#beat someone up and then go right back to being prim and proper (or not in some cases (tetra))

[minty-mumbles]

I think every Zelda should unironically get to beat someone up at least once

[soapssuds]

to you, from us

i. if i had to pick a color

when gojo meets you for the first time, his world literally stops turning. his heart is beating fast, his cheeks are turning a bright, hot red, and his hands, oh god, his hands are so fucking sweaty. is he actually nervous?!

taglist

@greyrain23

table of contents | next

Jujutsu Tech was supposed to be his beginning. It was supposed to be where he truly began living his own life away from the prying eyes of the clan elders and the prim and proper maids that seemed to follow him everywhere within his clan’s estate. It was all so exhausting. And when it became clear that he would be joining the jujutsu world, he truly thought that it would be his time to finally be able to breathe again.

And yet, it just felt all the more suffocating. The moment that he became a first year, the higher ups of the jujutsu world just seemed to piss him off way more than his clan elders did. They were way more demanding than what his home life was like, but then again…as someone with both the six eyes and limitless…wasn’t only natural to be treated as such?

So, in the end, his first year of Jujutsu Tech didn’t seem all that freeing in the end. Not until August rolled around. The summer heat clung to him tightly despite the light breeze that came into the open windowed classroom, and Gojo would find himself leaned far in his chair, his head falling back as his eyes closed shut. It was so damn hot…  Suguru nor Shoko were here yet and Gojo was left in his own little world and unable to complain to either of them, well, until the classroom door creaked open.

Quickly snapping his head up, he was prepared to whine to either Suguru or Shoko (whoever came through the door first) about the summer heat, but his words would soon get caught up in his throat when you walked in. Your hair was neatly styled, your hands were clasped in front of you almost in a nervous manner, and your head was slightly tilted downward.

Gojo didn’t believe in love at first sight. But he couldn’t deny the way his heartrate gradually picked up or the way his neck started to feel hot as he looked at you. No, it was because of the summer heat! He was sure of it. Opening his mouth to say something, you beat him to it.

“Hello,” despite the singular word, Gojo already saw it as you being way too formal, “I will be joining you as a first year student…,” trailing off a bit you had quietly given your name before bowing slightly and walking towards one of the farthest seats in the class which was when Gojo had finally taken notice how there was, in fact, one extra seat then there usually was.

Looking over at you, Gojo noticed how you kept your gaze pointed down at your desk, your eyes not once looking up or giving him even the tiniest of side glances. Gojo, as the loudest extrovert as he always was, decided to introduce himself too. So he stood up from his desk, his hand gripping the back of his chair as he went to push it in which was when he noticed it.

His hands were shaking.

What the hell?

Letting go of the back of the chair, he lifted his hand to inspect it. But he quickly dropped it as he went down one seat and towards you.

“Gojo Satoru,” he said his name with an unparalleled confidence as he sat down right next to you, the chair being pulled forward and turned so he was sitting and facing directly at you, “you know, you’re coming pretty late in the year. We’ve already been in school for a couple of months.”

As he talked, his focus kept drifting back to the state of his hands. They were unbearably sweaty, wait, oh god, his hands were so fucking sweaty. Was he actually nervous? No, it had to be because of the heat. It had to be. But he couldn’t deny the way his throat felt constricted, how his face felt hot, and the way that his neck kept getting this nervous itch in the back.

“I was still training my cursed technique…”

Your voice was so quiet. Gojo wondered if that was how you normally talked or if that was how you were told to talk. He knew what the jujutsu world was like and he also knew how some clans acted towards women and young girls.

“Still training, huh? What? Didn’t have good control or something?”

“That’s enough Satoru, stop interrogating the poor girl.”

His poking and prodding was interrupted when Suguru walked in, Shoko soon following after, and Gojo could only raise his hands in defense in a mock surrender, “I was just trying to get to know her,” he said as he pulled his chair forward. His body was finally not facing you causing you to release a breath that you didn’t even know you were holding.

“That’s because you don’t realize how intimidating you can be sometimes.”

“Me? Intimidating? Please.”

And as all the focus on you shifted away, you could finally relax in your seat. When you had initially came to the classroom, you hesitated walking in when you noticed only one student waiting there. You weren’t good at talking nor were you good at introducing yourself. When you had gotten up that morning, you kept telling yourself to arrive late so Mr. Yaga could just introduce you to the group, but due to your fear of being late and confrontation you found yourself arriving early anyway.

And much to your despair, it was THE Gojo Satoru who was already waiting there. In your head, you had many conversation topics swirling around in there in hopes to lift any awkwardness that may surface, but, in the end, you couldn’t even get yourself to say good morning much less how hot and unbearable the August heat was.

And because of your inability to talk to another person, Gojo was the one to initiate conversation with you. Truth be told, you were surprised you were even able to answer one of his questions in the first place. Much less be able to talk to him at all. He was Gojo Satoru after all. You were always told that he was the pinnacle of the jujutsu world. And if he wanted to, he could kill you with no effort at all.

“Quiet.”

And much to your relief, Yaga had walked into the classroom. Looking at the four of you, he nodded to you first.

“As of today, if it wasn’t already obvious, l/n here will be joining you all and will be completing missions just like the rest of you. I expect you all to get along.”

Gojo raised his hand, “why did she come so late in the year,” and didn’t even wait to be called on.

“Her cursed technique needed some refining. One wrong move, and she could be killing innocent people by accident,” and Yaga answered him anyway.

“Isn’t-“

Before Gojo could continue with his curiosity, Yaga had cut him off, “you’ll just have to find out yourself how dangerous her technique could be, but for now, two missions have come out for you four. Geto and Ieiri will go on one. Gojo and l/n will go on the other.”

You deflated at the news, slightly bummed out that you couldn’t go with the other girl in your class while Gojo caught himself frowning slightly. His brain is already working on overdrive.

His neck felt incredibly hot, his heartrate kept picking up and seemed to thump even louder in his chest, and his hands kept getting that nervous sweaty feeling.

He blamed it on the heat because Gojo doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Though, for Gojo, he took that first real breath that he always seemed to be holding in. He paid no mind to it.

Though, finally being able to breathe, to have that nervous feeling that he has seen in the movies and TV dramas, to see you and think "I want to get to know her," well, if he had to pick a color to describe himself or maybe even to describe you. It would be pink.

[anxious-witch]

Okay, so this is likely be long so buckle up. Let's talk about how the height and position of characters affects the story and shows us where they are emotionally or in regards to characters they interact with.

This is the most prominent with three characters, which are Edwin, Charles and the Cat King. But! I will do my best to touch upon the rest as well if anyone finds this interesting.

Considering I briefly touched upon how Charles and his dad have a similar hunched stance, let's start with Charles.

Also TW for talk of abuse and violence, since I do touch upon his relationship with his dad and abuse in general.

Charles is fascinating because he is one character that seems to constantly make himself smaller, either on the same level as the other character he is next to, or sometimes even make himself smaller than them.

This is especially visible next to Edwin, who always holds himself perfect straight and poised. Even in the above picture, where he is slightly leaning back for the dramatic effect, Charles is still hunched down more. With Crystal, yes, he is generally taller, but anytime he can, he does his best to lean down so they are on the eye-level.

This has dual purpose-both because Charles wants to be as non threatning as possible and because he often tries to sympathize with people, to quite literally understand their point of view.

Charles is the tallest character in the series, which I think has a weight on it's own. At first, I was under the impression Edwin was taller, bc of Charles' hunching, but Charled is just slightly taller. He is a protector, he is a brawn, and he tries his best to make himself as small as possible.

We also see that in scenes where he is "beanth" the person he is interacting with, usually happens when is emotionally distressed and/or feels powerless in a situation

The first time it happens in Devlin's house, when he is sitting on the stairs while Edwin and Crystal are standing. This is also right before he snaps and tries to hit the murderous father of the family, actively showing the turmoil he has been going through. Because that's what Charles does. He can't stand being helpless. His feeling below the problems he is facing is symbolized through him sitting on the stairs and he can't stand it any longer so he acts, quite rashly, just to disperse that feeling.

But then, what happens? He gets knocked to the floor, even lower than he was before. And he remains there, frozen.

Stuck in a loop of feeling helpless while being on the stairs, trying to take action and being knocked down even lower. What a metaphor for being stuck in an abusive loophole! Feeling like any time you try to stand up for yourself, any time you try to take action to not feel so helpless, you get into an even worse position. And then, in the end, it's Edwin and Crystal who have to help him out of the loop and who help him back on his feet.

We see him again in a position where amother character is not only above him, but actively lookming over him in a scene with his dad. Moreso, this is one instance where Charles doesn't take this position willingly, but rather, his dad literally knocks him down to the floor and starts beating him.

I think it's also sooo interesting how Charles' mom and the Night Nurse are positioned here. The Night Nurse stands above both Charles and his dad, all prim and proper. Completely unfeeling and separate from the whole picture.

Meanwhile, Charles' mom is above all of them, barely seen in the doorway, but still watching and she is crying. And while I know Charles loves his mom and understands she was likely also abused, I do wonder if this represents his view on both his parents. His dad, who is close but hurts him, who Charles would be on the same level with, if he wasn't constabtly knocked down. And his mom, who is above all that, almost like some sort of holy figure, but still suffering on Charles behaf.

Third time I noticed Charles being in a position where someone is above him was in a scene where Crystal is packing to go back to London, after getting her memories back.

Charles feels both emotionally vulnerable and helpless to stop her. Because he wants her to do what's best for her, but he also clearly doesn't want her to leave. The important part is that here, despite his clear emotional turmoil, Charles doesn't react directly. I believe he offers her his help, to come with her, but he doesn't insist. Which is a big change to the previous instance where we seem him in such position.

I am sure there are more scenes like these, these are just the ones I noticed. But! Shall we look at when does Charles stand full upright and shows how tall he really is?

Spoiler-When he is feelings brave

Framing is also very important and very deliberate. I'll touch more on this in Edwin's analysis, but you'll notice how most of the time, Edwin is always framed as the taller and biggest, either by height or because he is the closest to the camera. But no in the scene where he and Charles talk about Edwin's supposed feelings about Monty. No-it's Charles who is closer to the camera, because Edwin is the one being emotionally vulnerable. Charles holds the power to either lift up or crush Edwin here. And he is very aware of it.

And fulled by that power, by the fact Edwin opened up to him, Charles stands up tall. And when he reaches Edwin, they are practically the same height. Perfectly balanced, in the wake of Charles' acceptance.

In the scene with the Night Nurse, we see Charles practically flaunting his height. Which is in line with him essentially telling her to take him, but to leave Edwin alone. The point is, not only is he fully showing off his power and consciously or not, trying to intimidate the Night Nurse, but he is also shielding Edwin that way. Look at me, not him. I am the one you should feel threatened by, not him.

And of course. Of course. One scene, where Charles is actively above someone else, where he is higher, both in height and positioning?

In hell, during, Edwin's confession.

In an interview from the actors in this post, they actually touched upon this scene and how Charles being above Edwin on the starway was intentional, because Edwin is feeling very emotionally vulnerable.

He is in an submissive position(do not make the sex joke) to Charles here. He is opening himself up for a rejection and Charles is the one with all the power here. Which in and off itself is powerful, but for Charles? The character who constantly shrinks himself down as not to make anyone uncomfortable and threatened, who constantly gets knocked down in a fight by others?

Charles is terrified of being in a more powerful position due to his dad, because what if he turns out to be the same when he is in such a position?

But instead, he uses that power to be kind. He can't return Edwin's feelings, but he can reassure him he cares for him and that they have time to figure this out. And that is what turns Charles' shirt red again. Not only the fact that he is loved, despite all his flaws, but also the fact that proved to himself that he would never knock down the person being vulnerable, even when he hold all the power.

I exceeded picture limit on mobile, but in a scene on the rooftop wjere Edwin tries to apologize if him confessing created any tension between them and Charles reassure him that it did not, they are on the same height again.

Charles is sitting on an wall, so he is elevated, but he all curled up, so he comes on around the same hight as Edwin who is standing. Equals, once again, despite completely different stances.

I believe that's all I have to say on the topic of Charles in this context, lmk if I forgot smth or if anyone has anything to add, I love hearing other ppl's takes too!

[reciprocityfic]

#5 for amylaurie

5. that emotional moment that you can't find a plot for.

He’d never had a particularly happy life.

From the beginning, it had been marked with tragedy. He adored his mother, from what he can remember. But his memories, unfortunately, are few and far between. He tried to keep her smile, her laugh, the feel of her hugs and her hand wrapped around his tiny one locked away in his brain and his heart, but over the years, they inevitably began to fade. Before he knew it, he couldn’t quite get the tenor of her voice right, couldn’t remember the sweet words she used to whisper in his ear. She was like a beautifully painted picture, rather than a human being.

If there was someone who adored his mother more than he had, it was his father.

His father took her death the hardest. He tried to find a salve for his broken heart in all the wrong places, began gambling too often and drinking too much, frequently leaving his son alone late into the night to go out and drown his pain in whatever way he could. When his father was home, he could hardly stand to be around him. Everything about Laurie reminded him of her - his eyes, his hair, his nose, his smile. He reached his breaking point eventually, and then he sent Laurie away.

School had never been particularly hard for him. He was smart, he supposed, and he didn’t mind the company of his tutor. Boarding school was different, though. He never quite found a way to fit in. He was too quiet, not quite as rich, and Italian, which mattered in a way he didn’t understand. He always found himself at the center of negative gossip, the butt of too many jokes. He hated it, so he stopped trying to assimilate and let himself fade away into the peripheries of his peers.

When his father died, it was almost a relief; at least the man wouldn’t suffer any longer. But again, it threw him into a world of uncertainty and unfamiliar territory. It sent him to America, into the hands of a grandfather he had never met. As he grew older, he’d come to subtly resent his extended family for disowning him and his parents, and wondered if this grandfather would resent him back.

He didn’t. But his grandfather also wasn’t warm, a product of living so many years alone, Laurie supposes. He knows Mr. Laurence has experienced his share of heartbreak as well; there’s a beautiful piano that sits untouched, that the servants tell him belonged to the old man’s late granddaughter. The few times he tried to play it he’d catch his grandfather looking at him in a way that wasn’t particularly pleasant, so he stopped.

John Brooke - his new tutor - was pleasant enough, earnest and determined to please his grandfather by giving him the privilege of an excellent education. They often butted heads when Mr. Brooke tried to teach him; he couldn’t find him in himself to care much about learning anymore. Couldn’t find it in himself to care about much of anything.

Then, he met Jo March.

His grandfather had noticed his melancholy and sent him to a party to try to lift his spirits. He doubted it would work - how exciting could a party in Concord, Massachusetts possibly be, after all - and quickly found an empty side room to disappear in for a while until he’d spent enough time there that he could plausibly tell his grandfather he’d made an effort to be sociable.

It was there that Jo literally stumbled into him, and changed his life forever.

He’d never in his life met a girl like Jo March, one that was so boisterous and bright and unapologetically herself. In his world, every girl was trained from an early age to be prim and proper and polite, so that someday she might make a good wife and a fine young woman. Jo was anything but, and when he met the rest of the March family, he learned that they all were, in their own way - whether it be Meg and her unabashed love for dramatics and pretty things, or Beth sitting at her piano, playing until her fingers ached.

Or Amy, marching around in a pair of fairy wings and declaring that one day, she would be the best painter in the entire world.

His childhood memories of the Marches were all Jo, her fire and harsh edges and iron will, but Amy was always there at the edges, making herself known. She always seemed to be at odds with her older sister, but he thought that was because the two of them were the most alike in a way, like two opposite ends of the same string. He would always take Jo’s side when she recounted their latest feud, of course, but he couldn’t help his amusement at some of Amy’s antics. He remembers, when Jo told him that Amy had burned her novel, how his sympathy for Jo had existed right alongside of his wild amusement that little Amy March had the gall to even come up with such a thing, let alone follow it through.

But even though Amy was there, along with Meg and Beth, Jo was undoubtedly the main attraction, the sun at the center of his universe. His world was filled with her, with her smiles and laughs and hair and voice, with her words and her thoughts and ideas, and soon his heart was, too. He didn’t know much about love, but he knew he loved her. He knew he wanted her to be a part of his life always.

So, he’d asked her to marry him. It was the only thing to do, wasn’t it?

When she turned him down, he almost hadn’t been surprised. A part of him almost expected it; he hadn’t been particularly excited to ask her, after all. Rather, he’d dreaded it, dreaded the moment that the delicate balance they had built would have to tip one way or the other. He’d always known there was a chance she’d reject him.

That didn’t mean it hurt any less, though. He thinks it hurt even more when she left; he’d always known Jo to dive into every challenge head-first, but then she ran away to New York. She ran away from him. So he followed her lead, as he had learned to do so well over those years with her.

Heading back to Europe was much more bitter than it was sweet, and even the grandeur of cities like London, Paris, and Rome couldn’t stop the vibrancy from slowly bleeding out of his life. What had become a kaleidoscope of colors was now just grays and blacks and whites.

So he drank, and smoked, and gambled, and fucked his way through life, and in a macabre way, never felt closer to his father. Except he wasn’t heartbroken, not anymore - he realized more and more that he never expected her to say yes, not really. That she was right, as she usually was - it would have never worked.

He just felt lost. Unmoored, with nothing to anchor him. And he started to believe that maybe he was simply supposed to live his life this way, alone and adrift and apathetic.

Then, Amy March came barreling back into his life.

She was different, of course - namely, she was no longer little. She had traded her fairy wings and braids for beautiful gowns and carefully coiffed updos, and all her lofty childhood wishes had been replaced with a stoic, resigned realism. It would have worried him, that the world had taken her and hardened her, but he knew that the woman that threw her arms around him and happily shouted his name on that Parisian street, the world around her momentarily forgotten, was the Amy he had always known and cared for, however proper she might be now.

And she was proper, but he found it didn’t bother him like he thought it would. Instead, he admired her for it, that she had managed to grow up so gracefully. She was lovely, he decided. Lovely and refined and determined, so much so that it got him in trouble with her, sometimes. She was constantly after him to be better, to stop his drinking and laziness and make something of his life.

She wanted him to respect himself. He’d never really done that; all his life, he’d known himself to be a bother or problem, a thorn in someone’s side. He didn’t really know how to respect himself, but for her, he wanted to try.

The problem was, it was getting harder and harder to leave her side. She painted in his life with strokes that were insistent, but soft, and he found that her world was just as colorful as her sister’s. It was her own, of course; if Jo had been a red flame, then Amy was a golden glow, like sunshine. But he found that he didn’t mind the differences, that he maybe even preferred Amy’s version. It made him warmer than anything he’d known before.

He doesn’t know exactly when he fell for Amy. It happened slowly, gently, and before he could stop it, she’d taken up all the emptiness in his heart, filled it with light and life and love. Not that he would’ve wanted to stop it; he found he was quite content belonging to her. Even when she rejected him that first time, he didn’t try to remove her. He didn’t resent her, as he had temporarily resented Jo. He knew it was futile, that he was irreparably hers, and he decided that if he couldn’t be with her, he would at least make himself someone she could be proud of. He wanted to be someone she could respect, if he couldn’t be someone she loved.

But then, God had smiled upon him - for perhaps the first time - and she’d changed her mind. She loved him, she wanted him, she loved him. And when he kissed her that first time, she ignited something in him that no woman ever had before. He loved her, he wanted her, her and her only, he loved her, he loved her, he loved her.

His heart sang for her with its every beat. Every breath she took gave him purpose, every smile gave him joy, every kiss and moan and tug on his hair made his blood run hot through his veins. He was so full inside, wanted for nothing. He felt like all his life he’d been trying to shove himself into places where he didn’t fit, whether it be at school or with his father. With Jo. But there was a spot beside Amy, one in which he fit perfectly, like it was created with him in mind. And as long as Amy was beside him, he could do anything, be anything, survive anything.

One of the things that he loves most about her is her beauty. He can’t help it; he is only human. A weak one when it comes to Amy. When she hugged him that first time in France, he’d noticed how the autumn sun had caught the strands of her blonde hair, her cheeks flushed from the way she ran to him. He first let himself realize it in her studio, when she went off to meet Fred Vaughn. There was something about the way her cream-colored blouse laid against her pale skin, the way the blue accents brought out her eyes. How her pinned-up hair showed off her neck. He could do nothing but smile shyly at her, any coherent words suddenly caught in his throat. And every time he saw her, he noticed something else that added to her beauty, whether it be the delicate way she sipped her tea, her lips a pretty pink against the white china, or the way she blushed when he complimented her. Eventually, in a room full of women, she was the only one he could see, as captured as he was by her.

Almost three years later, nothing has changed.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to find her side of the bed empty. He’s almost positive he knows where she is, and almost rolls over and closes his eyes. But he can’t get her out of his head, so he gets up and throws on his robe. The moon shines bright enough that he doesn’t need a candle, and he leaves their bedroom, creeping to the next door down the hall. It’s ajar just slightly, and he slips inside.

And there she is, just where he thought she would be. Standing at the window, staring out into the night. She’s barefoot, dressed in a white nightgown, long hair cascading down her back. The moonlight illuminates her hair and skin. She’s breathtaking. More beautiful than any painting he’d ever seen.

Cradled in her arms is their newborn baby girl.

He doesn’t want to startle her, so he knocks gently against the door. She looks over her shoulder and smiles at him, but quickly goes back to gazing at the newest addition to their family.

He walks over to the two of them, placing a kiss on the top of her head before wrapping his arm around her shoulder and embracing her. There are a multitude of reasons why she might be in here - the baby could’ve been crying, it could’ve been time for a change or a feeding, or Amy simply could’ve missed her, could’ve wanted to hold her and watch her breathe. He suspects it’s the last one, but he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to disturb the peaceful scene in front of him.

He reaches a finger down to their baby, taps at her hand, until she opens her fist and wraps all of her tiny fingers around that one of his. Amy turns her face and nuzzles his shoulder, relaxing against him.

He’d never had a particularly happy life.

But standing here now, both his wife and his daughter in his arms, he knows nothing but.

send me a number and a pairing (preferably laurie x amy) and i'll write you a mini fic!

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spite in Misery - ao3

(rather silly AU of Delight in Misery, only even more petty and passive aggressive, and also slightly more JC/LWJ)

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

“What do you want?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“Sanctuary,” Lan Wangji said, prim and proper as he always was, the perfect untouchable iceberg as always, except maybe for the small child he was holding. “For me and my son.”

“Wait, you fuck?”

Wait, that wasn’t the right question.

“Why do you need sanctuary here?” Jiang Cheng asked, utterly bemused. “There isn’t a single place in the cultivation world you wouldn’t be welcomed –”

Except here.

“– and anyway, your brother, his sworn brothers, and your sect would demolish anyone who even thought about hurting you. Who in the world could you need sanctuary from?”

“My brother,” Lan Wangji said. “His sworn brothers, and my sect.”

Jiang Cheng stared at him.

Lan Wangji stared right back at him.

And then he collapsed.

“No,” Jiang Cheng said to the unconscious or possibly dead body currently lying across the threshold of the Lotus Pier and the small feverish-looking child in barely better state splayed out beside it. “I refuse to take responsibility for this!”

-

“You will not say anything about the room I have chosen to house you in,” Jiang Cheng said. “You will not complain about the food, the amenities, or make any requests whatsoever. Do you hear me?”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng ought to have expected as much.

“And don’t think this means I’m going to like you or anything,” Jiang Cheng added self-righteously.

“I despise you with every drop of blood in my body,” Lan Wangji said.

“…so noted,” Jiang Cheng said.

After a moment, he added, “I don’t care!” and stormed out.

After yet another moment, he came right back into the room where he’d put Lan Wangji – it was just a convenient room, not specifically Wei Wuxian’s room, and if putting Lan Wangji in there meant he could delay having to clean out all the personal possessions left in there and actually repurpose it, that was his business and no one else’s – and said, “Why do you hate me, exactly?”

“Do you care?” Lan Wangji asked. He was examining the small cot Jiang Cheng had set up to put the still-unconscious and therefore nameless child on.

“Obviously,” Jiang Cheng said. “Or I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng waited a few moments, moments that grew longer and longer, and finally he realized – “You’re not planning on telling me?”

“I despise you,” Lan Wangji reminded him.

“Oh, you – you…!” Jiang Cheng ground his teeth together. “I’m the one giving you sanctuary, remember?”

“I came to you because you were the only one powerful enough to accomplish the task and spiteful enough to do it. I did not come here to owe you any favors.”

“Well, you’re going to owe me one anyway,” Jiang Cheng said, scowling at him. “You – you – ugh. Forget it!”

He stormed back out.

And then he realized he hadn’t actually brought the medicine that he’d intended to bring to Lan Wangji, so he had to go in and drop it off, but then he was finally able to storm away properly.

-

“I was under the belief we had agreed it would be best for us to see each other as little as possible,” Lan Wangji said, his voice even icier than usual – which was saying something.

“That’s right,” Jiang Cheng agreed, eying him warily. “I’m only here personally to drop off your medicine because it means fewer people know that you’re here.”

He’d thought that he would need to bring in a doctor for Lan Wangji’s injuries, but it turned out to be whip marks from a discipline whip and Jiang Cheng – well. Jiang Cheng knew everything there was to know about injuries like that.

Sure, he’d had to take A-Yuan to a doctor, he didn’t know shit about pediatric illnesses, but that was fine, it didn’t give the whole game away. Jiang Cheng was able to pass him off as some random sad orphan he’d taken pity on, which wasn’t far from what he suspected to be the truth.

“In that case,” and Lan Wangji’s voice was even colder, which how, “why do you live next door?”

“This was the only room available,” Jiang Cheng lied.

Lan Wangji glared death at him.

“Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m giving you sanctuary, aren’t I?” Jiang Cheng scowled. “Anyway, I told you that you weren’t allowed to complain about the room.”

Lan Wangji did not appear impressed.

“How’d you know I was next door, anyway?”

“You have nightmares.”

…right.

“I’ll invest in better soundproofing, then,” Jiang Cheng said haughtily. He wasn’t ashamed of having nightmares. After the life he’d lived, it was only to be expected.

“I don’t want to be around you at all,” Lan Wangji clarified.

“Too bad.”

“I don’t want you spending time with A-Yuan.”

Oh, so that was the real issue here. Well, in that case, the answer was still – “Too bad.”

“He’s my son.”

“He’s in my house,” Jiang Cheng said. “In my sect, in my lands, in my part of the cultivation world, which is the only reason you came here rather than literally anywhere else, remember? Because I’m a territorial bastard with a paranoid streak that won’t let anyone come look for you in here without hovering over their backs like a shadow, making it impossible for them to actually find you – sound familiar?”

Lan Wangji’s face twitched. “I did not say that.”

“You thought it,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji’s silence proved he was right. “Anyway, I don’t care if you don’t like me spending time with A-Yuan. He’s one of the only people who can make Jin Ling laugh.”

“He wants to be his big brother,” Lan Wangji said. He sounded like he had swallowed glass.

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng said, not understanding. “Good for him?”

Brothers didn’t have to be biological, he thought, and that old pain tore through his heart the way it always did when he thought about Wei Wuxian.

“Worthless,” Lan Wangji said, glaring at him, and Jiang Cheng almost agreed with that assessment of himself – thoughts of Wei Wuxian usually had that effect – except of course it was Lan Wangji saying it, so naturally he had to disagree.

It was oddly reaffirming, actually. He might beat himself up as being worthless, useless and pathetic, a broken shell of a man who couldn’t keep a single member of his family alive, who had nothing and lived for nothing and existed purely for the sake of his sect and Jin Ling –

But the second Lan Wangji said that he was worthless, Lan Wangji who was wrong about everything, Jiang Cheng was immediately convinced that he was the best thing that had ever been invented.

Wait, was this how Wei Wuxian used to feel all the time?

No wonder he was always tormenting Lan Wangji.

-

“I brought you some books on physical rehabilitation,” Jiang Cheng announced. “No, don’t thank me - the sooner you’re better, the sooner you can leave.”

“It will not be too soon,” Lan Wangji said.

Personally, Jiang Cheng didn’t think Lan Wangji was going to be leaving for at least another year, maybe a few more years, not with that many strikes of the discipline whip to heal and his disordered qi to straighten out, but it was nice for both of them to see a destination at the end of the road in which they didn’t have to see each other all the time. Either way, he agreed, so he wasn’t going to ruin the rare moment of complete harmony by being persnickety.

“You should knock before entering,” Lan Wangji added, prissy as always.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. He probably should have, yes, but he always had the ‘it’s my house’ thing to fall back on. This was the Lotus Pier where the rules of the Lan sect didn’t apply, and as far as he was concerned, that was reason enough to ignore etiquette. Anyway, Lan Wangji was here alone and healing just the way he’d been doing the past few months, what exactly was he going to be doing that Jiang Cheng might walk in on –

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng said when Lan Wangji attempted, with dignity, to extract his hands from inside his clothing, which was unfortunately not something he could do subtly. “Were you trying to jerk off?”

Lan Wangji looked mutinous.

“…were you failing to jerk off?”

Lan Wangji now looked like he wanted to rip Jiang Cheng limb from limb, even though it ought to have been clear enough that Jiang Cheng would only think to ask the question because he’d had a similar issue for a while there. The time after his family had died had been brutal, and he couldn’t even use getting off as a shortcut to fall asleep because every time he tried he couldn’t keep it up; it’d been awful. He’d been terrified that he’d broken his own dick somehow, which led to worries that he wouldn’t be able to have kids in the future and thereby fail his parents and ancestors in a brand new and yet unexplored way, which led to even more panic and even less sleeping. It hadn’t been until someone (he suspected Nie Mingjue, bizarrely enough) shoved a medical treatise about trauma reactions under his door that he’d realized it was a fairly normal aftereffect and managed to calm down a little.

Nie Mingjue had also given him so much work to do that Jiang Cheng hadn’t had time to even think about that sort of thing until nearly half a year later, at which point everything was working again and he’d completely forgotten it was even an issue until halfway into the afterglow.

Good man, that Nie Mingjue.

“If it’s a symptom, you need to tell me these things,” Jiang Cheng said, taking far too much wretched enjoyment out of the whole thing. He’d give Lan Wangji the trauma book, of course – he still had it – but he had to get his wins in where he could against the perfect iceberg, cheap shots or no. “As your current attending doctor, I’m responsible for your care –”

“It is unwanted but necessary. It is simply something that I must endure,” Lan Wangji said grimly, and Jiang Cheng raised his eyebrows.

The book had covered that, too, although that hadn’t been his problem, personally.

“Oh, I see,” he said. “You keep getting hard, is that it? And then retraumatizing yourself when you try to jerk off, which means you can’t satisfy the need, which means you can’t solve the getting hard all the time problem, which in turn affects your cultivation and so your healing…yeah, I see the issue. You should probably get someone else to do it for you if you get really desperate.”

“I see no one but you,” Lan Wangji said through gritted teeth.

A problem, Jiang Cheng admitted.

Still mostly Lan Wangji’s problem, though.

“Well,” he said with the smarmiest smirk he could manage, “as your attending doctor –”

Lan Wanjgji threw a book at his head.

-

“What are you planning on doing once you’re better?” Jiang Cheng wondered.

“Why are you talking to me?” Lan Wangji replied.

“Oh come on,” Jiang Cheng said. “How can you say such a thing after taking advantage of me? I let you into my home –”

“You will not be able to rely upon that fact forever.”

“I will be able to rely on that fact for eternity,” Jiang Cheng disagreed. “I let you into my home, I hid you away from the world – which isn’t actually as easy as I make it look, just so you know! Your brother is practically scouring the earth –”

Lan Wangji looked like he’d bitten into something extremely sour.

“I’m sorry, did you think he was not going to do that? And recruit his sworn brothers to help him?” Jiang Cheng asked. “I thought the whole point of this was – well –”

“It was.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I do not enjoy hearing of it.”

“Listen, if you’re going to decide to torture someone by turning your back on them and disappearing without a word, you should at least have the guts to own it.”

“You speak from experience, I take it.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Did you somehow forget everything that happened back then with Wei Wuxian?”

“…you were the one who turned your back on Wei Ying.”

Jiang Cheng laughed disbelievingly. “Oh, yeah, sure,” he jeered. “Because I was so well-known for my backbone when it came to Wei Wuxian. I definitely was the one to come up with the idea to throw him out of my sect and cut ties, yeah, definitely, that’s completely what happened. I mean, obviously, I always got my way when dealing with him, every time, that’s how it always was between us. He had nothing to do with it.”

Lan Wangji was glaring at him. “Not then,” he said, each word cutting like a sword. “The Nightless City.”

“You mean the time he arrogantly and completely without warning started a fight that got my sister killed and then murdered three thousand people, including some of the very few family members and friends I had left?”

Lan Wangji was silent.

“You do mean that time,” Jiang Cheng said, marveling. “Are you insane? Even if I wanted to, if I took his side then, I’d have had no claim later on to grab him as a prisoner before anyone else did. The Jin would have executed him for sure! And slowly!”

“The Burial Mounds –”

“He imploded in front of my face!” Jiang Cheng shouted. “I had to see – when he – he died! He was – he did – you don’t even know – no, you know what, I’m not talking about this. Not with you of all people; you hated him.”

Lan Wangji’s hands were fists. “I did not.”

“No? You did a good job of acting like you did,” Jiang Cheng sneered. “Always talking about how you wanted to drag him back to Gusu just because it would make you feel better –”

“Better than leaving him.”

“I did what he wanted! And yes, fine, maybe that was my mistake. Maybe I should’ve ignored what he wanted, maybe I should’ve dragged him back to the Lotus Pier and locked him in a little room for the rest of his life the way everyone knows your dad did to your mom – ”

Lan Wangji flinched.

In fairness, Jiang Cheng was exaggerating about everyone knowing. He only knew about it because he’d heard his mother spit it out at his father during one of their nastier fights, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to have known about it, either.

“– but stupid me, I thought he’d be happier being free and alone than stuck with someone he clearly didn’t want to be around him anymore! But what do I know? Maybe I should ask you, you selfish bastard. You’re the one in his position this time, you’re the one who’s doing the turning away – I bet you don’t even know what it’s like to be the one that’s not wanted.”

Lan Wangji stared down at his hands as Jiang Cheng jumped up to his feet, Zidian crackling to life in his hand despite himself, persisting even though he tried to suppress it.

“I’m going to go hunt down some demonic cultivators,” he said, trying in vain to keep his temper even a little bit and knowing it was a lost cause. “And then I’m going to bring them back here and make them scream somewhere you can hear it. You can chew on that with some glass for all I care!”

-

“You handled that last one well,” Lan Wangji said. It sounded like someone was pulling teeth from his head.

“You’re sick,” Jiang Cheng announced. “I will go get some fever medicine at once. Are you experiencing any other symptoms in addition to hallucinations? Or should I be checking for signs of possession instead?”

Lan Wangji was back to glaring at him.

“I don’t know what drove that sudden spurt of niceness and I don’t care to know,” Jiang Cheng informed him. “I don’t need your approval.”

Lan Wangji ignored him. That was more customary.

Also unfortunate, because Jiang Cheng managed to get less than half a shichen of work done before coming back into Lan Wangji’s room (not Wei Wuxian’s room) and saying, “Okay, what exactly did I do?”

Lan Wangji looked at him sidelong.

“Seriously,” Jiang Cheng said. “What did I do that was so impressive that even you approved of it?”

“The demonic cultivator. The last one.”

Jiang Cheng frowned, thinking about it. “The – stupid one, you mean?”

Lan Wangji stared at him, and then looked at the ceiling, long-suffering. “The one from Yunping.”

“The stupid one,” Jiang Cheng confirmed, and then he was ranting again because he couldn’t seem to stop ranting about it. “I can’t believe the idiot got into demonic cultivation as a way to make money! That’s just – it’s just – if I ever figure out who paid him, I’m going to rearrange their guts with my sword. Lousy rotten opportunistic…!” He coughed, realizing he’d gotten started again when he’d promised Jiang Meimei that he’d stop. It apparently got old after the sixth repetition. “Anyway, what’s so notable about that?”

“You accepted him as an outer disciple of your own sect.”

“Well, yeah. What else was I going to do with him? He’s clearly got some talent for cultivation if he figured out demonic cultivation without dying. It’d be a waste to send him back to be a fisherman or a dockworker or something.”

“You didn’t kill him.”

“I’m not going to kill someone who got into demonic cultivation as a way to raise funds to get medicine for his sick mother,” Jiang Cheng said, rolling his eyes. “The idiot’s on tomb-sweeping duty for the next year to make up for having manipulated corpses the way he did, that’s punishment enough. It’s not at all comparable to the usual sort of amateur demonic cultivator, the ones that summon corpses to torment former lovers or murder business partners or that sort of thing – those are the ones I use as an example to warn everyone else. What’s the big deal?”

Lan Wangji said nothing.

“Fine, keep your secrets. Can you watch Jin Ling today? I have a – uh – important meeting.”

“Another woman that you have no intention of actually marrying?”

“Shut up and mind your own business.”

-

“No, but seriously,” Jiang Cheng said. “What are you going to do once you’re better?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Lan Wangji said, his voice muffled on account of his face being firmly in his hands. “Go away.”

“Listen, we’re still neighbors, we still need to talk. There’s no point in being suddenly shy about it just because you’re still in the acceptance phase of grief in connection with the whole me helping you with getting off business –”

“Never speak of it.”

Jiang Cheng sniggered. He wouldn’t have pegged the Lan sect as having uncontrolled libidos, much less Lan Wangji, but apparently the situation had gotten truly dire. Anyway, really, getting mockery rights was totally worth an arm work-out and having to put up with Lan Wangji, the latter of which he had to do anyway.

“You really are taking advantage of me now, though! My poor virtue –”

Lan Wangji looked at him through his fingers. “You don’t have any virtue.”

“Really?” Jiang Cheng asked, suddenly curious. “I strike you as someone with a lot of experience –”

“I meant morally.”

“Oh. Hey!”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes. “Pathetic.”

“Not as pathetic as someone who won’t answer a straight question,” Jiang Cheng said. “What’s your plan for after you’re healed? Are you going back to the Lan sect? Or start traveling as a rogue cultivator?”

“Why do you care?” Lan Wangji asked.

“I can care!”

“But you don’t. Not about my affairs.”

Jiang Cheng had to admit this was correct. “Fine,” he said. “I need a name.”

Lan Wangji frowned at him.

“For A-Yuan,” Jiang Cheng said. “It’s been a year. The kid’s as healthy as he’s ever going to be, and he’s old enough for me to shove him in with the rest of the younger generation now that we’re starting lessons back up – cultivation, swordsmanship, shooting, etiquette, all the usual. But I can’t register him in the class without a surname, and I need to know if that surname’s going to be Lan or if you plan on changing it to something else.”

Lan Wangji was frowning at him.

“I know, I know, you’re in hiding,” Jiang Cheng said. “It’s fine, it won’t give you away even if you do pick ‘Lan’. I can register him as a Yunmeng Lan instead of a Gusu Lan, the surname’s common enough that no one will suspect anything unless you make him start wearing a forehead ribbon, which I don’t think you lot do at this age yet anyway. But if you’re planning on continuing to hide from your family after you get better, you’re going to need to do something about all of that.”

Lan Wangji looked sour.

“Anyway, long story short, that’s it. Your plans, I need to know them.”

Lan Wangji looked even more sour.

“Well? What is it?”

“We will return to the Lan sect,” Lan Wangji said.

“Not that hard, was it,” Jiang Cheng said. “I knew you were just throwing a temper tantrum.”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes.

After a moment, he said, “What do we do about Jin Ling?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do we do about Jin Ling’?” Jiang Cheng asked suspiciously. “I had to fight half of Lanling Jin for the right to raise him here, we’re not doing anything about Jin Ling – anyway, who’s ‘we’? He’s my nephew!”

“A-Yuan sees him as a little brother.”

This was true.

“They will not want to part.”

…also true.

“Moreover,” and here Lan Wangji looked especially sour, “I believe A-Yuan has taken you as something of a – second parent.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Jiang Cheng said. “He’s a cute kid. Anyway, don’t take it so personally. Kids just do that, they adopt any adult in the vicinity as their own. I mean, certainly Jin Ling thinks of you as…wait. Wait. Are we co-parenting?!”

“Mm. Took you long enough to notice.”

-

It had been a bad day, a bad week, and a bad month, and Jiang Cheng’s temper, never good, was on the verge of imploding, so naturally that was when he completely lost all self-control he might have had and marched over to Lan Wangji’s room to blurt out, “Why do you hate me?”

Lan Wangji’s hands stilled over his guqin.

“I know why I hate you, even putting aside the fact that you’re a jackass with the emotional capacity of a brick,” Jiang Cheng said. “But I really have no idea what I did to you to make you hate me.”

There were so many options, after all. He was a cruel, vicious, and bitter man – he was a terrible parent, unlikable as a friend, barely sufficient as a sect leader, and such a failure at connecting socially with anyone that he’d been blacklisted as a marriage prospect despite being handsome, young, rich, and powerful. There were so many reasons to hate him.

But he didn’t know which one was the one that made Lan Wangji look at him with disdain, even if he thought that perhaps there was slightly less of that these days than there had been before.

“I hate you because you abandoned Wei Ying when he needed you,” Lan Wangji said. “He was your brother, and you left him behind – more than that, you led the charge against him, resulting in his death.”

…that was a good reason.

Jiang Cheng wouldn’t mind being hated for that reason, actually. It was a nice change from all those people who congratulated him for having done the right thing: all those smug sect leaders that comforted him for having raised a white-eyed wolf in the family, the ones that said his actions showed that he had a good backbone and a righteous bearing, the ones that had the gall to send him gifts of congratulation on the anniversary of Wei Wuxian’s death to thank him for his contribution to the cultivation world when all he wanted was to be left alone to mourn…

“That’s fine,” he croaked. “Okay. Yes. That’s – fine.”

“Why do you hate me?” Lan Wangji asked in turn. “You said you knew.”

“Oh, that,” Jiang Cheng said. “Same reason.”

Lan Wangji stared.

Jiang Cheng shrugged. “I mean, I know you were always harsh on him when we were together at your uncle’s lectures, which was completely fair given how much he was always bothering you. But he really did try sincerely to help you when we were all the Wen sect’s camp, and in the cave with the Xuanwu – but after, in the war, when he showed up with his demonic cultivation, you suddenly turned on him even though he was just doing it to help. You kept telling him he had to stop, even though you knew he was doing so much for the war effort, and you wanted to take him back to Gusu to do who-knows-what to him…you even snatched him away during the battle of the Nightless City! I saw you. I was so afraid you were going to kill him, I completely lost my head. I looked for you everywhere – I really don’t know how he was lucky enough to get away from you that time.”

Lan Wangji stared at him.

“And then you didn’t even bother to show up to the siege of the Burial Mounds in person,” Jiang Cheng added, feeling bitter. “After I heard from the Lan sect that he escaped from you, I briefly thought that you’d changed your mind and let him go. I was counting on you to be at the Burial Mounds to support me in claiming him as a Jiang sect prisoner – I had Chifeng-zun signed on, if reluctantly, and with you leading the Lan I could’ve made a decent argument. But then you didn’t show, either you or your brother; instead you sent your uncle, and of course there wasn’t even any point in asking him, was there?”

“…I didn’t know,” Lan Wangji said. His voice sounded strangely hoarse. “I wasn’t informed. It was shortly after…”

He nodded at his own shoulder, meaning the disaster on his back. Jiang Cheng hadn’t asked how it happened – he really wanted to know, as in really, really, really wanted to know, but even he was aware that actually asking would be unbearably rude. Still, he was surprised by the timing of it. How had Lan Wangji managed to end up in the hands of his enemies then? Who had even been left to do it to him?

“Yeah, well,” Jiang Cheng said, shaking his head to try to kick away his curiosity the way he would something clinging to his foot. “You were still a bastard to him when he needed you, so I hate you.”

He frowned.

“Also, you hate me,” he said. “So I hated you back just for that. Though I guess, since your reason for hating me is valid, maybe I should stop hating you back for that?”

He considered it.

“No,” he decided. “You’re too annoying not to hate.”

“The same for you,” Lan Wangji said after an unusual hesitation.

Jiang Cheng nodded and, feeling oddly relieved at not having found a new basis for self-hatred, departs.

-

“So once you’ve reestablished yourself at the Cloud Recesses, we’ll exchange extended visits on a regular basis so the kids can see each other,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji nodded. “A minimum of three weeks per season, whether in the Lotus Pier or Cloud Recesses, and preferably double that.”

“Agreed.”

“In the meantime, you’ll work on getting the trade agreement we hammered out through your brother and sect elders as recompense for the time you spent here.”

“Mm.”

“An agreement whose source you will be disclosing very carefully because the Venerated Triad will not hesitate to murder me if they figure out without adequate warning it was me that was housing you for all this time.”

Lan Wangji said nothing and promised nothing.

Bastard.

Still, after nearly three years, Jiang Cheng was pretty used to it.

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng said. “Is there anything I’ve left out?”

“Joint night-hunts.”

“Right, right, we’ll make a point of regularly going on joint night-hunts – wait, why are we doing that? You don’t need me to watch your back now that you’re fully healed.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze wandered.

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng said. “So we can keep having hate-sex on the regular?”

“…mm.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? It’s not like I’m doing anything else – or anyone else. Blacklisted, remember?”

“Unsurprising,” Lan Wangji said, like the bastard he was.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, whatever. The set-up works, doesn’t it? I’m blacklisted, you’re apparently eternally pining for Wei Wuxian of all people – your taste is the worst – so who’s going to call us out on it? Go on, get out of here already. I’ll see you next month.”

-

“Well,” Jiang Cheng said, looking between the newly resurrected Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, abruptly made of an issue he had hitherto not considered based on Lan Wangji’s screaming body language. “This is. Uh. Awkward?”

[tennessoui]

Ummmmmm can i please request 5

This was written all on my phone waiting for my train and I’m trying to post it through my phone which tumblr is being a lil bitch about but here is

5. Falling Pregnant After A One Night Stand (3.6k)

(squick: a/b/o dynamics, mpreg)(two tags I never thought I’d write lmao)

Anakin’s working on the couch when he hears the key in the lock of the apartment door, signaling that finally—finally—Obi-Wan’s home from his week-long hastily planned stay at Bail’s place.

Bail and Breha’s place, Anakin reminds himself. Obi-Wan’s mated friends pose no competition to Anakin’s inner alpha, which definitely thinks of Obi-Wan as his omega.

Obi-Wan comes into the main room quietly, putting his bag on one of the barstools and leaning against the counter for a second, head bowed.

When he lets out a sigh and a heavy curse, Anakin can’t stop himself from speaking up, alarmed. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

Obi-Wan jolts and turns around to face the couch, clearly startled. “Anakin!” he yelps, one hand flying to his stomach and the other to grip the counter behind him, as if Anakin is an intruder, and not the man he’s been living with for six years. “I thought you’d be at work!”

Anakin fights the urge to flush. The truth is, he’s tried to go into work for the past three days, but Obi-Wan’s absense has kicked his alpha hindbrain into a special kind of panic mode, where he can’t stand to leave the den until the omega returns to it safely.

It’s not like Anakin’s going to say that though, not after five years of pining for the older omega from afar. He’s a pro at this by now.

“Working from home today,” Anakin says. And then so Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’s spent his entire week alone on the couch waiting to be not alone anymore (he has), he lies, “Woke up hungover.”

“On a Thursday?” Obi-Wan says, sounding a bit concerned.

Anakin purses his lips and tries not to pout. He rakes his eyes over the omega, taking in his messed up hair and untrimmed beard and the dark circles that have popped up beneath his eyes. “You didn’t answer, Obi-Wan,” he accuses. “What’s wrong?”

The omega’s scent tinges with distress, which only proves Anakin’s point further. Obi-Wan never lets his scent leak through his blockers, not if he can help it. Anakin’s always made sure to luxuriate in his unbridled scent when he can, one that smells like maple and rain and cinnamon. But to smell it now just makes him feel more worried.

“Are you going into—“ Anakin stutters over the word heat. Obi-Wan’s at least feeling well enough to roll his eyes fondly. The older omega thinks Anakin’s one of those alphas that get wildly uncomfortable talking about an omega’s heat. It’s not true. Anakin’s helped friends through heats both platonically and sexually. Look, he’s run to the corner bodega at two in the morning to get Padmé heating pads to be left outside her door. He’s no stranger to heats.

But the idea of his prim and proper roommate writhing around in his nest, begging for something to fill him up the way he needs—that makes Anakin stutter and blush and trip over his words.

“No,” Obi-Wan says, but there’s something off in his tone, something sour in his scent. Anakin puts his laptop aside—the screen’s gone dark already anyway—and makes to stand, his inner alpha baying with the need to run his hands over the omega, to make sure he’s not bleeding or hurt or injured—

“I—I’m going to unpack and take a shower,” Obi-Wan decides, pushing away from the counter and closer to the couch. Not close enough. But closer. “And then I need to talk to you about something.”

“Are you…” Anakin casts around for the right word to say. Ill. Leaving me. Sick. Sick of me. Done with all of this. Dying.

Obi-Wan pauses and gives him his own sort of once-over. Whatever he finds in either his body language or his scent brings a soft smile to the omega’s face. “I’m fine, dear one. I—I need a shower. I don’t—smell right.”

Anakin blinks after him, hands balling into fists and relaxing as he processes those words. Usually it’s Anakin who wants Obi-Wan to shower off the stench of other alphas after his business trips or stays at his friends’ places. Obi-Wan’s always insisted he smells fine, but he’ll cave if Anakin’s mood gets bad enough.

It’s not something he’s especially proud of, but it’s worth it when Obi-Wan curls up onto the couch beside Anakin and he smells only like the shampoo and soap they share.

Sometimes if he’s tired enough, he’ll even let Anakin scent mark him so that next time he goes out, everyone will automatically assume he’s already in possession of an alpha and not looking for anything.

Sometimes, he even asks for it. Those times are the best.

Anakin tries to sit still while he waits for Obi-Wan to come back, but it’s impossible. He moves to the table, then to the kitchen counter, then back to the couch. Where should he sit, where would be a place he feels safe enough to receive whatever news Obi-Wan’s putting off telling him?

In the omega’s arms in his own bed, is the answer that comes to mind. But can he really ask that of Obi-Wan? They’ve done it before, when Anakin’s mother had died, when Ahsoka had left the city to get a degree abroad, when Anakin feels as though he’s going to shake apart if he doesn’t hold onto his omega and make sure that he at least can’t leave him too.

When Obi-Wan comes out of his room, all flushed from the shower with his hair still damp and messy, wearing a blue sweater Anakin’s pretty sure used to be his and a pair of sweatpants that are definitely currently his, there’s hardly a choice to make. If Obi-Wan wants to wear his scent, Anakin will give it to him.

Silently he takes his hand and leads him to his bedroom, toeing out of his shoes and tugging him into his bed and into his arms.

Obi-Wan goes so easily that it only makes Anakin more worried. His heart cannot take this level of stress and he has to hide his face in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck and inhales greedily at the pure scent of omega—Obi-Wan omega—his omega.

“Obi-Wan,” he says nonsensically, just to feel the way the omega in his arms shudders at the sensation of his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck.

But then Obi-Wan doesn’t stop shaking and Anakin can feel a growing wetness against his shirt. He can’t stop the distressed rumble that comes out of his throat, but he bites his tongue just in time to stop the alpha command to tell him. Obi-Wan wouldn’t like that and Anakin wouldn’t like doing it.

His hands stroke soothingly over the omega’s back as he starts purring from within his chest. An alpha’s purr is supposed to reassure an omega, make them feel safe and protected, but Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to realize this because he doesn’t stop crying.

“Talk to me,” Anakin murmurs nosing at the short hairs behind Obi-Wan’s ears. “Baby. Obi. Omega. What is wrong? What can I do?”

Obi-Wan wipes his eyes dry on Anakin’s shirt and looks up at him with a heartbroken but strangely resigned expression. Like he already knows what Anakin’s going to do, and he thinks nothing he says will change anything.

As if.

When Obi-Wan went on a two month long business trip three years ago, Anakin grew out a beard and it only took one look from the omega upon his return before Anakin was shaving it off. The point is, Obi-Wan doesn’t even need to speak half the time for Anakin to agree. He’s just that in love. It’s pathetic. He can’t remember who he was before it.

“I’m a mess, I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan finally gets out, retracting one of his hands from the tight grip he has on Anakin’s shirt to rub at his eye. “I told myself I wasn’t going to be like this, but. I don’t—it’s—“

“Hey, hey,” Anakin soothes, leaning back a bit so he can knock their foreheads together. Packmates do that all the time. “It’s okay.”

Obi-Wan nods slowly, and his scent expands with the pleasant notes of a comforted, protected omega.

“Do you remember…when I went to Seattle at the end of August for that conference?” he starts slowly.

Anakin hums in acknowledgement. He’d wanted to go with Obi-Wan, instincts demanding that the other side of the country was too far for the omega to travel alone, but he’d not been able to get time off of work.

His heart drops into his stomach at the idea that somehow maybe Obi-Wan met someone there during his four-day trip, and he’s in love with them and is trying to find a way to tell Anakin he’s moving.

Would it be pathetic if Anakin followed him? Would Obi-Wan’s new alpha allow Anakin to live with Obi-Wan still? Would Obi-Wan’s alpha be amenable to telling Anakin how he made Obi-Wan fall in love with him in a matter of days when Anakin’s been trying to get the man to love him romantically for six years?

Anakin’s heart rate is up, but it’s nothing compared to the staccato beat of Obi-Wan’s. He tries to send out more calming pheromones, but he can’t even find them for himself.

This is it. He’s about to lose Obi-Wan. The alpha inside of him whimpers, and it takes all of his willpower not to crush his omega tighter to his chest.

No. Not his.

“I met a man there, just at the hotel,” Obi-Wan says. It would have been kinder if he’d just stabbed Anakin with the kitchen knife. There’s no relief to be found in this slow death. Because—because surely, Anakin will die without Obi-Wan. Not physically, of course. He’s not one of those alphas who doesn’t know how to take care of himself.

Actually, it’s Anakin that cooks most of the time for both of them. And Anakin will do the shopping, will keep an eye on the amount of cleaning supplies they have, how much toilet paper, how many garbage bags.

But what would be the point of cooking anything if Obi-Wan isn’t there to taste it and shower him with praise? What’s the point of cleaning the apartment if Obi-Wan isn’t there to tuck himself into his arms on the couch and thank him for the work? What’s the point of anything if he’s doing it without Obi-Wan?

“Anakin, I—“ Obi-Wan stutters and falls silent. Anakin braces himself for the end he should have seen coming. “I’m pregnant.”

White noise. Anakin doesn't even think he’s breathing. Obi-Wan is pregnant. Obi-Wan…had a one-night stand in a city 2,400 miles away from Anakin, and he’s pregnant. Someone touched Obi-Wan, someone made Obi-Wan come, someone got Obi-Wan pregnant, and maybe…maybe there’s a chance they’ll get to keep Obi-Wan too.

The alpha in his chest howls at the thought. The idea that—that someone else will have a better claim on Obi-Wan’s heart. What’s six years of living together compared to a child?

Except Obi-Wan presses further into his chest, with a shaky whine. The omega is here now, not with any other alpha, not in any other city. He’s in Anakin’s bed, in Anakin’s arms.

Anakin opens and closes his mouth, trying to figure out what to say, how to say it, how to speak. He needs to know so much more. He needs to know what Obi-Wan is going to do, if he’s in contact with the father, if he’s planning to move, if he’s planning to raise the—

As if he can hear his thoughts, Obi-Wan starts talking again, very fast as if he’s afraid Anakin’s going to kick him out in a few minutes and he needs to get the whole story out before he does.

“I’m keeping it. Them. I—I’m so old now—“ he’s barely 38– “I’m afraid this could be my only chance at…at a family.”

Anakin closes his eyes and hides his face in the still-damp strands of Obi-Wan’s hair. He doesn’t want Obi-Wan to see how devastated he is at this response. Anakin’s family is Obi-Wan. He’d thought…he’d wanted….

“I understand if you want to move out before the lease ends,” Obi-Wan mumbles, but his hands clench tightly around Anakin’s back. “I know…a baby…another alpha’s baby…you shouldn’t have to take care of them. I know it’s not what you signed up for, I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t hold it against you.” His voice gets smaller and smaller until Anakin has to strain to hear him. “I can do this alone.”

He sounds as if he’s telling himself as much as he’s telling Anakin. But Anakin can’t even focus on that because his entire attention is caught by everything else Obi-Wan’s just said. Because it sounds…it sounds as if Obi-Wan is planning to stay in the city. In the apartment. Without the sire.

Alone.

As if Anakin would ever let Obi-Wan be alone, given the choice. As if Anakin would ever leave Obi-Wan to struggle through any difficulty without him.

Obi-Wan presses impossibly closer to him. “Say something,” he demands, running his nose up and down Anakin’s neck, over his scent glands, as if he expects Anakin to be able to form whole, coherent sentences when he’s doing that with his mouth.

The pregnancy must be messing with Obi-Wan’s instincts and emotions, Anakin realizes distantly. His body must know he’s not mated, that he’s about to be a visibly pregnant, unmated Omega in a dangerous city. No wonder he’s trying to cover himself so completely in Anakin’s scent. He has to wonder if Obi-Wan even understands what he’s doing. He’s never been one to try and he in touch with his Omegan side.

“Alpha,” Obi-Wan pleads, and Anakin has a second realization that it’s been ages since he’s said something. The room fills with the scent of distressed, in pain omega.

Anakin lets out an involuntary purr and tightens his hold on Obi-Wan’s body. It would be nice to look him in the eyes, but he thinks they both need as little distance between themselves as possible. “You’re going to make a great parent,” he soothes, nuzzling along Obi-Wan’s hairline. “And I’m not going to leave you unless you want me to.”

Obi-Wan stills completely as if shocked to his bones, and then he relaxes bonelessly into Anakin’s arms. This time, Anakin feels the tears as soon as they start and he goes about stroking up and down Obi-Wan’s spine again.

“I was so afraid,” Obi-Wan admits between sobs. Anakin thinks to himself privately that he definitely knows how that feels, but one of them shouldn’t be crying. “I didn’t know how to tell you—I didn’t want you to hate me for making such a stupid mistake—“

There’s nothing Obi-Wan could do to make him hate him. Sure, Anakin’s absolutely filled with hatred for whoever caught Obi-Wan’s eye on that business trip, but none of those emotions bleed over into what he feels for Obi-Wan. Not when his love is too strong and entrenched.

“Bail said you’d understand but I’m just—a mess, I don’t know what I’m doing half the time and these goddamn hormones are making me feel out of control—“ Obi-Wan continues. The fact that Bail fucking Organa found out about Obi-Wan’s pregnancy before Anakin did will drive him crazy if he lets it, so he puts that aside for now and focuses on comforting his omega.

“We’ll figure it out,” Anakin says, scenting Obi-Wan back. “It’ll be alright.”

————

A few hours later, Obi-Wan awakens from the nap he’s fallen into with a start. Anakin’s gotten no sleep, too busy drawing nonsense lines on Obi-Wan’s back and staring at the ceiling, thinking about the future. About what’s going to happen to them, around them.

No matter how much he hates the sire of the child in Obi-Wan, he already feels attached to the baby. It’s part of Obi-Wan. Maybe they’ll have his hair color or his eyes. Maybe they’ll have his compassion, his wit. Maybe they’ll let Anakin teach them how to play soccer or swim or cook.

The possibilities are endless and all of them involve Obi-Wan falling in love with him because of how amazing of a father he is to his child.

It’s not the most pressing thought in his mind, but he has to admit at least to himself that it’s there. That he’s just as in love with Obi-Wan as he was when he woke up in the morning. Now he just has another part of Obi-Wan to love: his child.

Maybe their child.

“I need to tell him,” Obi-Wan mumbles from his spot laying across Anakin’s chest. “I don’t—I don’t particularly want his involvement or, or money, but he should know. He should have the option to be in his child’s life.”

The part of Anakin who has just spent the past three hours getting used to the idea of raising Obi-Wan’s child as if he’s his own bristles at the idea of the sire being involved at all.

“Do you have his number?” Anakin asks reluctantly. He can’t imagine getting to sleep with someone as gorgeous as Obi-Wan and not trying to give him a means of keeping in contact.

But Obi-Wan shakes his head.

“His address?”

Another negative. “I…know his name and where he works.”

Anakin bares his teeth at the ceiling. “And?”

Obi-wan sounds more than a bit embarrassed. “Ah. He was the bartender at the hotel. And his name tag said Set.”

“You went to a medical conference full of alpha surgeons and researchers and you…slept with the bartender,” Anakin says blankly, before he can stop himself.

Obi-Wan huffs. It’s the most Obi-Wan response he’s given since he got home from Bail’s. “Sorry my one-night stands don’t meet your standards.”

Anakin hums. The truth is the only person who will ever meet his standards as a romantic partner for Obi-Wan is Anakin. “So what do you want to do? Call the hotel and ask for Set?”

Which, by the way, is the most pretentiously Seattle name he’s ever heard of. Set’s given name is probably, like, David and he just wanted to sound cool and grunge.

“I can’t just—this isn’t something I can say over the phone, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. He falls silent.

“It’s mid-November,” Anakin points out. “Neither of us are hurting for money, but plane tickets are going to be astronomical until January at least. If they’re available at all.”

There’d be shitty seats available, of course, but Anakin’s not going to let his pregnant omega cram himself into an uncomfortable, smelly seat for eight hours.

“You don’t—I don’t expect you to come with me,” Obi-Wan mumbles into Anakin’s collarbone.

Anakin just manages to bite back a scoff and the urge to point out that last time Obi-Wan went off to Seattle without him, he got pregnant. Who knows what would happen if he does it again?

“Well, I’m gonna,” he says firmly. “But I think we should drive. It’ll take longer, but I’d feel much better about what you’re exposed to, not to mention how much more comfortable my car is than a coach seat. We can share a motel bed to cut costs, and—what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Obi-Wan picks himself up off his chest to stare at him quizzically. “What if your job won’t let you take the days off? They didn’t even let you leave for the original Seattle trip and that was only a few days. We’re talking weeks here, Ani.”

Anakin sets his face into a scowl. He’s worked at the same finance firm since moving to New York, but if they won’t let him take time off for this, for Obi-Wan, he’ll quit. Simple as that. “Then I’ll go anyway and they can fire me.”

Predictably, Obi-Wan has several protests. Anakin will hear none of them. If he is fired, if he can’t find another finance job in the city that makes the same amount of money, then they’ll move out to somewhere else. He’s heard good things about Denver. And if Obi-Wan doesn’t want to move that far, maybe they can move upstate. It’ll be easier to raise a kid outside of the city anyway.

He’s not dumb enough to tell Obi-Wan this, knowing it makes him sound literally insane, but he is just stupid enough to cut Obi-Wan off and say, “you’re the most important person in my life, Obi-Wan. You….you both are.”

Hesitantly he moves his hand down to rest it gently over the slightest swell of Obi-Wan’s tummy. The omega’s breath catches in his throat, but he lets him touch.

“I’m going to be there with you, every step of the way if you’ll have me,” Anakin adds, stroking his thumb over the impossibly soft skin. Pregnant. Obi-Wan is pregnant.

It’ll take a few days more to get completely used to that idea, that’s for sure.

Obi-Wan studies his face with eyes still red-rimmed and puffy from all that crying a few hours ago. Slowly he raises his own hand to Anakin’s neck and rubs up and down his scent gland with something almost like longing in his expression. They’re so close together. Anakin would let him have anything—everything.

Everything.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan agrees with an air of strained incredulity in his voice , placing his other hand over Anakin’s on top of his abdomen. “Yes. Let’s drive to Seattle so I can tell my one-night stand that I’m carrying his child.”

Anakin nods and adds privately in his head, And so I can tell him that that kid’s gonna be mine in everything but blood and he better stay on his side of the goddamn country.

He’s not losing his family to some stupid Seattle alpha.

[marcyharm]

Hi! This ended up being a.. lot longer than a drabble. Apologies for the length, here you go!

Olivia is not known for being fond of children.

They are, in every sense, messy. Nothing like the prim and proper lifestyle she has learned to take on. Wherever children are, there will be chaos, chaos that someone else has to clean up. They are not experienced in the ways of this world, do not know the rules and customs and etiquette like she does, and have no regard for the consequences of their actions. Most of the time.

So it’s no surprise that over the years of being Andrias’s lady-in-waiting, she’s avoided them like frogs steer clear of red-leg.

However, you can’t avoid them when they end up right in front of you after falling down the largest flight of stairs in the kingdom.

-----

Children are not known for being fond of Yunan.

And honestly, she can’t blame them. Whether it’s her boisterous attitude, the sharp weapons constantly attached to the back of her hands, or her tendency to talk about murder a little too much, they’ve always been a bit intimidated by her. She’s General Yunan, scourge of the Sand Wars, defeater of Ragnar the Wretched, of course people are supposed to be intimidated by her. She doesn’t mind it that much. Most of the time.

So it’s no surprise that over the years, she’s grown accustomed to it. Who needs the approval of youngsters when you have an army to impress?

It takes her a bit off-guard when she finds one who stands in front of her, impressed... but unafraid.

-----

“Is she breathing? Please tell me she’s breathing. She’s gotta be breathing. If she’s not breathing, then I’m gonna-”

“Yunan, please be quiet. I’m trying to check her vital signs.”

Yunan rears back a little and bites the inside of her cheek nervously. Lady Olivia, brow furrowed in concentration, kneels down on the floor and puts a gentle hand to the side of Marcy’s neck, and another in front of her nose, making sure to avoid the large eye protruding from her chest.

Her tail thumps against the floor for every beat she feels against her fingers. Although she wouldn’t let anyone know it, Olivia’s own heart feels lodged in her throat.

“115 beats per minute,” Olivia says, with an exhale of relief, loud enough for Yunan to hear as she swoops back to hover anxiously over her shoulder. “Breathing steady.”

“That’s good, right? Good for humans, I mean.”

Olivia nods, shakily.

“Oh thank frog.”

Yunan comes to kneel down on the floor next to Olivia, and peers at the girl in front of them, clad in black armor that doesn’t suit her, hair much too long.

Yunan isn’t afraid of many things. She’d never admit to fear. But right now, the sight of Marcy in a state like this scares her right down to her bones, more than any monster or overzealous enemy ever has.

She’s abnormally thin, her baby fat having disappeared off her bones. Even though her eyes are closed, the eyebags beneath them are still incredibly present. They’re the kind that belongs to stressed old newts on their last legs, not a child.

Olivia has seen Marcy asleep before, (she’s woken her up when she found her passed out over a stack of books in the royal library more times than she can count) and while she’s always had a sense of tiredness underneath that cheerful demeanor, she’s never looked like this. Not to mention the horrible glowing eye.

Their memories of Marcy, bright and hyper and practically the personification of sunshine and clumsiness, feel almost fake compared to this.

But at least she’s alive. That’s all that matters.

Olivia leans against Yunan’s shoulder, and gently positions Marcy’s head so it’s in her lap, stroking through her damp, matted hair and trying to conjure up a mental map of the castle in her mind’s eye.

If you had told Olivia 8 months ago that she would be risking her life and livelihood to save someone she hadn’t even known a year, she never would have believed you.

“Yunan, are you strong enough to carry her?” Olivia asks quietly. “It’s a long way to take the passages that aren’t fortified.”

Yunan scoffs. For a moment, her familiar confident personality comes back into view, and she revels in it.

“Strong? Of course I’m strong enough,” she boasts proudly. Her words are fueled not by the assertion that she could, but of the reassurance that she will.  “For I am General Yunan. I could carry Marcy for years.”

Despite the situation at hand, a smile creeps onto Olivia’s face.

“Well then,” Olivia murmurs. “We’ll be mostly staying on this level and lower. There’s lots of passageways I know no amphibian has bothered to look down in the past 5 years, and more exits out of the castle than I can count. We’ll find a way. Just follow my lead, and we’ll get out. Be careful with her chest.”

Yunan nods solemnly, and Olivia watches her as she gently scoops Marcy into her arms, making sure not to accidentally unseath her sabers, and supporting her head. It’s a change in character that Olivia never would have thought would come from the rambunctious general she’s known since her tadpole days. And it reassures her a bit, that she can trust Yunan to take care of Marcy with the same mindfulness and attention Olivia herself would have.

Motioning gently with her hand, Olivia leads them down a dark passageway only she knows.

------

They’ve been traveling through the castle for about 15 minutes when Marcy starts to stir.

Yunan notices almost instantly when the human’s head moves against the thin metal armor of her arm, her nose scrunching up slightly.

For a moment, it appears as if she’s going to wake peacefully.

But that is not what happens.

Instead, Marcy jolts awake with a loud gasp, and instantly starts struggling, panicked and arms flailing. Yunan goes stiff as Marcy looks around with eyes clouded over with fear, fraught with indecision on what to do with the terrified child in her arms.

In the midst of her confusion, she notes that Marcy’s legs are barely moving.

Olivia hears Marcy awake, and whirls around almost instantaneously, tour guide mindset completely abandoned. She rushes to Yunan’s side as the other newt stares at Marcy blankly, and instructs Yunan to put her down.

Yunan does exactly that, and it’s only then that her senses start coming back to her.

Marcy’s breathing is fast and heavy, raspy with the dryness in her throat as she lies there on the floor. Yunan’s is just a little bit hitched over with fear.

“Kid. Hey kid.” Yunan bends down and waves an armored hand slowly over Marcy’s face. “It’s me. Yunan. Do you remember me?”

Lady Olivia kneels down at Marcy’s other side, and gently touches the side of her face. Marcy takes in a sharp breath at what Yunan assumes to be the coldness of her touch- humans are apparently much warmer than Amphibians.

“Marcy, I’m going to need you to breathe, okay? Can you do that for me?” Olivia speaks with a practiced calm and gentleness, although Yunan recognizes it as being much fonder than the kind of voice she uses when acting as a temporary diplomat. “You’re okay, sweetie. You’re not in danger. Just breathe. In…”

Olivia demonstrates for her, breathing in deep and slow, and Marcy attempts to follow. Yunan watches the process and adds it to her memory- she has a feeling she’s going to need whatever method Olivia is using for future events.

“Out…”

“In…”

Eventually, Marcy’s breathing becomes stable enough that she’s able to repeat the process on her own. Eventually, she attempts to push herself onto her elbows. Yunan brings an arm around her shoulderblades to support her.

The two of them, Olivia and Yunan, stay silent for a bit as Marcy attempts to orient herself with her surroundings and catch her breath.

It’s not long before she looks directly at Yunan and Olivia, for real this time, processing… and tears start to form in her eyes.

“Oh geez- kid, what’s wrong?” Yunan asks, tilting her head in concern. “Does-”

“You- you came back for me,” Marcy croaks, voice quiet and rusty. The tears spill out onto her cheeks, and Olivia reaches forward to swipe them away. “You… I didn’t think anyone would… I thought that-”

“Shhh,” Olivia whispers, gently wrapping one arm around Marcy’s shoulder, and using the other to pull Yunan in closer. “Of course we came for you. Why wouldn’t we?”

Marcy doesn’t answer. She just starts sobbing.

Quietly, Yunan and Olivia hold her.

FRICK YEAH GJHDHJFGHDJGHJ DUDE IM IN TEARS I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

[rocorambles]

Can I req Ushiwaka having a fubu who is Shirabu's sister and one time she thought Shirabu was out so she invited Ushiwaka but Shirabu caught them in the kitchen. Up to you how it'll endd bc idk if you write incest or you're uncomf wid it. -🐢

I actually went fairly soft with this because I love the idea of Shirabu just being an overprotective younger brother and I took some liberty with exactly where he finds them doing the do~��

 Warnings: NSFW

You know this isn’t what an older sister should do. You know there’s every potential for rumors to spread like wildfire if people found out exactly what type of relationship you have with the captain of Shiratorizawa’s prestigious volleyball team. You know the significant social consequences it could have for Ushijima, for Shirabu, for the entire team if their esteemed captain got caught in a scandal. But more importantly, you can’t help but feel the pang of guilt every time Shirabu looks at you like a surrogate mom, bright eyed and always excited to tell you about how practice was, how his day was despite the fact that he’s fully outgrown being just your kid brother.  

Would he still look at you with that love in his eyes if he knew exactly what you were doing behind his back with his captain? Someone else he has nothing but admiration and respect for? 

But maybe you don’t care nearly enough because here you are, continuing your secret little dance, plastering a cheery smile on your face as Shirabu tells you he’s going out for a study hangout session with some friends, pride mixing with shame inside of you as your heart soars at how diligent and hardworking your little brother is, only to have the feeling dampered by the text lighting up your phone.  

“Are you free?”

You snort when you see the text. Which person your age writes in complete sentences with perfect grammar, capitalized letters, accurately placed punctuation? For a booty call? 

Ushijima Wakatoshi. That’s who. 

You’re not even completely sure how this strange relationship had begun. Well, you do know, but you can barely remember the night, only foggy memories of a third-year house party and too much alcohol prevalent in your thoughts. But your face heats up when you remember despite the way your body was barely keeping it together, stumbling around like a drunken idiot, the immense attraction you had felt when you laid eyes on Ushijima in all his stoic and stiff mannerisms, glued to a wall away from the heart of the chaos. 

The last thing you remember is bounding towards him, olive eyes widening in alarm when your body presses against him and your hands hook into the front of his shirt, trying to pull him down for a sloppy kiss. And then you blank out. 

You find out the next morning that you had promptly passed out from the insane amount of alcohol you had consumed, saved from falling into a messy heap on the floor by Ushijima’s reflexes, and you groan when you remember the awkwardly hilarious photos your friends had taken of the giant athlete gently laying your limp body on the ground at his feet before resuming his uptight standing stance, looking strangely like an intimidating bodyguard guarding your passed out form splayed at his feet. 

Your friends tell you to laugh it off. People do stupid things when they’re drunk. Don’t sweat it. 

Sure, that’s all fine and dandy, maybe even true. But most people don’t have to see the victim of their drunk stupidity on a daily basis and you want to sink into the ground when you pick up Shirabu from practice, nowhere to hide from olive eyes that look at you with recognition. And your foot taps impatiently, wanting nothing more than for your brother to pick up the pace so you can leave your shame behind. 

But what you don’t expect is a large body making its way towards you, a looming shadow covering your body as Ushijima stands in front of you. 

“I wouldn’t mind repeating what you were trying to do last night when you’re sober.” 

Straightforward. Never one to beat around the bush. Never one to mince words. The sentence is everything you should expect from a man like Ushijima, but the implication of his words and the embarrassment it dredges up from your core make your jaw drop and just like that, the two of you are in the world’s most silent stand-off. But Ushijima is a busy man who doesn’t have time for...whatever it is you’re currently doing just standing there like a fish out of water, and without thinking you tell him your phone number when he asks, still in a daze as he politely bows to you before walking away. 

The rest is history. 

Your “hangouts” started off a little shakily with your shyness and his stiffness clashing against each other in a messy tango as you hesitantly and tentatively explored each other, tasting each other’s mouths, fingertips gently grazing warm skin, mapping out new territory. But Ushijima is a quick learner, sharp instincts and awareness making him a dangerous opponent in the bedroom, and before you know it, he’s seemingly completely figured you out. 

You’re left screaming, writhing, and moaning, a different sort of mess from the woman he had met that one night. And as prim and proper as Ushijima has been raised, he can’t help but want to wreck you even more, see just how filthy you can become because of him. 

Tonight’s no different and you’ve barely opened the front door to let him in before you’re swiftly being hauled up and carried by strong arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as you hungrily kiss each other, practically devouring one another as he brings the two of you down hallways and turns he knows like the back of his hand by now before dropping you on your bed. 

Clothes are being pulled off and haphazardly thrown, a slight shudder running through you as the cool air hits your body, quickly replaced by a warm body settling on top of you and you sigh in content as Ushijima’s body blankets yours in its comforting and familiar presence. But there’s nothing soothing about the way he roughly presses against your lips, one calloused hand gliding down your hips, squeezing in a way that has your back arching and mewling into his mouth, desperate for more, more, more. 

Ushijima is gifted in more ways than one and even after countless rounds of mind numbing pleasure, he still insists on thoroughly stretching you out, remaining firm about not moving forward until he deems you ready. For once, you are not a fan of his meticulousness, finding it almost torturously slow as he stays resolute in his decisions, gradually adding finger by painstaking finger inside of you, never increasing his pace, never increasing the stretch inside of you until you’re beyond ready, a thrashing pleading begging mess on the verge of frustrated aroused tears. 

Only when your pussy is gushing, juices leaking everywhere, salty drops trailing down your face does he finally press his tip against your entrance. Your nails claw into broad shoulders as he sinks bit by bit inside of you, the stretch always overwhelming and deliriously satisfying no matter how many times you’ve had him inside of you, and your mouth opens almost comically wide when he finally bottoms out inside of you, his balls pressing against your ass as he forces himself to still, letting you adjust to his generous size. 

But you don’t have his patience and you pointedly squeeze your tight walls around his cock, a sharp upwards tilt on your lips when the powerful man above you loses his restraint, groaning and instinctively thrusting his hips further inside of you from the feeling of you clamping down on him. And you know you’ve awakened the predator inside of him when a dark feral look gleams in his narrowed eyes, heart racing as he pins you down with a hungry look you know all too well. 

You’ll blame the loud clapping sound of skin against skin, the symphony of your pleasured wails and his grunts, the rustling of bedsheets and movement of bed frame, for not hearing the front door open much too soon as Shirabu returns home in search for a textbook he’d forgotten, intending to just quickly go in and out. 

He’ll blame his morbid curiosity and overprotectiveness of you, heart and mind already knowing exactly what he’s hearing from the direction of your bedroom, knowing he shouldn’t look through the open crack of your door to confirm his suspicions, knowing he should respect your privacy. You’re an adult now and this is what adults do. It’s fine. It’s normal. Yet he plants his face against the crack, eye narrowing as he tries to make out who the fucker is who dares lay a hand on his sister, only to jerk in surprise, accidentally creaking the door open further when he realizes exactly who is in between your legs. 

Both your heads whip towards the doorway at the sound of the hinges squeaking and there’s a tense stillness in the air as the three of you freeze, different varieties of mortification and shock expressed on your faces. And then Shirabu is fleeing, slamming the door shut behind him, a strangled stuttered excuse of needing to go back to his friend’s house echoing behind him as he makes a beeline back towards the entrance, itching to leave the seared image of Ushijima and you so intimately together far far behind.

He isn’t mad. He doesn’t know exactly what he is as a litany of emotions ransack him. But he knows he isn’t mad. 

Still in shock? Maybe. Mortified and unsure how he’s ever going to look his captain in the eyes ever again? Absolutely.   

But you’re still you and he can feel the guilt twist his insides at how distraught and panicked you sound as you desperately try to contact him, mentally wishing he was a stronger man ready to face his problems instead of shying from them as he tries to slowly process what had just happened. 

He knows the right move is to go back home, sit down with you, and talk it out. He knows that he’ll eventually go back home. He knows that he still loves you regardless of who you share your bed with. He knows all this and yet it’s daunting, the thought of returning and looking you in the eyes after what had transpired, his feet feeling like blocks of lead. But it’s a four word text from his captain that ultimately gives him the final push he needs. 

“Please come back home.” 

It’s jarring to witness the man he looks up to calling his house “home”. But...not in a bad way and Shirabu’s eyes stay fixated on that single word, mind playing imaginary scenarios of Ushijima walking with both of you back home, of you holding up a poster with both their numbers during volleyball matches, of you scolding both men to not slack off in their studies. 

He doesn’t hate it. In fact something curious and warm floats inside of him as his imagination runs wild and he can feel the scheming strategic wheels in his brain twist and turn the more and more he thinks about Ushijima and you. 

There’s not many men Shirabu would easily let into his sister’s life. But Ushijima? Ushijima would be at the top of that allowed list if he had one. And although he’s sure that what the two of you currently have is just a friends with benefits relationship (banking on the fact that his sister would never hide her actual boyfriend from him, even if it is Ushijima), he smiles, already planning ways to pierce both of you with Cupid’s arrows as he makes his way back home.

[wolvesandpetals]

Loki x Sylvie Post-Finale Fanfiction (Angst, Rated Teen) Part 2 of 2

Part 1 is here:

She never knew it would hurt this much when the person she loves is right in front of her, but she can't reach out and touch him; when she is still her, he is still him, but everything else has changed, like an invisible lever in an old theatre changing the scenery in the background, bringing them both to the part of the play where they are hopelessly lost.

[[MORE]]

All it took was one single moment, one single decision, and everything feels irrevocably broken now. It makes her contemplate on the true nature of relationships, how fragile they are, and how easy it is to shatter them- and her.

The smoke is slowly clearing, and all that seems to be left is a man who is doing his best to keep his distance from her, physically and emotionally.

She can tell from the way he stands with his arms crossed, or his fists clenced when his hands are by his side, that he really doesn't want to hold her hand. How can something so simple as the touch of his fingers be so vital to her existence that it feels like something has been ripped out from inside her?

She wants to reach out and touch him, but she is scared that if he pulls away outright, any hope of reconciliation that she still has left will shatter into pieces.

And she really needs this hope. It's the only thing she still has left. It's the only thing that keeps her going.

---

He looks like a man with a mission.

They spent quite a long time together, running from the TVA, running towards the citadel at the end of time, hoping to achieve their goal of bringing down the one behind the curtains.

But that was her mission, and he was there for her. She was the one behind the wheels, he was the one keeping the sails afloat.

Now it's different. Now he has a defined goal, a glorious purpose.

She's seeing him in a whole new light now, and not just because he has switched to Asgardian leather and metal armors.

As far as she is concerned, she is better off doing it all alone. One woman army, nobody to get in her way, nobody to screw up her plans. Nobody to blame her if it all goes to shit.

Or so it was, until two months ago, when Mobius decided to enlist her help in fixing the multiversal madness.

She has never really worked with people before, and it's weird, to say the least. She never considered herself a team player, but she is finding herself hating the idea less and less lately.

And she swears it has nothing to do with him. Not the fact that they are working together, and seeing his face first thing in the morning brings her a sense of calm that she quite can't explain. Or the fact that their rooms are next to each other and it makes her feel secure enough to finally get some rest at nights. Or that this whole arrangement has kept them on talking terms, when they had gone their own separate ways otherwise.

Nothing to do with that at all.

---

Humans are stupid, and the biggest evidence of this is how they decided that two extremely powerful Gods skilled at magic, enchantment, and defeating an evil extra dimensional cloud that swallows everything it touches, should be delegated to the role of research. "You're clever. You're good at reading people. You can put yourselves in the shoes of the bad guys, no offense", they said, but really, what they meant was, "We can't trust you out in the field much." She knows it, he knows it. She just doesn't know why he's complying.

That's how they find themselves researching every single day.

She likes to think he's not the only reason why she's studying in the library instead of in the comfort of her room, but that'd be a lie.

At first, he chooses to sit at a separate table. But she keeps going over to his to "get his opinion" on something in the file she's reading, and finally, he gives in. Their current arrangement consists of him sitting in the chair in front of her, to the left, prim and proper, while she hoists her feet up on the table.

He falls asleep on the desk one night, face smacked against a file, the tiniest bit of drool forming at the corner of his mouth. It would be a hilarious sight, if her heart wasn't feeling what she can only describe as longing.

They should probably talk about it, like mature adults, but neither of them know how to do that.

All she can do right now is gather the courage to run her fingers through his hair. The touch is hesitant at first, as if one wrong move would make him wake up and push her back to square one. Slowly, she relaxes, letting her fingers dance on his scalp.

He stirs in his sleep. "Please Sif. I'm sorry. Don't cut off my glorious locks, please."

Now this is a story she must hear when things are better.

If things are better.

---

Doctor Strange joins them very briefly, very rarely, but the tension between him and Loki is hard to miss. It's worse than the current situation with her, and that's saying something.

"You don't really like Stephen, do you?"

Something inside him seems to shift, but he masks it behind a non-chalant look immediately and just arches an eyebrow at her. "He's Stephen now, is he?"

"Well, that is his name." She shrugs. "What do you call him?"

"Strange", he spits the word out with an amount of irritation that indicates there definitely is a story there. "That is his name", he mimics.

She can't help the smirk that spreads across her lips. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing", he lies, ignoring the horrifying flashbacks of thirty minutes of endless falling. Not a single soul must ever know a mere human got the best of him. "What can he do to me? I'm a God among those mortals. He just irks me because he is so pompous, and arrogant, and he ceaselessly uses magic to toy with others."

She pretends to think deeply. "Now where have I seen that before?"

He scoffs. "You mock me, but I am nothing like him. For one, I am not rude."

"He seems fine to me", she declares decisively.

It's the first time in months that he gives her a cheeky grin. "That's because you're rude too."

---

They are still just containing the threats to their world, instead of finding a way to fortify the barriers between worlds and stop the threats from coming.

"Shouldn't we have a plan to seal off the other worlds from ours?" She asks him one day.

"They are working on it." He tells her, and then with a look of worry, adds, "I hope."

There are debates on what to do at the Avengers tower and at the TVA. Nobody seems to agree on what the best course of action is, but everyone seems to be following the general instructions of Doctor Strange.

During one such meeting, a Minuteman makes the mistake of voicing out loud how she wondered if things would be better if they were running according to their old boss's plans.

Sylvie feels the guilt wash over her once more.

"No", Loki tells them all firmly. The determination in his voice takes her completely by surprise. "Evil is evil. Lesser, greater, middling, makes no difference. The degree is arbitrary. The definition’s blurred." She catches him steal a glance at her direction. "We couldn't have left a dictator in charge just because it's convenient. Listen, I'm the bad guy. I've done horrible, unspeakable things. I thought humans needed to be ruled. I wanted to rule. But even I know that it's not right to take away a person's life completely. These are innocent people. You are innocent people. You have families back home, parents, children", a pause and a softening of his features, "-love. A whole past, a whole future. That man had no right to take it away from you."

His powers of persuasion are foreign to her, and it's mesmerizing to watch. Her enchantments cannot hold a candle to how he is able to just talk people into doing what he wants, thinking what he thinks, seeing what he sees.

"He who remains had a plan. One, singular plan, from one, singular man." There is absolute conviction in his voice. "It's not the only way. We'll find another way. A better way."

She has never known what it is like to have someone see you for who you are- broken and flawed, and defend you- even your well-intentioned actions that yielded different results than what you expected and hurt them in the process. She suspects it has been the same for him, a lifetime of not having anyone have his back.

The warm feeling inside her is brand new. What is the name of this? Comfort? Relief?

Happiness?

---

This will be their first time out in the field in a long time, and she feels a little sick to the stomach.

He notices. "Are you alright?"

The concern in his voice tugs at her heartstrings. She nods. She has faced way worse, she shouldn't be so nervous about this, but she is. "I've never done this before."

"We can always just kill him and blame it on the Chitauris", he suggests with a serious face.

"I heard that", Peter yells from the other room, where he is doing whatever it is that teenagers do to prepare for battle.

She shakes her head in disbelief. "I can't believe we're babysitting."

"I've done this before", he assures her, and it surprises her to picture him being entrusted with such a serious task. "The trick is to conjure up illusions that keep them distracted enough to not cry."

She laughs. "You're thinking of infants. This one is a little older."

"I'm over a thousand years old, Sylvie. They're all infants to me."

Peter joins them, mask covering his face so that he doesn't reveal his identity. "So what do I call you? Loki and Loki? That's confusing. How about Loki and Lady Loki? Or is that offensive? I'm not suggesting women are inferior, because they're absolutely not..."

"Does he come with an off switch?" She whispers in horror as Peter rambles on.

Loki grins. With one wave of his hand and a flash of green, Peter's own webbing shoots out and seals his mouth shut.

---

Things are fine but not fine at the same time. He's right there beside her, but not there at all. They have their banters, they have their stolen glances, but they haven't had a meaningful conversation since that first day when she got back. She's been putting it off for a long time, but she knows they really do need to have the talk.

She corners him in his room one evening while he's tinkering with a temporal collar. She takes a seat in the chair next to his bed and rests her hand on the table, leaning her head against her palm, before switching position and crossing her arms and legs. Everything about her posture screams uneasiness. If he notices- he probably does- he doesn't say anything.

"You defended me that day."

He briefly looks up from the task at hand and gives her a soft smile. "Of course."

She blinks. "I don't understand." Her hands involuntary rise up to rub her temples. "If you can justify my actions to them, then how can you still be mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you", he says without missing a beat.

"Rubbish", her words come out angrier than she intended. This frustration is the result of the months of status quo they have had. She has to know now, one way or the other. "You're distant. You're guarded", she accuses. Then her voice breaks, as she feels a part of her break all over again with her next words. "You don't hold my hand. Why? Tell me."

He abandons the collar and focuses his full attention on her. Staring straight into her eyes, he answers her. "You know why."

"I wouldn't be asking if I did. Look, if it's because I chose the mission over you-"

"-Of course it's not that." He says decisively. Then a sad smile clouds his face. It's the same look he had when she accused him of conning her to gain the throne. "Do you think I'm the type of man who would want a woman to abandon her life-long ambitions just because she has met someone?"

She knows he isn't. But it still doesn't answer why he is so cross with her. "What is it then?"

He pauses for a moment, trying to decide whether he wants to bare his soul out to her once more or not. There are two ways he can go from here- choose to not let her in again and save himself from the hurt, or trust her again and open himself up to potential pain.

Who is he kidding? Pushing her away- keeping her away- doesn't hurt any less.

There were a thousand things that had to go wrong to bring two Lokis from two universes together. A connection like that, it doesn't just happen.

And it doesn't just go away. The pain is constant, it's a part of him, pounding like a second heart every second he has to stop himself from reaching out for her hand.

This has to come to an end.

He takes in a deep breath, bracing himself. "You didn't have to send me away, Sylvie. I wanted to stop you from making the same mistakes I did. But in the end, I didn't care what you chose. I just wanted us to do it together."

She never even imagined this could be the reason for his hurt. All these months spent thinking he hates her for her choices, and now it turns out he is hurt simply because she chose to do it alone? "I'm sorry." She says sincerely. "I just wanted you to be safe."

"And I just wanted to be there with you till the end." He confesses. His eyes shimmer with the emotions he has kept bottled in for so long. "You go, I go."

She doesn't know what to say to that. She has never been good at articulating her feelings. Tears stream down her cheeks at the realisation that even after everything, he is still there for her.

She didn't cry even back at Lamentis when they thought they were going to die. She doesn't let anyone see her cry when she is sad or scared. That's all she has known her whole life. She's used to it by now.

This is new. These are tears of relief. Comfort.

Happiness.

Tentatively, she crosses over to the bed and sits by his side.

It's quiet for a few minutes. But unlike the months of tension so thick she could cut it into splices with her daggers, this is comfortable silence. The kind they had before it all went wrong.

"Did you even miss me?" He whispers.

"What kind of silly question is that? Of course I did." Her shaking hands grab his, and oh how she missed this.

He intertwines their fingers. His eyes draw closed. Bliss. That's the only word for this feeling.

He opens his eyes again and studies her. She's staring back at him, teary-eyed, but with a hopeful smile. "Really? Because you have a really unique way of showing it. You didn't even come looking for me."

"I didn't know how to face you", she tells him honestly. No tricks, no enchantment, no treachery. Not with him. "I didn't know if you even wanted to see me." Her voice grows quieter, dropping to a timbre that perfectly encapsulates her deepest fear. "I thought you hated me."

"Hate you?" He is shocked that she thinks that is even possible, specially after seeing him these last few months. "Sylvie, I'm working with the Avengers. The Avengers. Do you know how much I hate them? They are my nemesis. They're self-righteous, condescending, and so completely dull. Every second with them makes me want to rip their hearts out. Why do you think I'm here with them?"

She thinks she knows. But she needs to hear it anyway.

"It's because of you." He lays it all out on the table. All cards on deck, win or lose. "You've been running away. I have been the one who has been here, trying to hold down the fort, working to fix everything. Because that is what one does when one loves-"

Shit. The word slips out before he realises it.

Their eyes go wide in unison.

"Sylvie, I-"

"-Don't you dare take it back now." She warns him. "I-" She doesn't know how to say it either. They make such a great pair, both equally daft at saying how they feel, like they are teenagers, not Gods who have lived for centuries. "I've been running because I didn't think I could bear the burden of knowing I found you and then I lost you. I don't want to lose you. Not now, not ever."

He kisses the back of her hand, before letting it go. He cups her face, gently caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. "I don't want to lose you either."

She leans in closer, until their foreheads touch. She can feel his breath on her face, warm and soft. That is exactly how she feels inside. "You won't", she promises. "You go, I go."

---

(Quote on Lesser Evil from The Witcher. Thanks for reading!!)

[huenjin]

oh dear romeo.

part of the drabble game !!

pairing – lee minho x reader

word count – 931 words

request – minho + face fucking, make it wild.

genre – smut, includes face fucking, public sex, degradation, daddy kink, deep throating.

"Hey," you scream at your boyfriend to grab his attention, who is strutting forward, shopping bags in his hand, huffing at the thought of you, his girlfriend actually calling him a pussy in front of your best friend. "Hey, Romeo!"

You jog towards him, phone tight in your hand as you grab hold of his wrist and turn him to face you. How convenient of the two of you to start a fight right in front of the restroom in the shopping mall.

"I'm not your Romeo!" Minho seethes, his eyebrows narrowing at you. "Stop calling me one."

"But you are," you fold your arms as you scan your boyfriend of five years. Fights like these with no absolute meaning is common in your relationship and you don't mind because either of you let go of it easily, only to fall into the other's arm soon enough. Your eyes rake him and you scoff, "So prim and proper and a total gentleman."

"And that's wrong?" Minho raises his voice. This grabs the attention of people passing by and he shakes his head helplessly. You take a step closer to him, tip toeing to reach his ear and you whisper.

"Yes, daddy."

It all happens in a flash. Minho grabs your wrist and drags you to the men's washroom, which is thankfully empty and in the deepest voice ever, his eyes brooding dark, he tells you, "Kneel."

You comply. After all, this is exactly what you want. You have been dating Lee Minho for five years and this man, the finest Romeo of them all, has not even grabbed your arse in public, treating you like a princess outside. As much as you love it, there are moments — moments like these — where you want your boyfriend to go unhinged, to fuck you secretly in public as you try to hold your moan.

Minho unbuckles his belt with one hand, popping the button and taking out his cock in all less than a minute. You are on your knees before him, already finding yourself growing wet at this situation. He takes his cock in his hand and raises his eyebrows at you to come forward, "Take it. Make it wet before you start and you better not moan."

You look back at the closed door of the washroom, finding yourself wetting your panties at the thought of someone walking in right when Minho's dick is deep down your throat, his hand clutching your hair.

You wrap your hands around his length, salivating at the sight and mumbling, "Fuck. This is perfect." You let go of it only to spit onto your hand, rubbing it over and holding his length. You move your hand up and down his length, spitting on his cock once again. Minho takes hold of your hair, gathering it into a makeshift ponytail, lightly holding it. He mumbles darkly, "Your mouth. Use your mouth, bitch."

"Sure thing, Romeo," you smirk and lick his length, dragging your tongue across his vein on the underside of his shaft. He tightens his grip on your hair at your words, seething, "Y/N, you sure are testing my patience."

And in a minute, Minho pushes into you. You gag at his length, pulling your head away and sputter, barely being able to say, "Could have given me a warning."

"Didn't think you would need it. Come here," his voice is thick with lust and he holds your hair back again. "Let me fuck your face."

Minho can be harsh when he needs to. In the public however, you were not aware until today. Minho holds your hair tightly and fucks your face like he is so mad at you for calling him Romeo. He thrusts into your mouth harshly, and you hollow your mouth to slightly suck at it at the same time. You gag against his length, vibration running down his cock and Minho moans loudly before cutting it short by biting his lip, aware of the public place he is in.

You press your tongue flat against his cock and Minho is ruthless. You groan, tears streaming down your face and you sputter and gag, saliva falling off your mouth and dripping down your sides. Minho praises you, "Such a good girl now. Finally putting your mouth to good use. My girl's so good."

Minho thrusts into your mouth at a steady pace. And then you still. You grip on Minho's thigh tightly to pause him, your lips still wrapped around his length. You hear steady footsteps and giggles getting louder in the direction of the men's restroom and your heart beat escalates. Minho quickly drags you into one of the cubicles. You hear the loud chatter, finally being able to grasp what they are saying.

You pull back to look up at Minho and are about to tell him that you could get caught when he quickly pulls you into him, his length chocking you suddenly and your throat constructing around it instinctively as a reflux. Your eyes widen and tears stream down and Minho's lips are pursed and he is finally carressing the side of your face, brushing your hair.

"We still have time. Don't make a single noise. Don't gag, don't stutter and don't you dare moan," Minho says calmly. He gathers your hair again and pulls it back, his cock hitting the back of your throat and your eyes rolling back before they try to focus on him.

"After all, you wanted me to be more than just your Romeo. I'll be that. I'll make you my bitch."

[imyourbuddie]

Don't Be A Part Of His (4x05 Coda)

SPOILER FOR SEASON 4 EPISODE 5 “BUCK BEGINS” 

Eddie promised himself if he ever met Buck’s parents that he’d act civil. Not for their sake, fuck no, but for Buck’s. Because after all this time, after everything they did and didn’t do, Buck still somehow needs their approval. He doesn’t say it, and that time when Eddie asked him about it, he outright denied it, but it’s in the way his voice quivers when he talks about them. In the way his eyes light up with hope at the mention of them. In the way his larger-than-life self folds in on itself after the last disastrous dinner he had with them. 

No, Eddie promised himself that he’d be civil because that’s what Buck would want. Because Eddie Diaz is a lot of things, but a boyfriend who ignores his partner’s wishes? He’s not that guy anymore. He imagined this very moment so many times in his head. Imagined himself walking up to the Buckley parents and extending his hand, smiling, and introducing himself as whatever Buck wants him to be, then walking away. 

That, needless to say, did not happen. 

Seeing them sitting there, all prim and proper, it pisses Eddie off. That’s not to say he doesn’t feel sorry for them. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost Chris, and he’s no stranger to the countless nights of heartache and panic and guilt and imagining every what-if scenario that could have given Chris a different life. A better one. But the pain of losing a child is no excuse to neglect their other children, no excuse to make Maddie a mom instead of a sister, and definitely not a good enough reason to make Buck feel so goddamn unwanted. 

If there’s one thing he learned since having Chris, it’s that nothing in his life, no amount of pain and anguish will ever be reason enough for his son to feel unloved. To feel like the only way he can get any attention is by throwing himself off a bike or into oncoming traffic. 

Rage thrums under Eddie’s skin, scorching and freezing at the same time, and he clenches his fists as he glares at the Buckleys from across the firehouse. They fucked up. They made Buck feel unwanted, unloved, undeserving, and now they sit there expecting what? To take credit for how well Buck turned out anyway? For him becoming a goddamn walking superhero who saves lives every goddamn day?

No. No fucking way. Not if Eddie has any say in the matter. 

He waits until Hen says her piece to them with a smile on her face that doesn't reach her eyes, then heads toward the kitchen table where Buck’s parents are seated. Hen tries to catch his eyes as she passes him, but he ignores her. She’s not the one holding Buck at night as he sobs himself to sleep. She’s not the one whispering encouraging endearments that fall on deaf ears. She’s not the one left picking up the pieces after every Buckley family dinner. She doesn’t get it, no one does, and Eddie’s done feeling helpless.

He’s too fucking pissed off.

Eddie stops on the other side of the table, body rigid with angry words on the tip of his tongue. He opens his mouth just as Buck’s mom turns and looks up at him, and for a startling moment, it’s as if he’s staring into Buck’s eyes. His mouth dries, his words stuck in his throat like claws, and the silence surrounding them is suffocating. 

“Hi, um,” Buck’s dad starts tentatively. “We’re Evan Buckley’s parents—”

“I know,” he spits, his voice harsh, and he inhales sharply. They blink owlishly at him, obviously confused by his hostility, and Eddie lets out a slow sigh and inhales again, this time slowly. “I know who you are.”

His mother looks to her husband then back at Eddie, a quivering smile on her lips. “Can we help you?”

Eddie stands frozen as he stares at the man and woman who claim to be Buck’s parents. Who should be the two people in the world who love him unconditionally. Who should be there for him, and he’s at a loss for words. All that anger and resentment and betrayal all congregate into one single emotion: pity. 

He pities these two people who don’t even know what they’ve missed. Who have no idea just what an amazing, self-sacrificing person their son is. He pities their ignorance, and he pities their grief-driven blinders. He pities them for missing out on so much of their children’s lives that they hardly know them or the hardship they went through to be here today. 

Something inside him gives, and tension bleeds from him as he exhales. “I just want you guys to know what an amazing person Buck is.”

“We know—”

“No,” Eddie takes a step forward and clenches his fists by his side. “No, you don’t. How could you? You haven’t been around to see it.”

Guilt flashes in Mrs. Buckley’s eyes, and Eddie’s heart aches for her. How would he feel if someone said that to him? Hell, he missed the first years of Chris’ life because he was a coward, but he’s making amends now, and it’s time they did too. 

“Maybe to you, he was supposed to be some miracle baby that can save your other child. But to the rest of us, he’s way more than that.” Eddie takes a deep breath and swallows, willing his voice to stay steady. “That man, your son, is the first guy to run into a burning building. The first one to jump in a car about to explode. He’s the first one to take the most risks, and he’s the last one to give up on any of us or on the people he swore to protect. Everyone here trusts him with their lives. I trust him with—” The lump in his throat is harder to swallow around, and he takes a second to compose himself. “I trust him with my son. Because he’s a good man and loyal to a fucking fault and he’s got the biggest heart and I won’t allow anyone, anyone, to ever hurt him the way you’ve hurt him.”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to keep his tears from spilling, because there’s no way in hell he’ll cry in front of these people. No way in hell he’ll let them know just how much their being here hurts Buck, and in turn how much that hurts him. He won’t give them the satisfaction. 

The silence that follows rings in his ears. It’s deafening. The Buckley’s blink at him as if seeing him for the first time, and Mrs. Buckley clutches at her husband’s hand, her knuckles white. 

“From one parent to another,” Eddie continues. “It’s never too late to make amends. And it doesn’t matter what you went through, how much pain you had to endure, how much heartache, Buck’s innocent in all this. He’s got no part in your grief, so don’t be a part of his.”

Eddie turns and swallows as the first tear spills down his cheek. Fuck. He wipes at it angrily, but when he makes to walk away, a soft touch to his elbow stops him. He turns and finds Mrs. Buckley standing behind him, tears swimming in her big blue eyes. Buck’s eyes. 

“You’re—you’re absolutely right.” Her smile is watery and there is genuine remorse and sadness in her expression. “Thank you for loving him.” 

Eddie wants to reply, but there’s nothing more to say. The rest isn’t up to him. He already said too much, and if Buck doesn’t kill him for antagonizing his parents, well, that’s a win in Eddie’s book. He nods at her then at Buck’s dad before taking his leave, and with every step he takes, his heart feels a little lighter. Maybe Buck will kill him, but someone needs to set Buck’s parents straight, and who else better to do that than Buck’s stupid dumb ass boyfriend? 

His lips twitch, and he can’t help the self-deprecating humour no matter how many times Buck tells him to stop. That twitch of his lips turns into a full smile, and Eddie chuckles and shakes his head as he makes his way to the engine bay. They’re both hopeless, as Hen likes to remind them. Maybe they really are meant for each other. 

Bobby pulls into the engine bay just as he steps outside, and Eddie’s heart skips a beat like it always does when he lays eyes on Buck. Since the first day and everyday after that.

“Clean bill of health from the docs,” Bobby calls as he hurries inside the station, a smirk and a knowing look in his eyes, and Eddie wants to hug him and punch him at the same time. 

“Glad to hear it,” he replies, tucking his hands into his pockets, and turns his attention to his second favourite person in the world. “Show off,” he says affectionately, and he knows what Buck’s going to say before he even says it. 

“Had to do it.” 

And that is why Eddie loves him.

[hyenahunt]

Beast Survival - 1

Writer: Nishioka Maiko

Season: Summer

Proofreading: royalquintet (JP & ENG)

Jun: Wha— They're asking me to play the leading role? Umm, why me...?

[Location: Training Room]

Jun: (Woah. I totally zoned out while working out, and now my shirt's soaked with sweat. Feels real gross...) (I should change outta it soon..... But even then, this is the second one I've gone through.) (Did I bring any other spares...?) ( — Ooh, looks like I've got one left. So this is a case of "preparation is prevention", huh. Serious props to the past me for this.) (Heading all the way to the changing room's a pain, so I might as well just change here. There's no one else around, after all.) (Ahh~ Nothing beats changing into a new shirt right after sweatin' up a storm.) (I'm all refreshed in both body and soul now.... is what I wanna say, but it's not that easy...) (Recently things've been so dreary no matter what I do, and even working out like this doesn't do anything to clear up the feeling.) (It feels just like the post-workout burn, like my limbs are made outta lead or something.) (Isn't there usually a link between being active and feeling refreshed? Or well, it depends on how much working out you do, I think.) (The training I had to do as a kid was so rough that I couldn't even eat sometimes, after all.) (Rather than refreshing... It was more like defreshing.) (Well, it's thanks to that my physical stamina and strength's basically on par with actual athletes now, but I still think of it as an unfortunate product of my past.) (.....Hm, what's this? Someone's poked their head in from the entrance... looks like it's — ) Heya, Anzu-san, what's up~ What're you doing all the way in the gym? I'm the only one here, y'know~? — Huh? Ohh, so that's it. You need me for something, huh. Hm? I don't seem to be doing so well? Is that how it looks? Well, it's true I haven't been feeling too my best, but... Ahh, nah, it's not physical or anything. I can still work out like this, as you can see. It's just... moodwise, I haven't been feeling too hot, or I've been feeling kinda gloomy, actually. So it's been kinda throwing my daily routine outta whack, I guess? What's that? Ah, well, if I had to give a reason... It really isn't that big a deal, seriously. I mean, Ohii-san's moved outta the Reimei dorms and into ES's, right? Up 'til now, that guy would make me pour all his tea, carry all his shit, and show him all around... He's a complete asshole who'd dump it all on me when it came to pretty much everything. Unfortunately, I got completely used to it. And now my current roommate's the prim-and-proper type who takes care of his own stuff himself. So ever since Ohii-san headed off, I've gotten fewer chances to take care of things and it's been messing with my motivation and stuff. Kinda like something's missing. Really now...? You're asking if I'm lonely? Goddamn. It's nothing like that, alright. Even in a part-time job you'd feel better being kept busy, right? It's more agonising when you have nothing to do. Killing too much time can kill you instead, after all. That's what I'm feeling right now. You wonder about that, do you? Keep making fun of me and I'm not gonna let you off, alright~? In any case, did you come looking for me just to shoot the breeze? You should be plenty satisfied now, then. I'm off, see ya. — Woah—!? Don't drag me back so forcefully, please. You're gonna stretch out my shirt, y'know. Alright, alright, I get it. You really do need me for something, huh? Well, what d'ya need me for~? Mm? What's this? A project proposal? Ohh, so it's a proposal for a stageplay... Ah~, sorry. I'm not really familiar with stuff in that field. Hmm. So the director of the play's really all that famous? — And what about it? Why're you giving this proposal to me? Wha— They're asking me to play the leading role? Umm, why me...? Mmm, well, it's not that I'm unhappy about it or anything.... I really appreciate them nominating me for the role, actually. It's just that I don't really know anything about theater, so it's a given I'd wonder why, yeah? Ahh. So the director came to see both Summer Live and SS last year, and became a fan of me? Is that so~ That makes me real happy ♪ But all the same... why? Ahh, please excuse me for being so skeptical. You could say it's just in my nature, or more like... Feeling like I can't trust anyone but myself is just something that's carried over from my life at school. I can't help but think that if some juicy offer sounds too good to be true, it probably isn't. I mean, think about it. We lost as Eden that time, after all. Not to mention the agency's unprecedented scandal completely blew up, and thanks to that I feel like there's no way our live could've won anyone's heart. Well, I'm pretty glad for it, honestly. We broke past all those various disappointments and still managed to pull off an awesome performance — it felt really great. But I'm sure anyone watching wouldn't have felt the same way. That's not the case, you say? Ahh, geez. You're... way too soft, is how I'd put it, I guess... Huh. So we caught this director's interest even despite the whole incident...? Well, they definitely sound like the eccentric type~ But y'know, if you're the one saying this I'm sure you're not being two-faced about it or anything, so I'll be good too and properly hear you out. Thank you very much. Huh!? Me starring in this stageplay would make it better than all the rest...? And they think I'm the number one best choice for the role.... Why are they going that far? They even said that since I can use my past experiences to bring the role to life, there's no one else who could play it?

Jun: T-this is the first time I've gotten such a passionate job offer... ... Well, it's not like it feels bad to hear the extent of their praise. I get it. I've never performed in a play before, so I'm not sure just how much I can do, but I'll go at it with all my heart and soul! ? What are you so happy for? You're not the one performing. Wha—? The script's actually done already!? And on top of that, it was written with me in mind...!? They didn't even know if I'd accept the role or not. Talk about jumping the gun... And they would've done anything to get me to accept, huh... That's actually a lil' scary, y'know. Well, since I said I'd do it I'm not gonna back out or anything, so please don't worry. There's still time to get introduced and have a quick run-through of the script. Ahh, yeah, I gotcha. I'm gonna be sure to read it from front to back. Alright, I'll start now, then~ Let's see — the title's "King of the Grasslands"? Pretty grand title, that. My role's... uhh, you said i'm playing the lead role, so... — Wait, whaaat the actual hell is this!?

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[anna-pixie]

safe passge -> the witcher {part two}

I will be uploading this to AO3 soon... I’ve never posted on there before so I’m just figuring it out!

Read part one here

Summary: Geralt deals with having you and Jaskier annoying him on the road. You stop at an inn and make a new friend.

Pairings: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Warnings: None

“So… day three on the road. How is the princess coping?” 

“The princess will murder the bard with his own lute should he decide to keep calling her the princess.”

Jaskier raises his hands in defence and you shoot him a sickly sweet smile, revelling in how easily you can get to him. Your friendship with the bard has developed quickly over the three days you’ve been on the road, it seems as though the two of you are cut from the same cloth - personality wise that is. Geralt, bless his soul, thought he had it rough when he travelled only with Jaskier - now there are two of you. 

“It’s not very becoming of you to threaten a life, princess.” Geralt hums, commenting on the incessant insults thrown between you and Jaskier. 

You send the large man a glare out of the corner of your eye, fighting the smile that threatens to show as he meets your gaze with a smirk of his own. 

No. You have to remind yourself, you are not attracted to the Witcher. The large, scary Witcher who could kill you with his bare hands if he wanted to. Your mind flashes with the inappropriate thought of his large hands around your neck, your life in his hands while he looks at you with those hypnotic eyes. 

Your cheeks flush and your eyes dart around quickly, the horrifying thought that Geralt may be able to read minds as part of his Witcher-ness scares you. 

“Jaskier… psst.” You hiss, trying to subtly get the attention of the bard who is humming a tune to himself as he skips just behind Geralt. 

You’re in a small town surrounded by nothing but forest, making your way to the local inn from where you left the carriage at the edge of the dense greenery. 

“Yes m’lady?”

“Geralt can’t… read minds… can he?”

Jaskier chuckles at your fear, his quizzical gaze pinning you for a moment before he cackles, “Oh! This is golden! Has someone been having some less than innocent thoughts about the big bad Witcher?”

“Shut up, Jaskier!” You squeal, slapping the bard harshly on his upper arm. He winces, sprinting back towards Geralt with cries that you’re attacking him. The white haired man turns his head to face you, his eyebrows raised exasperatedly. You respond with a pout, an innocent gaze his way through your lashes. You only receive a clenched jaw in response before he turns, hitting Jaskier on his arm in the same place you did. 

A chuckle escapes your lips as he wails in pain. Sure, your little slap probably stung a bit - but Geralt did not hold back. He will probably have a bruise there soon. The inn enters your vision, and your sore muscles practically cry out in relief. 

As you enter the establishment, you realise that you probably look quite the sight. First, the lilac adorned bard clutching his arm in pain, followed by the hulking Witcher, swords at the ready behind his back, and then you - in your pretty pink dress with your favourite necklace. 

Certainly a motley crew, you wonder what the patrons are assuming when they see you. Do they guess correctly? That your parents paid the Witcher and his bard to escort you to your new home? Or do they assume wrong? Perhaps they think you’ve been kidnapped, held against your will by the big, scary white wolf.

Geralt doesn’t seem phased by the stares, thudding over to a table in the far corner of the room, lowering himself onto the wooden bench with a groan. Jaskier orders the three of you a round of ale and meat with all the trimmings and a side of potatoes. 

“I’m not hungry.” You mumble as you observe the sloppy food the inn keeper throws before you, “I’ll save it, take it back for the carriage driver.”

“We’re not leaving here until you eat everything on that plate, princess.” Geralt doesn’t even look at you as he speaks, tearing a chunk of meat straight from the bone and chewing harshly. You cringe slightly at his brutish manners. 

“No, thank you.”

“I wasn’t asking, princess.” There’s a new edge to his voice now, a no nonsense tone that non-verbally tells you that you’d better start eating right now, or else. 

“Oh, don’t use your scary voice on her, Geralt. We all know you’re a big softie deep down.” The two men start to bicker amongst themselves and you snicker, reluctantly starting your meal. 

Being raised as a princess, you were expected to be prim and proper at all times. That meant having immensely smaller portions of food to your male counterparts, so having a large meal - the same as the two men - is foreign to you. 

You eat as much as you can, about half of the plate, before you start to feel full. Your eyes light up as you recall passing a beggar on your way to the inn. Deciding then that you’ll spare some of your own coin to buy the carriage driver his own meal, you ask the inn keeper if he can wrap up the remnants of your food in some cloth. 

“I hope you’re saving that for later.” Geralt comments once you’ve ordered another meal for the driver. 

You take a beat to reply, debating whether to tell him the truth, “Of course I am.” You lie, a sickly sweet smile gracing your lips. 

“Hmm.”

A while later, whilst Geralt and Jaskier are having a hushed conversation, you attempt to drink some of your ale. This is another first for you too, never having had a sip of any sort of alcoholic beverage before. 

Deciding that the best option is to go all in, you take a huge gulp of the brown liquid, regretting it instantly as you spit it all back onto the wooden table, choking and gasping as your throat burns.

You exchange an embarrassed, wide eyed look with Geralt and Jaskier, and there is a long moment of silence before they start to laugh. Yes, properly laughing. You’d expected it from Jaskier, but the deep peels of laughter that rumble from the Witcher take you by surprise. 

“Oh! That was just priceless!” Jaskier wails, and you can’t quite tell whether he is pretending to wipe the tear out of his eye or if he is actually crying. 

“Shut up.” You grumble, your face flush with embarrassment. Jaskier’s laughs fade in mere chuckles and Geralt just observes you quietly, a smile still tugging slightly on the corner of his mouth.

“Excuse the question, Geralt, but I don’t quite understand the carriage driver's insistence on sleeping in the carriage. Surely he can find a safe place to leave it for a night?” 

“Princess, his whole livelihood rests on that carriage. If it goes, he’s done for. Not worth the risk for a comfortable night, I’d assume.”

“Oh.” You hate how frequently you’re reminded of the fact that you’re utterly clueless about anything outside of your luxurious lifestyle. You’re pretty sure that this will change during your month on the road, you’ve already experienced so many things you had never even imagined, “May I be excused to deliver his meal to him? I’m sure he’d appreciate some warm food.” 

Geralt doesn’t answer, he just pins you with that annoying stare once more. Yes, annoying, that’s what you’re telling yourself. 

“Of course you can, Y/N, excuse Geralt’s lack of brain cells that stop him from keeping up with a simple conversation.”

The Witcher’s arm darts out and before you even see what has happened, Jaskier is once again gasping in pain. 

“You’re in no place to give such permission, bard,” He sends a side-eyed glare to the bard who grips his arm with a dark look in his eyes, “You’ve got an hour, princess, any longer than that and I’m coming to collect you. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” You grin, sending a thankful nod to the innkeeper who hands you the two parcels of wrapped food. 

With one final wave to an apprehensive looking Geralt, you make your way back through the town. Your eyes light up when you realise the beggar is still in the same place, you approach her carefully and your breath stills when you realise she is holding a small baby. 

“Hello there.” Your voice is soft as you approach her, and the woman smiles at you, although her eyes remain guarded. You notice she hugs the child tighter to her chest as you approach, and you can hardly blame her. It’s hard to know who to trust these days. 

“Evening, miss.” Her voice is tired, croaky and worn. She sounds exasperated, and it is probably something to do with your rather… glamorous… attire. It is not customary for people of higher standing to treat beggars well. You’d heard stories of the young lords in your kingdom teasing and taunting the poor beggars. 

“I picked up an extra portion of food in the inn,” You pause, wondering how to phrase this, “I was wondering if you’d like it?” Her eyes seem to light up when you show her the parcel of food, physical proof that you’re not playing a practical joke on her. 

You’re torn as you gaze at the baby, wanting to give the half portion that you saved for the driver to make sure it gets fed. Surely you can explain to Geralt why you didn’t end up going back to the driver? Plus, this baby definitely needs it more. 

“Oh, thank you miss.” The woman cries, her eyes literally tearing up as she inhales, taking in the fact that she is going to have a real meal tonight. She seems in disbelief when you hand her the other wrapped food parcel, telling her that it is for the baby, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, please take it.” You smile at her, beginning your walk back to the inn as she begins to cry. You stop, your mind screaming at you not to leave her there, and you turn back to the two with a resigned sigh, “Excuse me, ma’am, I’m staying at the local inn. Could I pay for you to spend the night there?”

The guarded expression returns to her eyes as she observes you, but she looks back down at the food in her hands and seems to realise that you’re not messing with her. She rises slowly, a pained expression on her face as she clutches the baby tightly to her breast. There is a limp in her step and you realise she has probably been sat in the same position for a while. 

She catches up and falls into step beside you, a silence falling over you as you think of what to say.

“What is your name?” You start simple, hoping you can ease her into conversation without scaring her away. 

By the time you reach the inn again, you’re laughing with the woman who you discovered is only two years your senior. Her name is Lettie, and she was kicked out of her home when she got pregnant out of wedlock. The father of the baby didn’t want anything to do with them, and left them to fend for themselves on the street. 

She has a lovely baby girl named Faith, who giggles away as you babble at her. Lettie giggles at the story of Jaskier almost throwing up over your anecdote about the scar on your leg, and you laugh along as you push open the door to the inn. Once again, you’re on the receiving end of judgemental glances from the patrons - but Lettie doesn’t seem phased as she follows you over to the table where Geralt and Jaskier are watching you with wide eyes. 

“When I let you out of my sight for an hour, I didn’t think you’d return with more people, princess.” Geralt grumbles, his harsh gaze fixed on Lettie and Faith, who both observe the Witcher curiously. 

“Princess?” Lettie questions, only just seeming to register the term Geralt used to address you. 

“Uh, yeah.” You blush, scratching the back of your neck, “I’m paying for her board for the night Geralt. I’ve plenty of coin to spare, why not use it for something good?” You ponder, gaining the attention of the innkeeper’s wife, requesting a large room with an adjoining bathroom, “I’d like a few jugs of hot water for a bath to be brought up, please.” You finish, smiling at Lettie whose eyes are teary once more. 

“Oh, Y/N, I don’t even know what to say. This is the most kindness I’ve been shown in a long, long time. It… it means so much to me, you don’t even realise.”

You place a hand on her thin arm and squeeze gently, “Please, it’s a pleasure. Would you like me to watch Faith while you have a bath? I can sit in the adjoining room with her, if you’re weary of leaving her with me.”

She seems to mull over your offer for a while, before finally deciding that she can trust you, taking the room key off you with a smile. 

“Please, take care of her. If she cries, she likes to suck on something - or maybe eat some food.” Lettie kisses her baby on the forehead and hands her over to you. 

Now, you’ve never held a baby before. However, extensive lessons in motherhood from your own mother have prepared you for this moment - you clutch Faith, gently cradling her head in your palm as you rock her slowly. The baby seems at ease with you right away, and Lettie heads towards her room with a relieved sigh. 

“Princess…” Geralt mumbles once more, and you finally look at the two men as you take a seat on the bench, still rocking Faith. 

“Oh, hiiiii there.” Jaskier coos, stumbling around the circumference of the table to sit beside you, fawning over the little baby in your arms. Her wide eyes land on Jaskier and she lets out a shriek of delight when he begins to play peek-a-boo with her. 

Faith reaches towards the bard, signalling that she wants him to hold her. You let out an aww and hand him the baby, finally meeting the gaze of Geralt who looks incredibly annoyed. 

“What are you playing at, princess? We can’t bring them with us.” His tone is firm, no nonsense as he refuses to let you break from his gaze. You sigh, scooting over towards him, trying to ignore the way your mind screams at you to get even closer. 

“I know that, Geralt. I was only going to give her some food and I saw her baby and… I couldn’t just leave them there. I’m going to part with them in the morning, after I give them some coin. I promise.” You look up at the Witcher through your eyelashes, your persuasive look has never failed before. 

He groans, finally removing his gaze from yours and clenching his jaw. 

“One night. We’ll be leaving early in the morning.”

You bite your lip to hide the victorious smile on your face.

*****

Tag list:

@over300books​

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book Two: Sapphire (Ignis x Reader) Chapter X

The royal retinue reach the courtyard outside the Leville just as the ground beneath their feet began to shake. At the same time, Noctis grabs his head and winces. Images flash through his mind, but he couldn't make sense of them. Shaking his head, the pain and vision subside. Gladio, who was the closest to the prince, noticed his painful expression. "What's wrong?"

"My head just started throbbing," Noctis replied, hiding the details of the vision he witnessed.

"You all right?" Prompto asked worriedly.

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"A headache at the exact moment of an earthquake," (Y/n) hummed. "I would say it isn't a coincidence."

"Indeed," Ignis agreed.

"Doesn't matter. It's gone," Noctis said.

They enter the Leville and stand in the lobby to wait for Iris. Gladio crosses his arms, tapping his foot impatiently against the tiled floor. He wasn't sure what was taking his sister so long, but she descended the stairwell a few minutes later.

"Gladdy!" Iris chanted, hurrying down the stairs.

Said boy looked up and smiled at his sister. He was relieved to see she was uninjured and safe from the hell raised by the empire in Insomnia. Although he lost his father, at least he still had his little sister. "Iris."

The young Amicitia glances around at the faces of the boys. She had yet to spot (Y/n) due to being hidden behind Ignis' tall, lithe body. "Look at you guys, holding your own out there."

Prompto smiled with slightly red cheeks. "What can I say? You look good."

"All things considered," Iris exhaled heavily. "You guys are staying here, right?"

"That's the plan," Ignis said, taking a step to the side and revealing the girl hidden behind him.

Iris noticed the fifth member of the group and blinked in surprise. She searched her memory and tried to remember seeing someone as beautiful as her before, but she couldn't recall anyone. She hastily took a few steps towards her, signaling the beginning of a throng of questions. "Who's this? Is she a crownsguard? But that outfit is way too nice." Iris circles (Y/n), examining her appearance closely. Reaching the front, she saw the slitted eyes and gemstone. "Wait, you're a guardian! But I don't remember any of the guys except Ignis having one. Now that I think about, I don't see her here."

Gladio stopped his sister after seeing how uncomfortable (Y/n) was becoming. "Take a breather, Iris. You're freakin' the girl out."

Realizing what she was doing, she gasped and promptly apologized. "I-I'm so sorry. It's just...I've never met someone so beautiful before. If I had, I would definitely remember."

"Oh, um...thank you, Iris," (Y/n) shyly replied.

"Pretty sure you've met (Y/n) before, Iris," Noctis stated. "But you've never seen her human form until now."

"That name..." Iris' voice trailed off before her eyes widened. "You're really (Y/n)? That little bundle of white fur is you?"

She nodded. "Y-Yes."

"Oh, wow. This is... You look amazing!" She praised. "I never imagined you were this pretty. I mean, I imagined you to be a little more than average, but I am blown away!"

The guardian did her best to analyze her appearance. Without a mirror, it was difficult to examine her entire body. She glanced down at her dress before lifting her head. "I really don't see what's so special about me."

"You're kidding, right?" Prompto spoke up. "You didn't notice all those people staring at you when we first got here?"

"And not just here. Wherever we go, people stare at you," Noctis added. "Can't believe you haven't noticed."

That's when (Y/n) started to worry. "Am I drawing too much attention to us? If that's the case, I can always change forms and-"

Gladio held up his and silenced her. "Slow your roll, munchkin. We drive a super fancy car that already sticks out like a sore thumb anywhere we go. With you taggin' along, no one even looks twice at Noct."

Noctis glanced at his shield with a scowl. "Am I supposed to be offended by that?"

"Take it as you will, Highness." Gladio focuses his gaze back on his sister. "Putting all that aside, when you have time we have catching up to do."

Iris nodded. "Sure. I've got time now if you guys do. We can talk in my room." She leads the group of five up the stairs and into one of the many hotel rooms. As they got comfortable, they were joined by an old man and a young boy. Gladio easily recognized the two. "Jared and Talcott! Is it good to see you."

Talcott smiled sweetly as he addressed the member of royalty among them. "Prince Noctis! Iris is safe with me!" You could tell the young boy admired Noctis just by the gleam in his eyes.

Jared patted Talcott on the shoulder, smiling apologetically to the prince. "Please excuse my grandson. He has yet to learn his manners."

Noctis smirked. "I like it."

The older man lowered his head in a slight bow. "Your Highness is very kind, but we shan't impose. A very good night to you, Your Highness." Taking his grandson with him, he left the room so the group could talk. Iris closes the door behind them as they leave before taking a seat alongside the others.

Noctis was a little hesitant to ask, but he wanted to know some details of the invasion. "So Iris, what was it like inside the Crown City?"

Iris winced slightly as she remembered the day of the signing clearly. "Not pretty. The Citadel took a beating. But a lot of outlying neighborhoods made it through in one piece."

Ignis' eyes narrowed as he gazed at the carpet. "The empire had tactical targets in mind."

"If they incapacitated the Citadel from the inside, it would make it difficult for the crownsguard and Kingsglaive to deploy," (Y/n) said.

"Think they had a man on the inside?" Gladio wondered.

"A possibility we cannot dismiss," Ignis stated.

Iris glanced around at the dejected faces of the group. She clasped her hands together in her lap and focused her gaze on Noctis. "You know if there's anything else, you can ask me."

Noctis lifted his head, slightly taken aback. "Yeah, uh, thanks."

"So...about Lady Lunafreya. I keep hearing she was in town. Apparently she left right away, but at least it means she's okay."

The prince wasn't sure how to feel about Lunafreya. He wasn't sure if she was alive or dead and he was worried about her. However, Iris' words did provide a small amount of relief. "Good to hear. Thanks."

Iris then stands, brushing off her skirt. "Yeah, well, get a good night's rest." She then leaves the room.

Ignis stood up as well. "I shall procure rooms for us."

(Y/n) glances at him. "That was plural."

"I shall ensure you get your own personal room, (Y/n). It would be ill-suited for a lady to remain in a room with four men."

She watched him leave the room, blinking in surprise. She uncrossed her legs with a huff. A grin tugged at the corners of Gladio's lips. "You seem disappointed."

"No, just surprised. We had no issues sharing a room in Longwythe or Galdin Quay. What's changed?" She pondered.

"You think it has to do with the fact you spend more time in your human form than your spiritual one now?" Prompto asked.

"Or maybe Iggy wants you to have your own room so he can make a surprise visit to you in the middle of the night," the brute said.

She glowered at him. "Why do you think Iggy would have an ulterior motive?"

Gladio looked away, trying to act innocent. "No reason."

Her eyes scrunched up in an accusing manner. "You know something that I don't."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. But it's not my place to tell. Hopefully us guys can snap some sense into his uptight ass and get him to tell you."

(Y/n) wanted to question him further, but held herself back as Ignis returned. She accepted the key he offered her and read the number attached to it before heading to her room. It was only a few doors down from Iris' room. She entered the room and looked around. There was a small couch, a coffee table, and a double bed with a nightstand beside it. It was decent, but she felt lonely. Why had Ignis suddenly wanted her to have her own room? Was it really because she's been spending more time in her human form like Prompto said or was there another possibility?

Her shoulders sank while trudging towards the bed. She sat down on the edge with a huff of frustration at her busy thoughts. She pushed them aside by remembering the intimate moment she shared with Ignis earlier that day. It was nice to be in his arms, a sensation she's enjoyed ever since he first hugged her when he was only five years old. As the years passed, the hugs became scarce in number due to his duties to the crown. He became more prim and proper, meaning casual hugs were deemed inappropriate. She had watched the boy grow into a man, his personality changing from sweet and caring to reserved and stoic.

Of course, he had his moments where he would show her how much he cared about her. Those were few and far between. However, that somewhat changed after they left the city. Even with Noctis as his first priority, his time with her had grown as if they had reverted back to their younger years. It brought a smile to her face, but it quickly vanished. She wanted to be his first priority. Was it a selfish thought? Perhaps.

Hanging her head, she hid her face behind a curtain of (h/c) tresses. She mentally scolded herself for thinking in such a manner. All she wanted was Ignis to love her with all his heart just as she wanted to do the same for him. But there was another thing stopping her-their roles. She was his guardian and he was her master. Was it appropriate for a human and spirit to be together?

That's when her eyes gleamed with hope as she recalled Jasper and Luca. They were clearly in love with each other and are engaged. She lifted her head and glanced out the window, coming to a decision-she would meet Luca tomorrow and discuss how he and Jasper overcame such obstacles or if it was only her self-doubt that prevented her from confessing her feelings.

(Y/n) was pulled from her thoughts when she heard a knock on her door. She went to answer it and saw Prompto was visiting her. Noticing he was alone, she wondered what he wanted. "Is there something I can do for you, Prompto?"

"You're gonna join us for dinner, right?" He asked.

Checking the time on the clock located on the nightstand, she saw it was a few minutes past five. "I didn't realize it was that late already."

Prompto grabbed her hand with a smile. "C'mon, the guys already left to make sure we get a table."

(Y/n) was taken aback at the sudden sensation of his hand on hers. "Prompto, your hand."

He looked down at their connected hands and blushed. He had unconsciously grabbed hers. "S-Sorry..."

She couldn't help but admire how kind and gentle he was. In order to smooth over the situation, she offered him a gentle smile. "It's fine. Let's go."

They left the Leville and headed to Surgate's Beanmine near the main thoroughfare. Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis were sitting at one of the tables and had already ordered for everyone. The eatery was packed and only a couple tables were left vacant. Sitting in between Noctis and Ignis, (Y/n) glances across the table when Gladio kicked her lightly in the foot. "Took your time, munchkin."

"I was thinking about a few things and didn't realize how late it was," she explained.

He took a brief glance at Ignis before looking back at her. "Like what?"

"Luca. I want to help him with his dream project. Spirits could use a good reputation. I also want to warn him about the empire."

"Y'know, all the people I've talked about guardians with adore them," Prompto said. "I can't believe people discriminate against your people, (Y/n)."

She crossed her legs, placing her hands gently in her lap. "I can't even imagine what it's like to be a masterless spirit in a society like this. It must be very difficult for them to live normal lives."

"Oh, yeah. Specs mentioned that rite of annulment," Noctis chimed in.

"I do hope I did not overstep my bounds," Ignis said, glancing toward the girl sitting beside him.

She shook her head. "Not at all. The rite of annulment has been used in both good and bad ways. Guardians have undergone the ritual to escape their abusive masters and humans have used it to get rid of their guardians. If the threat of corruption wasn't high, it's possible the rite wouldn't be so bad."

"What's this corruption you're talkin' about?" Gladio pried.

"Masters act as buffers for guardians when it comes to mana flow. If a guardian cannot control the flow, it builds up in their body and they soon lose themselves. Some spirits have massacred humans in such a state, but most of the time they commit suicide once it's too overbearing. A guardian's risk of corruption goes down if their master is still alive. But once that soul vanishes from Eos, the risk of corruption is extremely high. There are spirits who have learned to cope through the madness to keep their minds intact while others have never suffered from corruption."

"Okay, yeah, none of the books I've read mention any of this..." Prompto mumbled.

"Neither do the vast collections I've perused," Ignis said.

(Y/n) stared down at the table. "Not everything is written down in books or documents. If the rite was vastly known, I fear my people's reputation would be even more soiled."

"Let's just hope Luca doesn't know about it," Gladio stated. "And if he does, he'll leave it out of his book."

Their food arrived as their conversation ended. (Y/n) stared thoughtfully at her serving of bird-broth rice with curry before picking up her spoon to enjoy the meal. She listened to Noctis and Prompto as they exchanged playful banter while eating.

Once everyone was finished, they left the eatery and headed back to the Leville. As they passed through one of the alleyways, a disembodied voice reached (Y/n)'s ears. He body became stiff while listening to it.

Come...of Pneuma... Heed...call... Costlemark...altar...

A strange sensation overtook her body. Feeling a trance consume her mind, she no longer had control of her body. Listening to the voice, she wandered aimlessly down another alleyway and wound up separated from the boys. Unaware of her surroundings, she was heading straight for the road.

As she was about to step off the curb and into the street, the sound of a blaring horn bounced off the buildings, but it didn't snap her out of her trance. It was only when someone grabbed her arm and pulled her to safety before she was hit by a car that caused the trance to fade. The sensation of hands on her cheeks resulted in her to blink a few times. Her vision cleared and all she could see was a pair of familiar emerald eyes behind a pair of glasses. As the faint ringing in her ear ceased and she could hear the sounds of the bustling town, she realized Ignis was her savior and was trying to get her attention.

"(Y/n), can you hear me?" Ignis asked as her slitted pupils narrowed.

She looked around as best as she could and saw Noctis, Gladio, and Prompto standing behind him. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you'd clarify."

"Weren't we on our way back to the Leville?" She asked.

Prompto stepped forward. "You...don't remember what just happened?"

"No."

"You just suddenly walked off. We tried to get your attention, but you weren't listening. You wandered out into the middle of the street and was almost ran over by a car. Luckily Specs saved you before you were flattened," Noctis clarified. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." (Y/n) took a step back when Ignis removed his hands from her cheeks. All she could remember was hearing the voice and then they were standing by the side of the road. "Maybe I just need some more sleep."

"You looked like you were in some kinda trance," Prompto said.

Ignis examines her face and noticed she looked sickly. "You've become pale. Let us make haste back to the hotel."

"Need a piggyback ride, munchkin?" Gladio offered.

She shook her head. "No, I can walk."

Ignis placed an arm around her shoulders and escorted her back to the Leville. He took her to her room and asked her to sit down on the bed. When she did, he kneeled down in front of her and took her gloved hands in his own. "What truly happened tonight, (Y/n)?"

"I-I honestly don't know, Iggy," she answered sincerely. "I heard that voice again and then realized we were standing by the road. I did feel something come over my body, but I don't know what. I'm sorry..."

Ignis raised one of his hands and caressed the back of his fingers against her cheek. "You need not apologize, darling."

She was shocked at hearing the term of endearment, but welcomed it. "I just hope visiting Costlemark will resolve this and put an end to the voice."

He removed his hand from her face and gazed deeply into her sapphire eyes. He loved how they sparkled just like the gemstones in his necklace. It was like getting lost in the ocean. "Will you be all right by yourself tonight?"

"Yes. I'll probably turn in early after a shower."

"If you need me, you know where I'll be. Please, do not hesitate to call upon me."

She smiled gratefully. "Thank you. Good night, Iggy."

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

[chryuhwan]

helloooo i’m sol (21+, they/them) and this is yuhwan. he’s an old oc revamped too many times so if he seems familiar... my b dude i’m attached i guess. anyway, i’m excited to be here! please like this post if you’re interested in plotting and i’ll hit you up. i’m not on twitter and pretty sparse on discord, so i prefer tumblr im! but if that’s difficult for you, we can figure smth out! i have a short (haha) tl;dr under the cut, but you can also read up more on his BIO and PROFILE pages.

RUNDOWN

TRIGGER & CONTENT WARNINGS: physical abuse, underage drug/alcohol consumption, (attempted) suicide (lmk if you want a redacted summary!) 

BASICS — born and raised in busan up until the tender age of seventeen, when he was sent (“exiled”) to seoul to live with his aunt and uncle and attend hannam. the catalyst was a rebellious phase turned lifestyle (a lot of really reckless decisions involving drugs, alcohol, vandalism, swiping money from the tithes & offerings, u name it) and his parents deciding they a) didn’t want to deal with that and b) didn’t want that to reflect on their reputations. he’s been in seoul ever since and has never stayed in busan for longer than a couple of days.

ON RELIGION & FAITH — the only son of the head pastor of a well-known megachurch in busan, yuhwan was raised under the strict and watchful eye of his obsessive parents! he’s not religious anymore by any means, but faith (or his lack thereof) has shaped a huge part of his mentality. his lack of belief in a higher power is the foundation of his ‘if i have the confidence to own up to the potential consequences of my actions, then i’ll do whatever i want to’ mindset. he’s not going to be discouraged by a god that doesn’t exist! 

ON SEOUL — hates it. yep. he hates seoul, but he doesn’t really have the drive to try to find somewhere he does like because he hates busan too. when he was sent to live with his aunt and uncle, he was treated pretty poorly (still flinches when people raise their hand at him), like a glorified punching bag. hannam wasn’t any better, and the military was nice in the way prison cells might be. he hates cramped things and the only decent jogging path he knows runs him right by the bridge he almost jumped off of after his military service ended so. you know. you win some, you lose some. 

ON HANNAM — hated it. yep. straight up hated it. he was pretty good about being friendly around virtually anyone who held his attention for more than a couple of seconds, but yuhwan hates the idea of hierarchies! finds them downright stifling, and he doesn’t like the idea of being placed in a box, etc. hannam felt like an oppressive social pyramid and he thought that kinda sucked so as friendly as he was on the outside, he had zero interest in making friends and has probably only willingly kept in touch with a handful of people since graduating. 

ON GOSSIPS, RUMORS, AND SECRETS — he’s a tabloid writer. once a regular editor for a small newspaper, he gave that up and decided to sacrifice his morals for a higher paycheck. he blames his mom because she, as the pastor’s wife, had a lot of access to juicy gossip and liked to tell yuhwan about it. yuhwan’s probably the least trustworthy person he knows. he’s careful to keep the secrets of people he cares about, but as it turns out, he doesn’t really care about that many people. he’s friendly, open to listening, and honestly not that bad at giving advice etc., but be on your guard. wouldn’t want your dirty laundry to be aired out for the world to see, after all. 

ON THE PRESENT — he’s minding his own business. really. like i said, he’s probably kept in touch with some people, but otherwise he’s not really interested in the busy lives of almost-strangers unless they’re going to get him a bonus on his next paycheck. yuhwan very much so marches to the beat of his own drum. he doesn’t care much about the world around him and only cares when it inconveniences him. like a kite without a string, he’s floating wherever the fuck the wind’s going to take him!

ON HIS SECRET — after graduating from high school, and then university, and then finishing military service, yuhwan thought he might literally lose his fucking mind if he didn’t set himself free in one way or another. ultimately, he decides he won’t be able to coexist in peace with his parents unless they change. and because they won’t change of their own volition, he submits an anonymous tip about his father’s embezzlement of church funds. in the end, it doesn’t destroy his dad’s legacy or anything; the church is still up and running—but it’s an ordeal that takes months, years of being humbled by the weight of the world. he doesn’t feel bad about it. his mom gossips less and his dad’s less of an asshole, after all. makes family gatherings that much more bearable when they’re all tired of existing!

CONNECTIONS

BEST FRIEND — just one. no dramatic childhood friends story or anything like that. just one person he actually really genuinely sincereeeeeely liked from hannam that didn’t take any effort or slow build to figure out. probably the only person he really trusts in this big, bad city. you’ve got a huge weapon in your hands! he’s not used to putting this much trust in others. (+1000 if in a two-day relationship that ended terribly. ‘i would never date you again, but i’ll still die for u’ kinda vibes) 

HANNAM FRIENDS — there won’t be many, but! anyone? anyone?? he was a friendly, easygoing person (still is, tbh) during his hannam days, but was definitely a free spirit who did whatever he wanted. if you could keep up with his pace, then he might have liked your company. he’s not a fan of overly serious people unless they have the patience of a saint! (trust me, you’ll need it.) 

HANNAM... NOT FRIENDS — he’s not so conscious of his surroundings as to have enemies himself, but he definitely did get pushed around for a little while when he was first getting settled. and he’s also definitely spoken out of turn and said some rude shit (not on purpose) (he just doesn’t have a filter) here and there. want to hate his guts? please do. negative energy’s welcome in this house!

COUSIN — a similar-aged cousin, also the child of the aunt and uncle yuhwan absolutely fucking abhors. they might have a contentious relationship. might even be a positive one. either way, they lived under the same roof for a few years! 

TABLOID VICTIM — got a little fame to your name? have a nasty scandal you didn’t want to get out? well, now it’s out. and sensationalized, too! maybe you know it’s him who leaked it (and wrote the article, while we’re at it). maybe you don’t! 

BUSAN BUDDIES — and i use the word ‘buddies’ loosely. grow up in busan? have religious parents? religious yourself maybe? well, maybe you bumped into each other then. yuhwan had the reputation of being a prim and proper pastor’s son, amiable and cheerful and so so devoted, up until he was suddenly sent to seoul. all of his bad habits and reckless adventures were largely done behind his parents’ backs (until he got caught, at least!)—you know of them? partake in them, maybe? or maybe you didn’t know, and you’re wondering why the fuck he came to seoul in the first place

BLACKMAIL — he’s not above using underhanded tactics if they’re made available to him. sometimes he doesn’t even need a big reason. maybe he found out a secret of yours and he wants a secret you know about someone else. he’ll hold it over your head! call it a little game of cat and mouse!

[lunarliza]

Dirty Little Secret | Chapter One: Blankets

fuckbuddy!JJ x Kook!Reader 

You and JJ are fuck buddies- strictly physical. But what happens when you find yourself falling more and more for everyone’s favorite golden boy even though all he can see you as is a spoiled rich girl? 

You stared at the ticking clock among the sea of giggling preppy girls. Time had to be running in reverse. There was no way you still had an hour left. 

“Alright ladies, let’s now form a single-file line and practice our curtsies,” the cotillion instructor, Linda, ordered. The over-privileged girls hurried to the end of the ballroom, one carelessly stepping over your foot. “Ouch!” 

You glared at their backs and non-existent asses as they scurried, being the last one to sulk to your place behind a tall girl named Caroline. The leggy blonde snickered and leaned back slightly once everyone got into formation. 

“You look like a beat up mule,” she joked. 

You snorted and got on your tip-toes, muttering into her ear. “If I hear the words ‘prim and proper’ one more time, I might actually vomit on the spot.” 

You both peered over to Linda who was busy adjusting some of the girls in the front with her annoying pointer stick. It was only a matter of time before she would eventually get to you and criticize, well, everything. Your posture, clothes, hair, attitude. 

“If you do,” Caroline added, “make sure to get it all on Delilah in the front left. She totally swiped me for runner-up Miss Teen North Carolina last year.” 

You chuckled and shook your head. 

Caroline was probably the only thing getting you through these treacherous debutante lessons. She was your typical tall, thin socialite with a Benz and Prada collection to match. Ironically, you guys had more in common than one would think- hating just about every single girl in the room. It may be for different reasons, but the principle was there. Caroline was as competitive as they come and always had to be the center of attention, not that it was hard given her model height. 

You, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about becoming a high woman in society- evident in your ability to show up 20 minutes late to each lesson and royally screw up the dance number each chance you got. Caroline admired your talent of not giving a fuck and took a liking to you after you posed non-threatening to her spotlight. 

You faked yawned and checked the clock once more. 

“Alright I’ve had enough.” You held out your hand to Linda, causing the pageant girl in front of you to wrinkle her perfectly threaded brows. “Linda, I need to use the restroom,” you announced nonchalantly as everyone’s beetle eyes punctured you. 

“Very well y/n,” the monotonous instructor answered with her thin-framed glasses hanging on her beak nose.  

“See ya next week,” you sneakily whispered to Caroline. You proceeded to hop out of line, snatch your canvas bag at the entrance, and whisk out the door and into the busy street before anyone could see.

It was 3 p.m. on a Thursday afternoon. Your ferry left in an hour, and til then, you were ready to wander around the streets of Chapel Hill. 

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

“How were lessons today?” your mother asked, taking a sip of her 1999 Vineyard Merlot before setting the glass on the black marble table.

“Fine,” you answered, picking at the halibut on your plate. 

Her glasses were perched at the bridge of her nose as she scrolled through items on an iPad. You silently glanced over to your little sister, Macy, who slid her green beans onto your plate and threw you a thankful grin. 

“What did you go over?” your stepdad, Ted, asked half-heartedly as he scrolled through his phone. 

“Uh, we did some curtsies and practiced the dance,” was all you cared to mention as you munched on your sister’s veggies. 

“That’s funny,” your mother lifted her eyes from the screen, “because Linda called and said you went to the restroom and mysteriously disappeared. And you were late.” Her tone was much more adamant at the second part, but your face stayed cool as you took another bite of the awful fish. 

“There was backup when I left the ferry,” you lied and your mother rolled her eyes, tossing the iPad onto the table. 

“Y/n, you need to take this seriously. Ted spent weeks trying to get you into those debutante lessons and we’re paying a fortune for Linda alone!” 

“It’s not my fault she has a stick up her ass just like everyone else there,” you countered. Your mom was seconds away from fuming, so you decided to add a little extra fuel. “Also someone stepped on my foot with their heel so I had to rest it or else I wouldn’t be able to properly do the dance.” 

“Enough of this, y/n,” your mother snapped at your terrible sarcasm. Macy and Ted stopped eating and watched you both with hints of concern. You didn’t understand why it was so startling to them. It was just any other Thursday evening with your mom if you were being honest. 

“If I get another call from Linda, we’re taking away your keys.” 

“Take them,” you said, stepping up from your chair and towards the kitchen. You tossed the half-eaten food into the trash and stuffed the plate into the dishwasher. “Not like I have anywhere better to be on this God-awful island.” 

You rushed to your room upstairs and kicked the door shut behind you. You sank into your bed, face first, and let out the longest, dreadful groan into the comforter. 

This was your life now. After almost a year, you would think that you’d adjust to this pretentious Kook life, but it only made you feel more stranded than ever. It started when your real parents announced their divorce a few years back. Both yours and Macy’s hearts shattered at the news. Your family lived perfectly in a tiny home until you turned thirteen. Your dad- the one who taught you how to ride a bike, swim, fish, and play poker- got a new job where he would go overseas for months on end. You hated not being able to see him and your mom hated it even more- enough to leave him. Your mom ended up taking full custody of you and Macy. Soon after, she met money-bags Ted, and, before you knew it, your bags were sealed packed as you sailed away to a fancy new home along Figure Eight complete with housekeepers, a pool, and etiquette lessons. It was supposed to be this “better lifestyle” your mother tried to paint into your head- but you saw right through it. No matter how green the grass or white the fence, you still felt like you were being locked up on an island you had no interest in exploring. 

Making new friends was also a hassle- first coming in as a high school sophomore, and then not knowing how to engage in Kook-speak with the others. It’s not your fault you weren’t well-versed in luxury cars and handbags. You had one or two friends, but spent most of your days alone. It was well past midnight when you caught yourself drowning in your own self-loathing thoughts. A sudden tap on your window startled you as you turned to find a familiar blonde boy struggling to lift the glass. You watched, unimpressed, as he finally got it open enough to slide his lean body in and land straight onto your window seat. 

“You’re late again, JJ,” you said, getting up to lock your door. 

“Phone died and there’s a guard on duty, so I had to come in through the long way,” JJ stated, plopping himself comfortably on your bed. 

He wore his usual fit- dark cargo shorts and a navy button-up with hardly anything buttoned. He reeked of weed and seawater, wearing a sleazy grin on his face. You wanted to swipe it off. Cocky bastard. 

“For the last time,” you retorted, kicking his feet off your white blankets, “no shoes on my fucking bed.” 

“I love when you talk dirty to me,” JJ snarkily replied as he slipped off his boots.   

This was JJ: your fuck buddy. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly why you were involved with this delinquent of a boy, but he was enough piss off your mom and Ted- not that you would ever tell them. You didn’t know what it was about him, but causally sleeping with JJ made you feel more in control of your life. So, once or twice a week, you two would meet up, do the deed, and go your separate ways without a word. No strings, no feelings, hell, not even a friendship. And not a single soul knew. You both understood the terms of your agreement and will stand by it until the day you both die. “Are you just gonna stand there and stare or are we gonna get to clapping cheeks? I don’t have all night dude,” JJ nagged, interrupting you from your thoughts. 

You flipped him off. “If someone showed up during their regularly scheduled time, I would have had a lot more energy.” You peeled off your cropped tee to reveal a lacy black bralette and climbed into his lap. His hands cupped the globes of your ass before sliding them into your shorts, mouth connecting with your neck. 

“Let’s make this quick,” he added between short breaths, “I have to meet some friends in an hour.” 

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

chapter two