they’re weaving through people and avoiding knocking drinks out of hands.

Her attention is pulled from the crowd to the stage at the back of the room, a band playing a cover of something she can’t name, they don’t sound too bad, and the part of her that used to fall in love with music every time she heard it wants to stop and listen. But that part of her is small and quiet and shy now, so she keeps her grip on Flynn’s hand and follows along.

Julie doesn’t know how Carrie knows where she’s going but all of a sudden they’re coming to a stop, her free hand reaching out to balance herself on Flynn’s shoulder even as a small part of her is still trying to work out what the song is.

Turning her eyes away from the stage she looks at the five boys sitting at the table, a collection of bottles scattered across the wood, and Julie smiles at Bobby who’s standing up to hug Carrie, opens her mouth to say hello before stopping. Her brows furrow as she locks eyes with a shaggy haired brunette who’s own eyes are widening in realisation.

“You!” She blurts out before she can stop herself, and if anyone asks she would blame it on the three drinks she had before leaving the dorms, detangling her fingers from Flynn’s to point at him. With the music blaring so loud only the boys still sat at the table and Flynn heard her, the latter turning to raise her brows while Julie can see the boys trying not to laugh.

“He’s the guy who spilt coffee on my jacket earlier,” she shouts over the music, hand gesturing wildly at the table and Flynn follows her hand, eyes resting on the culprit.

“That was her favourite jacket!” Flynn props one hand on her hip and almost glares at him, but it loses part of its ‘scare factor’ when she starts swaying a little in place to the music. Well, Julie thinks it should lose some of it’s scaring power, but the guy still looks kinda worried, so who’s Julie to know?

“I said I was sorry!” He puts his hands up, shoulder raising to almost his ears, and with his eyes already open so wide and his hair curling slightly at the ends, Julie has to wonder how much trouble that look has gotten him out of over the years.

“You guys have already met?” Bobby jumps into the conversation before Julie has a chance to reply and Carrie is looking between them, lips pursed.

“This is the girl whose jacket Luke ruined earlier,” the blonde one says and Julie vaguely recognises him as being one of the boys from the cafe.

“Dude,” Bobby raises his eyebrows at the jacket ruiner – Luke, Julie reminds herself – shaking his head in disappointment.

“It was an accident!” Luke turns his sad kicked puppy look on Bobby before looking back at Julie, his hands lowering but his eyes still drastically wide, “I really am sorry about it.”

Julie tries, she really does, to hold on to that small kindle of annoyance that she’d felt upon seeing him again. But well, the jacket is already ruined and she’s come out to avoid doing an essay and she’s finding it really hard to be mad at someone so cute. Blowing out a breath she shakes her head at him.

“It’s fine, I’ll forgive and forget the whole thing if you buy me a drink.”

“That I can do,” the furrow in his brows smooths out and his shoulders relax and suddenly there’s a smile spreading across his face that seems to light up his eyes.

“So, you’ve met Luke. That’s Reggie, he’s our bassist,” Bobby nods at the dark haired guy sitting next to Luke who grins and waves, and it’s such an infectiously happy wave that Julie can't help but wave back. “Alex, kickass drummer,” the blonde who spoke earlier ducks his head a little, an almost shy smile on his face as he nods at them, “And Willie. Officially he’s one of our roadies, unofficially he’s just here to hype us up and do cool tricks in empty arenas.” Willie, who’s sat pressed against Alex’s side, raises his hand in a wave.

“This is Julie and this is Flynn,” Carrie points at them each before claiming the seat next to Alex and looking at Luke, “We’ll take 3 vodka lemonades. Please.” She only adds the please on the end after Flynn sits next to her, nudging her elbow into her side, Julie notices with a smile.

There’s a moment of bodies moving as Luke gets up from his side of the table, pulling Bobby along with him towards the bar and Reggie is waving his hand at her, nodding at the empty space along the bench next to him that she slides into gratefully.

They can’t really see the stage set up from here, but the music is still just as loud and Julie starts nodding her head along to the beat, trying to focus on the conversation happening on the other side of the table. Something about Carrie’s group and choreography and convincing someone to add in a dance break to a song. She’s laughing at something Willie said when a glass is slid across the table in front of her, a bottle of something passing over her to Reggie and she looks up in time to see Luke sliding into the space next to her, a small smile on his face.

“Forgiven and forgotten?” He asks, eyebrow quirked as he lifts his own drink, tilting it towards her in invitation.

“Forgiven and forgotten,” she agrees picking her glass up and tapping it against his beer bottle, shooting him a smile of her own before chasing the straw of her drink to take a sip, trying hard not to blush at the intensity of his stare.

//

It’s two hours later, three drinks and a deeply regrettable shot later, happily on the precipice of truly drunk but hanging out in tipsy land, when Julie shakes her head at Luke who’s standing on the bench. Tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he writes on the curved brick of the ceiling.

“Dude no ones gonna be able to even read that!” Reggie complains from next to her, his eyes squinting as if it will help him to read their names better. It doesn’t, Julie’s already tried.

“Why did we let the one with the worst handwriting do this?” Alex tilts his head to look up at Luke, who waves the hand not holding the pen in his face, almost hitting him but missing by several inches to the left and it sets them all off giggling.

“Because the rest of you are cowards!” He wobbles a little as he shuffles his feet to change angle, and Julie reaches out on instinct to hold his leg, fingers wrapping around his calf as if it will stop him from falling. His head drops down to look at her, teeth biting his bottom lip as he smiles at her quickly before going back to the ceiling.

To leave his – their – mark on a legendary musical site. Luke's words, the rest of them hadn’t been able to talk him out of it so they’d gone right into encouraging.

“I think you’re getting cowards and idiots mixed up,” Carrie mutters, head propped up on her hands, elbows resting on the table. Well, Reggie and Julie and Willie had gone straight to encouraging, the others were still on teasing.

“Do you want your name added or not?” Luke grumbles but Julie can see his pen moving, going over the letters of what she assumes is meant to be Dirty Candi, and bites her cheek to not laugh.

“Don’t forget it’s an ‘i’ instead of ‘y’ for candy!” Flynn leans forward, eyes on the ceiling as she shouts up at him and Luke says something, but it’s too quiet for any of them to hear.

It isn’t until he moves to get off the bench that Julie realises she still has her hand wrapped around his calf, her fingers idly tapping along to the song some guy with a guitar is playing behind them. Heat fills her cheeks (that she’ll blame on how warm it is in the club and the alcohol in her system thank you very much) as she lets go, pulling her hand back into her lap, watching from the corner of her eye as he jumps down and back into his seat, a proud smile on his face.

“Now when we’re big and famous people can come and hunt our names down.”

“And finally realise that you have awful writing and question how any of our songs get written,” Bobby grins at him, elbow nudging his side which sends Luke leaning into her to try and avoid it, sliding along the bench until there’s no space between them, and she can’t find it in herself to be too mad about it. He smells like tequila and mint and aftershave all mixed together, not really a good combination, but one she finds herself liking anyway.

“Well why don’t you start writing the songs, huh?” Luke retorts, and starts a back and forth with Bobby, Alex chiming in and Flynn watching it all like a tennis match, and Juile tries to follow it, but all she can think about is how Luke hasn’t moved back. How his thigh is pressed against her leg and his arm is resting around her back, hand near her hip and how if she wanted to, she could rest her chin on his shoulder and kiss his neck.

Not that she wants to kiss his neck. Does she?

Julie furrows her brows, biting her lip as she examines those thoughts, tries to decide if it’s the alcohol or the music or her lack of sleep or if she just wants to kiss him.

Flynn says something and it makes him laugh, loud and bright and unrestrained, head thrown back and eyes closed. And yeah, she just wants to kiss him. Fuck.

//

Reggie slings an arm around her shoulders, the other going over Flynns and tugging them together until their cheeks are all pushing together and Julie giggles, poking at his side with her partially trapped arm.

“What do we think chocolate tequila is like?” He asks, eyes glued to the chalkboard menu above them.

“Not as nice as the summer fruits one,” Julie says back, wrinkling her nose a little at the memory of when she’d tried it. If you liked chocolate, it was a bitter disappointment in her opinion. But she was also drunk enough now not to mind.

“Alex says we can’t get the coffee one. Thinks we’ll have a repeat of the red bull incident.” Luke appears on her other side, pushing his body into the small gap between her side and the next group of people. He’s stood so he’s facing her – them – and rests one arm on the counter top.

“Man he’s gotta get over that, it was one time,” Reggie mutters and Julie wants to ask what the ‘red bull incident’ is, but then Flynn is sliding three shot glasses towards them, salt and limes following, apparently having ordered without any of them noticing.

“We’re standing with mango!” Flynn shouts, shot already in one hand and salt on the other, clearly waiting for the three of them to catch up. Reggie lowers his arms and Julie can feel Luke’s hand brush past her arm as he moves to lick the back of his hand, she can feel herself flushing as she watches him do it. And is happy to note that he flushes just the same as he watches her lick her hand in turn.

Idly, Julie notices that Reggie counts them down, that Luke inclines his head at her before he lifts his shot to his lips, that Julie lifts her own, the liquid sliding down her throat with a slight burn that’s not eased at all by the lime she bites into. She squeezes her eyes shut against it and when she opens them sees Luke grinning at her, eyes full of something she can’t name but makes her want to blush again.

“Y’know what? Screw Alex, four of the coffee my good man!” Reggie shouts next to her, waving a hand at the bartender in front of them who just rolls their eyes but puts out four more shot glasses.

“Okay, you gotta tell us about the red bull incident,” Flynn finally asks what had been nibbling at the back of her mind from the moment Luke had spoken so she pulls her attention away from him and back to her friends as Reggie launches into his story that even grabs the attention of the bartender for a moment.

But Luke is a warm presence at her side, leaning into her space and breath ghosting against her neck as he chimes in the story. If she stepped back, just a little, she could lean her back against his chest. She wonders if he’d wrap an arm around her waist to hold her steady? Julie blinks and blows out a breath, raising an eyebrow as Reggie talks.

“Wait, how’d you get onto the roof?”

//

“So why Liverpool?” Luke asks, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat as they aimlessly walk through almost empty streets, faint music coming from clubs and other drunk people giggling in doorways. The fresh air has helped a little to sober her up, but not enough for her to know where they’re going. But they’re following Carrie, who has a plan for the night and they’ve no option but to follow it.

Julie wraps one arm around herself, the other pushing hair over one shoulder as she thinks about it. There isn’t really a big fancy answer, no special reason for her choice, she shrugs at Luke, lips ticking up into a smile.

“It was the only place still with spots open,” she can see the slight confusion on his face and explains more, “I wasn’t going to take the study abroad year, but I changed majors and I needed to get away from home for a while. Carrie and Flynn had already signed up and the internet said the train didn’t take too long to get to Manchester or Glasgow.”

“You changed majors?”

Of all the things she’s said that hadn’t been the part she’d thought Luke would zone in on. It wasn’t really something she liked to talk about much, her fall away from music. She still loved it, still listened and wrote and sang, but the passion she’d once had, the magic she’d once felt whenever she sat at a piano? It had gone away. Had been gone for a long time. Had been gone for four years and she’d only been pretending she still felt the magic.

Everything she played or wrote was missing something and no one had seemed to notice but here.

It hadn’t been until one of her teachers in first year had pointed something out that Julie had finally confessed. And changed course and major the next week.

Everyone had tried to understand, had listened as she explained why she couldn’t do it. How her mom and music were so intertwined together in her head and her heart that it felt impossible to detangle them, to love and play music without always feeling like there was something missing. But she knew they didn’t really get it

So she’d signed up for the study abroad, and picked Liverpool because they had a good English Lit course and was close enough to her friends if she needed them. Okay, so maybe she’d lied a little, there was a fancy answer for why she’d moved, but picking Liverpool had just been random.

“Yup,” she pops the ‘p’ and glances ahead of them, where Willie has Alex clinging on to his back, running through a puddle and laughing loud and clear. She can’t help but smile at them, at the carefree way Willie spins around and Alex holds tighter, face red with whatever he’s trying to say between laughs. Luke must follow her gaze because he lets out a soft snort of laughter, and she can see him shake his head from the corner of her eye.

“I’d hate them if they weren’t so adorable together,” he muttered, but his gaze is soft as they both watch the couple; Willie lets Alex off his back and grabs hold of his hand before he had a chance to get too far away. They’re all soft eyes and teasing smiles and vibes that scream about being in love, you’d have to be blind not to see it. Julie looks away, feeling like she’s intruding on a private moment as they share a kiss.

“Tell me about the tour,” Julie says, drawing Lukes attention back to her and it’s the right thing to say because his face lights up with a smile that she’s sure is going to drive girls wild one day soon.

//

Julie nods along with the song blaring through the speakers, mouthing the words so herself as she scrolls through her phone, ignoring the press of bodies crowding the smoking area as best she can. From her spot near the wall, opposite the door, she can see Carrie and Willie and Alex dancing together, wide smiles and heads thrown back.

Flynn and Reggie are talking to a group of people off to the side and Julie can see the way Flynn has pulled her braids over one shoulder and is gesturing to Reggie every few words the way she does when she’s trying to hype someone up (she knows, from having been on the receiving end of it, many times). Bobby, standing with them, seems to find the whole thing hilarious, grinning around the cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Okay, favourite book?” Luke asks, leaning in close to be heard over the noise and if he doesn’t move back, well Julie’s not about to complain. The little space heaters on the wall don’t provide much warmth, and it’s January and she’s cold and someone ruined her jacket.

“Currently or of all time?” She asks, raising an eyebrow as she turns her head a little to look at him. Her heart stutters for a second at how close his face is to hers, she can see the small flecks of green in his eyes, can feel his breath ghost across her cheeks.

“Current,” he says and she can see as his eyes flicker down to her lips quickly before back up to her eyes and Julie really hopes she’s not blushing right now.

“Stardust. By Neil Gaiman. I’m reading it for one of my classes and it hits all the boxes for a fairytale.” She likes fairy tales, likes the idea of them, likes the message of true love and pure of heart and happily ever afters. This one just happened to involve lightning pirates which was a bonus. Okay, so maybe the lightning pirates were mostly a film detail, but still. “Favourite food?”

“There’s this little hole in the wall place down by the strip? They do the best cheeseburgers. If I could have one for every meal, I would.”

They’re still standing close together, eyes staring too intensely for a game of twenty questions and comments about cheeseburgers and Julie’s eyes flicker to his lips, can see the way they’re pulling up a little on one side. She wants to lean forwards, close the gap between them and press her lips against his. But then she shivers, shoulders hunching up around her ears as she rubs her bare arms, conscious of how close they’re sitting and how much she just kind of wants to steal his body heat.

“Are you cold?” He’s biting his lip, pulling back out of her personal space and Julie almost whines at the loss of contact and body heat and – well maybe she’s too drunk to be making smart choices right now if she’s five seconds away from whining.

“Well someone ruined my jacket,” she points out, eyebrows raised at him and is rewarded with his cheeks flushing and one hand rubbing at the back of his neck which she’s quickly coming to realise means he’s embarrassed or just a little flustered.

“I thought we’d agreed to forgive and forget about that?” He mumbles and before she can come up with a response Luke is standing up, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders and then he’s carefully draping it over her shoulders, fingers tapping lightly on her arm until she holds it out for him to slip through one arm hole, doing the same on the other side and then pulling her hair out from under the collar.

It’s too big on her, but the faux fur inside is soft on her skin and still warm from Luke and she can stick her thumbs through the little gaps created by the fastened buttons and if she turned her head a little she could smell his aftershave clinging to the collar. Julie can’t help the little smile that graces her face, rotating her shoulders to let the coat settle better on her body.

Looking up at him her brows furrow a little at the look on his face (if she wasn’t so drunk and giddy and tired she’d say it was something like awe but that made no sense. Why would Luke be looking at her in awe while she wore his jacket?), but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared and he’s smiling at her, that wide smile from back at the start of the night when he’d handed her her drink and she’d tapped it against his.

“Thanks,” she tilts her head to the side, loose curls falling across her cheeks as she looks at him, a wide smile of her own and she opens her mouth to say something else – though she’s not sure what she’s going to say – when another voice cuts through and pops the little bubble they’ve created.

When did they even create their private conversation bubble? Julie doesn’t know, and from the way Luke’s head whips around to land on Flynn and Reggie and Bobby with wide eyes, he probably doesn’t know either. But it’s nice to know that he’d been enjoying their conversation as much as she had.

“We’re gonna get food, come on!”

//

“I wanted to be wrapped up in bed an hour ago,” Julie sighed but there’s no real annoyance in her tone as she hugs Luke’s jacket closed tight across her chest, shoulder brushing against his arm as they walk.

“But you also wanted pizza instead of McDonalds like everyone else.” And Luke has a point but she still pulls a face, sticking her tongue out at him and getting a laugh in return. She couldn’t even be annoyed at it, he had a nice laugh.

Plus, when she’d said she wanted pizza Luke was the only one who’d wanted to come with her, the rest of their friends going back to their hotels. He’d walked all the way to the takeaway with her, shared half of his chips and then started walking her back to her dorm, insisting on carrying her half eaten pizza too. It was all very sweet and kind and not helping her not want to kiss him.

“Where’s your first stop?” She asks, because he was about to start a tour and she had school and maybe if they were both back home they might have been able to give something a go, but they weren’t and Julie wasn’t really a one night stand kind of person.

“We’re heading up to Newcastle on Sunday to kick it all off,” there was a slight bounce in his step, his excitement almost palpable and Julie could tell that this was all he’d ever wanted. To play music to as many people as he could. A small part of her remembered what that was like, to want to share your songs with the world.

“Sing something!” She pulled him to a stop in the middle of the street, bouncing a little on the balls on her feet and grinning at him. Because she was still a little drunk and she missed feeling excited about playing music and here was this sweet charming guy who loved it so much and felt it with everything he had and Julie wanted to be like that again too. She wanted to think about music without it being tinged with sadness.

“What?” He laughed, eyes a little wide and glassy and with his hair looking more wild then it had when they’d started the night, but Julie was pretty sure she looked the same so she didn’t comment.

“Sing! Anything! Please?” Julie tried pouting at him, doing her best impression of Carlos and his puppy dog eyes and something about it must have worked because Luke huffs out a laugh as he looks at her, biting his lip in thought for a moment before he nods his head for them to keep walking before he starts singing.

His voice is a little rough, from screaming lyrics in the clubs and shouting to be heard in the bars, and his words are a little slurred because he’s a little drunk and a lot tired, but Julie’s sober enough to decide it’s one of the best versions of Mamma Mia she’s ever heard. As he gets to the first chorus she joins in.

They were just two slightly drunk young adults, singing in the street and if nothing else comes of his night she’ll always have this memory of unadulterated joy.

“You can sing,” he whispers and now it’s Luke’s turn to pull her to a stop with a hand on her arm and a look of wonder on his face. Julie shrugs a little and can feel her cheeks heating, but she keeps their eye contact and smiles at him.

“Only drunk in the streets.” Which is more true then he’ll ever know.

Luke opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off by pointing over his shoulder at the building behind them.

“This is me.” She’s not sure what to do now, take her pizza and run? That seems a little rude, and unsafe. Julie’s not sure she can actually run in these shoes without falling. Luke looks over his shoulder quickly before looking back at her, blowing out a breath and nodding.

“Right, right.” He seems just as unsure as she is about what to do now, which makes Julie feel a little better about it.

“I should–”

“Can I–”

They both start at the same time and then Julie is laughing and Luke is huffing out a breath while a smile grows on his face. The only thing between them is a pizza box and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes keep flickering down to her lips.

“I can’t kiss you!” She blurts out, a hand quickly going up to cover her mouth and Luke’s eyes widen, taking a half step back, retracting his hand like he’d been burnt.

“That wasn’t– I– this–” Luke started stuttering, face going red and Julie quickly shook her head at him.

“That came out wrong! Fuck. I–” She curled her hands into fists at her sides, squeezing her eyes shut before opening them, “I want to kiss you, but I can’t.”

The shock on his face had softened at the start of her sentence only to morph into confusion at the end.

“You’re gonna have to explain this to me, Molina.” Luke still looks confused, but he’s still standing in front of her and that’s enough for her.

“I like you,” she dips her head as she says it, because Julie’s pretty sure she could really like him if given the chance, “but I’m no good at one night...things and you’re about to go on a tour and I’m stuck here and I just, I think– I think I’d like us to be friends. I think we could be really good friends actually.”

Because they’d only spent a few hours together and she’d laughed and smiled more in that time then she had in awhile. Luke was sweet and funny and had something to say about every song the DJ picked to play but sang along anyway. Which is why she doesn’t want to risk a friendship for one night in bed. The confusion on Luke’s face turns into understanding and the soft, slightly sad smile that he gives her tells Julie that she’s right. A friendship with him would be better than one really fun night.

“I get it,” and he carefully puts his hand back on her arm, squeezing slightly before pulling away. “And, for the record, I’m not very good at one night things either.”

Her heart beat sounds loud in her ears and it takes Julie a moment to refocus her thoughts. Friendship. No kissing. Friendship.

“Well, maybe if we can keep a friendship going until we next see each other we can try this moment again,” she waves her hand around them with a small laugh. They could probably keep a friendship going long distance, but Julie isn’t so sure that they’ll ever get a moment like this again.

“Deal,” Luke grins down at her and pulls his phone out of his back pocket and unlocks it, Julie raises her eyebrows at him when he holds it out for her, “In order to keep in touch we’re gonna need to exchange numbers.”

“You make a point,” she agrees, putting in her information and handing it back to him in exchange for her pizza box. “Text me when you get back to your hotel, okay? So I know you didn’t get lost.”

“Yes, boss.” His smile is a little teasing now and Julie shakes her head at him as she brushes past him to walk into her dorm. She’s half way across the road when stops in her tracks to turn back at him.

“Wait, I’m still wearing your jacket.” Julie stars to shrug the item off when Luke shakes his head, already starting to walking backwards down the street.

“No, keep it!” He shouts with a smile, “Means we’ll have a reason to see each other again and have another go at this.”

Julie just shakes her head at him with a laugh, watching as he walks away before tightening her grip on the box and finally making it into her dorm. She’s still got an essay to write and a pile of laundry to put away and magic in music is still missing, but she’s gotten herself a new jacket and a friend who she thinks could make her life a little brighter. So she’ll forgive and forget that she's home an hour later than promised.

[shianhygge-imagines]

Silver Rose [Vergil/Reader] {Devil May Cry} Umbral Angelo

AN: I managed to finish this one in record time, and am already working on the next chapter. I’m intending the next chapter to be a bit of a dive into V and Vergil’s mentality, so it’s going to be a bit tricky to write... and a bit long. (If you take a look into my masterlist, I’ve already titled the next chapter “Bury the Light” so I’m going to try extra hard to make the next chapter worthy of the song.)

On another note: I’m probably going to start using my handwritten banner for this series from now on. I’ve noticed that gifs are rather intense for loading on certain devices/internet speed... and I’m tired of looking for appropriate gifs to use. I may end up changing the banner once I get photoshop or something >.>

If you like the content I create, please consider donating to my Ko-fi! Please help me feed my tea addiction!

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15th June 06:03am

- V’s POV -

V watched as you raced to greet Nero with a flying tackle hug that nearly sent the one armed boy tumbling to the floor from the force of your excitement. The mortal half of Vergil couldn’t help but feel equal parts bitterness, sadness, envy, and longing as he watched you fuss over Nero with worry. As he was, V didn’t feel like he was capable of having a family. Not only was the mysterious man dying the longer he remained separated from his demonic half, but because he felt unworthy after everything that had transpired since the day his family home was burnt down. Although he longed for this, it was probably one of the biggest conflicts within him during the past few weeks with you… and one of the reasons why the days had passed with too much left unsaid.

“Nero! Light of my life! My reckless son!” You continued the embarrassing titles while straightening his jacket and hair, taking care to pat down the spots covered in rubble dust. “I’m so happy to see you! Nico did such a good job with your arm! Oh! But that last one broke-”

The demon hunter’s cheeks pinkened as his mother continued to fuss over him, “Mom,” he whined, embarrassed at the fact that a stranger like V had to bear witness to this. “It’s good to see you, too, but I’m fine. I got a spare arm here-” Nero gestures to the red colored mechanical limb attached to his hip, “-see? I’ll be fine. But enough about me, what are you doing here?”

Like mother, like son, I see. V mused with amusement when the pair of you completely ignored the dying Goliath. Shadow had stalked over to sit at your side with a content flicker of its tail while leaving his weakened master to slowly walk over. “Little wanderer…” V addressed the dying demon, raising his cane to deliver the killing blow, “hie thee home.”

Just as the massive demon faded into burning ashes, you and Nero stopped your fussing to address V’s arrival. “Well, it’s a bit of a long story, Nero.” Your grin is sheepish as you pointed at V with two hands, “Apparently, V’s been living like a hobo before he came to Devil May Cry for the job. Since he didn’t want to leave Red Grave City… and I have a house here, he kinda stayed with me the past few weeks.”

“Uh-huh.” Nero crossed his arms and leaned on one foot, his expression incredulous as blue-green eyes flickered between you and V. “You expect me to believe that your old house is still standing after over two weeks of this.” To V’s amusement, Nero nodded at the rubble and chaos that surrounded them as he finished his sentence.

Kid’s got a point. Griffon communicated telepathically as it circled the sky above their group.

You pouted and slumped over slightly, “… well, it’s not standing anymore.” You looked saddened and bitter at the loss of your home, something that V understood. It had been the home Vergil gifted you, and watching the structure of the building get torn in two had been a devastating loss to you both.

Nero grimaced and uncrossed his arms, pulling you into a comforting hug. “Shit, mom. I’m sorry.”

“It’s uh, one of the reasons why I’m here, actually.” You confessed, hugging your son back. “I’ve got business to settle with Urizen… and I’m sorry to intrude, but would it be okay to stay at the orphanage with you and Kyrie after this is all over?”

“Do you really gotta ask?” Nero smiled gently, pulling away. “Kyrie’s been begging me to ask you to come over. So, just take this as a permanent invitation, okay?” The boy’s attention diverged to V, who had settled to stand off to the side, “By the way, V… Thought I was gonna have to pick you out of his… uh… tummy teeth.”

V didn’t bother hiding the smirk that appeared on his face when you pulled away to look at the fading Goliath and promptly giggled when you realized that the dead demon did indeed have tummy teeth. “Pardon our delay.” The mysterious man holds up the collection of William Blake poems to show Nero, “I was… catching up on some reading.”

Nero’s eyes narrowed at the book, “Yeah… looks like a real page-turner.” The young man remarked dryly. In the background, V and Nero both noticed your renewed laughter at your son’s dry tone while a section of the Qliphoth Tree crumbled. “So uh… you think Dante’s still in there?” Nero asked V, the pair now watching as a path forward was cleared by the falling debris.

“If Urizen defeated him, then I expect he’s not much more than Qliphoth pollen by now.” The somber words from V’s mouth put a stop to your laughing, and while he hated when you were upset, he would rather stay honest when possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

- Y/N’s POV -

You knew what a Qliphoth tree was, so you didn’t bother paying attention to V’s explanation, preferring to explore the area for anything remotely useful or valuable. Shadow followed after you, its red eyes watching your surroundings in case a demon tried to get a drop on you while away from V and Nero. “V may very well be right about Dante.” You muttered to the demon panther as you nudged a slab of concrete to the side with a foot. “But we’re also talking about Dante, here.” You smirk down at Shadow with hope, “He’s always been the lucky one out of the Sparda twins. Whether it be a winning prize popsicle, or taking on a demon overlord… Dante’s always been able to pull through…”

When you hear the distinct sound of a car smacking against slabs of stone, you turn to walk back towards your son and V, watching with barely concealed amusement at Nico’s antics. “You know, Shadow… Some days I wonder what would have happened to us if Vergil had even half the luck Dante has.” Ignoring Shadow’s questioning gaze, you wave at the trio waiting for you by the van. “Oh well, forget I mentioned.”

Once you were close enough, you plastered a carefree grin on your face, “Hey, Nico! Thanks for looking after my reckless son!”

“Wha-Hey!”

You and the aspiring legendary smith ignored Nero’s indignant cry. “Ah! Don’t mention it, Mrs. S! It’s always mah pleasure!”

“Bullshi, then why do you compl-”

“How much does he owe you for a new arm?”

“Mom! I can pa-”

“Nuh-uh, Mrs. S. Don’t worry about it.”

“D-Don’t worry about it?! What a load of-”

“Aw! You’re sweet as always, Nico!” You grin, walking around to enter the van with V in tow. “I’m looking forward to working with you!”

“Ditto, Mrs. S!”

Poor Nero looks like he’s about to have a fit from his seat inside the van. You feel slightly guilty for teasing your son in such a way, but quite frankly, you and Nico were having too much fun. To rain on your parade, when V climbs up the stairs to stand just behind you, he leans over to whisper in your ear, “Perhaps you shouldn’t tease the boy so much.”

And of course his father would be against my need to tease. You roll your eyes and sigh theatrically, “Alright, fine. I’m sorry, Nero. Please forgive your mother?” You know he already did, but you bat your lashes at him anyways for the fun of it.

Nero just shakes his head and folds his arms, “Just sit down. I don’t wanna risk you two falling and breaking something because of Nico’s shitty driving.”

You and V take a seat to the soundtrack of Nico’s indignant yelling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15th June 06:26am

- Y/N’s POV -

“I think we should split into two groups.” V suggested as the group of you sat in the van while Nico worked in the back.

“… And cover more group. Good idea.” Nero finished, turning to leave the passenger seat.

“Three groups.” You amended, getting up to snatch the Totsuka from where you rested it. “We’re splitting into three groups to get rid of the Qliphoth roots, and I’m leaving no room for arguments.” You shot a challenging look at both Nero and V when they opened their mouths to protest.

“Wait, Mom. Are you sure about this? We could still get this done in two groups.” Nero stood up to stop you from leaving the van.

“Yes, I would rather we all play it safe as well.” V’s green eyes locked with yours, silently worried for your well-being.

Sighing, you lifted a hand to pat your son’s cheek fondly. “I’m touched that you’re both worried about me, but you both said it yourselves. We’re on a time limit if we want to stop Urizen. I have Nico’s number, okay? So if I run into any problems, I’ll make sure to call.” With that, you waved goodbye to Nico, Griffon, Nero, and V before departing from the group, jumping out of the van with a spring to your step.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15th June 08:30am

“Maybe I should have stuck with V.” You muttered out loud, back hand-springing off the wreckage of an industrial building to land on a sturdier platform. A few moments prior, you’d been strolling rather peacefully along the city’s central boulevard… or what was left of it anyways. When you noticed a peculiar figure standing in a dead-end of the collapsed street.

Having just dealt with a few lingering red Empusa stalking the streets and destroyed a few bundles of Qliphoth roots, you were still on high alert. For a moment, you simply stared at the tall imposing figure before it clicked in your mind how familiar the shape was. The last that you had seen that figure was a dark stormy night. “Nelo Angelo?” You whispered in disbelief, yanking the Totsuka from a dying Empusa and taking a step towards the imposing figure.

Of course, the moment you stepped towards Nelo Angelo’s direction, it turned its back on you and jumped atop the rubble blocking the street, only turning to look at you briefly before walking away. You weren’t naive enough to rule out a trap considering how close you were to the main Qliphoth’s structure, but if that phantom was connected to a main root… you would have to deal with him anyways. Sheathing the Totsuka, you followed after the figure, eyes set with flames of determination ablaze.

Which led to your current predicament: scaling collapsed buildings and platforms as you followed the figure of Nelo Angelo. “Honestly, why does every incarnation of Vergil make it their life’s goal to be difficult?” You cursed when your feet made contact with another unstable platform.

The floor gave away just as Nelo Angelo stopped to turn around, your eyes connecting for a moment before you plunged into what seemed to be a tunnel made by the Qliphoth roots. When you failed to grasp ahold of something to stop the fall, you cursed and fixed your position midair. Ah shit. Stick the landing. Stick the landi- You tucked and rolled to absorb the impact from the fall, but instead bounced as you rolled, “Oof!” You grunted when your back collided with a fleshy wall.

“Oooo… ‘A’ for effort.” You huffed, out of breath as you clambered to your feet and strolled over to pick up your Totsuka.

It was… deceptively quiet in the tunnel while you regained your bearings. Red, fleshy, pulsating walls told you that you were definitely somewhere inside the Qliphoth, though probably not in its main structure… maybe you were within one of its main roots? When the walls pulsed rather violently, you grimaced and backed away from the wall, trying not to remember Dante’s comments about demons and vore. “Urgh. Too late.” You groaned, going the slightest bit green as you journeyed deeper into the tunnels.

The further down into the tunnels you went, the less light there was, until you were forced to use a smidge of demonic energy to see in the dark. You’d seen Dante and Vergil use this ability mostly for intimidation purposes, but you found that it was useful for seeing in the dark. With a simple blink, gone were your human eyes, and in their place stood slit pupils, dark sclera, and ethereal glowing light grey irises.

When light was at its minimal, a wail reached your ears from deep within, and suddenly you were sprinting down the tunnel. The closer you came to the wailing, you realized with shock that it was a baby’s cry. What’s a baby doing down here? You wondered, turning as the tunnel drifted left before skidding to a halt at the scene before you.

“That’s not…” your words stopped, caught in your throat as something tight and unpleasant clawed in your chest.

They stood before you, a family. They weren’t much more than shades… shadowy images and illusions… falsehoods… but you knew what you saw. A mother comforting the crying baby boy in her arms while the father stood by his wife’s side, helping her quiet the little one with comforting shushes and whispered words.

“Shhh, shhh, everything’s going to be okay, Nero.” The woman carefully rocked the baby boy in her arms. “Vergil, do you mind humming to him? He always did love it when you sing to him.”

The man nodded and gingerly accepted the baby from his wife’s arms. “Of course, Y/N. You should get some rest, it’s my turn to look after our son tonight.”

The woman yawned and rested her head upon her husband’s arm, watching as he began to hum a familiar lullaby to his baby son. “No, I think I’ll stay right here, Vergil.”

You watched, eyes transfixed with longing and melancholy over the scene. How you wanted this for your family. How you wished that Vergil would have stayed all those years ago. How you wished that Nero was your biological son. How you wished and wished, but your wishes never came true.

The shades before you vanished into wispy shadowy smoke before reforming into two figures and a bed. The tears that had gathered at the corners of your eyes fell as you stared in misery at the scene before you. “No. I don’t want to see this.” You sobbed even when you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the two figures involved in a passionate embrace. Your hands rose to cover your ears, not wanting to listen as a shade of your husband made love with a woman that wasn’t you.

“V-vergil! Ah! Harder!”

“Stop.” You begged, finally closing your eyes, but you could still see and hear the shades.

“Y-you said you had a wife waiting for you at home.”

“Please. Stop!” You cried, shaking your head, not wanting to hear or see any of this.

“Tell me you love me, Vergil. If you don’t care about your wife.”

“… I love you.”

“STOP!” You wailed, throwing a volatile pulse of demonic energy at the shades, banishing the scene completely until you were the only one stood in the middle of a large room filled with rubble. Huddling into a ball of misery, you wept, your hair now a dark silvery white to match the rest of your family.

“Why must you torture me?” you asked the figure stood behind you, though you didn’t rise to confront them face to face, still drowning in your woes. When the figure didn’t answer, you let out a bitter laugh, sniffling, “Figures. You never answer. I don’t even know what I didn’t file for a divorce all those stupid years ago.”

Still crying, you rose to your feet and turned to meet the eyes of Nelo Angelo, though its armor was much different than you realized. Though its eyes glowed red from within its helmet, and its body was solid, you noticed that wisps of shadow and smoke would occasionally fall off it like a fog. This entire time, I was chasing a shade… Umbral Angelo. Probably a pawn of Urizen given life by the Qliphoth. Your grief seemed so intense that it felt like you were choking, but somehow you found it in you to be angry. “Of course Urizen would find it amusing to dance all over my emotions.” You snarled, drawing your blade to point at Umbral Angelo. “So, what! Are you a puppet as well!?” You demanded, taking a menacing step forward. “Are you a puppet to Urizen like Vergil was to Mundus!?”

Umbral Angelo seemed to flinch back, as if struck, but still it didn’t answer you, opting to hold its massive blade at the ready. Gritting your teeth in frustration, you charged forward, swinging the Totsuka in an overhead strike that Umbral Angelo easily parried and countered with a backhand, sending you flying backwards even when you blocked.

“Tsk.” You clicked your tongue in annoyance as you skid backwards upon sticking the landing, “Katana versus broadsword. Really should have taken Dante up on those spars.” You couldn’t get cocky here, you decided, widening your stance and sheathing the katana once more. “I’ll let you come to me, big guy.”

The shade knight raised his broadsword with both hands in a preparation for a lunging motion, the blade glowing and ominous purple before it blinked forwards. You barely had time to switch your footwork and unsheathe the Totsuka to parry the blow to the side before Umbral Angelo was upon you again. Being much smaller than the shade knight, you dodged the incoming elbow thrust by getting in close and under his arm, thrusting the Totsuka into a crack of the armor before pulling away and creating distance.

A growl escaped the shade knight as he too jumped away to create distance. For a moment, the two of you stood at a standstill, simply observing one another from across the room. “I don’t understand you.” The statement falls out of your mouth, eyes narrowing as you run a hand through your silvery hair. “You won’t attack unless I provoke you. You won’t speak. You just stand there!” When Umbral Angelo remained silent, you threw up your arms in exasperation. “Is it the grey eyes? The silver hair? It’s probably a little darker than those of Sparda’s bloodline, but- I’m getting carried away. Answer me!”

The shade remained silent, only changing its position from one ready to attack, to one of rest, stabbing its broadsword into the ground in front of its feet.

“Fine!” The Silver Rose is drawn and its trigger pulled in the blink of an eye, the single bullet hitting the wall just next to the knight’s head.

“…s…r…gi…” Broken sounds echoed from within the confines of the shade knight’s helmet as it shifted its position once more, raising its blade to swing. “…fea…m… w…i…”

Surprised, you could only jump to avoid the wave of energy sent at you from the swing. “Wait. What did you say?”

It didn’t reply, sprinting forward in a violent horizontal swing as you bent backwards to back hand-spring away. The assault of strikes was overwhelming as you were put on the defensive, parrying and dodging while trying to get a few hits in with Totsuka and Silver Rose. There were chinks in its armor, but very little injury to his person. Now that you were closer, however, you could finally hear what Umbral Angelo was muttering.

“…use your gift… defeat me with it…” The shade knight muttered, its voice an echo of something that was once familiar, but long since a memory. “…you must… for your own sake.” It pulled back just enough to throw another downward slash at you. “…please…”

The force of the strike as you block it causes the ground under you to give away. The knight is unrelenting as you struggle to lift the blade or even parry it to the side. You didn’t want to rely on your demonic power so much, but at this rate, you were bound to be defeated by a mere phantom.

A flash of light blankets the room in searing white as you call to your demonic powers. You can feel your body absorb both the Totsuka and Silver Rose as it changes. Before the bright light can disappear, you’d practically teleported to dodge the still descending broadsword.

You grunt in annoyance when you feel your grey hair cascade down your back, having grown longer than it was in your mortal form. Like Dante, your Devil Trigger causes you to take on a draconic appearance, tough silver, grey, and black scales adorning your body in a mimic of a knight’s armor. There’s a ridge around your neck and shoulders that resembles a high collar, protecting your neck from potential damage should the need arise. Your head and face are pulled into what looks like a snout, though your mouth and eyes seem to be stuck in an eternal grin of mischief. Behind you are a set of white leathery wings and a long tail. You have little practice with your wings in tight spaces, so they are currently folded into your spine, keeping them out of the way while you make use of your tail, probably one of the only weapons you have in this form besides your fists and feet. Though describing the appendage as a simple tail would be an understatement, as it is probably more like a stinger, its point, a sharp dagger that can shoot energy beams.

“If you want me to win so badly,” your voice is a hollow echo when you activate your Devil Trigger, “Then, come at me now.”

Umbral Angelo flies at you with another lunge, but this time you dodge and summon white energy copies of the Totsuka to lay into the knight while you throw in a few jabs and kicks, mixing the barrage of attacks up by occasionally backing away so your stinger has enough room to fire a beam of energy or two.

The assault is too much for the shade knight, and it is forced to create as much distance from you as possible. It looks like it can barely lift its sword from the damage you caused. Umbral Angelo drops his broadsword and falls to its knees, weakened and defeated as you approach.

“Now, let me ask again. Why did you show me those things?” You demand, releasing your Devil Trigger to stand as mortal once more.

“To show you the truth. To show you his demons. A part of him regretted. But a part of him did not. Before you face him again, you needed to know.” Umbral Angelo forced himself to reply, though his voice was weak. “There is… one more thing. He-”

Umbral Angelo did not get the chance to finish when a sword cleaved through his chest, killing the shade instantly.

You stood, wide-eyed, your face slightly splattered with dark blood as another figure bearing Nelo Angelo’s semblance stood before you. When it didn’t attack you, you wondered briefly why it had killed its own ally. And then, you heard a distorted demonic cackle behind you.

“A pity it wasn’t even useful to defeat his old whore.”

You had no idea what the hell you were staring at. A three headed woman fused with a giant chicken fetus. Wait… whore?

“WHORE!?” You screeched, immediately activating your Devil Trigger once more to rush the cackling abomination. “I’LL SHOW YOU A WHORE YOU RAGGEDY EXHIBITIONIST!”

“Oooh! I touched a nerve!” The abomination sneered before disappearing into a portal. “Deal with her.”

Just as you’re about to close in on the backend of the retreating abomination, you’re tackled so hard that you get sent through the floor and into open air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once again, Thank you for reading! :D

[ayellowcurtain]

can you write a coffee shop drijzermans au

Do u think u could write a long-distance relationship au? Like where they've only met through the internet and finally meet one day? It would mean a lot to me

I don’t know much about Belgium, but let’s pretend for the sake of this cute prompt that you can only get across the country by plane

Sander rushes out of work for his break, hearing as Robbe laughs on his phone screen, across the country.

“I can wait, no need to rush.”

“No...” Sander holds his phone in front of his face, seeing the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen as he pulls his apron over his head, holding it with his other hand, leaning against the wall, smiling at Robbe. “Hello, cutie.”

“Hi...” Robbe tilts his head to the side, against his shoulder like he does when he’s feeling embarassed. Sander wants to kiss him so badly, to make him laugh and giggle while Sander kisses his whole face. Just a few more days.

“How are you? I missed you the whole day...”

“Did you miss me that much?”

Sander frowns, putting his phone closer to make a dramatic move.

“Of course I miss you! What kind of question is that?” Robbe laughs again, moving his top half closer to the phone as well, his parted lips looking so shiny.

“And what do you miss the most?”

Sander smiles, sighing, feeling so stupid for being able to think of a list instantly, ready to tell all the things to Robbe, but he won’t. Not now, they’ll have a whole month to tell what they missed the most in person.

“Wouldn’t you like to know...”

“Yeah?” Robbe says softly, his curious side surfacing like it does every once in a while. During some specific conversations, always wanting to hear Sander spill all his feelings for Robbe out loud. Sander is not used to it, to being in love, but he’s sure he’s a fast learner.

“I tell you in...” Sander checks the time at the top of the screen. “Fifty hours. In person.”

“Not fair.” Robbe sighs in defeat and Sander smiles at his phone, looking at the coffee shop starting to get filled with clients, Senne not able to get every order. 

“What’s your order of the day?” 

They have this stupid thing where Robbe makes his order and whatever he would like to have, Sander will buy for himself to eat on his bike after work, on his way home. Sander can’t wait for them to do that in person, for him to come home to Robbe with some warm and fresh croassaints and coffee. 

“Hmmm...” Robbe grabs his phone and lies back down, smiling. “I think I’ll have some delicious, very well made - by the best guy ever - hot chocolate. With extra cream and melted chocolate on top, please.” 

-

They walk in an exciting silence out of the airport, constantly bumping their arms together, so tempted to hold hands. Sander fumbles, tapping his whole jacket in search for his car keys.

He helps Robbe puts his suitcase and backpack inside the car and they stand there, looking at each other.

“I can’t believe you’re here...” Sander whispers, feeling he might have a heart attack, watching as Robbe comes closer, standing right in front of him, gently bumping their noses.

He watches as Robbe closes his eyes, breathing mostly through his mouth, so close Sander has to look down to really see him. Sander can guess his heart is beating just as fast as his own. Robbe is perfect, smaller than what Sander had imagined.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Right here?” Robbe looks around them, the parking lot filled with cars, but nobody walking around.

“Yes...Or no, if you’re not comfortable.” Sander corrects himself, knowing he’s always going way too fast.

“No...! It’s not that, just...” Robbe laughs, leaning against him, his forehead against Sander’s collarbone and he feels his cheeks heating up, hoping Robbe can’t hear his desperately in love heart. Sander opens his hands that he closed without noticing, carefully putting them up, touching Robbe’s also burning hot cheeks.

“Talk to me...”

Robbe looks up as Sander was hoping he would do and then suddenly their lips are together, kissing carefully. Robbe’s insecure lips just pressing against his and Sander opens his mouth slowly, kissing each lip one time, opening his eyes to meet Robbe still melting against him.

“Shit, sorry.” Robbe steps back, covering his face with his hands.

“Hey, hey, don’t be sorry.” Sander holds his face again and Robbe tilts his head, leaning against his right hand. “I love you. I wanted this for such a long time.”

“Are you sure? I just basically threw myself at you.” Robbe puts his hands on Sander’s side, holding the tips of his jacket and even that small touch means so much. Robbe actually here, in person, touching Sander or his clothes.

“And I hope you keep doing that.”

-

It was a long night and day for both of them, barely able to sleep, thinking about this moment. Robbe was inside an airplane for a few hours and Sander is still just as nervous as he was a few hours ago, seeing Robbe in person for the first time.

Robbe wanted to take a shower as soon as they got home and so Sander gave him some clean, soft towels to use, but it’s been a while since Robbe got inside his bathroom. Sander doesn’t know if he’s overthinking things, but he knocks on the door, trying to listen what’s going on inside.

“Everything ok? You need anything?”

It takes a second, but he can hear Robbe humming, thinking out loud.

“Hm, everything is okay...You can come in if you want.”

Sander looks at the door. He’s not sure if he understood Robbe correctly. If he wants Sander to get inside because he needs anything or if he’s just offering for Sander to get in if he needs anything from the bathroom.

He opens the door anyway, looking inside, only able to see a blurred shadow of Robbe’s figure behind the plastic white curtain.

“Robbe?”

He waits and Robbe waits too, but he pulls the plastic curtain just a little, his curls now damp around his face.

“I can’t adjust the temperature.”

Oh...

Sander feels so dumb, thinking Robbe meant something else.

“Of course! Shit, sorry.” Sander walks to the shower, to the other side of the curtain, where the shower is, trying to turn the shower valve to warm the water a little bit. He tries not to look, but it’s hard to completely ignore Robbe standing there, completely naked.

They stay in silence as Sander adjusts the water, putting his hand under the shower head, it feels good for him.

“Here, see if it’s good.” Robbe comes closer, under the water and he sighs, laughing.

“Yeah, it’s perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah...”

“Okay, hm...” Sander looks before he can stop himself, but at least he manages to keep his eyes on Robbe’s.

And he watches and lets Robbe lead as he stands on his tiptoes to pull Sander for a kiss, his soaking wet hands holding Sander’s shirt carefully and he has to come closer, not minding about being completely dressed and now under the water, kissing Robbe, not as careful or calmly as before.

-

“Come, I’ll take care of you.” He kisses the cheek of a very warm and pliant Robbe, going down to his neck as Robbe whimpers quietly, his arms already knowing the way around Sander’s neck. He holds Robbe by his thighs, letting Robbe climb all over him, carrying him out of the shower, making sure not to step on the pile of soaking wet clothes now on the floor.

Sander is still in the clouds, not even believing that Robbe is here, hugging him so tightly and what they did in the shower...

Robbe laughs as he lets himself fall on the bed, snuggling closer to the pillows, still a little wet, putting on all of Sander’s clothes that he offers him.

As he’s dressing himself, Sander watches. Robbe using all his clothes, clearly a lot bigger on him.

“Come to bed...” Robbe is back to his shy self and Sander smiles, just finishing putting his hoodie on, crawling on top of Robbe, kissing his cheek, looking at his puffy lips, putting his dark curls back inside the hood.

“You’re tired, huh...” Sander sighs, hiding against the side of Robbe’s face as he nods his head.

“Yes, very much so.” He whispers against Sander’s temple, tangling their legs.

“Thank you.” Sander looks at Robbe again, his tired, doe eyes and his lips that Sander wanted to kiss for such a long time. “For coming. I know I was selfish, but I really needed to see you.”

“Don’t need to be sorry. I wanted to come too, so so badly, you just made me come earlier than expected. And I needed to see you, to touch you and make sure you’re okay and that you’re real and that you like me, of all people in the world...”

Sander smiles again, kissing Robbe, lying his head on his shoulder as he moves to lie next to Robbe. He keeps noticing himself staring at Robbe, watching his every move, every line on his cheeks, making sure that this boy, his boy is really here, lying in his bed. They’re finally together after a whole year apart.

They still have 29 days together, but just the thought of saying goodbye makes Sander upset.

“Tell me.” Robbe moves down a little so they’re lying at the same height and Sander looks at him, feeling the tip of his fingers gently touching his cheek.

“Huh?”

“Was I how you expected?”

Sander frowns, trying to guess what they’re talking about.

“About...?” He raises his eyebrows and Robbe opens his mouth, blushing so hard, shoving his shoulder and Sander laughs, holding Robbe by his waist. “Me! Am I phisically what you imagined?”

“It’s because I was still thinking about the shower...” Sander smiles, falling deeper in love every time Robbe gives him back a soft smile in return.

“You pervert. I would never be able to ask you that.”

“Why not? You were amazing.” Sander quietly puts his hands inside his hoodie, squeezing Robbe’s side, pulling him closer.

“We’re not going to talk about that now...” Robbe wriggles under his more deliberate touch and Sander saves that information for later. “Tell me!”

“You’re perfect, Robbe. The most beautiful human I’ve ever seen. You’re perfect size, perfect weight...you and me fit like gloves.”

Robbe laughs, playing with his hair, meeting his eyes just after a long moment.

“You’re cheesy, I thought that was just because of the distance.”

“I can be anything you want.”

“Stop it!”

[jenovahh]

The Honey Pot - Ch. 29 - A Love Just as Sweet

“You’re sure you don’t need me to come help? No furniture you need to move?”

“I think you’re just looking for an excuse to ditch work, Ardbert.”

“You’re half right. I’m also looking for an excuse to come see my godchild as well.”

“Your godchild is at home with the babysitter, waiting for me to return from the grocery store.” You can’t help but giggle into the phone at Ardbert’s dramatic groan as you pick up a few rolanberries to put in your shopping cart. “You know you’re more than free to visit, Ardbert.” you grin, even if he cannot see it.

“I know, I know. But it’s hard work now being in charge of an entire luxury chauffeur service now that Varis is gone! I may be the boss, but I have employees to manage. Paychecks to write. Won’t you have pity on your poor friend? Won’t you pay for my ticket to Eorzea?” Ardbert bemoans, and already you can envision his melodramatic flare, unable to stop yourself from snorting at his antics.

“Maybe in a few years I’ll be ready to come back to Kugane.” you murmur softly, rolling an apple around in your hand.

“Always at your own pace, Honey.” Ardbert adds warmly, and it’s times like these you do miss your closest friend. “Even if you feel you can never return, I’ll never fault you for it. I’ll always do my best to come see you.”

You prepare to say something back when your phone beeps in your ear. Pulling it from your face, you see you have an incoming call. “Hey Ardbert, I’ll call back later. I’ve got an important call coming in.”

“No problem, talk to you later, Honey.”

Tapping on the screen, you transfer the call over, bringing your phone to your ear again as you continue to amble around the grocery store. “And what do you want?”

“Is that any way to greet a friend?” Cid scoffs, just as, if not more dramatic than Ardbert.

“It’s a way to greet this friend.” You laugh, nabbing some chips off the shelf. You were getting pretty low on snacks.

“I called to check in on you and also deliver some news. Are you busy?”

“I’m a full time mother, Cid. When am I not busy?” you joke, making your way to the meat department. “After all, my days are filled with diaper changes and games of peekaboo. Exciting stuff.”

“Boring, but peaceful.” Cid supplies, giving out his sage wisdom as usual. “But on a more serious note, is all well?”

Was all well?

It had been a year since your coming to Eorzea, landing yourself a fairly decent sized house in the Gridanian countryside. While off the grid, you were still afforded modern amenities, such as high speed internet and cable TV. Every so often you would have to work your way into the city to run a few errands, just like you are today. You would usually call up one of your trusted neighbors to come over and babysit to put some spare change in their pocket.

You had woken up in the hospital alone, feeling as if you had been hit by a truck while getting ran over by a train, and somehow managed to live. Merlwyb and Cid were the first to barge in your room at news you had woken from your sleep, having feared you would fall into a coma from the damage to your body, or even the damage to your mind.

There was hardly a day that either of them wasn’t at your side, working in shifts almost until Ardbert had even managed to convince them to squeeze in on the rotation. Ardbert’s presence helped break down the walls you had immediately put up upon waking, spending an entire night sobbing into his arms, finally allowing yourself to mourn everything you had lost.

With his help did you get yourself to therapy, Ardbert there with you every step of the way on the road to recovery.

When you reached a point where you felt stable enough to confront all that had happened, you had asked the three of them to tell you what had been going on since that day.

Cid and Merlwyb were quick to hold off the local news of misconstruing facts, Cid telling them to wait until he could get back to his home and compile all the evidence the public needed. The entire city was in an uproar, Varis’ most loyal followers spewing hate and lies to try and convince the public that everything was a ruse and that Cid was the one to cause the explosion at the research facility.

There seemed to be no hope in sight until an unsuspecting witness came to the front.

Gaius of all people had given his testimony, exposing every bit of collusion and dirty deals Varis had a hand in, debunking every lie that Varis had ever spewed, every promise he had intended to break. He had offered himself up for arrest for taking part in Varis’ crimes, even if he had been manipulated into thinking it was for the better of Kugane.

But with Varis gone, and his heir missing, what would happen to Galvus industries?

Cid would receive everything from the corporation, from shares to assets to the building itself. Cid, being the philanthropist he is, decided there was no use of him having so much extra wealth on top of what he already had, and decided to spend the rest of his days giving the money to charities and actually improving the city he now called home.

Said city of course let Lord Hien serve another term. Lord Hien, being an honest man, did not hide his taking part of your operation to stop Varis. With full transparency he informed the public of why he made the decisions he did, assuring them he had not taken out Varis for power, but had kept a tyrant from taking over their country.

When you ask what had become of Elidibus, everyone only stares at you in confusion. You try to describe him to the best of your ability, but all it seems to do is make people more concerned for your mental health by trying to make them remember someone who never existed. Hoping you had not gone off the deep end, it is only when you try to search for him on the internet do you realize his entire existence has been erased.

No notes of him being prime minister of Garlemald, no notes of him having a casual friendship with Vris. As if he had been a figment of your imagination.

Only when you reach for the back of your neck and feel the telltale pulse of your tattoo do you know it wasn’t all a dream.

Taking a deep breath, you finally answer Cid. “I...am well.”

“Good,” Cid breathes, and just hearing his voice makes you yearn for his company. You hope he’ll visit soon. “All good on funds? Need any extra change?”

“Cid, you already wire me nearly 500,000 gil a month; I couldn’t do anything else with more of it.” You grumble as you pick up some chicken breasts and place them in your basket.

“Hey, that money isn’t just for you. I know you want to keep baby Aldynn a secret, but he is still the rightful heir of the Galvus inheritance, and with me in charge of the funds I’ll ensure he gets it. The best time to start saving for college is now,”

“Cid.” you sigh, padding your way to prepare to checkout. Thankfully the lines aren’t too long this time of day. “Aldynn is barely a year old. I don’t have to start thinking about college for another decade and a half.”

“I know, I know…” Cid grumbles, and you can’t help but feel a little bad. Cid really did mean well, being every bit the overprotective uncle you knew he’d be. “I just worry. And I miss you.”

Smiling sadly, you begin to hand your items to the cashier to checkout. “I miss you too, Cid.”

“And better me to call you than Merlwyb, eh? You know we’re practically monitoring her bank account to make sure she hasn’t bought another round trip ticket to Eorzea.” Cid laughs, prompting you to snicker as you hand your payment to the cashier.

“I don’t know what she worries so much for...she really should work through her guilt…” you muse quietly, thanking the cashier as they help load your bags back into your basket.

“She will, in time. Granted, I'm sure the statue they are about to erect of Raubahn down at the police station will reopen some old wounds for a little bit.” Cid laments, both of you silent for a second. “You may be seeing her come over sooner than you’d like. Your statue,”

You stop in place as you glare angrily at the phone glued to the side of your face. “My statue?”

“Shit,” Cid curses under his breath. “Yeah, I fucked that one up. Sorry, Honey.” Cid apologizes, but you’re already fuming as you make your way out to the parking lot.

“I already said I didn’t want a statue! That Chief Raubahn was the only one who deserved it for his sacrifice!” You huff and puff, practically throwing your groceries into your trunk in frustration.

“I know, I know, but you know Merlwyb can be very convincing and very intimidating…” Cid winces as he tries to calm you down. “It’s just going to be a nice little statue in one of the parks, I promise. Merlwyb was prepared to give you an entire fountain--”

“Well thanks for making her show some restraint.” You drone sarcastically, slamming the trunk lid closed. You swear you were going to give that woman a piece of your mind. “Anyway, I appreciate the call Cid. I’m about to drive back home and cook dinner. Gotta send the babysitter on their way.”

“Of course, Honey. Take care.”

The call ends and you pull out of the parking lot, driving your humble car back out of the city. You took to Gridania almost immediately, the climate not too different from Kugane, though the entire country was packed with trees and native flora. You didn’t mind it though, having picked up gardening as a little side hobby as a result. You most likely wouldn’t try and go back into any line of work until baby Aldynn started going to school, which wouldn’t be for a few years yet.

Adjusting to an entirely new life hadn’t been easy, but you needed to just get away from everything. When you were fit to be released from the hospital after the whole ordeal, the outside of the hospital was packed with press, so much so that the only way out of there undetected was with Ardbert’s help since he wasn’t as prominent a figure as Cid or Merlwyb.

You were dodging letters and emails and phone calls every hour of every day it felt like, people badgering you about how you stayed undercover for so long, about how you had saved Merlwyb from being killed alongside Raubahn, about your supposed romance with the heir who had mysteriously gone missing--

It was Lyse and Y’Shtola’s idea that you leave Kugane.

You couldn’t have been any happier to finally reunite with them, the two of them crying their eyes out as they are finally allowed to see you, weeping about how they saw you on the news and how worried they were and for you to never leave their sight again.

You had thought to do just that, but even they could see your mental health continue to deteriorate. You couldn’t even leave your own apartment for fear of being recognized in public, unsure if people would question your “heroic deeds” or ask you things far too personal to answer. It was with their encouragement you got the idea to leave the country and start anew, and what better time to do so when you were halfway through your pregnancy? A pregnancy that against all odds, your unborn child had been just as strong as its parents.

Which, as hard as it was for you to admit, made you wonder if Aldynn would have some kind of freakish strength as he got older. No matter how many doctors checked you, after the sting operation, they said that both mother and baby were the perfect picture of health. While you were overjoyed that you would not have to deal with the trauma of a miscarriage, you can’t steer your mind from darker thoughts that your baby might have been the invincible weapon Varis had been hoping for.

Pulled from your thoughts as your phone rings, you activate the hands free calling, noticing it is your babysitter. “Hello, Zhloe. I know you’re probably eager to get home, I just left the grocery store a little while ago--”

“Oh don’t worry about it! Aldynn is safe with his father!”

Your heart stops.

“Excuse me?” you ask, voice tight but making sure to not lose your cool. While an adult, Zhloe was a very kindhearted, yet unfortunately naive individual. She lived with her younger sister down the road where they ran an animal sanctuary, the two of them orphaned when they were young but maintaining their good hearts regardless.

“Yes! I had left the house a little while ago, but a man knocked on the door. I asked who he was and he told me he was looking for you. I told him very nicely to go away at first because I thought he was a stranger, but when I got a good look at him through the window, I saw he looked just like Aldynn. I asked how he knew you, and he said he was Aldynn’s father.”

Your foot floors the gas before you can stop yourself. You had told her nothing of your past; for all you knew whatever stranger she let in your house could be out for revenge. “Zhloe, I hate to tell you this, but Aldynn’s father,”

“It’s okay, Ms. Honey, I won’t tell anybody! When I asked him questions about you, he answered all of them and that made me sure he wasn’t a stranger. I’ll admit, I had always wondered about Aldynn’s father, but it makes sense he was off in the military like he said. If you guys ever need a date night, just give me a call! He’s so handsome too...you really hit the jackpot!”

“Zhloe, wait--”

“I’m going to get dinner ready for me and Khloe. Have a good night!”

The phone call ends, and you decide not to try and call back to not worry the poor woman. She surely meant well, but you can’t stop your heart from leaping out of your chest as you turn onto the road that has you exit the city and leads to your countryside home.

It’s not possible, you keep telling yourself as you blaze down the street, passing cars like you’re in a street race. Could one of Varis’ old goons have found you, wanting revenge? Would they hold your baby hostage? It’s not possible, it’s not possible--

You’re practically drifting into the driveway of your home, kicking up dirt as you wrench the car to a stop, practically flailing as you kick the car door open. “Aldynn!” You cry. You can see the light on in his room upstairs. Your baby is in danger, he’s in danger--

Shoving the keys into the lock, you fling the door open, running down the entrance hallway and straight into the living room. Your living room is completely empty and you can see nobody in the kitchen or dining area. The house is quiet, not even the sound of your baby crying. Did they already get him? Is he gone--

“I would keep it down,” a voice calls from upstairs, “our son is sleeping.”

It’s not possible.

Halfway near tears, you numbly climb the stairs, afraid of what you might find.

You know that voice.

A single light fills the hallway from Aldynn’s room, and you hear not so much as a whimper from your babe. He knows he is safe, knows he is in no danger.

It’s not possible.

Reaching the doorway, Aldynn’s room is exactly as you left it, and so is your son. Not a hair out of place, his chubby face relaxed and asleep, entirely content in the muscular arms of the man who rocks him gently in his arms. With golden hair like your son’s adorning the man’s shoulders, there is no doubt of who is holding your child.

Blue eyes land upon you, twinkling with mirth. Pouty, pink lips pull into a taunting smile.

“Hello, my love.”

[literaphobe]

Im so sorry...is your sister a minor

yeah she’s 17. i really don’t blame her it just sucks. anyway i think i needed to work through this but its also way too long so 

lol like that was supposed to be my birthday gift but it has now become a romantic getaway for a man and his gf (who is 18 years younger than him) and my sister and one of her friends. at like. one of the most expensive hotels in the country. the same man who guilted me into giving private tutoring to 8 students at a time while i was a student because he apparently is super poor and has no money and no job. (i started tutoring for extra money and to just. have a job. because he has also given me shit about that before too. if i don’t have a job i’m like a useless baby child who he can never trust to be responsible for her own life. turns out that was just a load of bullshit to trap me. and yeah i was teaching 8-9 students at some point and i think i was like telling him hey i don’t know if this is a good idea. its a little crazy. and he was like no u should keep doing it. its money u should just earn it. we aren’t doing great financially and at some point we might need ur help paying for ur sister’s tutoring classes. and so i did and it hurt me SO much last semester. + covid but also. it was tutoring mostly lmao) 

anyway i just. the thought of everything made me cry a lot in the shower lol. like that. quiet cry where u are sobbing uncontrollably but u have to mute it as much as possible so that ur mother who’s washing dishes in the kitchen doesn’t hear it

today we had some ikea furniture delivered. and i was assembling it. and my mom told me “when we were married i was always the one putting together the IKEA furniture. ur dad would always get frustrated and give up” and then in the shower i realized that’s exactly how my dad treats me lmao. i am.... his ikea furniture

so like. i can actually trace the most recent incident of abuse i faced from him back to when. i allowed him to “help” me with my university degree transfer issues. u know. because i couldn’t do the coding degree he pressured me into doing. and wanted to do something else (i could’ve gone to my uni open house w my friends. who ended up entering the arts faculty. and i WANTED to do psychology in the arts faculty too. but my dad and his gf were there. and they just. told me if i did that i would have no future and no job prospects when i graduated. which is SO fucking funny because both of them individually. their grades were super fucking shit and they were never good enough to get into the school that i did. so they had no fucking business telling me what i should or shouldn’t do. but i didn’t know that because they lied to me. my dad lied to me about so many things to scare me into thinking i couldn’t do anything. and at this point in my life. they were still monitoring my internet usage. and there were restrictions set on my phone. mere. months. before i was meant to be a university student. even getting restrictions off my phone was a big fight i had to have. i bought my own laptop with money i made from this f&b job because i knew if i waited for them to get one for me i would be waiting forever. and i was just so fucking scared of them so i got a. ‘practical’ degree. and then slid off my adhd meds because even that felt like part of the trap they kept me in for years) 

i decided i wanted to do linguistics and become a linguistics major but my school wasn’t letting me. and it had been a year. so i let him and my mom get involved. which i had SUCH a bad feeling about. an awful awful bad feeling. i was right lmao. i should’ve known his involvement wouldn’t have done shit and would also. set me up for yet another Major Traumatic Incident. which i have spent the entirety of 2020 trying to avoid. do you know how stressful and tiring it feels to just like. every moment around ur own father is u just trying to walk on eggshells praying and hoping that nothing bad will happen. i tried so hard and it fell apart in the end anyway. he couldn’t fix this problem so he took it out on me

my school essentially texted us back saying “we get a shit load of transfer requests every year, even from students from other schools. ur grades from the classes u took aren’t good enough to justify a transfer” and like they were right. i had been off my meds. various things in life had happened. my commute situation wasn’t helping matters either (to and from was 2 hours each) and it has just. not been great. grandad passed away like 2 weeks ago or something at that point. which. may have been an underlying cause for the situation. or maybe he was always going to blow up at me and get violent and crazy. idk

anyway. i guess u could say it is ‘my fault’ for cutting off contact w my father n not speaking to him. but also. he threatened to throw me into a mental institute. and also. violently refused to let me leave the house so he could keep yelling at me. he physically would not let me. i yelled at him to just let me go but he implied that he would actually hurt me if i tried to get past him again. and he said all sorts of shit like he can be crazy too and he can be crazier than me which is something he’s said before. what triggered me to leave was. ok so in the beginning he was giving me the same thing he has yelled at me about over the years. i am super super fucking smart but i waste it all away on purpose and refuse to get my shit together and that’s somehow a personal attack on him. i can’t remember most of it by now. but anyway. i was tearing up and keeping absolutely quiet just waiting for it to be over so i could leave and go to another room. but then he started to. yell at me for crying. its so fucking ironic and weird because in a separate previous incident i was complaining about my school and how much it all was. and i was barely raising my voice but he was like woah woah stop being so emotional!!! as if he doesn’t regularly scream and shout and punch walls or whatever the fuck over the SMALLEST bullshit. anyway. he started to scold me for crying. and then he said ‘if you go out in the future and get a job are you going to cry like this too when ur boss scolds you? or are you acting like this because i’m family and you think its okay?’ as if. i have never had a job. as if i have never had to deal with a boss. bro i swear to fucking god. i am dead to most things now because of him. he can’t do shit. but. in the moment i found this so ridiculous and just SO fucking stupid that i left. i had had enough. i started laughing and i walked out and went to grab my bag so i could go. i didn’t. get very far obviously. and when my dad started threatening me i genuinely thought i was going to die. he was so angry and deranged that i thought he was going to murder me. my heart was going just. so so so fast. even tho i was just standing there. and i told him he was terrifying me (to which he said “GOOD”) and i just NEEDED to get out of this situation and get some space (to which he said “NO” repeatedly). he refused to admit that he would use actual violence to prevent me from leaving the house. he told me he would NEVER let me leave. which was fucking ridiculous. i stay at his house. 2 days out of the fucking week. he literally shoved me backwards so hard when i was trying to leave and he wanted to stop me. he also refused to admit that he used violence or was planning to use violence. i tried to point out this flaw in his logic to him. i said ur going to hurt me. he said no. i said ok then if ur not going to hurt me then let me walk past you and leave the house. he also said no again. and then our cousins rang the door at some point. so then he started to come to his senses. he was like. ‘the reason i don’t want to let you leave is because i’m afraid you’ll hurt yourself.’ which was so fucking stupid. i have NEVER threatened to hurt myself in front of him. i have never shared ANY thoughts of self harm in front of him. he’s the one who would get into massive fights w his dad and threaten to jump out of the window in anger (and i don’t even mean when he was younger. he would fight with his 93 year old dad. fucking stupid bitch). i made this clear to him that i was never ever planning on hurting myself. and then he said fine and let me leave. meaning i had to answer the door to my cousins in tears while he got to walk back to his room and lock himself in

he also. at some point during this argument, told me there would be consequences to me leaving. i guess i know those consequences now lmao. and like. i went home to my moms house. my cousins walked me there. i still haven’t told them. idk if my dad told them. my dad texted me to gaslight me. said that when he said he was going to put me in a mental hospital he meant it as a friendly suggestion because of ‘the state i was in’. and that it ‘wasn’t meant as a threat’ and like. oof. healthy suggestions aren’t meant to be yelled. anyway. i might be texting him. just to inform him about developments and to like. i guess set boundaries maybe. idk. i can’t carry on like this. i hate him and am terrified of him but. cutting him out of my life is basically inviting ostracism from his side of the family. and it’s putting so much stress on me. so. lol

[avengemebuckyy]

Be Careful

Summary: 

You tell Bucky to be careful with your heart. Too late he realizes you should have been careful with his.

or:

You’re awkward,odd, and not the most conventionally attractive yet you’re the only woman that Bucky sees

Warnings: manipulation 

Authors note: Back from the dead lmao. This is probably trash but I just needed to force myself to finish something it order to try to get back in the groove! Feedback is more than greatly appreciated, it’s what keeps me writing tbh...

PS. You ain’t shit in this lmao

---

You weren’t the most eye-catching. You didn’t look like the girls Bucky used to chase after in his younger years, or the girls on the internet he’d find himself staring at once he’d discovered Instagram, endlessly scrolling through picture after picture, lost in a sea of beautiful bodies and faces. You didn’t look like the tall slim blonde agent he’d always make a point to hold open the door for, or his neighbor’s daughter in Wakanda, who had had dark skin so smooth and a face so perfect he’d never managed to say more than two words to her.

You were slightly awkward, with a slightly odd sense of humor, always cracking jokes that sometimes no one laughed at but you. But you didn’t care, you would laugh at them all the same. You wore baggy clothes, and not the fashionable baggy kind either. Your favorite outfit was baggy camo print cargo pants and an old grey band t-shirt, logo so faded it was almost impossible to decipher.

At first Bucky didn’t pay you much attention. He wasn’t rude, but he treated you with the same gruff stoicism he treated everyone with. Well everyone besides Sam, Steve, and Natasha. Besides he only saw you rarely, you were a high level agent thanks to your skill, but you didn’t work closely with the team very often. Until you did.

One mission with Clint was all it took to have your name thrust forward when Fury was looking to fill a coordinator position. Suddenly you were everywhere. Coordinating their positions on missions, even going on missions with different members of the team. You fit in well with the team, your corny jokes and generally happy disposition make you easy to like. Your apartment was five minutes away, thanks to Tony, so you would often eat breakfast with the team and stay at the Tower well into the night, often crashing in a room designated for you, also thanks to Tony.

You were like a deceptively shallow river Bucky would think after. One minute he was wading through your shallows, next moment he was being taken under by your currents, realizing too late that he was in deeper than he thought possible.

It started slowly, you would make an effort to make conversation with Bucky, never seeming off put by his non answers. Bucky found himself coming to you with numerous questions on how to work social media, you would give such long winded explanations he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself with asking questions. Soon he found himself seeking you out for more than explanations. Funny thing is you were the one who introduced him to Instagram, to the  beautiful women on the app but eventually he found himself unable to see any woman but you.

Bucky found himself sitting with you at lunch, looking out the window in the mornings waiting to catch sight of your army green jacket. He’d sit with you in the afternoons as you did your paperwork, steal glances at you ,your forehead always shiny by midday with an almost ever-present patch of acne, eyebrows scrunched together as you filled out mission reports. He loved those quiet moments the most. Bucky wasn’t good with words, not anymore. But he would help carry the 10 pound boxes of paperwork, always bring an extra pen in case yours ran out of ink, and constantly would bring you your favorite Starbucks order. He secretly hoped that you would read the affection behind his actions.

You didn’t usually go to Stark’s parties, you’d rather go to bars and clubs with your friends.

“The crowd at Stark’s parties just aren’t my crowd,” you’d explained with a shrug, toeing the floor with your scuffed sneakers. Bucky had nodded in understanding. They usually weren’t his crowd either, but he’d always go to support Steve, who was pretty much expected to show face.

But for some reason you show up to this party. Four months into your blossoming friendship (and Bucky’s crush). Bucky wasn’t prepared for what you were wearing. When he heard the agents whispering about your unexpected appearance at the party he half expected to see you in jeans and a t- shirt. Or even your cargo pants. At the sound of your name Bucky zeros into the muttered conversation.

“Did you see her?”

“Yeah, damn.”

“Was not expecting that. Or her to even show up. Who knew?”

“She’s kinda hot, not gonna lie. In a weird way”

Bucky turns his head scanning the crowd, heart rate already picking up, fully expecting to see your sweat-pant clad form. He sees you alright. But not in sweatpants. A red dress barely covers your figure. Hemline way above the halfway mark of your thighs and twin slits in the skirt reaching up to your hips. A draping halter neck ties at your neck and completely exposes your back and gives a generous view of your tits. He catches flashes of the curve of your ass as you walk.

In hindsight the dress was totally in line with your character. You didn’t dress the way you did because you were ashamed of your body but rather because you didn’t give a fuck. Your hair is pinned up, one perfect curl escaping your updo and kissing your neck. Bucky feels his heart stop. He spies numerous heads turning as you languidly weave through the crowd in dangerously thin stilettos. You cozy up to one of your agent friends and the two of you drink, giggle, and dance. Bucky can’t take his eyes off of you.

When you head to the balcony he follows.

“Hey,” you say when you spy his shadow darkening the entrance to the balcony. 

“Hey,” he gruffs, in a tone he fears is too quiet. But looking at the curve of your exposed back suddenly has his voice dying in his throat. You turn back to looking at the city skyline. Bucky steps forward next to you. Close. Closer than he’s ever been to you, painfully aware of your arms brushing. He can’t fully feel your skin through the long sleeve button down he’s wearing but the touch sets him on fire all the same.

“Needed some air. “ He eventually grumbles. Trying not to stare at your profile. You look at him then, wearing a sly expression he had never seen on you.

“I’m sure you did,”

--

After that it doesn’t take long for Bucky to gather up the courage after that. Maybe it’s the way you had looked at him on the balcony or the way both male and female agents were sniffing around you at the party. All the same about a week later Bucky finds himself heading to your office in the afternoon as usual, but this time holding a bouquet of flowers.

Afterwards Bucky falls in love with you hard and fast. He finds himself doting on you, taking you out, bringing you flowers and other tokens of his affection. He hears the whispers, it’s almost impossible not to with his super soldier hearing.

“How’d she’d get him,”

“What an odd couple,”

“The Winter Soldier’s with cargo pants?”

But he still holds your hand in public all the same. Stops in the middle of training recruits to kiss you whenever you happen to cut across the gym all the same. Keeps a picture of you in his wallet all the same.

Bucky has never felt this amount of care and comfort from a person since...ever, even before, in his other life. You put his boots by the heater in the winter when he sleeps over so his feet won’t freeze when he walks to the compound. You listen to him, even when he’s angry, raging at nothing, or when he’s sad and sullen, taking minute long pauses in between sentences. Or even when he wants to do nothing but sit in silence and hold you. You especially listen when his words come fast, tinged with self hatred. You reassure him, holding him like he’s fine china. After many late night musings you give him with the best present he’s ever gotten, an impossibly soft kitten who’s uncharacteristically loud purr always grounds him. Bucky finds himself able to open up with you in a way he can’t with anyone else, even Steve. Bucky’s not good with words anymore, but with you he’s amazing. He can’t stop singing your praises, lavishing you with sweet words and adoration.

In hindsight it was a warning.

“Sweetheart, your wallet must be screamin’ for mercy, with you buying this cake nearly everyday,” Bucky says pinching off a piece of the lemon pound cake which is almost always at the corner of your desk. He recognizes the cake from a bakery across the street, and knows its nearly four dollars a slice. You stretch cracking your back, nipples poking through your shirt. Your ever present band shirt had breathed its last breath, and this new shirt is thinner and cropped, and hugs your body closer.

“Not really, I don’t buy it, Tommy hooks me up” you say, shooting him a smile and then returning back to your paperwork.

“Tommy?” Bucky says, and unbidden hot jealousy sears through his chest at the mention of your coworker “He’s always buying you these?”

“Yeah,” you answer, not looking up, and Bucky tells himself to remain calm, unbothered. 

He doesn’t.

Later after the subsequent fight and make up Bucky holds you as the two of you sit on his bed.

“I’m sorry,” He says again.

“It’s alright,” you say and somehow your simple words draw the truth out of him.

“I’m just...I- I’m afraid of losing you.”

“I’m afraid of losing you too,” you confess, then pause “Bucky, please be careful with me,”

Your relationship was easy, comforting. The two of you almost never fought, and never grew tired of being with each other. One blissful year turned into two and then five. It was like a dream and Bucky never wanted to wake up.

But reality eventually did.

How closely you guarded your phone should have tipped him off. How you’d constantly declined calls while the two of you were together. The way you almost always got ‘too drunk’ on girls night and would end up crashing at your friend’s place.

The first time it’s sixth months into your relationship on a lazy Saturday. The two of you had ordered pizza and planned to cuddle on the couch and have a movie marathon. You were in the bathroom when your phone had vibrated. Knowing that you would get a notification when the pizza arrived Bucky had looked at your phone. Bucky had felt surprised to see the name Dominos instead of an unsaved number pop up on your screen. Your phone didn’t show the preview of the text like his did. Your phone was still unlocked since you had headed to the bathroom but a few seconds ago, so Bucky tapped to open  the text.

Dominos: [Can’t wait to see you again, beautiful]

Bucky’s blood had run cold. He froze, only unfreezing when he realized you were standing next to him.

“We aren’t exclusive!” you had defended.

“What the hell do you mean?” Bucky had growled. At that your face had crumbled, eyes filling with tears.

“You never asked me to be your girl.” you had looked away “We never talked about what we are,”

“Whaddya think we’ve been doing these past months?!” Bucky had yelled back,

“ I don't know. I don’t assume Bucky. Because guys always seem to want to date me, treat me like their girlfriend and then turn around and throw it in my face that they never said I was.” your voice breaks and so does Bucky's anger.  He hadn’t been very verbal with you so far. It’s true he never asked you to be his girl, or even verbally on a date. He just thought you both knew. Guilt fills him at the sight of your tear stained face.

“I’m sorry I was just preparing for the inevitable,” you say and turn away. Bucky grabs your arm and pulls you towards him.

“Well, let me make it clear. I want you to be my girl. I want you to be mine and mine alone.”

Your expression is unfathomable as you wind your arms around his neck.

“I am yours.”

That night you stand in front of Bucky and  wordlessly slip out of your sweatpants and t shirt, rendering him speechless. With reverence Bucky’s hands trace your frame and his mouth follows. That night he worships you.

Later, you wrap your arms around him and whisper 

“I love you,”

 And Bucky knows that he’s done for.

“I love you too sweetheart.” he says, and later still when you’ve fallen asleep Bucky lies awake, stroking the soft contours of your back. He’s done for. And he knows it.

“I’ll be careful,” he whispers.

--

Reality had tried to wake Bucky gently. Through warning signs that should have been loud and clear especially to an ex assassin. But Bucky had accepted your half baked truths and excuses. He was too far gone off of the drug that was your love to heed the warning signs until reality slapped him- no choked him, awake.

His awakening came in the form of the sight of you on your kitchen counter, a man kneeling in between your spread thighs. The flowers he had bought you on his way back from his mission that had ended early drop to the floor. Bucky freezes. But at the sight of Tommy’s face, cheeks slick with you he loses it. Next thing he realizes that he has his hands around your coworkers throat. But your hand on his shoulder drains the fight out of him, and as Tommy scrambles out of the apartment Bucky crumples to the floor and sobs. 

“Why?” He asks and he realizes he’s not just asking about now, but about all the times he’s caught you cheating but didn’t have the strength to leave you. 

“Baby” you say and gather him into your arms. He wants to pull away, thrash, yell, but he doesn’t. He just melts into your touch. You make him weak. And at night when he thinks about your excuses and half truths he hates himself for it.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he says, sobs wracking his frame “Five years-did they mean nothing to you?”

“I’m sorry,” you say “I love you,” 

At this Bucky pulls away, standing. “Don’t fucking lie to me.” he hisses.

“I’m not,” you say standing “I might lie all the time but I’m not lying about this.” your eyes go soft at the corners, and start to water.

“No. I love you. I adore you. I’d give you anything-everything and you treat me like shit” Bucky spits, there’s a pain in his chest, his heart is breaking “And I just fucking take it, because you make me so fucking weak- and I hate it” another sob ribs from his chest. A part of him thinks  that this is his punishment. For all of the terrible things he’s done. Cursed to be in love with someone who will never truly love him back. He looks at you, your hair is in disarray, baggy t shirt, those fucking cargo pants around your ankles. He gives a bitter laugh “Who woulda thought that you would’ve been the one to make me weak.”

“Why? Because I’m not pretty?” hurt flashes across your face then your eyes go hard. Usually Bucky would have been quick to refute any self deprecating words, reassuring you how beautiful he found you, how gorgeous you were. But now he just lifts his chin and looks back at you with the same hard eyes.

“Well I know I’m not pretty.” you shrug, face going strangely expressionless “But you still fell for me all the same. More fool you.” you say, and after a moment continue. “We should break up.”

At this Bucky shatters. Because he knows deep down that even after all of this he still would have taken you back. He still wants to grovel at your feet and plead to try to fix your relationship. But instead he decides to finally choose himself and turns and walks out of the door and out of your life.

Year later he still finds himself looking at your picture in his wallet, the one remnant  of you he has left, that he can’t bear to get rid of. On lonely nights where he can’t sleep and can’t stand the coldness of his bed  he’ll trace the curve of your smile and wish that you had cared enough to have been careful with him.

Tags:@stephie-senpai@ayeputita@pixierox101@iamwarrenspeace@ dreamgirljere  @ufffg@pietrotheavenger @trinityjadec@abbytagg@wastedsummerss@turdblossommm@jimmyisfab@sev7en@hottrashformarvel @superbuckytrash@waidewilson@abbytagg @awkwardfangirl2014 @desir-ae

Bucky only @chamongangae@callmebucky-doll

[yikesharringrove]

the fic you wrote for my last prompt was amazing, ty 😭 can you do 50 + 56 this time please? and if you want to work in dyslexic!steve too that would be awesome! 🥰

You are speaking my fuckin’ language, dyslexic Steve is my ABSOLUTE jam. Honestly, whenever I write Steve, he’s dyslexic, although sometimes it’s not mentioned because it’s not important to Harry’s journey @ jk rowling

Thank you for your request! I’m really glad you liked the other one I wrote! You’re anonymous so I don’t know which one that is but I really enjoyed writing them all! Sorry for my manic energy rn.

Something a little different, it’s modern au! This is probably nothing like what you were thinking so I’m sorry, but I kinda love it ngl.

50: Secret Admirer

56: “I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended.”

Prompt list!

Billy spent three and a half hours reading through every single tweet on the account.

There were so fucking many of them. The earliest one was timestamped from four days ago, so obviously, this person had no life outside of tweeting.

Tweeting about Billy.

He had a few personal favorites. He had retweeted them to his account, figuring may as well play it up, make a joke outta everything.

@ImHardForHargrove: sorry WHOMST gave you the RIGHT to have eyes that fuckin blue im YELLING

@ImHardForHargrove: watchin u play basketball is a religious experience y are ur arms so BIG hhnnnng

And Billy’s absolute favorite, which he pinned right at the top of his account

@ImHardForHargrove: ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass

Billy knew he looked good. Knew he turned heads wherever he went. He did that on purpose. But realizing someone at Hawkins High had set up a thirst account for him, well.

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended.” Billy had explained the situation to Robin, letting her go through the account on his phone. “Like, It’s kinda nice, whoever this guy is, he’s got a crush. But also like, It’s kinda creepy. Plus he’s objectifying me,” Billy was talking through his sandwich.

Robin made a face of disgust. “Why do you keep saying ‘he’? All of the girls in this fucking school are practically drooling for you.”

“Hard for Hargrove, Robin. I know you’re like, revolted by the peen and whatever but that does not excuse a lack of basic sexual education and anatomy.” She gagged at him. Honest to God, gagged. He thought she was gonna spew all over the table.

“If I ever hear you call it a peen ever again, it’s on sight Hargrove.” Heather plopped herself down next to Robin, kissing her cheek before zeroing in on Billy’s phone, still in Robin’s hand.

“Have you guys worked out who it could be yet?” Her eyes were wide at Billy.

“Billy says he thinks its a guy even though people with penises aren’t necessarily men.” Robin gave him a pointed look.

“Yeah Robin, I know that, but, I don’t know I just think it’s a guy penis-having person.”

Heather narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you actually think that, or are you just hoping in that goblin little brain of yours that this account is Steve Harrington’s.” Billy could feel the heat spread down his neck.

“Billy, I know Steve is like, the only out guy in this whole fucking town, but you can do way better than him.  PLUS, I feel like it makes more sense if the person running this account wasn’t out and had to channel their gay yearning through social media.”

“First of all Robin, you have this vendetta against Steve that I don’t get. He’s a nice guy. He’s kinda dopey, kinda dumb, but he’s like, sweet and shit. Second, I’m not out, so it still could be him because he doesn’t think I would, like, accept his advances or whatever. Hence, gay internet yearning.” The chime of the bell sent them packing their lunches, Billy’s phone vibrated in Robin’s hand. She rolled her eyes when he realized he turned on notifications for the account

“Get a fucking life you loser.” She slapped the phone into his hand. He opened the new tweet with embarrassing zeal.

@ImHardForHargrove: i saw u talking with ur mouth full and it was yucky but i was still  🥺🥺

His head shot up, trying to see who would have been facing him during lunch, but the cafeteria was almost empty.

The rest of the week Billy took deliberate care of every interaction he had with anyone. Observing who was in his surroundings, and making note of everything he did and said. He took extra caution around Steve, wanting to spot any minute detail that could give away who ran the account.

The account started blowing up. People were retweeting like fucking crazy. Everywhere he went, he was being asked if he’s seen it, like he doesn’t regularly retweet the good ones. The search for the owner of the account had spread throughout the whole school. A few girls even tried to claim the account was theirs, but every time that happened the account would tweet out something to discredit whoever made the claim, proving them a liar.

Billy was starting to lose hope it was Harrington. The tweets were coming at all different times, posted whenever the person thought about it, so Billy was losing track of who was near when he said or did something. And the tweets were always about stupid stuff Billy didn’t register doing. On Wednesday night the account said

@ImHardForHargrove: hi when you chew on your pencil and it makes me 🥴 that is all thx for comin to my ted talk

Friday afternoon gave them all:

@ImHardForHargrove: walked past ur classroom and u were asleep ive never wanted to CUDDLE someone so bad in my LIFE

But Saturday, Saturday renewed all hope for Harrington Billy could possibly have. Lauren Kranz was throwing a party. It was the first real rager in a while, so everyone was there, and everyone was sloshed. Everyone but Billy, who’d agreed to be designated driver for Robin and Heather like some kinda idiot.

He was brooding on the back porch when his phone went off. The account was active, and the owner was drunk.

@ImHardForHargrove: I can seeeeee u oyt the windw I wan u 2 FUC ME. RAW DOG.

@ImHardForHargrove: srry ur so beauitiful nd THICCC

@ImHardForHargrove: I wana shoot my shot but idk if u lik bois

@ImHardForHargrove: (ys i am boi)

@ImHardForHargrove: nd i dont wana get my heart broken agin 😥

He was right about it being a guy. He was right about him being too nervous to approach him outright. His brain was screaming stevestevesteve at him. Hawkins was shook when Steve came out as bisexual in his sophomore year. He was the golden boy, a real jock. He was NOT the kind of guy people would assume queer in a small midwestern town.

He was kind of a douchebag, dumping one girl for another, sleeping with her and never calling again. But then he settled down with this guy from the University of Indianapolis for a few months until Steve caught him cheating. Apparently, he had slashed the guy’s tires. Billy was impressed.

The next year came Wheeler, who only stuck around long enough to make sure Steve was nice and whipped before she fucked off on him too. So Steve retreated. Spent more time with middle schoolers than anybody else. Didn’t want to put his heart on the line anymore until he knew it wouldn’t be stomped on.  Billy could respect that.

Billy couldn’t risk being out in a town like Hawkins. Word always had a way of getting right back to his dad, and in a tiny hick town with nothing better to do than gossip, it was usually only a matter of hours before Neil heard something he didn’t like.

@ImHardForHargrove: srry 4 bad typing rn. drunk nd dysl exic ren’t a happy combo

Billy’s heart stopped. The drunken idiot was giving himself away. Maybe if he sat here staring at the account long enough, enough would be revealed he could figure it all out like a shitty drunk episode of Blue’s Clues.

He was so focused on Twitter, refreshing his feed, again and again, he didn’t notice a very drunk, and very unsteady Steve Harrington stumbling out the back door towards him. Until he crashed into his back.

“Sorry, Bill!” Billy had Steve by the shoulders trying to keep him upright. “Heyy I have a question for you.” Steve grabbed one of Billy’s hands and veered over to the table and chairs arranged neatly on the small patio. When they were sitting, Steve kept ahold of Billy’s hand.

“Hi.” Steve was smiling like a little kid. Billy was in fucking love.

“hey, Harrington. What was your question.”

“So-oo. I have this friend. A very good friend. Super close. And he has a big ol’ crush on you but he’s too scared to ask you himself because he keeps getting his heart fuckin’ broken so he wanted me to ask. Are you into guys?” It’s a miracle Billy understood any of that, every word blending into the next.

“That depends.” Billy leaned in, running his tongue along his bottom lip. He saw Steve take in a sharp breath, following the movement with his glazed eyes. He knew Steve was talking about himself, he just wanted to rile him up a little. Make him blush first. “This friend you’re talkin’ about. He’s our age? Like you’re not trying to set me up with one a’ your kids, right?” Steve physically recoiled.

“NO, you fuckin’ pedo. I’m NOT trying to set you up with a fuckin’, fuckin’ middle schooler. My friend is, uh eighteen. He’s a senior.” Unless Tommy fuckin’ H. suddenly had a penchant for dick Billy didn’t know about, Steve was 100% talking about himself.

“Well, if he’s as pretty as you are, I’d love to go out with him sometime.” Billy winked. Steve went red.

“Okay, but like, does that mean you’d go out with me? Like I’m as pretty as me, right? Because I was talking about me. Not ‘a friend’ I was talking about me. Steve.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that out. You know, I was hoping it was you running that Twitter. Any time you’d tweet out something you wanted to do with me, I was always picturin’ doing it with you, Baby.” Billy was practically purring. “Especially all the shit you wanted me to do TO you.” Steve gave something between a whine and a groan and flopped himself onto Billy’s lap, straddling him with very little grace.

“Thank God. ‘Cause you’re so fucking hot I’d let you do anything to me. Anything, Bill.” Billy smiled softly at him.

“Then let me take you home. Let me put you in bed to sleep off all this. And let me take you to breakfast tomorrow. Something nice and greasy for your hangover tummy.” Steve was a puddle in Billy’s lap. “C’mon, Drunky, git your ass up.” Steve just giggled and muttered Drunky Skunky under his breath.

Billy sighed and stood up, hefting Steve up with him.

“Bil-ly,” Steve whined. “You’re so strong, this is so fucking hot. I gotta tweet about this.”

“Tweet it later, Sweet Thing.”

It took Billy for-fucking-ever to find Robin and Heather (they were making out in the basement with the stoners). But Steve chirped and cooed into his ear, so happy Billy could lift him and hold him like it was nothing.

The last tweet from the account was timestamped from Sunday evening.

@ImHardForHargrove: Hi this is Steve. Billy’s my boyfriend now 🥰#ThirstWorks

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

I’m gonna love you like I’ve never been hurt before.

summary: Could I request one where Richie plans an elaborate proposal for Eddie at their house with everyone invited and when he does, Eddie gets overwhelmed by the attention on him and runs upstairs to their bathroom with Richie apologizing before Eddie accepts the proposal?

A/N: I’m so sorry that this took so long I hope it’s worth it! I’m on a camping trip right now so to the two other request I have in my inbox I hope you don’t mind waiting a week, I’ll try work on it in the meanwhile! Let me know what you think. 

tag-list:  @richietoaster​​ , @s-s-georgie​​ , @mikeuris​​ , @gazebobullshit​​ , @that-weird-girls-blog​​ , @tozierking​​ , @s-onora​​ , @bellarosewrites​​ , ​ @ambitiousskychild​​ , @ghostnebula​​​​ , @cupcakeefrosting

‘Fuck, I’m so fucking stupid.’ Eddie complained to his own mirror image, pacing around the small bathroom he had chosen to hide in. He splashed water in his face, hoping to bring down the heating of his inflamed cheeks. The party downstairs had gotten suspiciously quiet after his performance, but he couldn’t fault them for that. 

Hopefully they all retreated back to their homes and leave Eddie and Richie to deal with the shambles of their relationship, if there even was one after this. Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if Richie decided to break things of with him. He could also start living in the bathroom, condemning himself to the life of a hermit so he never had to face the consequences of what he had done.

How does one relationship recuperate from something like this in the first place? Do any couples stay together after one of them rejects a marriage proposal? In all technicality Eddie didn’t reject Richie, but he did run off before giving any sort of response, and that’s as good an answer as any. If Eddie would have brought his phone with him, he would’ve looked up the statics of them surviving this ordeal on the internet, but his phone was abended on the kitchen counter. Fuck, Eddie didn’t want this to ruin everything he and Richie had worked so hard on to build, the one time he was happy and content and he had to go and fuck it up.

This is what he had dreamed of doing to Myra, not so the walking out clueless part, but the saying no. Eddie cursed himself at the alter for letting it get that far, but hadn’t had the galls to say anything about it in front of his mother and Myra’s family. So then why did he do this time?

‘Eddie are you in here?’ Richie asked from the other side of the door, voice uncharacteristically soft and sad, and Eddie mentally prepared for the; ‘it’s not you it’s me’, speech, except this one would go something like this; ‘it is, your fault, I asked you to marry me and you took off and that was an ego breaking and reputation imploding experience, so why don’t we do each other a favor and break it off now.’ The fact that he didn’t bother with Eds anymore installed a deep feeling of longing to hear the words from his boyfriends mouth.

‘Yeah Rich’, Eddie quietly admitted, digging the buts of his palms in his eyes to will the tears away.

‘Can I come in?’

‘Yeah.’

The bathroom tiles needed revamping, they were flaked with spots from Richie colored hair wash he dyed his hair with for a movie, but Eddie never inspected the place to ensure everything was spotless. He should have, because Richie lacks severely in the cleaning deportment. He compensates by being extra talented in cooking and taking Eddie’s mind of things, his workload or the manifestations of the abuse his mother made him endure. Eddie, is a perfectionist, and once he decided to rid himself from any and all influences of his mother, he loathed the little things he would subsequently enucleate, slipping in the way he surveyed Richie doing laundry for example, or the way he demanded a full list of ingredients from the waiter in full detail.

Richie knows precisely how to approach those moods and adjust him back on the right path, reminding him that it’s okay to sometimes mess up, recovery isn’t linear. Eddie didn’t know how to begin his life without Richie anymore.

“Eddie I’m so, so sorry, can you please forgive me?’

Eddie faltered, the words not exactly what he had lurked over and over again his head. ‘I – I’m… what?’

‘I don’t know what I was thinking, I assumed that because we’ve been dating for two years you wouldn’t object… but it was fucking wrong and I’m so extremely sorry. But hey, at least we now know the bachelor isn’t a roll for me huh?’ Richie tried, a smile so faint gracing his features. He was distraught and trying to make up for something that in no way was his fault, a pit in Eddie’s stomach settled and grew.

‘Rich, that’s not on you. It’s on me. I should never have walked away, I just – fuck I can’t think of what to say.’

He dropped to the side of bathtub, laying his head in his hands as he hunched over. Richie hesitated and then shuffled forward a step, slowly as if he was giving Eddie the chance to reject him and to tell him to go away. With a huff, Eddie circled his wrist and tugged him onwards, sliding over to make room at the edge of the bath. Richie took the invitation for what it was, and graced down next to him.

Eddie opened his mouth to say something, but his mind was empty, backtracking on the whole day and wishing he had a way of changing the past so he could say yes.

‘This is just like that one time in college where I spend the night at someone’s dorm, and his roommate took someone home too and the two of us hid in the bathroom the next morning waiting for them to leave so we could sneak out without being spotted.’

‘Really asshole? You’re talking about a previous fucking hookup after you proposed to me?’

That was the wrong thing to say, Richie dispirited away, head tucked in his shoulders, and legs crossing from the previous position they upheld being splayed out. He shrunk from 6.3 to the size of a middle school child getting scolded by the teacher, and Eddie shrunk right by him.

‘Richie I’m sorry.’

‘What do you have to be sorry Eds -Eddie. You have every right to say no.’

It’s not- I didn’t- I don’t say no,’ Richie raised his eyebrows in disbelief. ‘I’m serious, it was too much is all.’

The proportion of people present, the overuse of balloons in every open space in their house, heart shaped and gigantic, and Eddie kept impinging the damn one in the doorway to the kitchen. The only thing that stopped him from taking a knife and popping it was Richie’s manager, stationed by the it, a murderous look at everyone who tried to make small talk with him. The ring that must have costed thousands of dollars. Yes, Richie may be rich, but that didn’t mean Eddie only wanted extravagant and mind-blowing things, he was not that type of gall as Richie himself would word.

A twinge of panic martyrs Eddie, one of him being in the spotlight with Richie, fans yelling out their names and chasing them to take autographs, or paparazzi hiding in bushes to shoot the glamor shot and earn a quick buck of their backs. Too much attention, like today. Of his mother influencing him to ask Myra on a date and devoting her time and effort into tweaking adjust on Myra to make her a perfect bride for him, and Eddie finally stills whirlwind in his mind, deluding all the panic to a single point.

‘I hated the attention.’ Richie turns to face him. ‘I hate how people stare at me and judge me I can’t stand that from anyone besides our friends. All these people that were here tonight were so much more than just our friends, and I couldn’t stand that. I know it doesn’t make any sense and you’d never do that but I can’t stand the fact I’m basically fucking coerced into saying yes.’

The proposal could be boiled down to be a parody of the proposal Myra waylaid him. Her proposal, she was the one who bend down on one knees after a solid piece of advice from his mother, under scrutiny of all their gibberish speaking coworkers.

She showed up in a dress that Eddie claimed to absolutely have a penchant for, he really only said to like the dress because his mother told him he should, and broke down in weepy tears as she read off a love letter from some book she was reading at the time that didn’t apply to their relationship in the slightest bit. Eddie said yes, steered into it by the forceful stares and the face of his mother scolding him if he came home and told her he said no to Myra’s requested, and grew to hate the marriage because of it. But their relationship shouldn’t be a casualty because of a bad previous experience.

It’s not the same with Richie, but at some level it is. The whole setting was so unlike him he’s stunned Richie chose to do it in such a manor.

‘Shit Eds, that’s not at all what I was trying to do.’

Eddie cupped Richie’s cheek in his hands, stroking the skin underneath his eye, the same patch that always twitches right before Richie tipped over the edge in sleep, and smiles genuinely.

‘I know that Rich. Of fucking course I do, It just brought back bad memories is all. The balloons and the song were a bit much don’t you agree? Plus where the fuck did you find a ring so expensive this late in the game? I’ve been with you every second the last two weeks how did you find time to buy it?’

‘I wanted this to be special and exciting to you, a big romantic gesture to show to the whole world how much I love you, but I guess I failed. Just like I failed to go to the store and buy groceries, did I tell you that yet?’ Richie grimaced, the muscles in his lower face stretching back and a hissing at the same time. His face pulled in an ugly expression. The too bad was left unsaid.

‘Fuck you dude it was your turn to buy them, I texted you five times.’

‘Yeah, but I was busy planning everything, and I expected us to go out to dinner after in celebrations sooo,’ Richie drawled the oo out, ‘tough luck butternut.’

‘Okay and breakfast? Breakfast requires groceries too. I’m going to be hogging the toast we have left, finders keepers losers weepers.’ Eddie divines in the small semblance of normal between them, the push and pull they both live for.

‘Marry me’, Richie asks out of the blue, sliding of the bath and sinking on his knees in front of Eddie. The ring is tucked inside his back pocket, and he trails it out.

‘Are you serious? You still want to marry me after all that?’

‘Eds, I’ve wanted to marry you since I knew what the term marriage entailed, and I’ll want to marry you fifty years from now.’ Richie flushed, biting his lip to not let anything else stupid spill. ‘But don’t feel pressured, If you don’t choose to marry me now, or ever for that matter, that’s okay too. I just hope we can spend the rest of our lives together, as husbands or lovers.’

Richie scratched the top of his hair with the one hand he wasn’t using to hold the up the ring. ‘This the minimalistic proposal you’ve been dreaming off? Just the two of us, a semi normal evening, let erase everything that happened before this point today please, no expensive shit? Well, I guess the ring was expensive, but, it’s not about the money, it’s about the sentiment. It’s my dad’s wedding ring.’

‘Wait, are you for real?’

‘I’m trying to figure out what answer is more likely to get me laid tonight but you’re thinking face is making it hard to tell.’

‘Richie, that was the most coherent and sincere thing you’ve ever said to me, please keep going.’

‘Okay yes, it is. Back in Derry, after you and your mom took off with the sunset, I was missing you and my dad understood somehow. I didn’t explicitly say it, too busy making love jokes about your mom,  but he deducted it. That day my aunt came to harass my mom into modifying her wedding dress, and she conducted a whole storyline about how her fiancé asked her hand in marriage with his mother’s wedding band and that my mother should take an example of that, and I blared off at her. Later, my dad came into my room and promised me that if I ever found you again, he would relinquish his instead of my mothers.’ Richie tapped away on the side of the object, Eddie recognizes the beat of the number they had their first ever dance too, wondering how long Richie contemplated popping the question before doing so.  

‘Richie fuck, I love you so much. I need to profusely show my appreciation to your dad.’

‘Don’t talk about my dad when I’m on one knee Eds, a man’s, I’m the man in question, ego will be hurt. The question still needs answering by the way…’

‘If I say yes will you stop calling me Eds?’

‘… no, never.’

‘Well then yes.’

Eddie flew off the handle, crashing into Richie in a wild flurry of limbs and emotions, their lips dancing in a slow inducting dance, pirouetting him all the way to the bottom of his existent and then twirling him back up to become fully aware of his every part. Richie lead, decelerate and facilitating as he pleased. Eddie hunkered for this exhilaration, the burst of spine tingling pops either riling him up or drowsy with heavy eyes, depending on what he desired.  

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

Another peck and the two unstuck from the other, Eddie’s hand trailing the muscle of Richie arm to lead it to his hand. Richie beamed, tears glistening in the sunlight, as Richie slid on the ring with a steady hand.

‘I love you’, he whispered like it was supposed to be a secret, and Eddie parroted the sentiment twice as vigor.

‘So, just to make sure, this is not the story we’re telling our future kids when they ask how we got married right?’

‘Absolutely not, If they ever ask, you proposed in an intimate setting and I accepted on the first try.’

‘I abide to that.’

[whindsor]

gbbo au, part 1

i’ve been thinking about this for a whole year and now the au idea got even better so you know what, i’m just gonna do it, cause i miss mika and bucky A Whole Lot. this is completely self indulgent and unedited and just for fun. So here we go!

note: i’m not gonna add like, the real contestants on this season. cause like, they’re real people. and that’s a lil weird. 

another note: i have no idea how the competition is run, how the baking bubble works, or really what’s going on. i’m winging it and having a great time.

week one: cake week

This was, no doubt, the longest two weeks of her life.

Mika wasn’t sure how she, an expat from a little town in Romania, had gotten chosen for The Great British Bake Off. Or Bake Off, as everyone called it. Apparently, being in the UK implied the Great British part. 

Thanks to the stupid plague running rampant around the world, the contestants were invited to actually live at the Bake Off this year - at least, until they were removed from the competition. She hadn’t actually got to meet any of the contestants yet, since they were stuck quarantining in their little flats. They’d tested her when she’d first gotten there of course - negative, thank God - and every couple days since. She’d seen a few people leave under the cover of night, a car taking them away from the Baking Bubble. She wondered how many people were in the building, and if one day they would come in and tell her that sorry, you’re still negative for coronavirus, but you actually placed thirteenth in the ranking so you need to leave now. 

But then, she got an email. A wonderful, glorious email. 

Congratulations, Mika! You are a final contestant on The Great British Bake Off!

She wasn’t quite sure what it said after that - something about logistics and contacts and services and what not - all she knew was that she had to get to work. Now.

The next few days were a flurry of flour and frantic phone calls and internet searches, and as slow as the quarantine period had been, those few days flew by fast. She began to see inklings of other people then; one man got up and went for a run about the time she was sipping on her first cup of coffee. The woman next door practiced yoga on the balcony. At one point, a distinct burning smell emanated from the floors below her. They were all here, and all ready to bake.

She chose her outfit carefully. She needed to feel confident, but also comfortable. So she slid on jeans and boots, and eventually decided on a printed top her sister had given her, hoping it would remind her to just have fun. After all, Nicoletta was the one who signed her up for this in the first place, and was also the inspiration for her first Signature Challenge. 

Interviews were first. It was chilly outside, and just a little breezy, so she slid on a leather jacket. Her mother would hate that she wore it, but it was her favorite, and made her feel much cooler and more hard core than she actually was. Down the lawn, Morning Jogger was also in his interview. He looked rather calm and collected, with his flannel and man bun and hand tucked into his pocket. Lucky duck. She turned her attention back in front of her. The interviewer asked a few introductory questions to get her acclimated to the camera in her face; it helped if she just talked to him, rather than to the lens. He assured her that was just fine. 

“So, how are you feeling about starting the Bake Off?” he asked, finally getting into the nitty-gritty.

“Terrified.” she said immediately, giggling nervously after that. God, she hoped she came across as endearing rather than annoying. That road was a dangerous one to go down, so she took a sharp left. “But I’m so excited to finally get in there and see if I’m any good, or if my friends and family have been lying this whole time.”

That would be the nugget they used for her introduction. As expected, her mother wouldn’t care for it. But her sister thought she was cute and that her hair looked extra glossy, which was always a plus. 

She finally got to go into the tent, glad she’d chosen to wear sturdy shoes instead of heels because her legs felt like they were made of jelly. And not even the good jelly like she made - the jelly her friend Elena made, which usually ended up being more of a soak for toast. Morning Jogger was also there, stationed at the back right bench, tapping the fingers of his right hand against the butcher block surface. 

His left arm, however, was suspiciously missing.

Mika caught herself staring, her eyes flicking up to his before dropping with her chagrin. Get a grip, girl. It’s not like he was the first amputee she’d ever seen! Just the first on the Bake Off. She kept her eyes down as she went to her bench, which of course was right next to his. Dammit.

“Back of the class kids, huh?” he said. When she gave him a hesitant smile, he added, “It’s okay, I know it’s a shock.” His voice was quiet, but somehow still confident. She instantly knew that he was way tougher than she would ever be. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” she said, looking at him again and owning up to her mistake. He shrugged.

“It happens.” he said. He didn’t sound sad, or angry. It was just matter-of-fact.

“I’m Mika,” she said, changing the topic. “What’s your name?”

“Technically, James Barnes.” he said, then added, “But my friends call me Bucky.”

“Are we friends, James Bucky Barnes?” she asked with a perked eyebrow, amazed that she was able to flirt with someone at a time like this. Arm or no arm, he was very handsome. He smirked, apparently happy with her response.

“Perhaps not yet.” he said. “I guess we’re enemies for now.”

“Then are you ready to battle?” she said, trying to be extra dramatic in an effort to make his smile bigger. It worked. 

“I think I’m ready, but I feel like I’m forgetting something.” he said, glancing down at the place where he used to have another hand. She snorted in laughter once before covering her mouth with her hand.

“I feel like I’m not supposed to laugh at that.” she said, her voice muffled. 

“Please laugh, otherwise I’ll be too embarrassed to bake.” he said, his expression making her give in to the humor. Nerves also helped that, but she would never admit it. He gave her a conspiratory smile that she returned; now she understood how the contestants all seemed like allies. 

The other contestants trickled in, and Mika felt a weird sense of protectiveness every time people spotted his arm, or lack thereof. He took it all in stride; she wondered how many times a day he got looks like that. Of course, she didn’t have time to ask, because before she knew it, the judges and hosts stood in a line at the front of the tent, welcoming them all to the competition. She hadn’t realized that there would be a new host this year, and she was grateful that the hosts managed to break some of the tension in the room. Then, it was time for their first challenge.

Battenberg cakes.

Mika was not ashamed to admit that she had to Google what a Battenberg cake was. At first glance, it didn’t seem that difficult, but then she remembered that she was baking for two of the most respected chefs in the UK, and that she had literally no margin for error. That made it a little more difficult. 

They told her to bake, so she baked. She started whipping her butter and sugars, then added her eggs and flour and flavorings. She could see the judges and hosts making their way down the line, talking to the contestants and asking about their bakes. She tried to stay calm and collected, like Bucky next to her. His easy tone when talking to them helped to soothe her, especially when they brought up his obvious disability. There was no way their conversations would be the same, so she didn’t have to worry about comparisons.

“Hello there, Mika.” the female judge said with a grin. Mika gave the best smile she could manage, reminding herself to stay calm and somewhat focused. 

“Alo, how are you?” she said. Her accent was extra thick with her nerves. Dammit. 

“What have you got for us today?” the male judge asked after exchanging pleasantries. She took a deep breath, willing herself not to stumble over her words. She glanced over to Bucky, who gave her an encouraging smile. 

“Well, my sister has been my biggest champion, so this is for her.” she explained, dumping ground up freeze dried strawberries into half of her batter. “She loves strawberries and cream, so that’s what I’m making today.”

“Simple.” the male judge said, a little bit of surprise in his voice. Her stomach dropped to approximately her knees. It must have shown on her face, because the female judge patted her hand in a comforting manner. 

“As long as it’s done perfectly, it doesn’t matter how simple it is.” she said, winking behind her thick, bright blue glasses. Mika managed a hesitant smile.

“Right. Just perfection.” she said nervously, making them laugh. They bid her good luck and moved on to the next bench, the taller of the two hosts putting an arm around her shoulders and leaving an encouraging word before moving on. Okay, so all she had to achieve was perfection. That was fine. She shut out all the other distractions, barely hearing the time calls as they came. She focused on getting her cake in the oven, getting her marzipan nice and pink marbled, and making her filling. The cakes looked good when she pulled them out of the oven, and thank God they were done. Everything seemed to be going to according to plan.

“Twenty minutes left!” one of the hosts called. Shit! 

She quickly pulled her cakes from the tin; they were still warm, but they would have to do. She pulled her secret weapon - dental floss - out, and tried not to sweat as she cut the squares. She put them on the marzipan, put in her filling, and started the careful process of rolling it. When she managed to get the marzipan just right, she finally let out a sigh of relief. She glanced over at Bucky, curious as to how he was getting on. His movements were carefully coordinated and meticulous, and she noticed he used every square millimeter of his hand (and a little bit of his torso, which had a distinct line of flour and food coloring) to get things to move the way he wanted. Impressive. She turned back to her own work, whipping and piping some cream and artfully fanning out strawberries. With a minute to spare, she finished. 

Now for the judging. 

It was so stressful to watch the judges go from table to table, sampling the cakes and giving critique. Most of the contestants got glowing reviews, and only a couple had negative feedback. She held her breath when they got to her buddy in the back of the room, amazed that he could look so calm.

“Rosemary and lemon,” the male judge announced, nodding towards the cake. It was covered in a simple yellow marzipan, a few rosemary sprigs tied with a gold ribbon and placed on top. 

“An unusual flavor combination for a cake.” the female judge added, watching as the first judge cut a large square from the cake. The colors were a distinct white and yellow checkerboard, which was one of the requirements. Bucky shrugged.

“I wanted to try something different.” he said. 

“Bit simplistic on the decoration.” the female judge said, pushing the rosemary sprigs. Mika had thought it looked elegant, but she supposed that’s why she wasn’t one of the judges. 

“Decoration isn’t my strong suit.” he said, his grin widening at the vague look of discomfort they gave him. “I’m not particularly artistic. All left brain, I’m afraid.” That seemed to assuage their fears a bit, and they turned to the plates in front of them while Mika tried not to giggle at his jokes. They took a bite from the cake, both of their eyebrows raising as the flavors hit them.

“Wow. That is...surprising.” the female judge said. The male judge nodded. “The texture is just a touch tough, but for me the flavor makes it worth it.”

“Rosemary is very floral and usually does well with more savory applications, but it works really well with the lemon here. Well done.” the male judge added. They bid farewells, and Mika was so distracted by Bucky actually displaying an emotion (relief) that she forgot for a moment that they were coming for her. 

“Alright, Mika, your turn.” the female judge said. She had a very kind smile, despite her position.

“Remind us what we have here.” the male judge said. His gaze was very intense, and much more intimidating that when they spoke earlier. She cleared her throat, holding her hands together so they couldn’t see them shaking.

“Strawberries and cream, for my sister.” she said, keeping her answer short in case her English failed her. The female judge gestured to the bushels of strawberries and whipped cream all over the cake.

“This is a bit much.” she said. “I would have done the marbled marzipan or the strawberries, but to have both is a little...over the top.”

Mika’s stomach turned to stone. Now that she looked at it, it did seem a bit garish. She forced a smile and nodded. “Okay, yes, I see that now.”

“I like it. I enjoy extra snacks with my cake.” the host said, reaching out and pulling one of the strawberries off, making sure to take a large dollop of whipped cream with it before popping the whole thing - green and all - into his mouth. She was grateful for the humor, and for the bit of validation.

“Right. Let’s get to the cake then.” the male judge said, cutting a slice. Thank goodness the pink and white squares were perfect and distinct. First box ticked. She held her breath as they ate it, her vision starting to swim slightly when they finally looked at her.

“That is beautifully soft.” the female judge said, adding, “and the flavors aren’t overdone at all.”

“It’s very difficult to add freeze dried strawberries to a recipe and avoid a granulated texture in it.” the male judge said. “But you’ve managed to pull it off. I like this a lot.”

“I think I’ll have another bit before we go.” the female judge said, taking another forkful. Mika visibly sank in relief, her smile genuine this time.

“Thank you, thank you so much.” she said, slouching as soon as their backs turned. She glanced over at Bucky, who gave her a thumbs up. The gesture made her cheeks warm, and she returned the gesture before settling back on to the stool. Once everyone was judged, they were instructed to take a two hour break. Mika couldn’t help but hop over to the bench next to hers, a slice of cake on a plate.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” she said with a grin, making Bucky choke on a laugh. He cut her a slice as well, handing it over.

“I actually don’t really care for sweets. But I do want to hear what you think of this.” he said with a self deprecating smile. Her eyebrows shot up.

“Don’t care for sweets? How did you make it then?” she asked, taking a large bite of his cake. Dammit, it was really good.

“I have a few reliable critics. What do you think of the cake?”

“It’s terrible. You should drop out.” she said, mouth full of another bite. “I’m definitely not terrified of you.”

He laughed again, and Mika thought that he had a very nice smile. She would have commented on it, but figured that would probably be weird after meeting just a couple hours before. So she just let herself be ushered out of the tent and into an open area, with lunch plates all waiting for them.

All of them were carefully spaced around an empty fire pit. Some of the other contestants had grouped up a little, but Bucky was sitting on his own, his plate carefully positioned on his lap and a book perched precariously on his knee. Mika chose the seat next to him, giving him a warm smile when he looked up before turning to her own lunch. She was sure the other contestants were nice, but she was drained after the morning, and the thought of having to smile and socialize was not particularly enticing. She pulled out her phone, scrolling through recent news and reading the articles that interested her. Bucky continued with his book, though she realized it had been a long moment since he’d turned a page. She glanced over to catch him looking at her, his eyes dropping quickly once she caught him. She couldn’t help but grin...and also make sure that there was nothing on her face.

All too soon, they returned to the tent for the technical challenge. This was what Mika was most excited about; she could follow vague directions (one of the few helpful skills her mother developed), and had decently good instincts. Usually. The judges and hosts lined up, and when she looked over at Bucky before they spoke, she made sure to throw another smile his way. He grinned back, which was a better confidence boost than the well wishes from the judges and hosts.

Pineapple upside down cake? She’d seen it once, on an episode long ago. She remember thinking it sounded delicious - and then promptly forgot everything about it. She could figure it out, right?...Right? She glanced to Bucky out of the corner of her eye, and the man was still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Dammit, that was the look of someone who’d made this before. 

Whatever. She was smart! She had a degree! And she watched a lot of television! She could do this!

She started on the sponge, the easy part. It was the caramel she was worried about. The cameras stopped on her, the interviewer asking, “Are you familiar with this technical challenge?”

“I’ve heard of it, yes.” she said, giving them a nervous grin. It was still awkward to talk to the camera, so she instead focused on the man asking the question. “Have I made it? No. Have I eaten it? Also no. But it sounds good.” 

They gave her sympathetic smiles, moving on to talk to Bucky. She let out a breath of relief, knowing that now she could focus on the caramel. All she had to do was watch it. And pull it off at the right moment. And not let it crystalize.

Which is exactly what it did.

“Fuck a duck.” she muttered in Romanian, glad that she both hid in her native language and that the cameras were far away. 

“Watch your tongue.” Bucky said, also in perfect Romanian. She nearly dropped the pan of crystalized caramel, looking at him in shock. The cameramen noticed the movement, and carefully slid back to them.

“You speak Romanian?” she asked, shock evident in her face.

“Yes, I do.” he replied, and just hearing the language helped calm her in a weird way. The piece of home was exactly what she needed. He nodded toward her bench. “Fix your caramel.”

“Dammit!” Mika said, back in English now. She weighed out the sugar and water, putting it back on the stove. The cameras were still there, and the interviewer asked, 

“What was that about?” 

“He speaks Romanian! It’s very exciting.” she said, this time giving them a genuine smile. They quickly panned over to Bucky.

“How do you know Romanian?” they asked. He had a long knife in his hand, carefully resting the pineapple on the bench and managing to slowly, but expertly, cut it. 

“I’ve done a lot of traveling. I actually speak eight languages.” he replied casually. “Well, conversationally at least.” he added. He flipped the knife, laying it aside a safe distance away from them. The camera man gulped, and decided not to ask any more questions. Mika, realizing she should probably get back to her bake and not worry about Bucky’s life story, quickly turned to find, thank God, her caramel looked good. Pale, maybe, but good. It would darken in the oven for sure.

She carefully placed the pineapple and the cherry in the bottom of the greased tins, using a spoon to add in the still hot caramel. She had a fair bit left over, but she didn’t want to risk drowning the cake. So, she followed her gut and ladled in the sponge mix, putting them in the oven before she could think too much about it. Bucky, of course, was already pulling his out. Damn him. 

“Thirty minutes remain!” one of the hosts called, balancing a rolling pin on his head. She appreciated the humor, she really did, but she was very stressed right now and seeing a rolling pin in such a precarious position was not exactly helpful. She checked her oven; the cakes were probably halfway finished. There was no way they would be cool in time for her to put the cream...but she’d have to try. 

The last few minutes the cakes were in the oven, she whipped up the cream. If she was honest, she nearly overwhipped it into butter, but caught it just in time. As soon as the timer went off she got the tray from the oven, nearly sliding the tins off the edge. She gasped, nearly choking on her heart in her throat as she caught it just in time, placing the tray on the counter before putting her hand over her heart. 

“Slow down, Mika.” she said to herself, shaking her head for a second. Of course the cameras caught the moment - she could feel them pointed towards her - but she refused to look up at them. Her stress was through the roof, and if she was honest, she was trying very hard not to cry.

She started fanning the little tins, trying to get them to cool down enough to remove the cakes. “Fifteen minutes!” the host called, and she actually, verbally eeked and grabbed the closest cake. The cup was still ferociously hot, but she didn’t have time to think about burning off her fingerprints. Instead, she focused on getting the cakes out and onto the platter. The caramel didn’t darken like she hoped, but she didn’t have time to care. She was back to furiously fanning, trying to get it cool enough for the cream. She made the mistake of glancing over to Bucky - he was already putting little rosettes of cream on his, cool as a cucumber. Dammit!

“One minute left!” the host called. It was the moment of truth. She prayed her cream wouldn’t melt, swiftly piping it onto the little cakes. They smelled delicious for sure...would they be allowed to try one afterwards?

“Time’s up!” the call felt like a knife through her gut. They all had cream on them, but it was very hasty work, and definitely not her best. She let out a frustrated sigh, the little hairs that escaped her braid floating around her face. There was nothing she could do now, except wait to get judged. This time, the judges would not know who made which one...which could make their feedback all the more honest. 

“Well, well,” the male judge said, clapping his hands together. His eyes ran over the plates in front of him, his face already giving away his feelings. The female judge’s eyebrows rose over her thick glasses, as if she were surprised. Whether it was a good or bad surprise remained to be seen. “Right. Let’s get started.”

Mika watched in abject horror as they ripped apart every plate in front of them. The good ones were good, and the bad ones - luckily hers didn’t quite fit in there - were, well, bad. Bucky, of course, got glowing reviews. When they stopped at Mika’s, she held her breath.

“Caramel is too light.” the female judge said, poking at it with her fork. The male judge cut it in half, and even from a few feet away Mika could see that the cake was held together only by her dreams.

“It’s baked. Barely.” he said shortly, chuckling to himself. They took a bite, mulling it over for a moment until he added, “Not bad. If the caramel was a little more done on the stove and the cakes in the oven a couple more minutes, it would have been pretty good.”

Not bad. She could work with “not bad”. Hopefully. 

Out of the twelve bakers, she ended up placing seventh. Almost top half! Though she would have much preferred to place first (which was where Bucky placed), she really deserved to be much lower than her rank. At that point she seemed to be sitting in the middle of the pack, which was just as well with her. She just needed to get past the nerves of this first week. As long as she wasn’t the first one to go, she could do better. At least, she hoped so. Really, her goal was to make it to bread week. If she made it there, she would consider this adventure a success, and could go home happy.

The dismissal was such a relief that she forgot about the Showstopper challenge the following day. The bakers gathered their things, returning to the big house and heading for their apartments. Mika looked forward to a shower, some comfier pants, and one single stiff drink. She hanged back a little, waiting for Bucky to catch up to her. 

“Do you know where they keep the key to the liquor cabinet?” she asked, making him raise his brows.

“No, but I can pick a lock pretty well. And if that doesn’t work, I do have some whiskey in my rooms.” he said. He stepped back slightly, holding his hand out in a placating gesture. “Not that I - I mean, we can meet at a neutral place to share a glass, if you would like.”

Mika, not expecting him to get flustered that easily, busted out laughing. “You can relax. A drink would be nice, then maybe I can sleep a little before tomorrow.”

“I’ve got just the thing for that.” he said with a grin. He nodded towards the fire pit, where a groundskeeper was building a fire. “There, after supper?”

“Sounds good.” she said. A friend! She had an ally! She smiled, going to her rooms and rinsing off the day, cooking up a good enough microwave meal to keep her from dying and making sure any last minute preparations she needed for tomorrow were finished. Once she felt she’d waited an appropriate amount of time, she pulled on a jacket and went back downstairs. 

Bucky was already waiting at the fire pit, as were a couple other bakers. They were busy talking about the next day, and gave her a warm welcome when she arrived. Bucky looked up from his book, trying to hide his relief that she actually came to this little meet up. When she sat down in the chair next to him, he reached down and got a glass, handing it to her. He then retrieved his own glass and set it on the arm of the chair before getting the all important bottle of whiskey. She thought to offer to open it, but he wedged it between his legs and removed the cap with practiced ease. Clearly his injury was not new.

“Four years ago. War accident.” he said in Romanian, answering her unspoken question. Her eyebrows shot up and her cheeks warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the fire, but he didn’t seem to be bothered. He just reached out, filling the glass that she dumbly held out. 

“I’m sorry.” she said, not knowing what else to say. He shrugged, filling his own glass before recapping the drink and setting the bottle down.

“It’s fine. I’ve adapted.” he said, taking a sip. She did as well, if only to have something to do with her hands. “I’ve also learned over the years to just address it, rather than wait for people to be brave enough to ask.”

“Do a lot of people get brave enough to ask?” she said, genuinely surprised. Thanks to his easy going demeanor, she was able to relax into the conversation as well.

“Nope. But I do play this fun game with myself where I count how many times they glance at my shoulder during a conversation.” he said. With that admission, she had a strong desire to glance down at said shoulder, but stifled it. Luckily, the way his blue eyes danced in the firelight was distracting enough.

“Who’s the highest scorer?” 

“The guy at the local coffee place. Every time he looks up from the order it’s not at my face. It’s pretty impressive.” he said. “Kids are the best though. They notice and just screech about it.”

“Oh no!”

“Oh, yes. The parents are...” he paused, swishing his glass around and taking another sip for dramatic effect. “...so embarrassed.”

The whiskey, while not making her tipsy yet, certainly made her feel a little warmer inside, and she couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m short a limb, I have to have fun with it otherwise I’ll lose my mind.” he said, smiling even though his statement was completely true.

“Well clearly you’ve got a handle on it, so I think you’ll be okay.” she said, gesturing to the tent. A second later, she realized that he might think her choice of words intentional, and her own hand flew to cover her mouth. “I didn’t - that wasn’t -”

Thank goodness Bucky thought her reaction was funny. “Don’t worry about it. It happens so much more often than you would think.” he said. He settled back into the chair, and decided to change the topic before they got too in depth about his lack of an arm. “So what made you apply for this?”

“My sister. She actually sent the preliminary stuff in for me - without telling me.” she replied. After a few years living in the UK, it was nice to talk to someone besides her mother in her native language. “You?”

“Best friend. He did the same thing.” he said. Mika scoffed appreciatively.

“They’re made for each other, the meddling assholes.” she said, making him laugh again. 

“You said it, not me.”

“I guess I shouldn’t assume your friend is an asshole.”

“Oh no, it’s completely fair to assume he’s an asshole.”

“Then what does that say about us?”

Bucky paused at her question, then shook his head. “Dammit. I guess we’re assholes too.”

His tone was so dry that Mika couldn’t help but bust out laughing. Of course, the whiskey also helped with that. She was a little over halfway through her glass - not enough to be tipsy, but still feeling it - and knew that she would have to stop after the one. Bucky was almost finished with his, but he held on to the last few drops, if only for an excuse to stay and talk with her. 

“But we’re assholes who can bake.” Mika said, toasting him with her glass. He tapped his near-empty glass against hers, taking just the smallest sip so he still had some left.

“Allegedly. We may find out tomorrow that we can’t.”

“You’ve already beaten me in both challenges. How in the hell did you make such good pineapple upside down cake?” she asked, putting just the right amount of incredulity in her tone so he would think she was kidding.

“I dated a girl from the South once, in America. You’d be surprised the crazy things they can cook up.” he said. Mika leaned onto the arm of her chair, resting her chin on her hand.

“Oh, that sounds like a story.” she probed. He shook his head.

“Nah, we had a good run and then it ended amicably. We were just in different places in life.” he said. “But way to pry about my love life on the first day.”

“It’s a gift, what can I say.” she replied, though she could feel her chagrin creeping up the back of her neck. 

“So how did your last relationship end?” he countered, noticing too late that he’d accidentally finished his drink. But that didn’t mean he had to leave. Mika let out a bark of a laugh, followed by taking a gulp of her drink.

“Terribly.” she admitted. His face dropped, and then it was his turn to be embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-���

“Don’t apologize, it’s all good now.” she said, just a touch too easily. “Cheating bastard is off in...Greece I think now, after being dumped by the other woman. And I’m participating in the biggest baking competition in the world, so I think I’m winning the break up.”

“That you are.” Bucky agreed. He eyed his own empty glass, as well as Mika’s. Were this any other time, he would offer another one. As if Mika read his mind, she gave her empty glass back to him.

“Speaking of which, we should probably sleep well before said competition, right?” she said. She didn’t want to go inside. She wanted to stay out here and chat with her back row buddy. But they did technically have a competition to worry about.

“It’s not a bad idea.” he agreed, taking the glass from her. He made sure the cap was tight on the bottle before pressing it and his book under his arm, holding the two glasses in one hand. Mika thought she should offer to help, but again he did everything with such ease that she figured he would not see the offer as help, but pity. And perhaps, at this point, it was. 

“Not my worst by far.” she said, standing up with him. They bid goodnight to the other bakers still out there, then went back inside, splitting off to their separate rooms. Now that she was alone, all she could think about was the next day. She should have just stayed out there, she probably would have been better rested than the meager sleep she got that night.

The Showstopper challenge was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Art was not her strong suit, so creating a bust of her favorite celebrity hero was something of a nightmare. The preparation required many trials, many failures, and many crying FaceTime calls to her actual artist sister, asking for help. 

But now she was in the tent, with no access to her cell phone and halfway through a challenge that might be her undoing. She’d claimed that she was making the likeness of Lady Gaga, and she’d chosen her both for the wonderful message she sang and for the good she was trying to do in the world. And also because the woman loved to dress differently and abstractly, which would maybe give her a bit of artistic license. Maybe. Hopefully. 

The cake part was easy enough. It was her favorite chocolate mocha cake recipe, with mint buttercream frosting. It was something she’d made a hundred times before, and since it went smoothly, it lulled her into a false sense of security. But now it was the time to decorate, which was no doubt the very worst part of all of this. She didn’t know how anyone else in the tent was doing; at this point, she was doing her best not to break down and cry. 

“How’s it going?” one of the hosts said, coming over and putting an arm around her shoulders.

“Well, it could be worse,” she said, her voice wavering and her accent thick. “But it also could be a lot better.”

“Mix the optimism with the reality, I dig it.” he said. “So far, it does look like...a human.”

“That’s a good start.” she agreed, laughing slightly.

“Which human is it supposed to be?” he asked lightly.

“Lady Gaga?” 

“Ah yes, I totally see it.” 

“No you don’t.”

“Well it doesn’t matter if I see it.”

“But if you can’t see it, how will the judges see it?”

“Stop being smarter than me and work on your cake.” he said. They stared at each other for a second before she gave in and giggled, shaking her head.

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s the spirit.” he said, giving her a brotherly punch on the shoulder before wandering off. Okay, maybe she could do this.

“Half an hour left!”

There was no way she could do this.

But she was sure as hell gonna try.

She tried to remember everything her sister told her, and while she could definitely see the difference between what she was making and what it looked like in her mind’s eye, it was kind of, almost, slightly reminiscent of the pop star. When they called the time, she wasn’t completely happy with her cake, but she had to admit it went better than she thought it would. Of course, all that optimism went right out the window when she was called to bring her cake up to the judges. The silence as they took it all in threatened to smother her, and she took a deep breath to try and hold herself together.

“Well, I can see the Lady Gaga.” the female judge said, though she didn’t quite sound like she believed the statement.

“Or someone like it.” the male judge had to say, taking what little was left of Mika’s confidence and throwing it right out the window.

“She’s very eclectic, so I tried to emulate that.” she said, gesturing with her hands until she realized they were shaking, then clasping them in front of her so they wouldn’t notice. They laughed appreciatively, admitting that she wasn’t wrong. “I promise it tastes infinitely better than it looks.”

“Infinitely, eh?” the male judge said, piercing her with her eyes before piercing her cake with a knife. “And this is mint chocolate mocha, correct?”

“Yes.” she said, taking in another sharp breath before she passed out. It seemed to take them a thousand years to eat it, both of them raising their eyebrows in surprise.

“I expected it to taste like coffee and toothpaste, but it’s very pleasant.” the female judge said, taking another bite for good measure. The male judge nodded in agreement.

“It’s not something I would normally expect in a cake, but you’ve managed to pull it off spectacularly. The cake is tender, and the buttercream isn’t overly flavored. Very well done.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” she said, honestly lightheaded after the whole thing. She collected her cake, going back to the back of the room. Only then did she look up at Bucky, who gave her an encouraging smile and nodded towards her cake. She sent back an exaggerated relieved face, though she still wasn’t sure if she would make it past the first week.

Bucky was next, and though she didn’t know the person he’d chosen, she had to admit that his artistry was much better than hers. She supposed she should feel bad that he had clearly beat her in that category, but after their moment of friendship the night before, she found herself rooting for him. 

“This is impressive.” the male judge said, with an unspoken even despite your disability. She was glad they left that bit off. 

“Thank you.” Bucky said softly. He still exuded his quiet confidence, but she could see his thumb picking at a thread on his shirt. 

“And this is fondant?” the female judge asked.

“Marshmallow fondant. It’s a little more forgiving.” he said with a wry grin. They seemed to appreciate the joke, but not for long before cutting into the cake. It was a spice cake, he said. With cream cheese frosting. Since he didn’t care for sweets, Mika wasn’t surprised that he went for something like that. She also really wanted to try it whenever they got finished.

“Hm. I’m getting too much of...something.” the male judge said.

“Allspice.” the female judge agreed. Bucky’s shoulders dropped the tiniest bit, though his face hid any emotions. 

“The texture though is spot on, and the icing goes very well with it. Decoration was great. Just watch your spices.” the male judge said. Bucky nodded, picking up his sculpture and bringing it to the back of the room. 

“You’re fine.” she whispered, waving him off like of course he was. Then again, they liked his signature and he won the technical, so he really was fine. He gave her a twitch of a smile, settling back onto his stool to watch the rest of the judgements. They thought they might chill out when the judges went off to deliberate, but everyone just seemed more tense.

“Relax.” Bucky muttered, watching Mika pace up and down the back of the tent.

“Relax? How can I relax?” she asked. “My cake was decent, but I can’t decorate for shit and my technical was terrible!”

“You’re fine.” Bucky reiterated. “I’m not losing my back of the room buddy. I paid them off to pass you through.”

“Asshole.” she said, making him laugh. She paused. “Did you really?”

“I can’t afford that, I’m sorry.” he said, making her groan.

“I’m gone. I know it.” she said. She wanted to think that she was the middle of the pack, that she could make it, but she was also deathly afraid that she missed something.

“Well, let’s find out.” he surprised her, drawing her attention to where the producers were lining up their stools. Mika gulped audibly, following Bucky on numb legs and sitting down. She crossed her legs, pressing her hands in between them to hold them still. Next to her, Bucky positioned his leg so his knee was gently touching her thigh - a bit of comfort as they awaited judgement.

In the end, she was neither Star Baker, nor sent home. Relief immediately washed over her, her shoulders sagging as exhaustion from the past two days piled onto her. “Holy fuck.” she muttered, covering her face with her hands. 

“And we’ve got to do it again next week.” Bucky said. She dropped her hands, looking him dead in the eye.

“What in the hell have we gotten ourselves into?”

[nostalgic-pancakes]

Room 73- Chapter 3/8

The ghost is spoken to, but we also see more character trauma. (at least Virgil and Logan are having an okay time)

Pairings: Implied Thomas/OC, implied sibling-y c!Terrence and c!Valerie, sibling-y Analogical, Creativitwins and Moceit, platonic DLAMPR (soon to have a T in it!), and Romantic husbands Remile! (Also married parents but they don’t have names yet)

Read on AO3!

Word count: 2217

Warnings: References to shifty parenting, unhealthy relationships with food, depression, and of course, the general angst that comes with being yanno... dead for about a century with implications of period-typical sexism and the fallout that death has on your loved ones. Stay safe!

Other notes: Hi! I know this is sooner than usual (and also a bit shorter than usual) but I really wanted to get this out early, because there's two other things I'm working on! A c!Thomas-centric number+1 with friends and side interactions, and a Cartoon Therapy oneshot collection (with only cartoon therapy characters! no sides!) that has found family, Dot and Larry VS the internet, and everyone punting mitchell in the face because he deserves it. You can vote for which one you'd like to see posted FIRST on here! 

Now, sorry for that wall of text- here’s the chapter!

——————————————————————————–

Thomas didn’t have anything even remotely resembling a clue as to how he just did that. He hasn’t been able to so much as move for decades, now. Almost a century!

(The only reason he still knows the time is because classrooms date the boards. Everett is 96, Val 95, Terrence 87. )

But somehow, somehow these highschool kids around Thomas’s (? do ghost years count?) age managed to hear him hiss, and now he can talk to them.

In the words of that one kid here in the fifties who was usually half seas over, “ fucking shit!”

The one with the glasses (Logan? Or was it Nico? Naw, Logan.) is still tapping on the funny small glowing box. A phone, or something. (It looks too small to be a telephone, and it has no wires, but the future is pretty crazy!) and the other one, Janus is looking at the space that he inhabits like it’s on fire. Whatever else is happening today is happening, but the corner that Thomas lives in is definitely not on fire, that’s for sure.

Janus begins to step forward a bit, towards Thomas (!!!), and attempts to touch him. His hand goes through, like most things do (bar the occasional stray acid droplet, but they don’t burn anymore) and he pulls it back slowly.

Logan clears his throat, looking up from his ‘phone’ and at Thomas.

“Hello.” he says cautiously, not daring to hope. But Thomas can’t get the words out anymore, it’s like the single work took too much out of him to say it back. So he tries hissing in the morse code that Daddy taught him and (and he taught Val, because she’s amazing, woman or not) hoping, hoping they’d figure it out.

.... .. (hi)

Janus looks confused, but Logan lights up immediately, tapping frantically on his ‘phone’, until it shows something with morse code translations written on it.

“Could you possibly repeat that?” asks Logan, and he’s beaming, and that face is now one of the nicest faces he’s seen since he died. So Thomas tries again. It saps a little energy out of him, but not enough to really be an issue. Not like talking.

“Hello there, uh… do you have a name?”

- .... --- -- .- ... (Thomas)

“Thomas. That’s a nice name. Is it alright if we ask what year you ar- were from?” That question was unexpected, but one Thomas was willing to answer.

.---- ----. ..--- --... (1927)

“Nineteen twenty-seven”. Huh. Wasn’t this part of town a boy’s military school at some point back then?” asks Logan, and Thomas hisses again to signify the yes. He was a student there, under Pop’s behest, while Val stayed home to get ready for being married, even though she was all of eight years old and barely old enough to start her midwife training with basic first aid.

He wonders if she ever got to join the Red Cross like she’d dreamed to do. He hopes so.

Logan’s still asking questions, but Thomas is getting tired again, and the extra clarity letting him reminisce about his family is not helping at all. He makes a series of somewhat weaker clicks, trying to convey he’s tired, and Janus seems to pick up on it, patting Logan on the shoulder and motioning at the door for them to leave, citing a ‘Virgil and Patton’ (brothers?) as a reason to go soon, anyways. Logan huffs a bit, though clearly as a jest, and they say their goodbyes, probaby, based on their hand movements, but by now, Thomas has faded enough to lose a bit of track.

…

“Hey, Val.”

'___'

“Yeah, this is a gravestone. Didn’t expect you to reply. Well, I was always the talkative one before,a dn I can do it again.”

'___'

“So uh, Hey! It’s me again, Terrence, coming with the daisies as usual. I can’t believe that it’s me doing this, ya doof. It was supposed to be you, Val.”

'___'

“Yeah, I guess I should go back soon. Everett’s cold isn’t getting better, nor worse. I wonder what you’d do.”

'___'

“Yes, love you too. I hope you, Barry and Linda are doing alright up there. We’ll… probably see you soon anyways.”

'___'

“Hey- tell Thomas we said hello, and that we still miss him. All the time. Eighty years should be long enough, but it really isn’t, is it?”

(Tommy isn’t here.) …

“Okay, so you’re saying that the ghost, a literal ass ghost--”

“Language!” chirped Patton. It was starting to become routine. “Sorry Pat but okay, so a ghost talked to you over morse code??!!” Exclaimed Virgil, his tone getting more and more excited by the syllable.

“Yes, I literally just said that Virgil.” huffs Logan, pressing his knuckles to his temple. He loves his twin, but times like this really test his (already dwindling) patience with shenanigans.

“Okay, so what did he tell you??” asks Virgil, looking almost starry-eyes with the sheer level of excitement. It’s been a while since Virgil was this excited about something.

Logan clears his throat and taps Janus’s shoulder, taking him away from something he was talking about with Patton, which was involving hushed voices of some sort. Janus extracts the notebook from one of the many, many button-up pockets in his cloak (Patton is good at economical design, whie Janus handles the drama), after scrambling around for a few seconds trying to locate first the book, then the page, handing it to him very quickly before jumping right back into his conversation with Patton. Logan is mildly perturbed by this action, but tries to ‘roll with it’, as Roman would say if he took the bus.

“His name is Thomas, or at least we’re relatively sure that he’s a he, and he died in nineteen-twenty-seven. He was a student here back when the plot of land that is now Haley-Dove lower and upper secondary was a boy’s military school. He began to exhaust himself around here, so we dropped the questions.” Virgil nods, perusing the notes, scribbly as they are that Logan’s made as if they were a short story written by an author he really respects, like Leigh Bardugo, possibly. It makes Logan oddly happy to think about it that way. Virgil’s eyes keep widening over the course of his reading, to levels that are almost comical. Janus and Patton’s conversation has gotten a bit louder, but not enough to hear, still. At the moment, he can’t really bring himself to care. In the end, the bus stops before Virgil can finish reading, so Logan gives him the navy-covered notebook to keep for now and return for dinner, with the instruction to add in his own commentary and ideas on a different page.

Patton and Janus leave the bus last out of everyone, looking rather perturbed and avoiding each other’s gaze, though they’re still clutching each other’s hands tightly. Logan will likely ask what happened on Monday. For now, Amma is at the bus stop, waving at them. She’s the only Indian woman on the stop, so, decently easy to see. Amma picks up Logan’s bag, even though he’s insisted for years that he’s “adjusted accordingly for years, and does not require any assistance!”. Amma usually just retaliates that he shouldn’t need to get used to something with a rather strange expression, but he’s digressing now.

(She started saying it after middle school, and everything that happened there.)

“Hi!” she exclaims, while taking Logan’s bag. Virgil just has his laptop bag and notebook, with his headphones around his neck. They both smile the same.

“Hey, Amma. How’re you doing?” Practiced. Synced. It works every time, as Amma’s grin gets even wider, causing Virgil to start stimming with his ring and Logan to start flapping his own hands.

“Sooo- how’s your day? I see Logan’s notebook with you, V!”

“It’s for a…” Virgil looks at Logan, quietly betraying the fact that he has no clue what to say. Logan indicates to the lizard along the cobblestone path, and his twin’s expression changes into dawning comprehension, as he quickly finishes his sentence.

“It’s for a report on Lizards, Amma, that I’m doing with Remus. You know, Roman’s brother?” she nods, and then smirks.

“Oh, you mean the boy you have a cruuuuuusssshhhh on?” she teases, and Virgil goes red immediately, batting her hand away from his hair, where she was ruffling it.

Wait- how did Virgil have a crush on Roman? They had been friends for all of two weeks, and did not display any crush-like symptoms such as reddening of face, gushing about the crush for hours or purposely trying to get into more situations with the crush, or even doing simple things like taking an obnoxiously long time on singular texts. To his relief, Virgil shakes his head.

“No, it’s not a crush. He’s a good friend, but no.” he says, a bit more seriously, but not dismissively. To Logan, because Logan can hear those things, he says “Not yet.” Logan does not bring it up yet, because it feels like Virgil might need some process time for that, and besides, they share a room. Logan can grill him later, when Virgil is willing to be teased lightly. Or well, he hopes he’s light enough.

…

Mom and Dad are fighting again.

It’s not like the walls are soundproof, no matter what they seem to think. The argument is pretty typical. Small issue begins with civil conversation, becomes slight aggression as two very different people are unable to see eye to eye, and then someone in the middle of a bout of particularly aggressive mood makes an attack on personality, and then it’s all ‘fuck off’’s and crying.

Yeah. it’s a thing. But Remus and Roman know what to do- it’s the fight law. Headphones on, loud playlist on, door shut and internet in full use to avoid the fact that their parents are incapable of shutting the fuck up. This is fine.

Actually no, that’s what Roman says, but Remus knows it isn’t. Roman’s just too scared of conflict by now to bring it up. And who’s fault might that be, huh? (okay, so maybe Remus is a bit resentful.)

Whatever. It’s not like they’ll stop if he and Roman tell them. They’ve tried before.

The problem is that they’re good people. And parents. They definitely try to be the best parents possible. But Remus (unlike Roman) has never had the illusion that his parents are gods, only to have that slowly broken down over time to see his parents as people. They’ve always been people to him- people who try their hardest, but also fall flat in other areas, areas that also happen to be important.

But he should probably make his way to the kitchen to make some fruit salad. Roman probably isn’t going to eat anything else tonight, with how he seems to be doing. Otherwise, those stomach acids are going to gargle and gurgle till they consume his stomach whole! (it doesn’t feel fun to imagine that, so he stops)

(he’s so angry that those idiots thought it was a fucking joke. It’s something he and Virgil agree on, for sure.)

And if Remus tears the granola packet wrapper a little too harshly? Well, it’s not like anyone’s going to hear it at this rate.

…

Patton and Janus aren’t talking to each other, which is probably the one thing he never expected from them.

But they aren’t, and it’s becoming more concerning by the hour. They’re still hanging out together, currently working on one of their sewing projects- embroidering a hoodie in protection sigils as a paid commission for the witch’s girl, and they seem okay in each other’s presence, but they aren’t talking to each other. Just making overly meaningful eye contact, and looking away as quickly as they met eyes.

Patton in particular seems to be pretty upset, as a marked difference from his usual demeanor. He’s pricking his fingers left and right, something that never usually happens, choosing to hand stitch rather than go ahead with the sewing machine that he got for christmas, which was being used by Janus for the moment. In fact, Emile was about to get him some bandaids when he overheard them speak to each other for the first time since they got back.

“Pat, you can’t keep it in forever. You can't. It’ll kill you.”

Patton isn’t replying.

“It almost killed me, Pat please, please just… say something.” Patton does say something after that, but Emile can’t hear it, and he doesn’t feel like it’s something he’s meant to hear anyway. Janus lightens up after that, and Patton starts talking again, monosyllabically and softly, but Janus seems so relieved, that that must be a good thing.

Emile goes, heart heavy, and decides to speak with Remy about the best ways to show that they’re there for Janus and Patton. They’ve only been living with him for a few months, but they feel like their kids, and Emile (and definitely Remy- he’s the ultimate parent-friend) wants the best for them, and for them to be happy. They didn’t deserve the lot they got.

Hopefully, he and Remy can prove that yes, some things are

[seven-oomen]

Me again, courtesy of my being off today, and also perpetually having fannish thoughts!  First, can’t wait to see what you come up with for the whole Dean/Chris thing (…that sounds weird, but you know what I mean.)

Second, if you are taking votes on the subject, I vote DILF Club for the whump prompt (because I will ALWAYS vote them on pretty much anything).  Most logically I could see it being Chris or Noah suffering from a combo of possible concussion and hit of pain drain, leading to accidental confessions of feelings, thoughts of not being good enough, or other angsty trauma issues of your choice.  Or for pure comedy gold, either of them in the hospital suffering from both previously mentioned things plus maybe a hit of local anesthetic, and Melissa getting WAY more detail about their sex life than she EVER needed to know.  If it’s Chris, she gets the benefit of giving him shit for the rest of his natural life in the way that only your bestie can, if it’s Noah, she can also give him shit, and possibly compare what she hears to things she remembers being told by Claudia (actually…depending on what kind of details Chris shared this could work for him, too…)  Although, the thought of a delirious Peter trying to hit on both his husbands because he forgot they’re married (or dating, or whatever) also has some serious appeal.

And third, I love the idea of knitter Cas, but I would like to offer up the suggestion of Dean taking up crochet before he moves to knitting.  It’s basically just tying really small, elaborate knots with a hook, so I feel he’d understand the process a little better at first.  Sort of like a gateway craft.  XD  And they could make each other things from the same yarn so they coordinated without going full on matchy-matchy, which I feel would be one of those WAY in the future things if it happened.  And he could more easily drop it if he needed to have his hands free for defense or something without worrying about stitches falling off the needle or anything.  (Am I thinking too hard about this?  Probably, but who cares?)

And not to be depressing on main or anything, but I suspect the lack of extra siblings in TW is partially linked to the prevalence of single parents.  But it’s definitely weird.  What few siblings there are, are mostly dead or missing.  Maybe the imaginary Martin sister was my brain trying to fill the blanks there, so to speak.  ’>.>  I also feel like the majority of multi-child families feature werewolves/shifters, whether born or turned (the Hales, both generations, Isaac, Boyd, Malia, Hayden, Brett & Lori, Ethan & Aiden.)  I don’t know that it necessarily means anything, but it’s interesting.

Also, as someone who regularly forgets to eat until at least one or two o'clock or later on their days off, I’m certainly not going to judge you for it.  XD  Best vibes for your writing!  Take care!  *Hugs!*

I probably shouldn’t have had that wine because I didn’t eat much today and one single glass is sending me right now. But also I’m 29 and have no job due to disability and 2 days of loneliness. So whatevs. Anyway.

Dean/Chris things has been posted, I feel proud of it. Although I’m not sure what sort of a value it has except headcanon. Idk if I contributed anything or just randomly rattled my thoughts into the internet, but well, I was distracted for a few hours and I had a surge of dopamine I guess.

Second, if you are taking votes on the subject, I vote DILF Club for the whump prompt (because I will ALWAYS vote them on pretty much anything).  Most logically I could see it being Chris or Noah suffering from a combo of possible concussion and hit of pain drain, leading to accidental confessions of feelings, thoughts of not being good enough, or other angsty trauma issues of your choice.  Or for pure comedy gold, either of them in the hospital suffering from both previously mentioned things plus maybe a hit of local anesthetic, and Melissa getting WAY more detail about their sex life than she EVER needed to know.  If it’s Chris, she gets the benefit of giving him shit for the rest of his natural life in the way that only your bestie can, if it’s Noah, she can also give him shit, and possibly compare what she hears to things she remembers being told by Claudia (actually…depending on what kind of details Chris shared this could work for him, too…)  Although, the thought of a delirious Peter trying to hit on both his husbands because he forgot they’re married (or dating, or whatever) also has some serious appeal.

Then DILF Club (Chris/Peter/Noah) it is! And oooh, I like the idea of either Chris or Noah spewing all the secrets to Mel while they’re completely delirious. Poor Mel would have sooooo much material for blackmailing but I feel would also need a case of wine to cope.

And omg can you imagine? 

Peter’s looking at both of them with a dopey smile on his face. “You two are so pretty, why are we not dating?”

Noah and Chris look at each other, unsure if they should be concerned or laughing their balls off. 

“Peter-” Chris starts.

“-We’re married.” Noah adds.

“With children.” They finish simultaneously.

Peter looks at them, tears of joy streaming down his face. “We are?”

THE DELICIOUSNESS OF SUCH A SCENE!

Sorry, me on wine is hyperactive little bastard.

But I feel like that would def be a good little fic.

And not to be depressing on main or anything, but I suspect the lack of extra siblings in TW is partially linked to the prevalence of single parents.  But it’s definitely weird.  What few siblings there are, are mostly dead or missing.  Maybe the imaginary Martin sister was my brain trying to fill the blanks there, so to speak.  ’>.>  I also feel like the majority of multi-child families feature werewolves/shifters, whether born or turned (the Hales, both generations, Isaac, Boyd, Malia, Hayden, Brett & Lori, Ethan & Aiden.)  I don’t know that it necessarily means anything, but it’s interesting.

I mean it makes sense in some ways. But I feel like some of the single parents could have had more kids before they became single parents. Maybe not Melissa, but Noah and Claudia? Yeah Stiles could definitely have had a sibling there who was like 4 years younger. .There’s no reason for him not to.  Jackson’s parents could have adopted another child. Also Chris & Victoria could have had another child. 

For that matter, Noah could have had a sibling or even Mel. It definitely didn’t have to be the kids that had siblings. 

I mean I get why they chose not to, but it would have been nice to have better surviving sibling relationships than Chris & Kate. (As in siblings who both survive.)

I’m not sure Derek & Cora really count anymore as they’ve been apart for a long while and don’t seem to be in contact as much any more.

But that’s just my feelings as someone who has a younger sibling and would have loved to see a better relationship than Talia & Peter or Chris & Kate.

Hope your day off is going well though! Since it’s nearing 2 am I’m gonna go to sleep but I’ll be around in the morning. Take care and hugs from me and Mo <3