#and yes she quipped a bit but she listened to him bc she CARES ABOUT HIM

[mushimatsu]

i knowwww hes a piece of shit but in my heart i want to believe totoko is the one osomatsu would get his shit together for . im insane about them. IN MY HEART they don't realize how much they like each other yet, totoko was surprised w how jealous she was when they were hanging out with kin and i think osomatsu kind of is only thinking about sex so maybe he doesn't realize it either but eventually they do and obvs hes not gonna be perfect right from the get go and he would fuck up over and over again and she would get mad and it would be rocky but he keeps trying bc he LOVES HER !!!!

[stxphxn-strange]

i’d love it if we made it

a/n: the title for this comes from “love it if we made it” by the 1975 and it’s part 1 of probably 3 in a new college au miniseries. tw for mention of/implied unhealthy parental and romantic relationships, also i feel like i should mention that this fic isn’t anti bruce at all, but he and tony butt heads a lot in this one bc sometimes that happens

summary: how was anyone supposed to navigate being honest with themself and their friends while still dealing with the past and fearing judgement in the present? and why did Valentine’s Day nearing somehow suddenly make Stephen and Anthony’s relationship everyone’s business? so Anthony hated Valentine’s Day, sue him!

Anthony yawned, leaning his head against Stephen’s shoulder. He smiled sleepily as Stephen wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, completely lost in the love in Stephen’s eyes and the background humming of an elevator’s inner workings. He probably could have fallen asleep then and there. It had been a long week, and Stephen and Anthony both were exhausted. The past few days had been a busy, hazy blur, and the weekend’s beginning would probably be the same.

“One day soon,” Anthony said, rolling his eyes as he yawned again, “We should honestly do nothing and sleep, or try to sleep.”

As much as he agreed, Stephen couldn’t (read: he didn’t try to) stop himself from teasing Anthony about what he’d said. “Who are you and what have you done with my ‘I can function on less than four hours of sleep’ hot mess of a boyfriend?”

Anthony exaggerated a swoon. “Aww, you think I’m hot?”

Bruce rolled his eyes from where he stood a short distance away. “I’m trying to listen to Hope talk about her plans for this Sunday, if you don’t mind keeping the flirting to yourselves.”

“It’s not complicated, we’re just going for dinner and a little walk around town,” Hope said. “I think I’m going to get Chrissy some roses too. What are you and Thor doing?”

“He told me has a surprised planned, and it’s on a need-to-know basis,” Bruce replied. “Which is such a Thor thing to say, even though he knows he can’t keep secrets very well. Do either of you know what he’s up to?”

“Brucie I don’t even know what you’re talking about, and I don’t think I’ve seen Thor all week,” Anthony mumbled. “What’s he doing?”

“That’s what I was hoping you could tell me,” Bruce said. “What are you two doing Sunday?”

“That might be a good day to catch up on sleep,” Stephen suggested, his answer more directed at Anthony.

Anthony nodded appreciatively. “Yes, yes yes yes. That’s the best idea you’ve had in awhile.”

“Fuck you, I have a ton of good ideas!” Stephen retorted.

“Fuck me yourself!” Despite the teasing tone in his words, Anthony was the picture of innocence as he snuggled closer to Stephen.

“Idiot,” Stephen murmured, kissing the top of his head.

The elevator came to a stop, the hallway surprisingly quiet as the doors opened.

“What kind of roses are you going to get?” Bruce asked Hope. “I mean it’s really none of my business, but I’m curious.”

“Probably pink?” Hope replied, the blush on her face matching the uncertainty in her voice. “She won’t admit it, but I know pink is Christine’s favorite color. Am I right about that Stephen?”

“You are, but also you know her birthday is in May right?” Stephen asked. “It’s only February.”

“No shit Sherlock. Sunday is the fourteenth, and I’m talking about Valentine’s Day flowers,” Hope said.

“Sunday is Valentine’s Day?” Anthony asked, still a bit out of it as Stephen opened the suite’s door.

“Did you forget? You, the most extra person in our entire friend group when it comes to any kind of affectionate gestures, forgot that Sunday is Valentine’s Day?” Bruce replied.

Anthony couldn’t measure how shocked his friend was, not when Bruce was as soft-spoken as always, but for some reason his question still kind of stung. “I didn’t forget, it’s been a long week and I just didn’t put two and two together.”

“What’s the problem?” Christine asked, standing up to hug Hope.

“Ant forgot that Sunday is Valentine’s Day,” Bruce said.

“I literally just told you that that’s not what happened,” Anthony muttered, increasingly annoyed with the conversation. “To be honest with you I don’t really like Valentine’s Day, so I haven’t been thinking about it.”

“You don’t— what?! You’re the perfect boyfriend, there’s no way you hate Valentine’s Day.” Now Anthony could tell that Bruce was shocked.

“He is the perfect boyfriend, and neither of us really care for Valentine’s Day,” Stephen said. He could tell that Anthony wanted to say something but was too taken aback. “There’s no relationship between who Anthony is as a partner and the way he feels about a date on a calendar.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you there, I guess I’m just surprised and I worded that incorrectly. I’m sorry Tony,” Bruce said.

Anthony shrugged and sat in the living room where Christine was moments before. “It’s fine. I don’t like the implication that I’m hearing, that just because I hate the holiday means I’m not going to do something for Stephen, but you may not have meant that.”

“I was curious if he’d be upset by that,” Bruce admitted.

“No need to talk about me like I’m not here, and no I wouldn’t be. I’m indifferent about the date and I wouldn’t expect performative affection knowing how Anthony feels about it. There’s no reason for anyone to make themself upset, stressed, or anxious because they do or don’t want to do something for their partner, and that goes beyond February 14th.” Stephen’s tone was firm, clearly indicating that he wanted the conversation to be over. He joined Anthony on the couch, laying down and resting his head on his lap.

“Don’t… no more details,” Anthony whispered.

Stephen nodded immediately. “I’m sorry.”

Anthony yawned again, taking one of Stephen’s hands as Christine and Hope walked back into the living room.

“I left my seat for less than 10 minutes,” Christine muttered.

“Ant and I were going to go to my room, so I guess it’s your lucky day,” Stephen teased.

“It’s just your audacity for me, we’ve been suitemates for two years and you can’t help yourself from stealing my spot whenever I leave the room?” Christine played along. “I’m going to tell Pepper and Wong when they get back.”

“We’re here, what happened?” Pepper was mentally preparing to roll her eyes.

“Stephen and Ant stole my spot in front of the TV again,” Christine pretended to whine.

“Oh, the horror! The humanity!” Wong quipped.

“And also apparently Ant doesn’t like Valentine’s Day, which makes no sense to me,” Bruce added.

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Just let it go Bruce!” 

An uncomfortable feeling like a humid room on a not-quite rainy day settled over the room. Bruce and Anthony both looked sheepish, hastily apologizing and letting the conversation blanket the room like a stratus cloud.

++++

They’d been quiet for the better part of an hour, focused intently and not at all on an episode of The Great British Baking Show. Anthony told Stephen in no uncertain terms that he was angry (“my blood is fucking boiling”) when they first closed the door to Stephen’s room, but had said little else since then. He’d retreated, both into the mess of thoughts taking over his mind and the comfort of Stephen’s hug. Stephen honestly didn’t expect Anthony to say anything again until he’d talked himself down or worked himself up.

It was three episodes later when Anthony spoke up.

“I shouldn’t have gotten that angry in front of the others,” he rasped. “They don’t know why I’m this upset at some simple questions, I just seem like a defensive asshole.”

“You’ve every right to be defensive. Even if I take everything I know about why you’re upset and put it aside for a minute, you reacted exactly like anyone who’s ever gotten annoyed at a friend for trying to find humor in your opinions and at your expense,” Stephen replied. “And because I know more of the context for how you’re feeling, I think Bruce just rubbed salt in a healing wound without realizing it.”

“I’ll apologize to him again later. I really feel bad for snapping, I’m no better than Howard and no better than my ex,” Anthony muttered.

“No Anthony that’s not true,” Stephen said firmly. “Neither of them, neither he nor Howard, would have the decency to feel remorseful or apologetic. Neither of them would even think about apologizing or checking up on everyone involved in the argument or situation. You're a good person and much better than you give yourself credit for, so don’t try comparing a golden apple to two that are rotten from the inside out. You’re human and definitely not the first person to be rightfully annoyed or angry with their friends.”

“I owe all of them an explanation,” Anthony mumbled. “About my ex.”

“If you want to tell the group, I support you. But you don’t owe anyone anything, and you don’t have to tell them now,” Stephen said. “You’ll only hurt yourself if you tell them before you’re ready, and you might not be yet.”

“I feel like I should, since it is almost Valentine’s Day and the timing is convenient. It’d be as easy as going to the living room and telling them ‘hey I’ve never really cared about Valentine’s Day but in recent years I’ve grown to hate it because it reminds me of an unhealthy relationship I was in,’ but I can’t say it,” Anthony replied. “I broke up with him three years ago, I should be able to talk about it.”

“If something was painful, then it was painful and you heal at your own pace. There’s no pressure to talk about it, not even to me if you don’t want to. I love you, and I’m here for you no matter what.”

“I love you too. I don’t think I deserve you.”

“Oh hush,” Stephen murmured. “Not only have you got that backwards, you’re just plain wrong.”

“I’m never wrong, thank you very much,” Anthony teased. He shifted enough to place featherlight kisses all over Stephen’s face, smiling when Stephen pulled him in for a long, sweet kiss on the lips. He rested his head on Stephen’s shoulder again when they broke apart, reaching up to play with his hair. “Do you want to do anything for Valentine’s Day though?”

“Besides catching up on sleep?” Stephen asked.

Anthony nodded.

Stephen’s response was immediate and came with the little scoff of indifference. “No. This week has been draining and I want to spend some time with you, that’s all.”

“That’s what I want too, but we can do whatever. I want to make you happy,” Anthony said.

“You do and you will just by being yourself,” Stephen whispered, kissing his hair. “Here’s my idea: we should definitely catch up on sleep, then we can spend the day lounging and eating candy, watching the worst rom coms we can find, and throwing popcorn at my laptop every time a character does or says something cliche. What do you think?”

“Everyday you do or say one thing at least that makes me fall more in love with you, and among other things today it was that idea you just came up with,” Anthony replied. “But if I see a single Lifetime channel movie about people falling in love with their dentist, having a meet-cute at a dentist’s office, or anything even remotely like that, I will not watch it. I don’t want to remember a plot of a movie like that while I’m waiting to get my wisdom teeth pulled next week!”

tags: @stark-strange-love2 @taruyison @kitkatfat15 @katninjagirl97 @spookywizardboy @ironstrange-chaos @chocopiggy @majesticnerdynerd @maya-custodios-dionach @thespacecryptid 

[tracybirds]

To Stumble and To Falter

(A title? you who know my intense dislike of titling fics may all give a cheer, no need for further reading, thank you, thank you xD)

John faints and Virgil is suspicious of the cause. Includes some Dr Grandma bc we need more of that in our lives!

Many thanks to @gumnut-logic for bluntly telling me to write the fic and then reading it over in bits to help me fix it up :D

And if I’ve written Jon anywhere let me know, my H key is being temperamental... I think I’ve got them all but still :D

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The stumbling step hardly drew attention from anyone else, John tripped so often when bound by the laws of gravity. By his own admission, this particular re-entry had been of the hard and fast variety, the kind that left him a little hazy and wobbly. Only Virgil looked up at the sound of a foot not lifted high enough and banging into the staircase.

The crash that followed however, echoed around the room as brother by brother snapped into action.

“Medkit,” barked Virgil, darting across the room in three bounding steps. His command followed Gordon out of the room as he knelt next to John. He could feel the sluggish pulse beneath clammy skin and hurriedly ran his hand across the lump that was forming at the back of John’s head. There was no blood, he noted with some relief.

“Alright Scott, get his feet up.”

Scott quickly complied as Alan popped up next to Virgil.

“Is he okay?”

“Give him some space, he’ll be fine.”

Alan scooted back, reassured by the authority that rung in his older brother’s voice.

“How badly did he hit his head?” asked Scott.

“Nasty bump, but with a bit of luck nothing more. Look, he’s coming around.”

John’s eyes fluttered open as Gordon skidded into the room, nearly throwing the medkit at Virgil in his hurry.

“Wha’ happened?” mumbled John.

“What do you remember?” asked Virgil, as he strapped the icepack in place.

John batted weakly at his own neck, trying to escape Virgil’s care.

“I was walking up the stairs?”

“Didn’t even make it to the third step this time,” quipped Gordon. “You going for a record or something?”

“Gordon,” growled Scott, and he bounded away with a grin.

“You fainted,” Virgil clarified. He frowned at the lazy way John’s pupils followed the light. “And you’re on the concussion watchlist, congratulations.”

John groaned, a high whiny sound that earned him a cushion snatched from the nearby couch and laid lovingly over his head.

“Thanks,” came his muffled voice. “I feel fine.”

Scott and Virgil shared an exasperated look, remembering the last time an injured John had insisted he was ‘fine’.

“Sure John, whatever you say. You feel okay to walk?”

“Maybe. Is Alan there?”

“Sure is.”

“Might need a hand getting up.”

Alan grabbed his hand and hauled him upright. The change did not improve Virgil’s assessment of John. He pitched slightly to the side and Alan and Virgil both grabbed at him.

“Easy.”

Virgil could feel the tremors running through him, the heavy, deliberate breathing loud in his ears as he held up his brother.

“Dizzy? Nauseous?”

The barest nod sent Gordon hurrying from the room in search of a bowl.

“It’s probably vertigo, it’ll pass.”

“Thanks,” said John, through gritted teeth. “I know that.”

He took a few steps towards the staircase that had been his undoing and paused. The small motion had been enough for the colour to leech from his skin again.

Virgil was at his side immediately, steadying hands against his back.

“Maybe walking isn’t a great idea right now.”

John said nothing, standing as still as he could while he swayed with his eyes closed.

Virgil was several inches shorter than his brother, but this was no object for him, hoisting John into his arms.

His eyes flew open at the touch and he stared up at the ceiling in surprise.

“Medbay or bedroom?”

“I hate you.”

“Medbay it is then.”

“No, bedroom is good,” said John quickly.

“Glad you’ve come around.” Virgil glanced over his shoulder, catching Scott’s eye and nodding towards Alan. “Go update Grandma. She’ll want to check him out for herself.”

“I hope I do throw up,” said John with a scowl. “You’d deserve it.”

Virgil ignored him, knowing his brother was just embarrassed. He climbed the stairs easily, heading for the isolated area of the villa that John made his own when he came to visit.

He kicked open the door, and placed his brother on his bed. John was still scowling up at him.

“Was that necessary?”

“Yes.” He snatched up a copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and cracked it open.

“I don’t need to be read to like a child.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. You can explain all the hidden maths to me and I’ll pretend to understand what you’re talking about.”

“Really Virgil, I’ll be fine.”

Virgil shrugged and replaced the book. Swinging the desk chair around, he sat and propped his feet up on the bed, leaning back to look at John.

“Probably.”

“You don’t really think I have a concussion do you? I’m alert, no headache unless I poke in the wrong place, no vomiting or confusion.”

“You’re dizzy, nauseous, unable to hold your balance, and clearly agitated.”

“You’re agitating, that’s why,” muttered John.

“And it’s been a while since you had a fainting spell like that. I thought we had that sorted out.”

John said nothing. Virgil raised an eyebrow, a niggling suspicion starting form in the back of his mind.

“There’s not any particular reason you would know of that would cause that, is there?”

“Long term exposure to microgravity?”

Virgil narrowed his eyes.

John smiled guilelessly.

His brother’s eyes flitted to the bedside table and, in one fluid motion, Virgil vaulted across the bed and yanked the drawer open.

John yelped at the sudden mass lying across him, scrabbling at Virgil’s hands and pulling uselessly against him.

Virgil held the monthly drug planner away from him, scowling at John as he attempted to pry the box out of his hands. He shoved John back and flipped his prize over with a futile hope that only the last remaining days of the month were creating the rattling sound inside. Instead he found nearly every compartment still filled with the little supplement packets John was meant to be taking daily.

“What the hell, John?” Virgil smacked his arm with the box. “Why aren’t you taking these?”

“I forgot?”

Virgil glared at him.

“Try again, you’ve never been less than intentional about a damn thing in your entire life.”

Stubborn silence stretched long in the room and Virgil filled every second with fears and possibilities and visions of his brother collapsing and confined to the Earth forever.

“We trust you John, you can’t just do this,” he growled, waving the box at John. “Your health has to come first, you’re alone up there, and if you get into trouble, who’s going to help you? Alan?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Like hell it isn’t. You’d really make him come up and get you?”

“That’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not fair.”

The shout erupted from him, its echo only stoking the frustration that yet again one of his brothers had chosen to ignore the medical procedures laid out before them. He took a steadying breath, hating the way his brother curled away from him.

“It’s not fair of you to put us in that position, it’s not fair to expect me to always pick up the pieces.”

“I know what I can handle, you’re choosing to worry unnecessarily.” Fire flickered in his eyes. His face was pale but his cheeks were tinged with blotchy red.

Virgil snorted. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about John passing out again with so much blood pooling in his head.

“This isn’t about you getting to decide, this is about you doing as you’re told. You’re not the only one with a stake in your damn life, stop acting as if you’re the only one who matters in this situation. You take your pills because if you don’t, you won’t just injure yourself, you’ll fracture this whole family all over again.”

“Stop it.”

“No, you stop it. Stop being selfish and think. Do you even care that it damn near killed Alan the last time? Of course you don’t, you weren’t there afterwards. You never are. We care about whether you get hurt or not, you could at least pretend to do the same.”

“Virgil.”

The calm of his Grandma’s voice slammed into him, freezing the moment in place.

For an instant, Virgil could see the room from the outside, him towering over his bed-bound brother, brandishing the box in front of him. John’s eyes were closed, his face pulled into a frown. He lay still with his head tilted up on the pillow, determined that even while he shut Virgil out there could be no chance of accidental connection between them.

“Scott, take your brother please.”

There was no doubt about who she meant. Scott stepped around her and tugged the container from Virgil’s hands.

The short, sharp rattle of pills made him flinch away as Scott laid them back on the bedside table, eyes dark with worry as he looked between them.

“Let’s go,” he muttered, eyes lingering on Virgil’s frozen expression.

Scott pulled him from the room, but the way John stiffened at their grandmother’s gentle hand on his shoulder stayed with Virgil long after the door was closed.

Virgil backed up against the wall opposite the door and sank to the floor.

“What the hell was that?” demanded Scott, dropping down beside him. “I leave you two for five minutes and come back to you tearing out his throat? For what, fainting? Give the guy a break, it’s not like he can help it.”

“I’ll take that bet,” said Virgil, scowling at the door. “He’s not been taking his pills, Scott. Which means we don’t have a damn clue where his vitamin or mineral levels are at now, or how long they’ve been deficit for. And they will be deficient.”

“But you and Grandma can sort him out right? It’s not like this is new.”

“Only if he listens to us. We can’t force him to take them, he’s not a child.”

The image of John, pale and unmoving, floated in front of him again and wrapped itself around his heart. A sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes, trying to blot out the image.

“Look, if he won’t, there’s going to be consequences. His health, our trust, something will have to give eventually and I’m not willing to pay for his mistakes.”

Scott blinked.

“But if there were a way to force him,” he said slowly. “I could make his rotation conditional, it wouldn’t be hard.”

“And why the hell would he listen to you?”

“We could put checks in place so he doesn’t have a choice.”

“Let me rephrase that, why the hell should he listen to you?”

“I get the final say over assignments, I can–”

"You're just as bad as he is," snarled Virgil. "How many times have you explicitly ignored my advice. You can't command him to take them while you're still blasting off with broken ribs."

"They were strapped."

"That's not the point!"

“Okay.” Scott’s hands were surrendered in front of him in an attempt to fend off the vehemence in Virgil’s voice. “Okay, jeez, fine. Are you mad at him or not?”

“Of course I’m mad at him.” Virgil slumped against the wall. “He’s supposed to be the one I don’t have to worry about.”

He didn’t feel mad anymore. He just felt the creeping exhaustion that came with caring for a brother that didn’t want his help.

Scott tilted his head back and exhaled heavily.

“Did he say why?”

Virgil shook his head.

“I didn’t give him the chance.” He ran a hand down his face. “He’s not stupid, he knows how important this kind of thing is.”

“It might have been an accident.”

“For twenty four days in a row?”

“Okay, point.”

The door clicked open and both men sprang to their feet. Before they could say anything, Grandma Tracy held up a hand and walked away, beckoning them to follow her.

They didn’t say a word as Grandma Tracy ushered them into her sitting room.

“How is he, Grandma?” asked Scott, unable to hold back any longer.

“He’ll be right as rain come morning. He’s sleeping now.”

“Is that wise?” Virgil asked, his mind still overrun with worries.

Grandma Tracy clucked her tongue gently.

“You know as well as I do that sleeping doesn’t cause the complications that come from concussion. We’ll keep monitoring him, same as always. Although it looked like a mere scalp wound, not a brain injury, to me.”

Virgil looked over at Scott, the relief mirrored in their expressions.

“The other issue however, that’s more complex.” She opened the door to her rooms and nodded at the seats inside. “Sit down, both of you.”

They sat.

“What’s he told you?” she asked Scott brusquely.

“John’s refusing to take his supplements. He’s gonna get himself hurt.”

“John’s struggling up on Five with daily medications,” she said bluntly. “He’s not refusing. The days are too fragmented, and there’s no chance for him to build habit triggers with the pace he’s keeping.”

Virgil’s stomach dropped. Of course John wasn’t being malicious or stubborn about it. He should have known. He should have asked.

“Well, that’s good, right?” said Scott, nudging him. “It’s not deliberate?”

“It’s not deliberate,” repeated Virgil, still internally cursing the ridiculous conclusion he’d jumped to. To say nothing of the painful accusations he’d made.

Grandma Tracy cleared her throat, drawing their attention again. Her eyes were serious.

“I’ve taken a blood sample, and in a few hours we’ll know the most urgent actions to take. EOS can monitor his daily activity for a few weeks and identify tasks we can tie his supplement use to. Then it’s just a matter of checking in until he’s ready to go back to full capacity.”

“Seems straightforward,” said Scott, glancing at Virgil. “What do you think?”

Grandma Tracy’s eyes shifted to meet his own.

“It sounds like a good plan, Grandma.”

She nodded firmly, eyeing the two brothers in front of her.

“Well if that’s decided, we’d best go break the news to your brothers that they have a dispatch refresher coming their way.”

Scott laughed. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to hear it.”

“They do need the practice,” said Virgil with a reluctant smile tugging at his lips as they stood.

They stepped out of the sitting room. He paused, staring at the hallway that lead to John’s room. It seemed to stretch far ahead of him and the way it curved into dark corners somehow seemed all the more ominous for the dread and regret that weighed upon him. His feet were leaden, but he forced himself to turn away from Scott and Grandma Tracy and walk towards the hall.

“Are you coming, Virgil?” Grandma Tracy’s voice was quiet but it broke through the whirling thoughts in his mind.

The door at the far end was ajar, a tiny gap that called to him as a clear invitation.

“Actually, I have something I need to do first,” he said, walking towards it. “You go on, I’ll talk to them after.”

Grandma Tracy smiled.

“You’re a good man, Virgil,” she said, patting his shoulder. “We’ll see you later.”

Decision made, he could move easily again and the hallway seemed to brighten with every step.

Virgil slipped into the room and found John appeared to be sleeping peacefully, the exertion of the day catching up with him at last.

He settled himself back on the chair, watching the slow rise and fall of John’s chest in the gloom. An arm had been flung across his forehead and Virgil smiled to see the small Yoda plaster over the prick on his index finger.

He picked up Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland from where he’d placed it earlier and flicked on his pen torch, a tiny beam of light illuminating the words.

“You can turn the desk light on if you want.”

Virgil jumped slightly at the calm, measured voice. He glanced over and saw John watching him, one eye still closed and the other bright and alert.

“You don’t mind?”

John shook his head and so Virgil did as he was told. The soft glow that lined the desk spilled onto the page and across the room.

There was no sound but the rustle of turned pages and even breathing.

“You could read it to me,” said John suddenly.

Virgil looked up, spotting the shining eye and the tilted head that told him John wasn’t going to hold his fears against him. He swallowed carefully past the lump in his throat. He knew a peace offering when he saw it, knew they held words that would be left unsaid between them. He wouldn’t reject a sincere attempt to mend fences, especially when he had been the fool that smashed them.

He nodded once and John closed his eyes with a content sigh.

“Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do…”

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Maths and Alice you ask? Some very cool theories about the meaning and context in which Alice was written can be found [here]

[mainly-kpop]

Viagra Series

Jimin

Word count: 3298

Warnings: smut obviously, pill taking, public sex, dickhead!Jimin, praise kink bc it's Jimin duh. Public humiliation

Somethings he said were just too far. So slipping him a pill found in a bathroom, with a little help from a friend, seems like the best bet. What could go wrong?

90% of his personality was his dick, there was no doubt about that. The way he walked and talked, the way he carried himself. Dick. God knows how people were friends with him, how people hung about him like he wasn’t insufferable. If you cut his dick off, would he be nicer? She wondered what cutting 7 inches off someone’s personality would be like.

‘Can you stop glaring at him across the table, you look fucking crazy.’ Jungkook whispered, tearing her ice cold stare away. She felt Jungkook ease the fork out her hand, placing it down gently on the table. She sighed smiling at the boy beside her. They were the same age, clicking almost instantly. You could find them running about doing, admittedly, the most questionable shit. The older boys probably wished they were more mature together, but everyone knew that wasn’t going to happen.

‘I just fucking hate his face dude, he’s infuriating.’ She spoke uncandidly, not worrying about anyone over hearing. Everyone seemed to be wrapped in their own conversations to even pay attention. Or so she thought.

‘Who’s face do you hate?’ He spoke, attention turning to her. Everyone’s conversations dropped, just to hear this drama. Her icy look returned to Jimin, nails going for the fork before Jungkook whipped it away from her.

‘Yours, obviously.’ She replied, as if she cared what he thought. She hated him and it was known to everyone, they didn’t quite understand why. However, they made effort to keep them apart at all times.

‘Baby, you should put that fork down. It already looks like you’re getting a bit big for that dress.’ He replied, just as bluntly as she had. Returning back to his conversation like the last minute or so never happened. She could feel her blood boiling, the rage burning inside her. The whole table looked at him bewildered, yes they hated each other, but never had he taken it that far. She slid the seat out painfully slow, the tables in the near vicinity turning to look at her. Taking a breath, she let a stiff smile pass across her lips before stomping off to the bathroom. This stupid fucking party wasn’t worth this shit. Why did she have to get dressed up for some stupid Big (s)Hit party, when she wasn’t even part of the business. All busy and important people, crowded around cramped tables, making polite small talk. She sighed, slamming and locking the door behind her, throwing her bag onto the sink. She let a frustrated groan slip past her gritted teeth. He was a dick, a massive fucking insufferable dick.

‘That was fucking out of order Jimin.’ Jungkook lectured, standing up too, ready to follow his best friend.

‘I don’t know why you stand up for her so much, she’s not that special. Her pussy must be top class I guess.’ He shrugged, not caring who of these classy business men heard. Jungkooks eyes narrowed, hoping to god his band mate could feel the pain he was inflicting on him with his mind.

‘For your fucking information, we aren’t fucking. We never have been, she’s just a really fucking good person. You would know that if you weren’t such a cunt.’ Jimin stood up defensively on the other side, Jin standing quickly slamming a hand down on the table.

‘Jungkook go after her, and watch your fucking language. Jimin sit the fuck down, you don’t have a leg to stand on here.’ Jimin threw himself back down in his seat, foot colliding with the table leg. Jungkook gave him one more glare before storming off to the bathroom.

‘Y/N, it’s me let me in.’ The door opened, he pushed his body through the little gap she made. He placed his ass on the counter, sighing.

‘What the fuck does he think he’s about, I mean- wait, you don’t look mad.’ She smiled, lifting herself up onto the counter beside him. A little packet resting between her fingers, tapping lightly against the tip of her middle finger.

‘What are those?’ Jungkook asked, only ever so slightly terrified of the response. She snorted, handing him the little slither of plastic. Reading the name he snorted, passing them back to her.

‘I found them on the counter. Clearly one of these business men were expecting to get lucky.’ She whispered, popping one of them out and looking at it, throwing it in the air and catching it swiftly.

‘But that doesn’t explain why you’re not pissed about Jimin anymore. I mean what he said was out of order, everyone is mad at him.’

‘So do you want to help me get revenge? If he can embarrass me so candidly in public, let’s do the same to him.’ She spoke, thrusting the little pill into his hand. He took a second to look between her and the pill, she couldn’t be serious. Then he thought about it properly, in reality it was only a boner, he was only going to be publicly embarrassed. Its nothing he hasn’t done to her. He smirked, devious smile painting his lips gripping the pill in the palm of his hand. They left at the same time, getting weird looks from old men and posh women. Jungkook placed his hand on her lower back, leading her to her seat. She sat down fixing her dress, Namjoon apologising for Jimin.

‘You owe her an apology, dick head.’ Jungkook whispered in his ear, using it as a distraction to drop the pill in his drink, it fizzed quicker than he thought, stepping away to sit in his own seat.

Jimin looked at her across the table, her death glare still set on him. Fuck he felt like an asshole, there’s things you don’t say to people, no matter how much you’re trying to hurt them. He tipped his drink back, giving himself whatever liquid courage he could find.

‘Can I speak to you for a second, alone?’ He whispered, bending down to her level making sure to keep eye contact. She sighed, rolling her eyes. Giving Jungkook one last look, she stood from her chair following him out the room.

‘Listen I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-‘

‘It doesn’t matter whether you meant it or not. You said it, think of something better than “I didn’t mean it”. That’s a bullshit apology.’ She quipped quickly, not letting him spout off the usual rehearsed one. He sighed running his hand through his hair in frustration, he didn’t know what to say now. He felt a stir in his stomach, causing him to roll his neck, letting his eyes flutter closed. Why now? He tried to focus, to direct his attention to anything but his growing erection. It proved futile however, the tent in his pants becoming more and more obvious. He growled deep in his throat, turning on his heel and heading for the bathroom. He didn’t lock the door behind him, too bothered about getting rid of this stupid fucking boner.

She stood baffled for a moment. Why the fuck did he just storm off like that? Why would he try to apologise then storm off, what was his game? She huffed rolling her eyes and storming towards the closed door, yanking the handle harshly before letting herself in the room. He wasn’t against the sinks so she assumed he was in the stall.

‘Why the fuck would you storm off like that? Like what the hell is your problem with me Jimin? I tried so hard for so long, your harmless pranks and witty remarks became too much, you’re such an asshole you know that?’ She ranted openly, she heard nothing coming from the stall bar some heavy breaths and whimpering, was he crying? She pushed at the stall door, locked, of course.

‘Jimin let me in for fuck sake, or at least come out. We need to deal with this properly.’ He rolled his eyes, letting his dick go, sighing loudly. He slipped the lock open, letting the door slowly swing open. She gasped at the sight before her. His skin that was on show glistened with a light sheen of sweat, trousers and boxers draped messily around his ankles. His head was thrown back, lips parted, eyes half closed, hand wrapped tightly around his dick.

‘You just gonna stand there opening and closing your mouth like a fish? Do me a favour sweetheart, lock the fucking door and help me out here.’ Her mouth clamped shut, her fingers quickly but shakily locking the door. What was she supposed to do now, it’s not like she could just get on her knees in the stall. Realising slightly too late, she should have left. Let him lock the door himself.

‘You’re a lot bigger than I thought Jimin, you know with your height and all...’ She spoke, brash words cutting the air. It was only fair after what he said to her. A dark chuckle sounded behind her, his fingers sliding along her shoulder.

‘How about we get you out of that dress, show you exactly what I can do, hmm?’ He questioned, lust dripping from every word. He stood behind her trousers forgotten in the stall, boxers now covering himself. She shrugged, pulling down the zipper with ease.

‘Sure why not, since you don’t like me in it anyway.’ The words stinging his ears, grabbing her shoulders he turned her to look at him. His thumb grazed her cheek, her eyes shifting up to look at him.

‘I only said that to annoy you. In reality, you look so fucking good I can’t resist any longer. I can’t focus on conversations, all I can focus on is your laugh. I can’t deal with Jungkook being so close to you, because I want it to be me. I want you so fucking bad.’ He whispered, the softness in his voice in deep contrast to the words he spouted. She searched his eyes for a lie, he was a liar, he had to be. He furrowed his eyebrows, giving up on waiting for an answer, instead slamming his lips to hers. If she wouldn’t vocalise it she would show it. She stood stunned for a minute, the softness of his lips on hers, man they were so soft. He bit down on her bottom lip bringing her back to reality, she kissed back returning all the hunger he was dishing out.

‘Fuck.’ He muttered against her lips, a little whine bubbling in her throat. His hands trailed over the silk fabric of her dress, enjoying the sensation under his fingertips. She moaned against his lips as his hands rested on her ass, squeezing gently.

‘Take it off baby.’ He whispered, kissing softly down her jawline, nibbling when he reached her earlobe. The fabric slipped past her shoulders, tickling the skin on her arms as it slid so effortlessly down her body. He stood back admiring her body, the only underwear she had was a pair of lace panties. He smirked, tugging one of her nipples between his fingers. Her head rolled back, a breathy moan slipping between her lips.

‘No bra, and look at those panties. We’re you expecting something tonight?’ She groaned, yes. That was the simple answer she was expecting to get lucky. Jungkook promised there was going to be lots of successful and attractive men here. He failed to mention the successful were old, and the attractive were married.

‘Jungkook promised me successful men, he failed to mention ages.’ She replied, breathing laboured due to his roaming hands, and the way he was still playing with her nipple. She heard a genuine laugh escape Jimin’s lips, the smile lasting long after the giggle died.

‘Typical Kookie, but hey, not to toot my own horn but I think I’m pretty successful. I guess I’m not so bad in the looks department either.’ He commented, taking his fingers off her nipple. He lifted her with ease onto the counter, replacing his fingers with his lips, making her push her chest into him.

‘I think you’ll do.’ She mumbled, his lips detaching with a pop. He raised an eyebrow, tutting at her. His fingers trailed up her inner thigh, resting quickly on the wet spot of her panties.

‘You’ll have to do better praise wise baby. Or all you’ll get is punishments.’ He growled, suddenly very serious. ‘So will you make me feel as good as I can make you? Or...’ He trailed off, slipping her panties to the side rubbing his finger through her arousal. Gathering enough on his finger, he slipped it between her lips. ‘Am I going to have to punish you?`

‘No punishments, I’ll be so good for you I promise.’ She whimpered, his finger dripping in her arousal, now perched between her lips. She gave it a suck, cleaning it for him. He hummed in approval, slipping her panties down her hips, letting her flick them off. Their lips connected in a messy kiss, both nipping at each others lips any chance they got.

‘Jimin, fuck me please. I need it so bad.’ She whimpered, deciding they didn’t have time for foreplay, someone was probably already looking for them. He groaned into her mouth, slipping his boxers easily down his ass, kicking them in the same direction of her panties.

‘Fuck, Jimin its so big, please.’ She whined, letting every shred of self control go. He smirked, enjoying the begging and the praise. Sucking air through her teeth to suppress a moan, he rubbed the tip across her clit. He relished in the sound of her gasps, every time he so much as grazed her she whimpered. He took pleasure in the wet sounds between her thighs, the sound of his dick moving against her. It had him twitching to enter, so he did.

The moans she released were porn worthy. He slapped a hand over her mouth, muting her for any passers by, his own grunt as he bottomed out filtering through her ears. She adjusted to the stretch, walls tightening to urge him into moving. He groaned forehead falling forward into her chest, breath fanning against her nipple.

He pulled out slightly, snapping his hips back into her. Her eyes rolled back, a lewd moan slipping out her mouth past his fingers. He halted his hips, grabbing her chin forcing her eyes to his.

‘Baby, unless you got something filthy to whisper to me, keep it down. Don’t want us getting caught now do you?’ She shook her head, truthfully she really didn’t want to get caught. How was she supposed to keep quiet though with his hips snapping like that. Jimin groaned, finger tracing between their bodies, paying attention to her nipples before finding its rightful place. His thumb grazed against her clit, a muffled whimper escaping through her lips.

‘Fuck Jimin, it feels so good. So big, fuck I’m so close.’ She keened, melting her body into his as much as she could. His thumb rubbed rougher and faster circles into her clit. His lips sat close to her ear, whispering praises into her ear as she whispered them back.

‘Jimin I’m cumming, fuck yes right there!’ She screamed, a little bit louder than Jimin needed from her right now. His free hand clamped over her mouth once more, dick thrusting into her at the same speed his thumb moved over her clit. She came with a rather loud scream, back arching towards his body. Jimin let out a moan, thrusting as much as he could into her. He let his eyes trail to where their bodies connected. Watching himself disappear inside of her, her arousal dripping off his dick quickly became his undoing. She felt him twitch inside her, he came inside with a whimper.

‘Fuck you did so well.’ She praised, running her fingers through his hair. He chuckled, pulling out slowly, the sensitivity making him wince.

‘You didn’t do so bad yourself sweetheart.’ He spoke helping her off the counter, onto bambi legs. He giggled, doubling over at her attempt to walk.

‘Shut up idiot this is your doing!’ She complained, walking to the toilet stall to clean herself up.

‘I mean, if you hadn’t slipped me a mystery pill, I wouldn’t have needed you for this.’ He replied cockily. He knew, of course he fucking knew. She asked Jungkook for fucking help.

‘You, uh, you knew about that?’ She questioned, there was no point in hiding it now.

‘Honey, it was good in theory, horrible in practice. In other words little Kookie isn’t as discreet as he thinks.’ She sucked her teeth, stepping out the stall. Stepping into the dress she shimmied it up her body, Jimin already standing fully dressed. She casted a glance back to Jimin, waiting for him to zip her back up.

‘So if you saw him put the pill in your drink why did you drink it?’ He pondered the question for a second, kissing her shoulder as the zip reached the top.

‘As much as you hate me, I know you wouldn’t try and hurt me. You wouldn’t risk the other guys friendships. Also sorry, for um, everything.’ He mumbled. It was true, no matter how much she seemed to hate him she wouldn’t risk losing the other guys just for revenge. The sorry is what caught her off guard however, making her halt putting her shoe on.

‘Hold on what?’ she stood, flabbergasted. He scratched the back of his neck, running a hand nervously through his hair.

‘I’m uh, I’m sorry. I know I took it too far way back then. I just I liked you a lot, but you were always so quick witted and sassy. I thought the best way to get to you was through pranks and comments. Turns out it only drove you further away from me.’ His confession took her completely by surprise. True the syrup in her shampoo AND conditioner bottles was maybe a step too far. Just before a date no less. She shuddered thinking back to it, it took her 4 hours to stop feeling sticky.

‘It’s okay, I realise I’m not the most fun person to be around sometimes. Especially after, well you know.’ He knew, he knew all too well. That girl still doesn’t look his way. Ever.

‘I didn’t mind you cock blocking me, but did you really have to say “jimineee your mummy is outside to pick you up” like that?’ He cringed reliving the whole moment.

‘I was so drunk! Shut up!` She groaned, putting her shoe on after slapping his chest.

‘Okay, let’s move past it shall we?’ He proposed opening his arm for a cuddle, she rolled her eyes settling into them. She cleared her throat stepping back, straightening out her dress.

‘Okay, how do I look?’ She questioned, looking him up and down.

‘You don’t look like you just had your brains fucked out, if that’s what you’re asking of course.’ She sighed muttering “you never change” under her breath before slipping out before him.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Jungkook asked as she re-joined the table, watching Jimin walk back over too.

‘Oh just uh, talking to Jimin.’ She replied casually, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Doing her best to busy her hands.

‘Talking or fucking.’ He muttered in her ear. ‘Because I see no boner on him, and a nice little mark on your neck.’ She blushed crimson, Jimin staring her down like he was ready for round two. Meanwhile she had Jungkook in her ear tutting. ‘Naughty girl y/n, and in public too, I hope he punished you.’ She didn’t need to look to know he was smirking, the heat between her thighs budding again. Fuck, what was happening here

[seanfalco]

Mistakes Were Made

Fandom: The Witcher Punk!AU Pairing: Punk!Valdo Marx x OC [ Aevryn Swift ] Word Count: 2770 Rating: E a/n: Another installment of the Punk!AU, requested by dear Kat.  I am aware how incredibly self-indulgent and tbqh niche this fic is, so I’m not really expecting much, but I’m fully sailing this disaster ship now and there’s no stopping it. Taglist: okay I’m gunna only tag @ficsandcatsandficsandcats bc i have a (1) fear.

[ Part II ]

——

“Aevryn?  Aevryn, is that you?”

Shit.

Shoulders tensing unwittingly Aevryn fought the urge to make a hasty exit, but it was too late now.  He’d already seen her.  And she’d know that voice anywhere.  That stupid lilting pretentious self-assured drawl that still managed to make her stomach flip.

Forcing a smile Aevryn turned from the bar.

“Valdo,” she greeted tersely, cursing herself for letting her gaze wander just a fraction too long; noticing things she didn’t, shouldn’t care about.  He wore his dark curls longer than he used to, though it looked good on him and at least his facial hair was the same, roguish and trimmed to perfection.  

Black lined emerald eyes lit up and a grin spread across his lips as he sat at the bar stool next to hers, taking her strained smile as an invitation.  This close she caught the earthy scent of patchouli and cloves, the smell so him that a tide of unwelcome nostalgia washed over her, threatening to carry her away.

“It’s been a while,” Valdo observed, his unwavering gaze taking her in.  “You look good.”

Snorting softly as she shook her head Aevryn bit back the scorching reply that nearly sprang to her tongue.  “It has been a while.  Not nearly long enough, it seems,” she said instead.

A rueful chuckle left Valdo’s lips as he motioned for the bartender, catching the man’s attention.  “Your drink of choice still the same?” he asked, glancing over and Aevryn nodded.

“Some things never change,” she answered with a pointed look.

Not rising to her goad he instead flashed a charming smile at the bartender.  “A gin and tonic please, and a rum and coke for the lady.”

As the bartender left to mix their drinks Aevryn couldn’t help but notice the way Valdo’s eyes followed the man appraisingly and she scowled at the sharp pang of jealousy that knotted her stomach.  As soon as their drinks were in front of them Aevryn downed nearly half her glass as Valdo watched over the rim of his own; perfectly sculpted brows rising with interest though he didn’t remark on her behaviour.

“So, what have you been up to lately, Aev?”

Setting her half empty glass back on the bar with a heavy rattle of ice, Aevryn laughed bitterly.

“As if you don’t know.”

Spreading his hands, Valdo adopted an innocent expression.  “Bold of you to assume I pay attention to the intricacies of your social life, darling.”

Head tilting heavily, Aevryn couldn’t stop the exasperated eye roll that followed.  “Oh please Valdo, spare me your bullshit.  I know you’re only here because Vicious Mockery is performing tomorrow and you’re trying to rain on their parade.”

The swiftness with which he averted his eyes and brought his drink to his lips was all the confirmation she needed and Aevryn smiled smugly, the amusement not touching her sea green eyes.

“Called it,” she quipped, taking another drink.  “Like I said, some things never change.”

Silence fell over the pair and as Aevryn finished her drink Valdo ordered another round.  Glancing at him suspiciously she took it.  Knowing she probably should have just walked away, something about the way Valdo kept staring into his drink and chewing his lip made it seem like he had something else he wanted to say, but maybe wasn’t inebriated enough to voice it yet.  And though her better senses, which strangely enough sounded like Jaskier, were screaming at her to just go back to her room, part of her wanted to hear what he had to say.

On his third cocktail Valdo finally turned to her, his face unusually somber.  “I listened to the songs you released.  They’re good.  Really good.”

Aevryn shrugged uncomfortably at his praise --mostly uncomfortable with how much his words made her chest ache with pride and how much she’d wanted to hear those words from him.

“Thank you,” she murmured, looking into her drink.

“I never thought you’d share your music with the world,” he observed and Aevryn cleared her throat awkwardly.

“Well… I had a bit of a push and a lot of support.”

“Who--?” Valdo asked, cutting his question short with a scowl as he realized who she meant, bringing his glass to his lips.  “Are you sleeping with him?” he asked, more of a demand than a question and Aevryn frowned at his tone.

“That’s really none of your fucking business anymore,” she snapped, anger heating her face.  Sighing forcefully she decided, despite that, it wouldn’t hurt to set the record straight.  The last thing she wanted was for rumors to start spreading that she and Jaskier were a thing.  “For the record, I’ve never slept with Jask, and I don’t intend to.”

Valdo opened his mouth, but Aevryn talked over him, wanting to stop any more questions before they were even voiced.  “He’s seeing someone and I’m happy for them.  She’s a lovely girl,” she insisted.

“I heard she’s just a fan,” Valdo managed to grumble derisively before Aevryn shot him a disgusted look.

“What?” he asked indignantly.  “It’s just, I doubt it’ll last.  It never does with fans.”

He seemed to realize that was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left his mouth, wincing at the dark look that crossed Aevryn’s face.

“Well, you would probably know better than most,” she remarked coldly, tipping back her drink.  Dropping the glass, hard, she turned back to him.  “Since we’re catching up, who are you sleeping with?” she asked pointedly and Valdo cleared his throat.

“Does it really matter?” he asked, giving her a level look.  “What do you care?”

“I--” Aevryn opened her mouth and shut it, freezing at his question.

“Do you care?” he pressed, leaning forward; bottle green eyes boring into sea green, his sharp feline-like features intent.

“I um,” she balked, inwardly panicking at the conundrum she’d put herself in.  “I don’t care,” she replied firmly, holding his gaze.  But it was too late.  He’d seen her hesitation and he knew what it meant.

A roguish grin spread across his face as he regarded her, leaning in to speak directly in her ear, his breath ghosting over her skin.

“I can tell you who I’d like to be sleeping with.”

Fuck.

——

Simultaneously too buzzed and not buzzed enough, Aevryn stumbled into Valdo’s hotel room with him following close behind.  Not even bothering to flip on a light, he turned, capturing her lips in a ravenous kiss as his hands at her waist slipped under the hem of her t-shirt, pulling her forward to resume what they’d started in the elevator.

Despite her earlier vitriol, or perhaps fueled by it, Aevryn took the lead, walking Valdo backwards, her hands tangled in his hair tugging roughly and her tongue sliding eagerly between his parted lips, swallowing his resulting moan with fervor.  Fighting with his cardigan as he backed up, Valdo finally shed it, letting it drop to the floor.  His tank top and Aevryn’s shirt swiftly following.

Stopping suddenly as the back of his legs hit the bed Aevryn pushed him backward onto the neatly made gold duvet, climbing over him and fixing him with a challenging stare.  Cocking an eyebrow as he stared back, Valdo smirked, his gaze traveling hungrily over her half naked form.

“If that’s how you want to play this Aev, then let’s play,” he purred, rolling her to her back without warning and pinning her arms to the bed as he leaned over her, so close and yet so far.  Because struggle as she might, she couldn’t break his grasp, and his lips hovering just out of reach taunted her; his warm breath maddening as it danced over her skin.

“Tell me what you want, Aev,” he teased as she struggled.

“Fuck you Valdo,” she hissed instead; anticipation coursing through her, driving her crazy.

“Oh we’ll get to that soon, love,” he murmured, “but first…”  Leaning closer he dragged his lips against her skin, tasting her as he made his way slowly to her collar bone, his tongue forging a blazing trail as he moved back up to her neck, pausing to draw her earlobe between his teeth before switching sides.

The hiss of pain that left Aevryn’s lips turned to a moan as she squirmed under Valdo’s rough kisses, certainly leaving a trail of dark marks against her pale skin.

“You - better not - be leaving - any - fucking marks,” she gasped angrily and Valdo pulled back, his face an innocent mask.

“If I did, will you punish me for it?” he asked, almost eagerly; his flash of teeth sending a thrill through Aevryn.

“Is that really what you want?” she asked, chest heaving as she glared up at him, her usually clear sea green eyes dark with lust.

“You know exactly how I like it, Aevryn,” he drawled, loosening his grip on her wrists, his gaze not straying.

With her hands free Aevryn soon had Valdo pinned under her once more, paying him back twice over for any marks he may have left on her; her hands refamiliarizing themselves with the planes of his lean body, drawing sweet gasps and sharp groans from him with her mouth.

Once she was satisfied with her work, she propped herself up as she hovered over him, sweeping her shoulder length hair out of her face, unable to completely banish the small smirk she wore at Valdo’s thoroughly pleased expression.  He always did so love to be teased.

“Ugh, Aevryn,” he groaned, heaving a breath.  “Out of everyone I’ve bedded, you’re still the best.”

Aevryn’s smirk instantly vanished.  “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” she bit out, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Yes,” Valdo replied.  “You should feel honored.”

Sitting up, Aevryn’s face was a thunderhead and Valdo half thought she was going to grab her clothes and go, but as pissed as she was she still wanted him and that pissed her off even more.

Hurling a slew of insults at him she fought to undo his belt and jeans as her desire practically throbbed between her legs.

“You fucking asshole.  You absolute pompous prick.  I fucking hate you, do you know that?” Aevryn seethed until they were both completely undressed and then, then Valdo had the gall to grin up at her, his palms slowly sliding up her body.

“Do you hate me?”

That was the last straw.

And in moments her mouth was on his with a bruising intensity as she grabbed his hard slim cock, guiding it to her entrance before quickly sheathing him in one fluid motion, forgetting just how long he was and gasping in surprise.  Taking advantage of her momentary shock he tangled a hand in her wild hair and tugged, pulling her head back to kiss her neck roughly as he thrust up into her, biting into her soft flesh with a growl.

Regaining her control she threaded her fingers into his short curls as well, tugging back just as roughly, bringing a cry to his lips as she met his hooded black rimmed gaze; her hips rolling against his, forcing his cock even deeper, frustration giving way to desperation.

“Come on baby,” he groaned, gasping as she yanked at his hair again.  “Fuck, you’re so hot when you’re being a bitch.”

Maybe it was the sound of his voice, or maybe it was the friction, but Aevryn’s climax crept up on her, pushing her over the edge before she expected it and she tensed, her muscles trembling as she bit back a moan, doubled over to press her face to the crook of Valdo’s neck, breathing in his scent as she came.

Holding her body tight to him, Valdo rolled her under him.

“Let’s see if I can make you come again, love,” he whispered before thrusting into her, relishing her overstimulated whine as he began to move faster, harder, desperate to finish quickly.  By the time Aevryn came again, a keening cry ripped from her lungs as her nails raked deep paths down his back, and he was coming as well, moaning against her skin as he filled her.

Completely spent, Aeveryn didn’t protest as Valdo collapsed next to her, pulling her into his arms.

“Fuck, you felt so good,” he murmured against her sweat slicked temple, her wavy hair sticking to her forehead and his.

Focusing on her breathing Aevryn finally opened her eyes, finding her pent up anger and frustration spent and she shifted, fitting her body to his, their chests heaving against each other as they caught their breaths.  Her muscles weary, Aevryn allowed Valdo to hold her, involuntarily relaxing into his touch as his fingers combed through her hair and stroked her back soothingly.

“It should have been me.”

His soft words caught her attention and she lifted her chin to look at him questioningly.

“I should have been the one to push you to continue making music.  I should have been the one supporting you.”  

“Valdo…” Aevryn whispered, unsure how to continue.  The old ache in her chest beginning to resurface.

“I was drunk Aev, it didn’t count.  I barely even remember it.” “That’s not how it fucking works Valdo!”

“Oh come on, you can’t leave me.  You’ll be nothing without me.”

“Well you know what?  I’m completely sober right now, so by your logic, this counts.  We’re through.”

“Aev?”  Valdo asked uncertainly.  “You there?”

“Uhm, yeah.  Just.  Just thinking about stuff,” she answered, trying to keep her voice steady.  

The last thing she wanted to think about right then after just having essentially hate sex with her ex, was their breakup.  Especially when lying there with him felt so right; his scent overwhelming her senses and filling her with longing for what she couldn’t have.  Because logically she knew this was a mistake… right?  Things could never go back to the way they’d been.  Not like that.  She had too much self respect to be treated like that again.

“Valdo…”

“You know, I miss you Aev,” he admitted, biting his lip, and she felt as though she’d never seen him like this before.  So open.  So vulnerable.  So unlike him.

Holding her breath she listened.  

“Losing you was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.  You know that, right?”

Before she could answer he shook his head sadly, hooking a finger under her chin and pressing his lips gently to hers.  The kiss was unlike any of the frantic, angry, desperate kisses of earlier-- it was soft and full of longing.  

“Do you think we could ever, I dunno… fuck, it’s probably a bad idea,” Valdo cut off abruptly, but Aevryn knew what he was getting at.

Shifting so she could look him in the eye she took a deep breath.  “Valdo, we have a lot, a lot of history… and if.  If you’re serious about… this.  Fuck, I don’t know, you’d have to prove it.”

——

Aevryn woke to her phone going off and disentangled herself from Valdo’s arms.

Fuck.

Getting out of bed carefully, so as not to wake him she quickly got dressed.  Pressing a hesitant kiss to his cheek she paused, watching his still face, confliction warring within her.  With a sigh she shook her head ruefully, penning a short message to him on the notepad on the bedside table before leaving the room.

Catching her reflection in one of the mirrors in the hall as she rushed back to her own room she faltered, swearing under her breath at the multitude of dark hickeys covering her neck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

How the fuck was she going to hide all of those?

“Where were you?”  Yennefer’s hushed voice echoed down the hall and Aevryn spun, her heart jumping to her throat.

“Yennefer!” she gasped, clutching her chest.  “Fuck, you startled me.”

The dark haired woman took in Aevryn’s appearance as she moved closer, violet eyes widening slightly.  “Jesus Aev,” she muttered with a sigh.

The disappointed look Yennefer shot her had her deflating.  “I know, okay,” she groaned.  “But--”

Yen held up a finger, instantly shushing her.  “I’m not going to lecture you, because let’s be honest, it was only a matter of time.”

“Hey!” Aevryn hissed, but deflated again quickly.  “Just.  Just please don’t tell Jask, okay?  He’d kill him.  Or me.  And right now I don’t know which would be worse.”

Yennefer nodded.  “Don’t worry, no one will hear of this from me.”

“Not even Geralt?”

“Not even Geralt.”

“Thank you Yen.”

The dark haired woman sighed, reaching out to wrap an arm around her friend’s shoulder.  “Let’s go get those fucking hickeys covered up first, huh.”

[stardustgirl05]

The Sauna Test 2

I wasn’t planning on writing a part two but it sounded fun and I was bored so here we are. here’s part one and the inspiration post and if y’all want a part three lmk and i will do it. tbh i like part one better but probably bc its more angsty.

warnings: language, flashes to the upside down (so scary stuff), a pinch of byler like always, mild angst, yelling, mentions of violence

other notes: despite the title this actually takes place during s3e5, The Flayed

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

The phone had been ringing for several minutes now. 

Nancy was starting to get worried. Yes, it was early, and yes, Jonathan probably still hated her for getting them both fired, but if the Mind Flayer was coming back, and it definitely seemed like it, then talking to Will would be her best bet. 

“Hello?” an angry voice from the other end of the line answered.

“Jonathan!”

“Do you realize what time it is?”

Yep, he was still mad. For sure.

“Listen to me, okay?” Nancy could feel that old feeling of panic starting to bubble up again. Something bad was happening, and again, no one was listening to her.

“It’s 6am, and I had a late night with Feagan and the gang so—”

Nancy thought that sounded like a lie, but at this point, she didn’t care. “I’m at the hospital with Driscoll.”

A pause. “What?”

“She’s been sedated for a few hours and the doctors are still running tests.”

She could hear Jonathan wake up almost immediately. “Nancy, please tell me you’re joking.”

“It’s not a joke, and yes, I know I’m insane, and irrational, and out of touch, but save your lecture because I really don’t give a shit right now, I just…” Nancy took a breath to calm herself. The few people out at this hour have been giving her weird looks during the whole conversation. 

“I need you to put me on the phone with your brother.”

“What?”

“Jonathan, please.”

Nancy was praying this would work, that Will would remember enough to give her something, anything, about what she had just witnessed in the hospital.

“He’s not even here,” Jonathan said, and Nancy felt her stomach drop. 

“Where is he?” She knew her voice was getting more and more frantic, but if this thing was commanding Mrs. Driscoll, then it was commanding others too. If she knew her brother and his friends, it’s that they always ran head first into the chaos, exactly where Will could be in the most danger. “Is he safe?”

“Why wouldn’t he be safe?” Jonathan’s voice was quavering. Nancy almost regretted saying that, reminding him of the past two years in which he had to watch his brother go through hell, but if something had happened to him...

“Nancy, why wouldn’t he be safe?”

“So you don’t know where he is?”

“Nancy!” Jonathan’s voice was on the brink of yelling now. “Tell me what happened at the hospital.”

Nancy’s eyes started to brim with tears. “It...I don’t know, it looked like that night, in the cabin, when we burned the Mind Flayer out of Will, but worse…” She heard Jonathan curse on the other end. “Do you know where he is?”

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

“So...it felt like when he possessed you?” Max’s eyes drilled into Will’s. She looked scared. All of them did. He couldn’t help but wonder if they were scared of him.

“I mean...yeah. Like that.” 

The whole morning, the group had been grilling Will on the events of the previous night. Will didn’t want to tell them that the cold feeling never went away. He didn’t want anyone to worry. He didn’t like being the center of attention, but at least they were somewhat focused on other things. Between speculating about what happened to Will and the constant asking of are you sure you’re alright?, Mike had been whining about El and El had been working on finding Hopper. As it turned out, he was in Illinois. With Joyce. While everyone found that a little weird, they had bigger things to worry about. 

A loud knock on the basement door caught everyone’s attention. 

“Not now, Mom!” Mike screamed, and instead being greeted with his mother’s annoyed tone, Nancy’s voice screamed from just up the stairs.

“Mike, open the door!” 

The group just stared at each other in confusion. Finally, Mike got up. Nancy and Jonathan came running down the stairs, shoving Mike out of the way. “Will?” Jonathan said, looking frantically around the room.

“I’m right here,” Will said, confused as to why Jonathan’s face was twisted with fear.

“Oh thank god,” Nancy breathed, and Mike turned on his sister abruptly. 

“Okay, what is going on right now? Why do you two look like you just ran a marathon?”

Nancy and Jonathan looked at each other. Nancy took a breath and explained everything she had just seen.

“What time was this attack?” Mike piped up once she was finished.

“Last night,” Nancy said, still looking fearful.

“Right, but what time last night?”

“Around nine.”

Jonathan turned on Nancy. “You waited all night to call?”

“I was waiting for the doctor to run some tests.” 

Will’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. “You weren’t there?”

“Well I’m here now, aren’t I?” Jonathan snapped.

“Hallelujah,” Nancy quipped back. 

Nancy and Jonathan had been avoiding eye contact for the whole conversation. Everyone could tell something had happened between them. It was almost comical, seeing their tense and awkward interactions.

“So wait, what were you guys doing last night?” Nancy said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

They all looked at each other. Will looked at the ground. Finally, Mike spoke.

“We, uh. We went to find Billy and...and we tried to get the Mind Flayer out of him. With a sauna”

“What?” Nancy and Jonathan exclaimed in unison. 

“It was working, for a bit,” Lucas said slowly. “But then he got out of the sauna and then he tried to possess Will again and then El threw him through a wall and he got away.”

The room went silent. Jonathan slowly turned to look at Will. “What do you mean ‘tried to possess Will again?’”

“Jonathan—” Will whispered.

“Why would you go with them, when you knew this would happen? You’re lucky he didn’t do anything to you,” Jonathan yelled. Will squeezed his lips together. “He didn’t do anything, right?”

“I don’t know, he...he did something to me. Like he was trying to control me again. Like I still have some of the Mind Flayer left in me.” Will’s voice was shaking. He knew he was on the brink of tears, like he always was when he talked about the Mind Flayer or the Upside Down.

“Yeah, Billy made Will collapse. It was freaky, it was like Will couldn’t hear us at all,” Max said, leaning closer to El. Jonathan looked furious.

Suddenly, a chilling sensation tore through Will’s body. His lungs constricted in pain. His head started pounding again, as Mike’s basement faded away and all that was left were shadows, and little white spores flitting through the air. 

“Mike?” Will said quietly, standing up from the couch and trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness. He heard a sound from outside, something all too familiar. Will couldn’t move. He knew he had to run, but he couldn’t risk being seen. He looked down to see vines creeping over his shoes, trapping him. The sound was coming closer, and it would find him again he would find him again he needed to run and hide and not let him see and he had to get back to Mike—

“Where are you?”

A singsong voice echoed from all sides. Will felt the back of his neck start to tingle, like the feeling of being watched. The toxic air pierced his lungs and stung his skin and he started to get dizzy—

“WILL!”

Will’s eyes shot open to see his friends surrounding him, Mike’s hands on his shoulders. He felt El’s hand on his arm, and Jonathan’s hand on his forehead. 

“Was it another episode?” Mike asked, staring intensely at Will’s face. 

“God, you’re freezing.” Jonathan lowered his hand. “What happened?”

Will sat back down, breathing heavily. He tried to focus on Mike’s face, looking increasingly more worried the longer Will didn’t speak. He opened his mouth, and a wave of nausea fell over him. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop the spinning.

“...Will?” El’s voice was quiet as she sat down next to him. “Was it Billy? Was he there?”

Will shook his head. 

“No, it was...well, it sounded like Billy. But it wasn’t. It was him. And he knew I was there.”

Nancy and Jonathan exchanged a look. “Is it...in you again? Do we need to burn it out?” Nancy said, her eyes wide.

Will shook his head. “I don’t think he actually possessed me this time. He’s just trying to scare me, I think. I know too much.”

“Well, what do you know?” Lucas leaned forward. Will noticed that he and Max were holding each other’s hands tightly, their knuckles turning white. “I know how he works. How he thinks and everything. He views me as a threat because...because I got through his control in the past.”

Lucas sighed in frustration. “Well, if you could do it, why can’t Billy?” 

“I—”

Will’s neck tingled again, like a warning. “I think something’s wrong.”

Nancy stared at him. “What? What’s happening?”

He looked up at them, eyes wide.

“It’s Mrs. Driscoll.”

[hanalwayssolo]

In The Line of Duty

A/N: Timely for Iggy’s name day! So. Slightly departing from the usual structure in which I write my stories, so this may seem a bit... weird? Fragmented? So I kind of not recommend reading this via Tumblr mobile bc that app murders the formatting lmao

Tagging them pals! @blindedstarlight @valkyrieofardyn @bleucommelhiver @gowithme @noboomoon @emmydots @lazarustrashpit @raspberryandechinacea @hanatsuki89 @mp938368 @boo-dangy @animakupo

(Links in AO3) Alternate Universes in Which You and I Belong Together: Noctis | Gladio | Prompto | Ignis | Nyx | Cor | Ravus | Ardyn

Ignis breezes through the freeway, his Aston Martin almost flying through the rainy night. He is never one to drive like a madman, but this is a desperate time that certainly calls for this very desperate measure. He spares a glance at the rearview mirror. A shabby white Mitsubishi and a gaudy yellow Volvo still remain in close pursuit. Looks like the flock of paparazzi back from Maagho’s really is a persistent lot. In the passenger seat, you sit in an unsettling silence.

Fuck these bastards, he mutters under his breath.

Speed limits be damned. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel. Ignis revs the engine and zips past the steady traffic.

“Let’s get you back to your flat, alright?” he offers kindly.

You say nothing.

Suddenly, Ignis finds himself missing your chatty, teasing antics. That silly smile of yours. By this time, you should have been pleading him to let you go someplace else—anywhere but your place—while annoying him to death with your usual smartass quips. You never do.

Months before, Ignis had been perfectly convinced you were the most insufferable human he has ever come across. Funny how he now thinks otherwise. Even funnier that he now cares. Because it’s not his business to care. His job was never to look nor to listen.

But at this point, you have made him break every single rule in his book.

The first thing Ignis notices when he meets you is your eyes.

Something about your strong and striking gaze makes him wonder why someone like him is even employed at your service. One look from you, he is pretty certain you are completely capable on your own in terms of sending anyone who dares cross your path—may it be troublesome paparazzi, or overzealous fans and haters alike—to run with their tails between their legs. Your composure and confidence says just as much. Seems to him that you’re the type of person who does not need anyone’s protection, let alone a bodyguard.

Which is a sentiment you made very clear that morning in the luxurious luster of Hotel St. Regis’s lobby.

“I’m afraid Aranea here has wasted your time—” you tell Ignis as you set your cup of coffee back on the table, sharply turning your attention to the silver-haired woman who is sitting across from you— “but like I said, I can take care of myself just fine—”

“Really?” Aranea scoffs, casting you a challenging glare. “And by taking care of yourself, do you mean going around punching paparazzi square in the face and breaking their camera as you please?”

You shrug. “Well, that fella fucking deserved it—”

“Whether they deserved it or not isn’t the fucking point, you idiot. Do you have any idea how Cor had to shell out his own money to keep that incident from going out to the press?” Aranea sighs in resignation. “Look, this is more than just taking care of yourself. This is about—”

“—my career, my image, and my reputation, blah blah blah. Yes, you don’t need to do all of Cor’s spiel—I get it.”

Aranea raises an eyebrow. “Do you really? ‘Cause if you really did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation and Ignis wouldn’t be the fourth replacement in the span of six fucking months.”

You fall silent. Though Ignis is compelled to say something, he knows very well not to provide his thoughts, unsolicited or otherwise. That’s never in his job description. He had been trained to keep his mouth shut, and he is going to do just that. Besides, what would he know? Such is the world of glitz and glamour that is show business, and Ignis has never been tasked with handling celebrity clientele before. If anything, among his peers, it was either Gladio or Nyx who gets paired with the high profile A-listers. Clarus’s directive for him came as a strange surprise, the initial briefing of his task even stranger. All throughout his fifteen years of service in the Lucian Security Bureau, people frequently assigned to Ignis were government big shots, business moguls, and upper echelons of society who have been targets of terror and violence.

However, in your case… Ignis could see that you fit in neither the former nor the latter. At least for now, that’s what he thinks.

You spread your elbows over the table, eyeing Aranea with a wicked smile all over your face. “You know what would be better, Ari?”

“Don’t call me that—”

“You could pass as both my handler and bodyguard, don’t you think?

Aranea looks at Ignis, then back at you. “Does that come with a raise?”

You lean back against your seat. “Nope.”

“Didn’t think so.” Aranea exhales a derisive laugh. “Then I suppose we leave Ignis to do that job for all our sakes. Anyway, we better get going—” from her satchel, she pulls out a sleek-looking tablet— “you have to be ready for your four p.m. table read and a seven p.m. interview Dino of Meteor Publishing.” To Ignis, she says, “I assume you’ve already been briefed by your superior about all your responsibilities?”

Ignis sits up straighter and nods. “Yes.”

“Good. It’s pretty simple actually, but the past bodyguards can’t seem to do it.” Aranea smiles, clapping Ignis by the shoulder as she narrows her eyes on you. “Just don’t let this moron out of your sight, and we’ll all be fine.”

The first thing you notice about Ignis is his eyes.

Never mind the scar that cruised the left side of his face, that tiny slash over his right eyebrow, or even the one on the bridge of his nose. He didn’t even need to look at you directly for you to marvel at how fiercely green his eyes are, like the colour of a bright summer’s day. However, back in the lobby with Aranea, there is no warmth in his silences nor in his clinical concentration; there is only a crippling coldness. One look at him and you could already surmise that he’s had his fair share of danger in his profession. Though he is lean and lithe unlike your past bodyguards who all seem to be built out of heavier materials, you cannot shake the feeling that Ignis might have killed a man with his bare hands.

Still, you don’t really need someone like Ignis. You never needed someone like him. A bodyguard should have been the least of your concerns. Besides, you have enough people monitoring your every move that getting a fucking bodyguard is as insane as it’s going to get. Cor often reminds you that this is all for your safety, and that as your manager, he only wants to keep you safe. Aranea chastises you that you’re overreacting, and that you’re still free as a bird. Except you’re as free as any bird locked in a cage that they might as well just lock you up in prison.

And in the first few hours that Ignis has started following you around, the fact that he hardly spares you a moment for a decent conversation—except for his courteously clipped responses like “Let me know if you need anything else,” or “I’ll be right outside your door”—prison seems like a more amiable place to be.

By his second week, Ignis finally understands how unpredictable you can be.

Okay, maybe he does not understand it quite fully. He has to admit, though: he admires the elaborate effort you put into your juvenile pranks. It comes in the strangest of ways and in the oddest of days: from your attempts to lock him up inside your trailer, down to that crafty disguise to sneak out of the film set, all of which he had seen you fail miserably time and again. Out of all your many crimes, petty they may be, hopping in the backseat of someone else’s car to escape him from an after party still takes the cake. He had to forcefully “borrow” a stranger’s motorcycle just to chase you down, which he managed to do in less than an hour. Not an impressive feat for someone his calibre, but at least he got you home in one piece—and without Cor or Aranea even knowing.

What fuels your sheer determination to drive him off his wits, Ignis does not know. The only thing he knows for sure is that you’re one bloody piece of work.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn ya, Specs,” Gladio reminds Ignis one sordid afternoon back in the Lucian Security Bureau HQ. In the saintly cleanliness that is his cubicle, he finds Gladio lounging on his seat together with Nyx, as if they had been expecting his unlikely visit. The air-conditioned hustle remains the same, the glass panels and all the white walls still as stark bright as Ignis remembers it to be. He really has been away for far too long that he finds himself missing that familiar scent of ink and paper, and even the faces of these two troublemakers.

“So how’s your new post treatin’ you?” Nyx breezily asks. His tone is not of concern, but a knowing amusement that Ignis can easily recognize. “The look on your face says you’re either in need of a stiff drink or to get laid.”

“Or could be both,” Gladio adds.

Actively ignoring the smug looks on his friends’ faces, Ignis does not answer them, but instead, he asks: “Aren’t the both of you supposed to be somewhere else?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” Gladio snaps back. He picks up Ignis’s tin of mints on his table and pops one on his mouth.

Nyx loops an arm around Ignis. “Y’know, celebrities can be a pain, so if you’re here to request Clarus for a reassignment, we promise not to judge.”

Ignis looks at Nyx for a brief moment. A reassignment. How come he never thought of that? Sure, you can be annoying and a menace to his daily routine, but Ignis suddenly finds it strange that he has never considered the prospect of requesting for a change in client. Maybe he has his brand of patience to thank for, or his unworldly forbearance in the years that he has spent in this profession.

But then—as if by seeing Nyx and Gladio after such a long time of being away—he realizes that maybe, you’re not that bad. Even in your reckless and determined attempts of making his life a living hell, you also make an effort to make conversation. Not that it’s anything special. He has been wired to being strictly on someone’s beck and call that most of his past clients do not even bother to look at him in the eye. Most of them see him as a weapon, a blade to be wielded against their enemies. Small wonder Ignis himself often forgets that he is a living and breathing person. He can barely remember having a life outside this job. He can barely remember the last time someone apart from Gladio and Nyx asking him anything about his hobbies or other interests or even about his family.

But you do. You try. Even on the first few days when Ignis didn’t know how to respond. It’s just that he doesn’t know how to. He fears that you might have interpreted that as indifference, and he regrets to have responded to you as such. He thought you would have given up by now, seeing how he had acted so callously, but you have the persistence of a honey badger that you use on him to get him to talk, or to even to smile a little.

Nyx looks at Ignis, this time with a genuine hint of concern. Ignis has not realized that he had been quiet for some time.

But he has realized that you have grown so much on him, which is such an disturbing thought to entertain.

“I think a reassignment is highly unnecessary,” Ignis says finally—almost to himself and not to Nyx and Gladio—as he takes his leave. 

By his second week, you finally understand how Ignis can be so predictable.

There’s the matter of his morning routine. He follows it too religiously that you start to notice the little things. He wakes up as early as six a.m.—on the dot, not even a minute late—to work out at the back of your trailer. Three sets of push ups, squats, crunches, all in that order. Seven-thirty a.m., he wraps up, takes a shower, grabs a nice cup of coffee with some of the film crew. He likes his coffee strong and black, no sugar. How you know all of this like the same way you know all of your lines is beyond you.

But maybe he’s not too predictable. Not entirely.

You still have not seen him smile, despite the significant progress in the conversation department. And by significant, you mean that his answers have finally upgraded from one-word responses to lengthy sentences. Considering all the stupid shit you pulled on him, it’s almost a wonder that he even indulges you from time to time by answering any of your random questions.

Though in the process, you have learned a handful of tidbits about his life. For one, you find out that he happens to be an excellent cook. Once, he has shared with you how he wanted to build a restaurant of his own, and that it is only a matter of time before he could pursue that dream. Hearing him confide something that personal throws you off guard, but somehow, you feel quite relieved. You also learn that he has never seen any of your films, nor is he even aware of your awards and accolades—which, frankly, is the most gratifying thing you have ever heard in your life. You have also learned that he has not forgiven you for making him chase you all throughout the city. Which is fair. If that had happened with any of your previous bodyguards, they would not even bother sparing you another word even if you are the last person on this planet, and they would most certainly quit their job the next day.

But Ignis is different. A good kind of different.

Nevertheless, what you now find unfair is that you have never seen him smile. Unfair because he has seen yours a countless times at this point—fake ones on set included. He even gets a bonus because he has also seen you laugh at the most ridiculous things. Ignis, however, seems to be programmed with a limited range of emotions. You have not seen his face look anything but blank or bored, too surly or too serious.

It is only when you suddenly fall sick in the middle of filming that you find a new expression on his face.

Right after the director screams “Cut!” you wobble outside the set, past the cameramen, past the make up artists, past Aranea who’s probably busy handling your next schedule. When Ignis hurries by your side, you could barely focus your eyes. Your mouth tastes like acid. The world is spinning out of control.

Ignis presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up. I’m calling a doctor—”

“No, don’t.” You weakly wave a hand. “I’ll be fine by morning. Don’t tell Aranea. I just need to sleep, that’s all.”

Ignis walks you back to your trailer, looping your arm around his neck, and his around your waist. Your cheek momentarily rests against his chest, and you can feel his warm breath fanning over your head. You try your best not to retch on his shirt. Perhaps it’s the fever talking, but all you could think about is how this shirt looks perfect on him and you do not want to ruin it with your vomit.

Which is why out of your delirious haze, you say out of the blue: “Have I ever told you that you look so good in black?”

Ignis tilts his head. He hesitates for a moment, and then says, “I’m afraid not.”

“Well, now you know. I like your black dress shirt. You look so dapper in it.” And there goes your filter straight out the window.

“Thank you. It’s… nothing special.” He sounds unsure. Or is that embarrassment? Either way, you’re too sick to even look at his face to see his reaction.

Ignis guides you straight to your bed. You toss yourself so gracelessly against the mattress, and you gather the sheets to bundle up for warmth. A wave of nausea threatens to lurch out of your mouth. As far as you’re concerned, the inside of your trailer should not be this freezing cold.

“I’ll get you something to eat,” Ignis says, and as he prepares to drift to the kitchen, you grab for his hand.

“Please stay for a minute. Tell me a story.” You sound like a five-year-old.

He sits on the edge of the bed. “What kind of story?” His voice is gentler than usual. It is jarring, to say the least.

You pull yourself up, your arm brushing against his. “Like, is it possible that you’re a gremlin? ‘Cause how come it’s so hard to—” you thumb the corners of his mouth to make him smile— “see you do this?”

You can feel his face tremble a little in your touch. He looks at you strangely. You know he’s about to say something, but you are ill-prepared to what happens next.

Ignis starts to laugh.

You can’t believe this is what you have been missing for the last couple of days. What you have been missing your entire life. You have only known him for two weeks, but now, it’s like looking at a completely different person. He’s all lit up, his laughter radiating like the sun, bright and warm and blinding. His eyes disappear behind his smile lines, and his mouth curves to exhibit his perfect teeth and that illegally gorgeous smile. Your heart is pounding and you are certain that this is not your fever doing the talking anymore.

“I can assure you, I’m not a gremlin,” he says, wiping his eye with his hand.

“Good to know,” you say, sinking back to your pillows. “But I swear—I will make you laugh like that again when I get better,” you say confidently. And as you drift to deep sleep, the sound of his laughter is the last thing you hear.

The third month arrives and Ignis sees you a little differently.

Different in a way that your smile is now a bullet to his heart. Your laughter, a drug. Your kiss, a secret he would forever keep. Not only have you grown on him, but you have made a home inside his body. His mind, your temple. You have seduced his empty heart, and now it is beating only for you.

But if there’s anything Ignis knows by now, it’s that good things always come to an end. They always do. And he knows better. He knows you aren’t for him, and he isn’t for you.

The third month sweeps you off your feet as Aranea enters your trailer with a new man in tow. At first, you think he is one of the new actors with the way he carries himself with an air of confidence, but you immediately recognize the logo on his jacket.

The first thing that leaves your mouth is: “Where’s Ignis?”

Aranea’s mouth twists. She hesitates, then says, “Ignis quit. Told me he found a new job. Nyx here would be his replacement.”

Your heart plummets. The expression on your face might have been so fucking obvious because Aranea casts you a worried glance, and so does this Nyx. He looks slightly uncomfortable with the way you skate your narrowed eyes at him, as if he has no right to be in your breathing space. As if he has no right at all to ever replace Ignis.

“I can see that you’re upset with this change,” Nyx begins to say, quickly regaining his charming composure, “but by 'quit,' it means he has left to pursue a different career path. Doesn’t mean he left you—I mean, for another client, that is.”

A simmering silence. Aranea and Nyx are watching you with growing alarm. You don’t know why, but something in you breaks.

You force yourself to smile, but it’s not very convincing. Some actor you are. And in the most modulated voice you could muster, you say, “Good for him then.” To Nyx, you say, “Do send him my regards when you see him around.”

As soon as Ignis pulls over your apartment building, you climb out of his car, weaving past another throng of paparazzi. Someone yells “Congrats on another blockbuster! Is this your new boyfriend?” and a couple of other things that only grates your ears. Ignis is quick to follow, and he shields you with his body as he leads you inside the lobby. Probably his force of habit, but it only unearths a memory of a good time that has already hollowed you out.

When the two of you reach the front door of your apartment, he finally breaks the silence. “I’m assuming you have Nyx trapped in some dark alley?”

“No, not really,” you say flatly. “He actually let me go on my own. Cooler than my previous bodyguard, if you ask me.”

“How convenient.”

“So, sous chef to the illustrious Weskham Armaugh, huh.”

“Indeed.”

“Now, care to explain to me why you really left without even saying a word? Especially to me?” There is a tremor that breaks your voice, and his smile slowly creases to a frown. “Is that it? Was that your grand plan? Make me fall in love with you and then just go up and leave—”

“I beg your pardon?” Ignis looks mystified, as if you have said something completely ludicrous. He stares at you for a long, scalding moment. “What did you just say?”

You scoff. “Are you kidding me right now? I said…”

The realization dawns on you in a slow unravel. Before you can even formulate an explanation, Ignis steals your breath away with a kiss. You have done this before in the confines of your trailer, but this time is different. This time, the feeling is no longer secret.

“You have absolutely no idea how I’ve wanted to do that this time around,” he says with a smile. And when he tells you I love you, he does not mean I love you regardless of or I love you despite, but rather I love you just because I do.

[defenestrata]

erich + ALL (too bad suffer w me)

stares into camera like i’m in the office. thanks realm. i lov having friends on the internets. i’m still figuring out erich’s character bc he was ( and likely still is ) a little bland but what’s under the cut is long so enjoy djhsjhfs

QUESTIONS FOR YOUR OCS

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

about half an hour at best, to be honest. and he’s the most patient person in his family. 

How easy is it for your character to laugh?

not easy, not at all. erich isn’t no-nonsense, he just doesn’t have a tendency to open his mouth and laugh. sharp exhales and repressed smirks all around. 

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?

sleeping pills. due to a couple of past incidents, erich has a crippling discomfort in the dark. and he’s also not rich enough to keep the lights on all night. about 1/3 of the time, he doesn’t need artificial medication, but sometimes he does. 

How easy is it to earn their trust?

full and complete ‘i’d die for you and i know you’d die for me’ trust ? near impossible ! erich’s trusted like five people in his life, one of which went missing, two of which were separated from him and the other two that betrayed him. 

How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

his idea of mistrust is pretty black and white. which means that he only decides to lose faith when you do something that stabs him in the back. that’s probably why two people have already stabbed him in the back. maybe one more will.

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

laws are only good for making sure everyone stays out of everyone else’s way. otherwise, miscellaneous laws like piracy and intellectual property aren’t that important to him. 

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

the one particular thing that triggers nostalgia for him is snow. erich’s memory of snow is not separate from his memory of old friends and family. until the point that he didn’t reunite with his fam, he felt nothing but a hollow bitterness. now, seeing snow is a little more calming. 

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child?

alright, so for one, for the longest time he was supposed to be an important role model for his sister, younger than him by five years. so he was pushed to start being responsible from a pretty young age. after that he had to be pushed to participate in things at school, which he hated doing because it was all silly and he was bad at arts and crafts. 

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

oh yeah, sure. he has no sanctity when it comes to that kind of stuff. his first swear word has to be shit. but in german, so scheiße. mama was absolutely shooked.

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

unfort, erich has told and continues to tell a lot of lies, some little and white, others less so. the most significant lie he’s told is hiding what really happened while he was on his own from his family. okay, this needs some insight on his backstory jhsjfds but uh to summarise: he was separated from his family, under the guardianship of a stranger for a little while, but got involved in deep web conspiracies and eventually got himself kidnapped and psychologically tortured for a bit but he hasn’t told his fam about it after they reunited. 

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

his pride, damn it. he will never admit he hasn’t understood anything ever, he’ll just nod and try to fill in the gaps himself and i hate him. 

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

try his best to reach it. his parents didn’t raise a quitter. probably just duck into a quiet place if there are too many people around. 

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

he thinks he looks really good in this grey jacket he has, which he’s especially partial to. it’s pretty shit. what he really looks good in are stark colours, especially black and white. 

What animal do they fear most?

dogs. he has allergies. other than that, maybe raccoons. 

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

he rehearses absolutely nothing and dies like a man. however, to be honest, speaking isn’t really his thing, it’s kind of a last resort. he’s much, much more of a listener. that being said, he has the tendency to say things that aren’t socially tactful, but not frequently.

What makes their stomach turn?

later in his arc he’s forced to be a decent protagonist and blackmail the antagonist with what the antagonist loves the most. he doesn’t like being in a position where there’s absolutely no doubt he’s doing something bad. basically if he knows he’s breaking the golden rule, he’s going to be uncomfortable. 

Are they easily embarrassed?

yes. yes. and his friend jamie, another oc, will use this to her advantage until she dies. 

What embarrasses them?

compliments. insults. mentions of his past. just anything that’s about him, being said by another people. he talks about himself, others talk about themselves

What is their favorite number?

what’s the point ?? he has no favourites. 

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

noah fence but he’s a terrible person to ask about this. he’d literally say “familial love is like platonic love but for family” and “romantic love is platonic love but when you kiss”. 

Why do they get up in the morning?

fuck if he knows. first it was because he’d get dragged out of bed by his physical therapist if he didn’t show up. now it’s because he’s being hunted down by an organised crime cult thing.

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?

erich has difficulty making personal attachments to anything, so he isn’t frequently overwhelmed by strong feelings of jealousy. if he is, he has difficulty making anything of it beyond “i am mad. why am i mad. what”.

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)?

for the first week erich does try to take some kind of moral high ground and ignore it, but second week leads to bitterness and snideness. although envy is not really a big deal for him. he has a fairly healthy family dynamic once he reunites with them, finances aren’t terrible etc. if i had to attribute a fatal flaw to them it’d be either pride or wrath. 

Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom?

i mean, in theory he’s comfortable because he doesn’t think of it as some super taboo subject. sure, sex. but because he’s been socially constrained for much of his life he’s just kind of bleh about it. 

What are their thoughts on marriage?

marriage is marriage. woop. does he want to get married ? heck no, he’s got shit to do. 

What is their preferred mode of transportation?

the london tube (he lives in london). the organisation of so many lines with all the crossover points is so, so satisfying. 

What causes them to feel dread?

forgetting. names, places, faces, details. especially when he can’t remember if it was important or not. he hates being surprised by events. 

Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth?

yes. yes. absolutely yes. truth is way overrated in society in his opinion. nothing is really true because everything is subjective. in which case, people can just pick the reality that suits them. if it doesn’t hurt anybody, why bother. 

Do they usually live up to their own ideals?

no. his ideal isn’t as much an image of himself as it is the goal of taking down aforementioned organised crime ring. he hasn’t done that yet. 

Who do they most regret meeting?

i’m so very glad you asked. albert michael strauss, a colleague of erich’s father, who took him in after he was separated from his family, and took splendid care of him — for the first year. after that, he realised that erich was involved in shady business and gave him out to the police without a blink which later led to the kidnapping. yeah, erich wants him dead. 

Who are they the most glad to have met?

kisha and jamie, his physical therapist and her mentee respectively. they were pretty successful in bringing him out of his shell after the torture, giving him support, asking about his family, helping out with finances, and finally even letting him stay with them when he gets evicted later in the story. 

Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke?

if erich’s super comfortable with you he may tell you stories of his younger sister being dumb.  of which he has quite a few. otherwise, if he’s feeling a little prideful, he’ll tell you the story of how he got onto a plane and got off it scot free without a boarding pass or a passport. yes, that did actually happen, and he’s so proud. 

Could they be considered lazy?

no. he knows what he wants and he’s proactive enough to get it.

How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt?

oh boy, okay so erich rarely does things that make him feel a super genuine sense of guilt. he tends to justify it with ‘it was necessary’. but if something does indeed make him feel guilty he will he haunted by it for days and days. 

How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive?

he listens and nods and maybe even quips. if its someone very close he’ll agree to help if needed. he’s got a very impersonal kind of supportive system that i’m still figuring out. 

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap?

i mean provided that a) he trusts someone, and b) cares about them to the extent that he has such strong platonic love that he begins to be confused about his feelings, he’d be in love. but that’s a huge process. so no thanks. 

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)?

not really sksksk he forgets things like a cool person. 

What memory do they revisit the most often?

memories of being locked in a tiny dark room, memories of being kept in a blindingly white, noiseless room. memories of being bombarded with loud and overlapping speeches and music till he can’t even hear his own thoughts. that kind of memory. 

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people?

difficult. his natural cynicism of people emphasizes on their flaws and may even ignore their good points. even with his best friends, he can’t ignore flaws when they pop up. it doesn’t diminish his appreciation of them, however.

How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

facts: erich’s sense of self is awful. he is pretty much playing a video game character of himself in the real world, interacting with objects and making observations with little attention on himself. if someone did call them out for being apathetic, cold and/or straight up duplicitous and condescending he’ll go “yes but what’s your point”

How do they feel about children?

okay, kids are a bit of a weak spot with erich, mostly because he has a baby sister. he likes how silly and unbothered about the world they are, it’s very amusing to him. also, objectively, he’s relatively decent at calming kids down and taking care of basic needs. once the mess that is his plot is over he wouldn’t mind having a kid. 

How badly do they want to reach their end goal?

he wants to take down mettugi pretty badly but he’s not passionately blindsided enough to do something stupid. he’s willing to kill but he’s not willing to die. if he plays his cards right it won’t be necessary. 

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so?

shrug emoji. it all depends on who he can connect with. 

QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS

A) Why are you excited about this character?

i’m excited mainly because i want to break a really gross trope in writing him. there’s this trope of tall, dark, handsome boys with dark pasts that are abusive to their friends and generally flat characters with no real meaning to them. i want a surface level tall, dark and handsome with genuine wit, capacity for sympathy and a moral code skskks 

B) What inspired you to create them?

oh boy long story short i doodled a person on the back of a test paper in ninth grade which gave me an idea for a detached character who hacks in solitude and he’s sort of developed over the years into what he is today. no single thing inspired him. 

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

no, because they’re the protagonist for the first segment of this story.

D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

absolutely not ! draft one erich was much older, and ethnically german. this erich is younger and the son of turkish immigrants to germany. 

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

i think we’re both too detached and awkward to get along and get close, but we certainly wouldn’t have arguments. 

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?

frustration because ARGH i’m having trouble getting a hold of him and fleshing him out

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

erich is meant to be a little volatile, but i’m having difficulty defining it very well. also it gets everyone around them to pull away just when they were getting close and that’s frustrating as an author too.

H) What trait do you admire most?

casual sympathy ! erich won’t hold your hand and tell you it’s alright but he will try to cook for you. he also tends to be generous to buskers and the like just because. 

I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe?

yes but i do that with all my ocs because they’re so defined by their context and canon.

J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

uh i’m not 100% sure what this question is asking tbh but the way this story is proceeding it’s very much driven by the characters — the story doesn’t make the muses, it’s the other way around.