#but they hadn’t given enough to his downward spiral to make it really make sense

[writinglizards]

what I’m afraid to say

Part 3 of the train fic I was involved in!

part one | next

The healer eventually lets Jaskier leave after almost two weeks. By the time she does, they're both going a little stir crazy.

"Here," Madriga tells them both, handing Jaskier a small container of ointment, "it's mostly healed, but this will help with the scarring." Jaskier nods absently and Geralt's stomach drops out.

Realistically he'd been aware that the wound would scar but it's… it’s something else to be told, to realize that Jaskier is going to carry the mark of Geralt's failure on his skin.

"Thank you Madriga, darling," Jaskier says, smile winsome, and the woman rolls her eyes.

"Just get out of my home," she grouses, and they do so, gladly.

The sun is high in the sky as they set out, not quite midday, but close, and Jaskier babbles as they go, munching on a chunk of hard bread. His step is remarkably even, even if Geralt keeps worrying about him. He's…he's still not fully recovered, still a little thin. Two weeks in a bed have worn on him, and Geralt's worried he's going to tire easily, that he's going to need help and not ask, that—

"Geralt," Jaskier cuts into his mental downward spiral, "you okay?"

Geralt merely grunts in response.

"Oh, don't give me that," he sulks, "I know when you're in a mood, darling. You get all—" he breaks off, making a constipated face that does not resemble Geralt in the slightest, "—grumpy."

"I'm fine," he growls out, irritated. Then, much softer, "How are you?"

Jaskier shrugs one shoulder, "Tired," he admits, but he catches Roach's reins and tugs her onward after him when Geralt tries to stop, "but not so tired we need to take a break. Really Geralt, there's no need to fuss."

Geralt doesn't argue, only because he knows it's an argument he's going to lose even before he opens his mouth. Jaskier has that look about him, the stubborn one that says it doesn't matter what Geralt's about to try—he's set his mind and he's going to follow through, by the gods.

They make it another few hours before Jaskier admits he maybe needs a rest (his hand is pressed to his healing side, breathing gone a little shallow) and Geralt finds them a spot almost immediately.

"It's fine Geralt," Jaskier grumbles when Geralt tries to tug him down to sit on the rough forest floor, tries to get a look at his side, "I'm just out of practice. Two weeks in bed will do that to you."

"But you're holding it," he accuses. Jaskier rolls his eyes.

"Because it aches you idiot," he says, not unkindly, "it's fine."

"You didn't say it ached before," he huffs. He knows he sounds petulant, but he's worried, damn it all.

"Because I knew you'd hover," Jaskier sighs. "Honestly Geralt, you're a little predictable."

"Hm."

He doesn't let Jaskier help with setting up camp, forcing him down next to where he's hastily dug out a little fire pit before setting to work gathering firewood and setting a few snares. It's early enough in the evening he might as well.

"Think we'll catch anything?" Jaskier asks when Geralt comes back with another armload of firewood. Jaskier's already got a small cookfire going and Geralt frowns.

"I told you I'd do that."

"Yes, and you took too long. I took care of it. No worries."

"You need to rest."

"Geralt, I am tired of resting. I did! For two weeks! It's fine."

"I'm just—" I'm just worried, he thinks, but the words are lacking. It's more than that. I love you, I don't want to see you hurt, I've already failed you, please let me help.

"I know," Jaskier says placidly, even though he cannot possibly fathom what Geralt means, what he feels.

They settle, despite Geralt's fussing. There are enough provisions to go around now that they've had time to stock up, and Jaskier eats his hard bread and cheese with relish, humming happily.

It's almost normal, and Geralt lets himself be lulled into that sense of normalcy, the easy companionship that is sitting around a fire with Jaskier, right up until Jaskier pulls out the little container the healer had given him.

He tries not to watch as Jaskier struggles out of his doublet and hooks his fingers in the neck of his chemise to pull it over his head, hissing when it pulls at the wound on his side.

Geralt sighs, hard. "Jaskier, let me help."

"Ooh, would you?" he asks, shifting closer so Geralt can get his hands around the thin fabric of his shirt. "Thank you, Geralt."

"Hm." He tugs the fabric gently over his head, helps him move his arms in such a way that it doesn't tug at his side too much. He's careful not to touch his skin as much as possible—he knows it would be addictive, to have a taste of that soft, supple flesh under his palms only to know he can never have it again. He almost forgets why he's undressing Jaskier until he catches sight of the thick, angry lines against his side, and his hands still, the shirt hanging in his grasp.

"Geralt?"

"It's—" he reaches vaguely for his side, fingers hovering but not quite touching.

"It's scarred," Jaskier says softly, "you knew that."

"I hadn't seen it," he murmurs, pulling his hand back. It's…upsetting to look at. Knowing it's Geralt's fault. He can't fix it, not anymore, but— "Can I?" he asks, gesturing to the ointment. Jaskier hands it over without a word.

When Geralt twists off the cap, he's hit with a wave of scent, heavily medicinal. He can detect hints of celandine underneath other herbs he's less familiar with. Jaskier wrinkles his nose in response.

"That smells awful."

"Should cut back on the scarring," Geralt reminds, trying to keep his tone even and unaffected, "let me see?"

Jaskier twists, presenting his side to Geralt's careful attention as he coats his fingers in the ointment.

"Careful, I'm ticklish," Jaskier teases, and then Geralt's fingers are brushing against the first ridge of the scar, and they both go very, very quiet.

The ointment has to be rubbed in, has to give the skin time to absorb it so that the scar will soften and fade, with time. It will never be gone, exactly, but it will help Jaskier look a little less like he's been mauled by a cockatrice.

He lets out a soft, shaky breath and goes boneless under Geralt's hands, tipping a little further to the side, exposing more of the three jagged slices trailing from just below his ribs to just above his hip bone. Tentatively, Geralt runs his fingers along one of the angry, slightly raised lines. Jaskier's breath stutters.

"Okay?" His own voice is huskier than it should be, but he can't help it—Jaskier's soft and warm under his fingertips, alive, and it's hard to reel in the surging emotion in his chest, try as he might.

"Okay," Jaskier confirms, and then drops uncharacteristically silent again. He doesn't say anything as Geralt moves on to the second jagged scar, or when he pauses to coat his fingers in more ointment, presses them deliberately back to Jaskier's skin.

I love you, he thinks as his fingertips drag across Jaskier's side, and he paints the emotion into his skin with the ointment. I love you, I love you, I love you. Words he cannot, cannot say. He will not bind Jaskier to himself that way.

"Done," he murmurs softly in a voice that barely breaks the quiet. He doesn't want to disturb this odd hush that's fallen over them, doesn't want to upset Jaskier. Because he can't imagine Jaskier isn't upset with the thick, angry lines scoring his side. It's a scar. It's a mark.

Jaskier sighs shakily again, sitting upright and twisting away, out of reach. Geralt misses the closeness immediately.

"Thank you, Geralt."

"Hm."

He doesn't help him re-dress, although his fingers itch to. Instead, he pretends not to see how Jaskier struggles into the worn nightshirt, how he pants with exertion afterward.

When he lays out across his bedroll, Geralt finally lets his guard drop, anticipating a long, quiet night with the fire between them, the crackle of the dying embers, the hush of the forest. Normal.

"Geralt?" Jaskier is softly tentative, curled under his furs.

"Hm?”

"Would you—would you sleep with me tonight? Not—" he cuts off abruptly, blushing, "—not like—just sleeping. I...I missed having you close."

Something in Geralt's chest roils at the guilty admission, something he refuses to let bubble to the surface. Jaskier had slept in the healer's hut for two weeks while Geralt had been forced to stay at the inn. He had...missed him, it was true, but he'd never thought—

"Please?"

He doesn't verbally respond, just lays his bedroll out beside Jaskier's and settles down, too close and yet impossibly far. He couldn't close the distance even if he wanted to. Jaskier feels no such impediment and immediately rolls closer, tucks himself along Geralt's side, sighing with contentment.

"Thank you, Geralt," he hums softly, sleepy and sweet. Reluctantly, Geralt settles an arm over his waist. It's just to make sure he doesn't roll onto his bad side and hurt himself, he reasons. It doesn't matter that Geralt wants to hold him close to his chest, tuck him in there beside his heart where he can protect him from everything, himself included.

"Go to sleep, Jaskier," he says, and the bard shifts in the circle of his arm murmuring gentle nonsense. His heart beats even and true, and Geralt's beats back a slow and steady response—I love you, I love you, I love you.

[lovextriangle]

Imagine Thorin before The Unexpected Journey

a/n: early release draft, I’ll probably edit more later!

You were never one to fall for the brooding type, but there was no stopping for the inevitable.

The dwarves showed up out of nowhere. They were passing through Gondor on their way to Dunland where Thror, Thrain, and Thorin had decided that place was their best option. Many of their following had dwindled, most headed for the Blue Mountains or the Iron Hills. Dunland was a place of no importance, it was just a place for them to seek refuge. They had no plans of staying there, for the true goal was to take back their home, Erebor. Though a plan like that already had people grimacing for the bloodshed was still fresh and the loss was many. How could they overcome a beast that had defeated them so easily on their own home front.

They needed allies, they needed help, not from men, and definitely not from the elves, but from their own people, dwarves assisting other dwarves. That is what Thorin thought anyways. But with supplies running low and spirits at an all time downward spiral, they would have to start from the ground up.

About a month after the traveling dwarves had passed through Gondor and finally settled into the neighboring Dunland, Thorin seeked out work. The big city was the best place to look for it, though no one cared about the tragedies a person had been through, if you had no talent or skill, you wouldn’t find a job. Luckily dwarves were brimming with skills and their expertise was known for crafting weapons. The grandson of the King Under the Mountain, became a blacksmith of Gondor for the sake of putting food on the table. He had a perpetual frown on his face as if it was engraved there permanently.

He had all the reason to be, rumors spread fast in Gondor of what had happened to the dwarves and the almighty Smuag, the terror of their lifetime. Everyone was afraid of what the dragon would do next. Most thought that the dwarves would bring it with them somehow, as if they carried bad luck. So Thorin was well aware of how much the people of Gondor didn’t want him there. He wasn’t wanted anywhere. But the skills he possessed as a smith kept his employer from kicking him to the curb like others had done before.

“Another fine piece of weaponry Thorin. The next order is a pair of long swords,” grunted Izec the chief blacksmith of the establishment that Thorin worked for. Sweat ran down Thorin’s forehead as he leaned back to stretch out from the hammering position he had been in. His back ached, he had been finishing up the fine details of his last assignment, the entirety had taken three days, the last five hours he had just completed. He was tired and in need of a break. But Thorin liked pushing himself past that point nowadays. He didn’t really care much about his body at all, he was angry all the time, and it felt good to hammer down something that would bend to his will. If only other things in his life went that way…

“Take a lunch and be back before long, ya hear?”

Thorin only gave a nod as he wiped the sweat from his hands onto his pants as he took his leave from the shop. It was midday in Gondor and people were everywhere. The weather was hot and stuffy, no summer time breeze in the air, Thorin guessed it was just his luck. He had eaten at a couple of stands in the past, the food men served were at least better than elves but it was nothing like home. Weaving through the crowds, he ignored the glances he got, it wasn’t exactly rare to see a dwarf in Gondor but this was definitely the birthplace of men.

He hadn’t been to this particular meal stand before, he was complacent enough to try it since the others hadn’t left a lasting impression for him to seek them out. He just wanted a good, quick meal to regain his strength and head back to work.

“What’ll it be?” Thorin had to take a slight step back to take in the whole menu. “Roast will do.” His response was a curt reply, quick and ready to move on. “7 shillings,” you matched his reply, not really wanting to drag out the conversation either. This was only business after all. Out came a pouch from one of his pockets as he gathered the correct amount. You hadn’t exactly been looking directly into his eyes, just glancing over everything else about him.

He was dirty, a hard working dwarf. Long dark hair, that was thick but not matted. He took care of himself or at least his hair. His cheeks had what looked like dirt or maybe ash from a fire. Dwarves were usually blacksmiths around here so you took an educated guess. “You work with Izec?” you hadn’t intended to ask out loud but it seemed you couldn’t help yourself. There was a reason for asking after all.

Thorin met your gaze, ice cold irises told you one thing. That he wanted his meal and to be left alone. “Yes.” The one word reply, a clear warning to not ask anymore questions. “I’ve placed an order for a piece of metal myself..” it was a low response from you as you had gauged his reaction. He didn’t seem curious or to care about the details of what you had ordered at Izec’s. With that you gave him his meal and he gave you the shillings.

“Thanks.” He was gone, not stopping at any of the nearby tables set up to sit and eat. You watched as he parted ways, and wondered if he would come to your stand another day. Such cold eyes, you had the feeling he wouldn’t. Lunch hour was busy, and more customers took up your thoughts and as soon as the dwarf had came he disappeared from your mind.

A week passed before Thorin decided he had a particular craving. He had thoroughly enjoyed the roast from last time, and had wanted to stop by again. He had lasted a week only because he did not wish to be remembered, he simply wanted the good food and nothing more. Chitchat could wait until after he had reclaimed Erebor. But Thorin found that you simply couldn’t just hand him over the meal without at least one question being asked.

“How’s work?”

“What’s it like being a smith?”

“What do you think of Gondor?”

“You must really like roast, would you like to try our roasted chicken?”

No matter the angry stares or the frustrated sighs, Thorin would respond begrudgingly to each question. He liked the chicken now too, and from the four more times he had stopped by (on different days of course) it was quite apparent that this was his favorite food stand now. Because of the appetizing meals. Not because of your curious brown gaze. Our the sprinkle of freckles that were cast across your face. You had steady hands too, careful in passing and gentle in receiving. The few times your fingers had touched when he had exchanged his money had given him surprising chills. Your touch was quite cold and felt foreign from his hot temperatures.

It was getting a little easier to talk with one another. But Thorin didn’t make it to where it was ever a fluent conversation. He was only here for one thing after all. “Do you eat at Izec’s?” You decided to use up your one question on that this time. If you had counted right this would be your fifteen encounter and you still hadn’t caught his name, they just had so many other interesting things to know first, but you were getting pretty curious about that particular piece of info.

“Yes.” Thorin nodded, and the exchanged of meal for money transpired. You decided you weren’t satisfied, “Well isn’t it a bit stuffy to eat in there?” Thorin had taken one step away, “Sometimes” he agreed, not very happy that this was turning into more than the one usual question. “Well you could eat by the stand.. I give out complementary bread to my customers who do.” This was a lie, but maybe some enticing fresh bread would make him stay a little longer. “Maybe next time…” He wasn’t buying it, or maybe he wasn’t that hungry, or maybe he didn’t want to answer anymore questions. Whatever the reason, he was gone before you could talk him into it further.

Your sigh was obvious as it was loud.

“Maybe he’s just not into ya”

Your eyes immediately rolled, “Can it Howser.” The neighboring stand was a flower seller. He sold beautiful orchids when in season. But he was terribly nosy. “Well I’m just sayin, he’s only ever given you one-worded responses. Can’t get much dryer than that!” He laughed to himself at your misery. It was true you were getting nowhere in the sense of progress. Progress in what exactly? You weren’t entirely sure, maybe you could admit you had a crush on the recluse dwarf. “Any ideas then? I’ve tried to point out at least my interest,” you glumly stated, not wanting this to turn into some laughing stock at your failures.

“How about giving up?” Howser laughed, and the laughingstock it was. You glared at him as he tried to choke back his giggling. “Thanks.” You answered sarcastically and stopped paying attention to him, to which he tried to offer real advice but was left to be ignored.

Maybe giving up would become an option if the dwarf never came back. But he did come back, and it no longer took a week in between his visits. It was more frequent which had him occupying your thoughts more than the usual. The only thing that didn’t change was how uninterested he seemed in you. Which had Howser teasing you as soon as the dwarf departed. The game of chase felt like forever until that one fateful day.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, the sun taking its course to the west. It was unusual for the dwarf to come so late and even more unusual for him to be carrying a package. “What’s th-“ Your words were cut off with the thud of the item being placed on your counter. “Your order.” Thorin replied, already knowing the answer to the unfinished question. Izec was well acquainted with most in Gondor, which made him a good businessman. But once Thorin had told him about your stand and how good the food was, it was now tasked to him to deliver the finished product.

“Thank you for bringing them, you didn’t have to,” Thorin didn’t say anything as he had been told to do so it wasn’t like he was doing you a favor. With the silence, you decided to tear the parcel excited to see the results. Two beautifully slender long swords were revealed to you. Your breath was sucked in as you saw the fine lines and detailed swirls,

“Is it to your liking?”

This was the first question, he had ever asked to you. Just that had your heart rate accelerating. You assumed he had not only brought it to you, but had been the one to create such refinery. “It is, absolutely.” You beamed and he nodded, “To what name can I thank for such hard work?” You figured now was as good as anytime to finally ask the burning question. He was a mystery man, a stranger with no name, and you couldn’t continue to go on like such.

“Thorin.” He answered and had thought to himself that you had already known since most in Gondor knew from the rumors. “Thank you Thorin, I will treasure them.” He was never one for smiles, but somehow you knew he was at least proud of his work, and satisfied in knowing that you would be the one the wield them. You were positively optimistic in thinking that things would only get better with the two of you from here as he walked away. You let him go with no questions trailing him. With his back turned he held up his hand in departure, you couldn’t hold back your grin.

“Until next time,”

[etherrealoblivion]

Nice To Meet You

Spencer Reid x Reader

Prompt: Reader somehow gets Spencer’s number and texts him, no idea who he is.

Content warnings: Smut. Dangerous scenario. choking ;)

gif by @toyboxboy​

Words: 2,165

MASTERLIST

~

Glancing at your phone, you were surprised to find that it was already 1:34 AM. How had your friends distracted you enough to have you stay out this late?

You shoved your way to the bar and tried to order a drink over the pulsating music filling the club.

“Aw, come on, mama,” you could hear a man next to you sweet talking one of your friends, “he’s six-foot-one and can tell you more interesting facts than you’d ever learn yourself. Plus he’s got three PhD’s. Tell me that doesn’t get you goin’.”

Your friend scoffed and dropped a napkin onto the bar. Ten neatly scrawled digits written across the bottom. Without thinking, you picked up the napkin, looked it over, and slipped it into your pocket.

“No thanks, honey,” your friend said, “But, I wouldn’t be opposed to you buying me a drink.”

And suddenly, her and the man were on the dance floor, leaving you alone yet again.

You supposed it was about time to turn in, shooting a quick text to your friend and catching a cab back to your apartment.

As you got in bed, not bothering to change out of your club outfit, you felt the lump in your pocket that held the phone number.

As much as you despised technology, you had finally gotten the hang of saving phone numbers into your phone. That and telling the time was the only thing it was good for anyway.

So it wasn’t too much of a surprise when your hands automatically typed in the number and pressed call.

What was a surprise, was the nervous voice on the other end answering on the second ring.

“H-hello?”

It was a man. His voice was scratchy and low, like he’d been asleep.

“Hello?”

“Do you need me to come in?” there was rustling on the other end, like he was getting out of bed.

“What?”

He went silent, seemingly realizing that you weren’t who he thought you were.

“Who is this?”

For some reason, you found yourself smiling at the way he asked.

“Who is this?”

Your answer seemed to have shocked him judging by the noise of him opening and closing his mouth a few times.

“I’m, uh, certainly not going to give my name to a stranger on the phone who won’t tell me theirs.”

You chuckled.

“Fair enough. I got your number at a bar. I thought i’d .. call . . . And I’m just realizing how weird this is.”

In your defense, he did chuckle softly.

“No, no. It’s interesting. I don’t really meet a lot of new people so, um. Wait. Did the number happen to be written on a napkin? Perhaps given to you by a suave asshat named Derek?”

You giggled into the phone, pleased to hear he was enjoying the conversation.

“Napkin yes. Derek? No clue. I don’t really talk to people at bars.”

“Yeah. I don’t really go to bars.”

“Seriously? Then how do I have your number?”

He cleared his throat harshly.

“I, ahem, I was telling my friend Derek about how I don’t really, um . . . get girls and he bet me he could find at least one woman who’d be . . . interested.”

You laughed, charmed by the way he stuttered.

“Ah, that makes sense. I was with my friend and she, uh, dropped the napkin. Although, I will say, you do have adorable handwriting.”

“Oh, right. Yes, thank-thank you. You have a nice voice. It’s calming. I mean, people tend to be about sixteen percent more attracted to nice voices. Not that I’m attracted to you. I mean! Not that you aren’t um. Actually i don’t know what you look like so I can’t really . . . um.”

A surge of boldness ran through you and in that moment, at 2:16 in the morning, you made a decision.

“Do you want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Know what I look like?”

He stuttered on the other end, unsure what you were saying.

Before he could say anything else, you hung up, texted your address to him, and jumped in the shower.

Only when the warm water hit your skin did you realize the weight of what you’d just done. You’d just texted your home address to a complete stranger whose name you didn’t even know.

“Oh god.”

Were you in danger? Jesus. You jumped out of the shower and ran to your phone, suddenly much more awake.

“I should call the cops, right?” you muttered to yourself, throwing on a bathrobe. “I should! Right?”

But the knock at the door snapped you out of your downward spiral.

You had two options. Call the police. Or open the door.

Your hand found the doorknob faster than you’d like to admit, throwing open the front door and being hit by the sight of the man in front of you.

True to what the man at the bar said, he was tall. But that wasn’t what struck you. He was wearing a pale blue set of pajamas and old sneakers on his feet. His fluffy hair was rumpled from sleep but his eyes were wide open.

You suddenly remembered your own state of disarray: hair wet from the shower, no makeup, and only wearing a bathrobe.

“I—“ he started to speak, unsure of what to say. Understandably so; this was a very unlikely situation.

You reached out to him, hand sneaking around the lapel of his pajama top and pulling him into your apartment and leading him towards the bedroom.

His eyes were blown wide, watching you intently, letting you take charge of the situation.

So you did. Pushing him so he sat down on your bed and standing between his legs. He didn’t move. Just stared nervously, maintaining eye contact.

After he didn’t make any move, you gently grasped his hands, leading them up to the tie of your robe, placing them there.

He took the hint, quicker than you expected, and got to work untying the knot. The moment he did, you started to unbutton his pajamas, pushing the top back off his torso, revealing a smooth, tough chest that you could run your hands over for hours.

He’d untied your robe, but his hands were now nervously hovering over the opening.

You climbed into his lap, resting your arms on his shoulders and leaning in to whisper in his ear. You recalled something his friend at the bar had said.

“What are you waiting for? Doctor.”

A soft moan escaped his lips at the name, pulling you closer, hands tight around your hips.

Intrigued, you continued.

“Oh? You like it when I call you that, doctor?”

Suddenly, you were on your back, hands pinned above your head. He had flipped you over, now laying between your legs, you could feel his growing erection pressed up against you.

A dark look flickered across his eyes, quickly replaced by one of worry. He removed his hands from yours and started to sit up, presumably to apologise for getting rough. You weren’t having that.

You quickly flipped the two of you so you were straddling him, gently grinding against his growing bulge.

The look in his eyes did horrible things to you and you couldn’t stand another second without his lips against yours.

The kiss was hot and fueled by the danger of the circumstance, you being at the mercy of this utter stranger that, for some reason, you trusted completely.

You pulled back, panting heavily and running your hands up and down his chest. His hands were placed softly against your back, lightly stroking through your robe.

“Take it off,” you growled into his ear.

That seemed to be the last straw, for he flipped you over again, ripping your robe off and throwing it across the room, pulling his pajama pants down and grinding painfully slowly against you.

“Is this what you want?” his voice was low and scratchy, like it had been on the phone but there was more to it now. There was something you couldn’t place in his eyes. The words sent a chill through you, making you dig your nails into his back, pulling him against you.

“Not quite,” you muttered against his ear, digging through your bedside drawer and pushing him away. He took the lead, shedding his underwear, grabbing the condom and rolling it on.

Now, with him on top of you, cock gently pressing against your entrance, not quite pushing in yet, you realized that what you’d seen in his eyes wasn’t worry. It was care.

When he spoke, it was gentle, light.

“Is this okay?”

A warm surge went through you at the question. He was genuinely concerned about how you felt.

You smiled gently at him, and he smiled back, a hint of worry remaining in his expression.

Rather than answer aloud, you hooked your legs around his back and pulled him into you.

His face lit up, mouth forming an O as he moaned softly, eyebrows furrowing as he plunged into your tight heat.

He was considerably bigger than you’d expected, going off his slight stature. The sensation was very new. You hadn’t been with anyone in a while and you gasped quite loudly as the two of you adjusted to the feeling.

After a moment, he started fidgeting, eager to move.

You released your grip with your legs, allowing more room for movement. The second you did, he began to thrust, slow at first, almost teasingly. He was soon spurred on by the volume and intensity of your moans, probably also from you being so close to his ear.

A wave of pleasure suddenly shocked you as he hit just the right spot, resulting in a strange squeak coming from your mouth.

His eyes went wild and suddenly his hand was at your throat, squeezing the sides every so gently.

You felt your eyes roll back, overwhelmed by the sensation. His hand snapped away quickly and he froze.

“Shit. . . I’m so sorry . . . I—I didn’t mean—“

But you simply grabbed his hand and placed it back on your neck, softly squeezing his fingers and giving a little nod.

It took him a moment to get the hint, but when he did, he really went for it. Pounding into you, biting down on your clavicle, and making the blood rush to your head — amongst other places.

You had to force yourself to move your hands from where they were clawing at his lower back. You pulled his shoulders forward and bit his earlobe, causing his movements to stutter.

“Oh, fuck. . . . I don’t know how long. . . .”

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, slipping a hand down between you and rubbing your clit, increasing the feeling tenfold.

Your moans quickly became louder, only making him pound harder. Surely the headboard was banging against the wall. The neighbors would for sure complain.

Suddenly, the hand on your throat flew to your ankle, gripping it tightly and swinging your leg up over his shoulder. The angle was now just right and he hit the spot inside you each time he thrust in, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Oh, god. Yes. Ohhhhh . . .” you rubbed furiously, on the verge of your orgasm. “I’m gonna—“

“Me too,” his voice was so sweet and still so dirty.

An unexpected idea washed over you.

“Look at me.”

His eyes snapped open, startling you with the haze over his pupils. Although, you were sure if someone held a mirror to you right now, you’d look pretty much the same.

Almost the instant your eyes met, you felt the knot in your stomach snap, sending waves and waves of pleasure through you as you tightened around your partner.

He could definitely feel you coming, eyebrows furrowing and speeding up his thrusts so they were now shallow and quick, just enough to get him off. Which he did very shortly after you, hand snaking around your throat and pushing you down onto his cock as he came.

He grunted on the last thrust, using every ounce of his strength not to collapse on top of you.

Your voice froze in your throat as he pulled out, discarding the condom and plopping down next to you, breathing heavily.

Somehow, your post-coital brain started to rush with the guilt of what you’d just done. You didn’t know this man in the slightest.

“I don’t even know your name,” you whispered to the ceiling, staring at the little popcorn-like bumps.

He turned on his side, lightly running a finger along your jaw in a way that was far too sweet for a one-night stand.

You turned to look at him. His eyes were much lighter now. You could see small flecks of green behind them.

“My name’s Spencer.”

A smile lit up your face, prompting one from him in turn.

“I’m Y/N.”

He blushed, holding out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

You took his hand, shaking it firmly and beaming at him.

“Nice to meet you, Spencer.”

[free-pool-trash]

maybe - stiles stilinski

This is for all my Stiles bitches who are afraid of love ❤️ @makeusfreefromthisfandom ;)

word count: 2k

warnings: angst

summary: the last thing you wanted to do was fall in love (the bridge of all too well obviously set me off)

masterlist

“Maybe we got lost in translation...”

You weren’t sure at what point you’d gone wrong. Each time you recounted your footsteps, every step was calculated and perfectly placed. Perhaps you hadn’t done enough. Or maybe you hadn’t given enough, if you were to ignore the fact that the girl you were before was almost unrecognisable to you now, that option seemed most likely.

For months and months you danced around each other, balanced on the tightrope between friends and more than that. It seemed all of your show stopping smiles, all of your time and all of your willingness to be at each beck and call had been wasted on the relationship that had been doomed from the beginning. But, of course, you were only now hit with that epiphany.

Truthfully, yet somewhat shockingly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to take on the blame for losing your potential other half. Yes, your heart had been completely and utterly torn to shreds in a way you’d never experienced, it was the kind of hurt you hoped you’d never have to brave again. But it wasn’t your fault that falling always felt like flying. It wasn’t your fault that he’d wormed his way through your barricades, there was nothing for you to do but surrender to the sudden ambush that was falling in love with Stiles Stilinski.

Falling in love was never something you wanted, in fact, it was something you tirelessly avoided. The notion of giving someone the power to destroy you brought you nothing but terror. Then there was him.

Stiles Stilinski. Clever, sarcastic, kind, cute and terrible at lacrosse. He’d broken down your every defence, not even knowing he was doing it in the first place. Maybe you were fooling yourself but you truly thought you’d broken down some of his walls too.

What other explanation could be given to the times when he’d show up at your house looking for a shoulder to cry on, specifically your shoulder to cry on. Or the times he would throw you a packet of your favourite sweets before school with the reasoning of “Well, I was getting gas and I know you like them. So I got them.” As if it was the most obvious thing ever.

Those being construed as more than platonic could definitely be considered wishful thinking, but the scene currently playing in your mind had to have meant something more.

In your mind you played it back, it’d started fairly normally. Stiles had shown up in his rickety jeep, told you to hop in and he drove around until he found somewhere private and quiet to park. You’d gotten food on your way to the empty parking lot, he knew your order off by heart, butterflies erupted in your stomach as he called it into the speaker with complete confidence. Dazed, you remember asking, doe eyed and almost breathless, “You know my order?”

The boy had huffed out a puff of air and looked at you incredulously, “Of course I know your order, come on.” He shrugged off your shock and the night moved on as it usually did. It was when you were sitting in the parking lot, quietly picking at your food that he spoke up.

“Hey. Can I ask you something?” Sparing him a glance you only nodded, continuing to pick at your food as you listened. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, by the way.”

With a raised brow you turned your head to look at him, his hands were drumming on the steering wheel rather anxiously, “Alright… what’s your question?”

He’d turned his body to face you as best he could in the small space and clapped his hands together, “Ok, theoretically, if someone was trying to woo you… how would they go about doing that?” He cleared his throat as he finished and if it was possible your eyebrow arched higher.

It was a loaded question. How do you woo someone who's never wanted to be wooed? You wanted to tell him, but instead you shrugged your shoulders and deflated against the passenger seat.

“I don’t know, I’ve never really had an interest in being wooed. Never really thought about it.”

The irony of the situation, looking back on it, he’d been wooing you without even trying and what’s more is that you hadn’t even felt it happening. Only now realising you’d been falling once your body hit the unforgiving concrete beneath it.

“Oh come on! There has to be something! Flowers? Chocolates?” Stiles proded, wiggled his eyebrows and he whined half heartedly when you tossed a fry at him.

You remember how you’d rolled your eyes, “Seriously, I don’t want to be pursued by some guy.”

“Blah, blah, blah, I know. I said theoretically, ok? Theoretically, if you did wanna be pursued, how would that go?” His tone went from sarcastic but melted into uncertainty towards the end of his question.

Your eyes narrowed at the boy in front of you, “Why do you even wanna know?”

His gaze softened and there was something so gentle behind his eyes, an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint and the words that fell from his lips were the catalyst to your inevitable plummet.

“You deserve someone to love you. I want you to have that.”

Bringing your train of thought back to the present, you tried your best to focus on the meeting at hand. Scott was talking the pack through a battle strategy, something about Gerard and Monroe but you weren’t paying attention.

You were internally kicking yourself, of course he’d end up with Lydia after all of this. You were so caught up in the short term sparks, the momentary hopes, that you’d forgotten about the bigger picture. Even still, you wouldn’t lie, you were feeling as though you’d been strung along.

There was a set of eyes scrutinising you from across Scott’s kitchen and it was only when you met Theo’s curious eyes that you noticed you had zoned in on Stiles’ and Lydia’s intertwined hands. The kamara gave you a knowing look, quietly moving towards you once the room broke into chatter.

“You know, if you keep oggling at them they’re going to notice.” He told you, leaning towards your ear as his legs rested against the counter beside you.

Sighing you looked at him, completely exhausted, “I really wish I was heartless like you.”

Theo chuckled, tilting his head as if he knew something you didn’t, “Well, according to Stiles, you’re pretty cold hearted yourself.”

“And Stiles told you that?” You snapped, arms crossing over your chest apprehensively.

He nodded his head, pulled his lip between his teeth and then leaned his head back towards your ear again, “He also told me that you were the kinda girl who needed someone persistent.”

Your stomach dropped, you had an idea where he was going with this. “Why? Why did he tell you all that?”

“Must think I’d be a good match for you.”

It hurt, that someone you considered a friend, more than a friend, would talk you up to someone he absolutely loathed, someone he didn’t trust at all. You’d been so wrong about the feelings Stiles had for you recently and you couldn’t help considering that maybe you fell into the same category as Theo. Just another cold hearted fool.

There was a lot to be said for Theo Raeken. Was he necessarily a good person? No. Was he trustworthy? Absolutely not. Yeah, that’s definitely the sort of person you deserved to have love you.

“I’d be offended too.” He chuckled, watching your face carefully. The way it contorted in confusion, how your lips dipped downward and acceptance settled on your face.

You hadn’t noticed Stiles looking at you from across the room, inspecting the scene before him carefully. He had this sort of anxiety flooding his chest as he watched you deflate as you spoke to Theo.

There was no denying that he was in love with Lydia but before he’d inevitably ended up with the strawberry blonde, he’d been building something quite special with you. He knew you caught onto it too and that’s what was eating away at him.

“You’re being ridiculous.” He told you, shaking his head in disbelief.

You scoffed in return, “It’s called self preservation, Stiles.”

“I just don’t get it.”

You looked at him before shooting into an explanation that he’d heard a million times before, “When you fall in love with someone you give that person so much power over you. They can either make you or break you. I don’t ever want someone to have that kind of affect on me. I don’t want someone that feels like fresh air in my lungs because if they leave I’d be the one left suffocating. Doesn’t sound all that magical to me.”

Stiles looked at you sadly, he understood what you meant but he believed in the goodness of falling in love, “What makes you so sure they’ll leave?”

“Because they always do.”

And he’d done everything you tried so adamantly to avoid. Knowingly made you fall and then knowing left you to crash and burn and prove yourself right.

You stared at him, from across the room, something about the look on your face told him that his last stitch attempt to save face had only pushed you over the edge.

He hated Theo, he really did and you deserved better than him, but he was the only readily available person that he could think of in the heat of the moment.

Theo liked the chase and you liked to run, it made sense on paper. But the look of betrayal on your face as your eyes met sent him spiralling.

Without another word you left the room, stalking towards Scott’s front porch and settling down on the steps.

It was quiet for a while, your hands busied themselves raking through your hair as your elbows rested against your knees. Were you really as bad as Theo? Was that really the impression you gave off? Sure, the boy had improved since you’d first met but that didn’t change the fact that he’d literally been sent to hell for his crimes. Did shunning romance seriously make you that evil?

A familiar presence joining you shook you from your thoughts but you didn’t move to greet him.

Stiles clearing his throat broke the silence but you kept your gaze on the empty street ahead of you. “So, uh, Theo-“

You cut him off with an empty laugh, giving him the meanest side eye you could manage, “Don’t.” You demanded though your voice sounded weak.

“You seemed upset- just wanted to check on you.” He told you lamely, rubbing the back of his neck, watching as your eyebrows pulled together.

Turning slowly to face him you let your hands fall limply against your knees, “I have a question.”

He only nodded. Preparing himself for whatever you were about to throw at him.

“Was it all in my head?” There was anger creeping along your tone but it was the desperation for an answer that took the forefront.

He swallowed thickly but shook his head, “Nah. It wasn’t in your head.”

You pulled your lip between your teeth, fighting the urge to scream as you posed your next question, “It was always Lydia. No matter when or where it was always going to be her. So why?”

His heart sank at the question, his will cracking just as your voice did when you spoke, “Why what?”

“Maybe you didn’t mean to. Maybe you were bored or maybe we just got lost in transition but I trusted you. So I guess my real question is; why did you try so hard to make me love someone only to walk away at the first given opportunity.” You wondered, quickly brushing away a tear that fell from your eye.

His silence could’ve killed you, he looked so very lost. Completely devoid of an answer he just stared at you as you inhaled a deep breath and stood up shakily.

“You know, maybe you were onto something with that Theo thing. At least if he screws me over I’ll have seen it coming.” You told him bitterly, walking inside and leaving him on the step.

[just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot]

Soulmate September - Day 10

Day 10 - You are born with a birthmark, similar to a tattoo, that is shared by your soulmate.

Pairing(s): Romantic Anaroceit, Romantic RemSleep, Ambiguous Poly Glasses Gays 

TWs: Swearing, Remus being Remus, animal death metions briefly, implied sexual mention once I think? 

–

Why was it so difficult to simply bring together two handsome, obnoxious soulmates?

How could grown men be this dense?!Virgil had been trying for MONTHS at this point to get these idiots to date, yet for some reason 

Instead of wanting to date each other, they both seemed far more interested in someone else.

In him.

Why, why did this have to be his life? Tormented by such stupid, handsome men?

Okay, maybe he had a teeny crush on both of them but Virgil was getting ahead of himself.

Working at the local theatre was doing some real good for Virgil; being a techie meant he was mostly out of the spotlight - so no chance of any performance anxiety - and it meant he had to actually wake up and be a functional human being but was flexible enough that he could call in sick pretty easily if he needed a mental health day. 

Thankfully, things had been going well until Virgil looked down from the catwalk to note that the two best actors in their troupe, Roman Prince and Janus D. Lyre, both bore each other’s soulmate markings. Both on the backs of their necks, all too easy to miss. Ever since, Virgil had been trying to subtly get them to realise they were soulmates. Of course, given the intimacy of the soulmate marks, it would be entirely outrageous for Virgil to simply tell them they were soulmates; social etiquette wasn’t his forte, but his anxiety really didn’t want the possible shunning he might receive if he broke that rule. Knowing that Janus and Roman were often together for rehearsals and were similarly self-obsessed, Virgil assumed getting them interested in each other would be a piece of cake.

And yet. Somehow. The man they were both interested in was Virgil himself.

Every time he tried to get the two talking, Virgil wound up being flirted with or found himself stuck between two arguing idiots. If anything, Virgil wondered if his interfering had made things worse. Now instead of kidding and being perfect and gorgeous together, they were absolutely straight up enemies. Janus did his best to interrupt - and one-up - Roman’s stellar attempts at flirting, and Roman often tried to out shine Janus by giving Virgil anything from his favourite chocolates to gothic black roses to new headphones.

Not that Virgil didn’t secretly love being the object of their mutual affection, if anything it gave him hope that perhaps whoever his soulmate was would dote on him just as much. But just like his non-existent soulmate mark, this just wasn’t meant to be. He still wasn’t sure why he didn’t have a soulmate mark like everyone else; even his ace and aro friends confirmed they had soulmates too, so why was he skipped over? Probably because no one would ever want to be his soulmate.Yeah. Probably.

Virgil was lost in that downward spiral when Remus leapt off of the set he was painting and landed just shy of crushing the poor emo.

“Wow you look like shit,”, the trash rat greeted, sitting and slinging an arm around Virgil before he could protest, “Are the girls fighting again?”

Virgil tried to stifle a snicker. It’s a stupid meme reference, Virgil, don’t laugh.

“Of course it fucking is, when is it not?“

Remus nodded, though he looked more bored than sympathetic, “Well, how about I offer you some advice, my good bitch?”

Virgil squinted at him in both annoyance and suspicion. “If it’s going to get me arrested, it’s a solid ‘fuck no’.”

“Relax, asshole, it’s totally legal and requires zero body bags and or falsified witness statements!”

Well. That’s about as good as they’re going to get. Virgil huffed, “Fine, give me the deets, Ratman.”

Remus snickered at the old nickname; A decade had passed but still the memory of the two of them graffitiing their high school gym with their tags on their last day still lived on.

“Alright, Stitch Bitch, here’s how you do it,”, Remus ignored Virgil’s eye roll and continued, “Ask them both on a date, same place and time. Talk about your interests, since you’re probably not gonna actually have that much in common, then you can just reject both of them! They’ll be driven into each other’s arms, or some shit. You know what they’re like, they’re dramatic as fuck. It’ll be perfect.”

Virgil wasn’t amused, “But what if they don’t? What if I just end up breaking both their hearts and they wind up all depressed and-?!”

“Then it solves your problem anyway, dipshit.”, he rolled his eyes, “Jeez, you’re worse than Roman with the dramatics! Think of the middle ground, you turn them both down, they go home sulking, but they’re big boys! They’ll get over it and get together some other day! Big deal!” Remus affectionately ruffled Virgil’s hair and didn’t stop until Virgil all but threw him off, “Alright, alright, fine! I’ll try, but if it all goes wrong, you’re helping me pack to move across the fucking globe.” “Ooh, alright! Or I can hide your body if it goes REALLY badly! I know how to make sure the police never find it, after all! Did you know you just need to bury it vertically and put a dead animal on top-”

Virgil tuned him out, already trying to narrow down locations for dates in his head. He’d need to pick somewhere both Roman and Janus would agree to go. He didn’t exactly doubt either of them would turn him down, but he needed to be sure they’d both attend. Perhaps the local restaurants would be a good place to start? It’d be easy to Mrs.Doubtfire that shit. Minus the clothing change, of course. Maybe the Golden Palace might be a good idea? It’s bougie enough for Roman, classy enough for Janus, and if Virgil got lucky enough, perhaps they’d both be the ones to pay for dinner.

“...And so I told Roman about it and then Roman tells me “Remus, you dunce, you got arrested because you were caught carrying a dangerous weapon in Starbucks” but I personally think that cop was just an asshole. I mean, it was just a baseball bat for fuck’s sake, so WHAT if it had a few nails in it-”

The techie noted that Remus was still babbling to himself so he clicked his fingers just shy or flicking him in the ear,

“When’s Roman free? I know Janus is pretty flexible-”

“I’ll bet.”, Remus snickered. “Dude. You have your soulmate, don’t be a dick.”

“Hey, that doesn’t mean I can’t mentally rank every guy here on how bendy I think they’d be in bed-”

“THAT ASIDE.”, Virgil interrupted, rubbing his temples like it would squeeze out the horrible mental image and several questions he never wanted answers to, “I’ve nailed down the where, I just need the when. Janus is free most days, but Roman’s pretty enigmatic about that shit. Do you know if he’s free tonight? Might as well get this shit over with.”

Remus mulled it over, “He should be. But you should probably just ask him first then Janus. Y’know, save yourself the trouble.”

Ah. That did make sense. Virgil tried not to let it show that he hadn’t thought of that and nodded, “Right… Okay. Just, if I fuck up talking to either of them, be ready.”

“With the car or a shovel?”

“Both.”

The trashrat snickered and let Virgil stand up, giving him an ‘affectionate’ jab in the back of his knee just to get a reaction out of the techie. Virgil wasn’t sure why Remus did that sometimes, he figured it was just another one of the demented twin’s eccentricities.

Inhaling deeply, Virgil sought out Roman, careful to avoid Janus’ line of sight as he tapped the flamboyant twin on the arm. Roman spun to face him, his expression lighting up in a way that made Virgil shamefully wish that he was his soulmate. That he was worthy of all his doting.

“Virge! What can I do for you, my dark and stormy knight?”

Stop being so fucking charming perhaps?

“Uh, it’s kind of an embarrassing request, so bear with me.”

“Of course! What’s up?”

Just ask him, ignore the butterflies, he’s not your soulmate.

“I was wondering, if you’d want to go on a date with me tonight-”

Roman positively swept the emo off his feet, his beaming smile could have burned itself into Virgil’s eyes.

“YES!! YES, I’D ADORE-”

“YEP! Okay, that’s great!”, he shushed him, trying to keep things as quiet as possible, “Listen, I know you’re excited but I’m really anxious about this-”

“Nothing new there.”, Roman chuckled affectionately as he put Virgil down.

“Oh shut up,”, Virgil smirked, pushing down the sunny feeling that chuckle brought out, “Look, I’ll text you the details so can you just keep this between us? I don’t want anyone gossiping. Not that I’m ashamed of you or anything I just-”

Roman carefully halted his word vomit with a gentle caress of Virgil’s cheek, “It’s alright, I understand. After all, with such an honour, I’d do good not to betray the trust of my charming prince.”

Virgil flusteredly averted his gaze, “Hmph. What happened to your ‘dark and stormy knight’?”

“Well, if things go well, I’d hope to promote him.”

The wink Roman shot Virgil should be illegal, that thing could have killed him. The techie just gave him an attempt at an ‘oh fuck off’ smirk that came out more as a ‘fuck I have a crush’ shy smile.

No time to dwell on it, he had another stupidly handsome man to ask on a fake date. 

Virgil checked with the stagehands and made his way over to the backstage dressing room area, finding Janus sat on one of the makeup tables while their dramaturg was busy going over some directions for their next rehearsal. Upon looking up and noticing him, Janus smirked - another expression that should be outright banned for it’s lethality - and politely requested the dramaturg ‘bother him another time’. They did exactly that, leaving Virgil and Janus alone to talk,

“Virgil,”, Janus purred with a voice like sweet honey, “what brings you here?”

Don’t think about that sexy voice, don’t think about that sexy voice, don’t-

“You, actually.” Play it cool, Virge. Be suave and charming. “I wanted to ask you out on a date.”

Janus’ eyes widened slightly in surprise. Virgil felt pretty proud to have finally stunned the silver-tongued gent, though he knew it’d only be a fleeting victory. If anyone would out-smooth even the most flirty person alive, it would be Janus.

With a snake-like fluidity, Janus slunk off of the table and made his way over to Virgil; whereas Roman was only an inch or two taller than him, Janus had a whole six inches at least. Virgil found it semi-intimidating, but that just made the taller man more attractive if he was being honest. Janus softly ran a hand through Virgil’s purple-dyed hair, 

“That’s rather a bold request, Virgil. What brought this on, if I may ask? Not that I’m complaining..”

Virgil had to work extremely hard to resist the urge to nestle into the warmth of his palm. Not your soulmate! Stop it! “I uh, I figured I would take a risk for once. It’s alright if you don’t wanna-”

“No.”, Janus interjected, the hand in Virgil’s hair sliding under his chin to lock their eyes, “I’d very much like to go on a date with you. When and where?”

Virgil swallowed nervously, “The Golden Palace, tonight? I’ll um, I’ll book the table and text you the time-”

“Perfect.”, Janus smirked, gently releasing Virgil. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been subconsciously leaning into Janus’ touch until he almost felt himself sway. “I’ll be sure to wear my best suit for you. Really give you something to blush over.”

Shit.

Virgil had no rebuttal, he simply nodded and hastily headed back to his usual breakspot to work out just how he would survive tonight…

--

It turned out the answer was simple; he wouldn’t.

Thankfully Virgil had settled on an outfit that was just the right mix of fancy and casual; his black leather jacket hugged his shoulders which his dark purple button up sat under. He’d gone back and forward between his options for bottoms, but in the end, he preferred his black short pencil skirt and a pair of sheer black tights that matched his black ankle boots. It was a bold choice, but Virgil felt far more powerful in that combination. Like he could kick ass and get away with it.

Virgil needn’t have bothered, however, as the second he showed up at quarter to seven to meet Roman, any semblance of confidence in his ability to control the situation went right out the window. It should have been illegal to look that handsome. A white waistcoat and pants bearing gold trim, combined with a burgundy button up shirt with the sleeves rolled? How dare Roman look that beautiful-

Oh god, now he’s smiling at him from across the room. Too late to back out now. 

Swallowing nervously, Virgil returned the smile and headed over to the table he’d booked; far enough from the door for Roman to miss Janus arriving, and out of the way enough so that they wouldn’t see each other too soon. If he wasn’t so nervous, Virgil would have pat himself on the back for the trouble he went to securing two tables over the phone, but the last thing he wanted to focus on was the person on the phone’s sassy remarks as he did so. Instead, he focused on Roman politely getting up to pull out his chair for him.

“You look stunning, Virge! Did you change up your eye shadow too?”

Virgil gave an anxious nod, “Yeah, I thought maybe I’d try the purple instead of solid black like usual. Do you like it?”

Roman’s grin could’ve smothered him in the night and he’d have thanked it for the priveledge, “I love it!”

While keeping an eye on the time, Virgil let himself roll into conversation with Roman; he was surprised by not only how smoothly the conversation went, but how much they had in common. Sure, there was a tiiiiny heated exchange as to which Disney movie reigned supreme, but their mutual love of Nightmare Before Christmas and the artistic pursuits made for some wonderful discussion. It was a shame Virgil had to remind himself of just why he was doing this. 

He was supposed to be making his rejection of Roman easier, not more difficult.

Finally, as 8 O’clock rolled around, Janus walked in followed by a few other smartly dressed patrons. Of course, Janus very much stood out among them wearing a black dinner suit with an obsidian waist coat and golden coloured button up underneath. His usual bowler hat had been replaced for a much fancier one with a larger brim that held a marigold flower. The sight was so enticing, Virgil had to will himself to stop staring as he got up from the table,

“Excuse me, Roman, mind if I go use the bathroom?”

Roman gave a nod and Virgil made haste towards the restroom area; thankfully he’d planned ahead and knew he could use the corridor that went along behind the bar to emerge on the other side of the room without being detected. However, a new obstacle proved to be a challenge; Janus hadn’t taken his eyes off of the door since the moment he’d walked in and removed his suit jacket. 

Damn. Virgil hadn’t anticipated that. 

Luckily, one of the men who’d come in behind Janus - a man adorned in an off-black suit wearing a beanie, a pair of sunglasses, and a face mask - had just come out of the bathroom door behind him. Without the time to let his social anxiety kick in, Virgil stopped the man and asked quietly, “Hey, sorry to be a bother, but if you can distract the handsome guy at that table for a couple  minutes,“, he began, gesturing to Janus, “I’ll give you ten bucks, how’s that sound?”.

The man seemed to stare for a moment behind the shades then silently gestured with his hands in a motion of “more”.

Of course.

“Okay, uh, fifteen?”

More again. This asshole..

“Ugh, fine, twenty! That's as much as I can spare!”

The man shrugged and nodded, gladly taking the money and, to his credit, doing exactly as was asked. Virgil watched him approach Janus, asking for the time if the way Janus took his attention and turned it to his watch was an indication. It bought Virgil enough time to ‘arrive’ just as the man gave a thank you nod to Janus.

“Sorry I’m a little late,”, Virgil apologised, taking his seat, “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting?”

 “Not at all,”, Janus assured him, smirking delightedly in a way that made Virgil’s knees feel weak even in a sitting position, “You look beautiful, Virgil, if I’d known you’d look so good, I’d have picked out an even better suit.”

This fucking guy, oh my god. “Oh shut up, you look handsome as is.”, Virgil shot back, doing his best to remain calm even as Janus leant in close to strike up conversation.

--

“I’m telling you, babes, he’s either a cheater or he’s crazy.”

Remy aimed the stirrer he’d been using to push back his cuticles towards Virgil and Janus, then trained it on his stoic co worker, “Look, he’s got two gorgeous guys here and neither of them have noticed yet.”

The aforementioned co worker rolled his eyes, “Remy, you have once again utterly misread the situation for the sake of needless dramatics. It’s rather obvious what’s going on here if you take the time to pick up on subtle body language clues.”

“What’s this about clues, Logie Bear?”, questioned a rather eager waiter carrying a tray of glasses back behind the bar. “Are you playing Sherlock again?”

“Patton, please, refrain from the pet names during working hours, I’ve told you before-”

“While they’re perfectly suitable and welcome at home, we must remain professional at work.”, chimed in another bespectacled man who was manning the till, “It’s fine Logan, honey, let them off the hook this once, okay?”

Patton put down the tray and wrapped their arms around the man who’d just spoken, “Emile’s right! C’mon Logan, you can’t deny it, you like the name too-”

Logan cleared his throat to throw off the peachy blush that threatened to give away his adoration for his soulmates, ”As I was saying before, it’s obvious as to what this rather anxious individual is up to. His body language isn’t that of a cheater, Remy,”, the server flipped Logan the bird, “In fact, I’d hazard a guess that the poor lad is simply attempting to work out which man is his soulmate. I read a fascinating journal that talked all about this phenomenon where some soulmates are unable to see their soulmarks and thus rely on a technique comparable to sensing one’s aura-”

“Okay so like, you think he’s trying to get a read on these two to narrow it down?”, Remy interrupted before Logan could further explore his tangent, “Well then, it’s obvious which one he’s gonna pick.”

Remy gestured lazily over his shoulder at Roman, who was currently twirling his fork between his fingers, “It’s gonna be Tall, Dark and Dumbass over there, babes.”

Logan scoffed, “Falsehood. Clearly the gentleman he’s sat with currently is a much more appropriate option.”. The server nodded his head in their direction, “All factors point to the man in black not only being the more suitable option, but his body language is far more open and receptive to our subject.”

“Subject. Christ it’s like I’m back in science one.”, Remy groaned, but continued to argue, “Besides, you’re ignoring how he’s like, totes more comfortable with my boy in white, sweetie. Look at him, he can’t wait to get away from your boy in black.“

Sure enough, Virgil had gone to switch partners again, returning to Roman with a sweetly shy apologetic gesture.

Patton piped up, “What if they’re like us, Logie Bear? Y’know, more than one soulmate?”

Logan shook his head, “Ridiculous, it’d make no sense to have such a date if that were the case.”

Remy nodded in agreement for the first time, “Yeah, either way, you’re wrong on this one, Logan. Trust me, I know what a fellow morosexual looks like.”

Emile and Logan both sighed at that one while Patton tsk’d, “Remy, come on, thats your soulmate you’re talking about! You shouldn’t be mean!”

Remy quirked an eyebrow at Patton, “Babes, have you met Remus? I love the big sap but he’s a certified dumbass with a heaping dose of cryptid.”, he opened the drinks cooler and took out a lemonade bottle, not giving a shit that the three soulmates behind him were absolutely unamused. ”Anyway, if you’re so sure over who our ‘subject’ will end up with, how about we bet on it? Loser has to work two weeks of overtime and the winner gets thirty dollars or some shit. You in?”

Patton and Emile both declined, both more focused on their work and simply enjoying the dates being had, while Logan agreed wholeheartedly, “I do hope your next two weeks are free, Remy...”

--

He couldn’t take much more of this.

The longer Virgil kept going back and forth between the two of them - using his anxiety to buy himself time without too much suspicion - the more he was getting tangled up in feelings he knew he couldn’t indulge. Every second with Roman made him smile, even when trading verbal jabs. Every second with Janus made him feel more bold, able to flirt back every once and a while. But this wasn’t right. Janus, Roman, they were made for each other. Not for him.

He wouldn’t get to curl up next to Roman on a cold night, watching Disney movies, baking together, or following along to Bob Ross tutorials only for one of them inevitably would start painting on the other until they were both paint splattered, cackling messes. 

He wouldn’t get to dance quietly in the living room with Janus while their favourite music plays, swaying softly to his favourite Jazz music, or lazily draping himself over Janus’ lap while they read their favourite books long into the night.

Virgil stared into the bathroom mirror; his ‘dates’ had been so sweet as to compliment him, but all he could focus on was how much of a mess he felt. He’s going to break their hearts beyond repair, all because he couldn’t just tell them they were soulmates. Social etiquette be damned, why had he let it go on like this?

Feeling his chest constricting, Virgil quickly grabbed his phone and texted Remus.

V: [help. Having a panic attack. Distract me]

He tried to remember his breathing exercises, chewing his free hand’s thumbnail anxiously until he got the text notification;

R: [Cool. Did u  kno rabbits eat their babies when they’re stressed?]

…. Virgil heavily regretted asking Remus to distract him.

V: [Horrifying. Thank you.]

R: [Anytime, Stitch Bitch. Now what happened?]

V: [Dates backfired.]

R: [U caught feelings didnt u]

Virgil groaned and kept typing.

V: [fuck u]

R: [fuck me urself coward.]

Well at least that got a laugh out of him. Remus followed up that text before he could reply:

R: [Just go out there and tell them the truth]

V: [nope, no way, they’ll hate me]

R: [Bitch they’re both smitten w/ u it’ll hurt but they’ll live, they’re sat there worried about u]

V: [how the fuck do you know that?]

R: [Remy’s on shift tonight, he and Logan are taking bets on how things will pan out. They’ve been texting me non stop.]

That did explain a few things. Namely the one server with the sunglasses and sassy attitude who gave him and Roman extra desserts “for like, the cutest couple in this bitch”, and the other more stoic server who brought him and Janus a bottle of champagne “to celebrate a wonderful partnership”. When would his life stop feeling like a goddamn circus?

Virgil was pulled from his thoughts as his next text sent his blood running cold,

R: [u might wanna get back to em, they’ll be worried about u by now]

Dammit. Virgil had just left the bathroom to be met with a worried Roman, “Virgil, are you alright!? You were gone so long, I thought something had happened!”

Stomp down that affection you’re feeling, Virgil. It’s just gonna hurt more.

“I’m fine, its just my nerves-”

“Virgil?”

Both men turned to spy Janus entering the hallway with an expression of shock and disgust upon seeing the two of them. He promptly strode over and with surprising gentleness moved Virgil to his side,

“It’s bad enough I can’t avoid you at work, Prince, but I’ll not have you ruining our date night.”

As Janus went to lead Virgil away, Roman held onto Virgil’s hand, “Actually, Lies and Dolls, he’s with me tonight, so kindly take your delusions and leave.”

Oh my god, why did he trust Remus’ plan in the first place?! Janus smirked dangerously, “Or what, you dramatic hack?”

Roman took exception to that, and while Janus had the height advantage, Roman still knew how to be intimidating when needed, “I’ll make you leave!”

Before either of them could come to blows, Virgil got in between them. He might as well come clean,

“BOTH OF YOU STOP!”

Janus and Roman faced him, sporting stunned but ever attentive expressions. Ugh, this was gonna hurt.

“I can’t do this anymore! Yeah, I did ask you both here, and yeah! You’re both wonderful but you’re not meant to be with me! You’re meant to be with each other! Ugh, this was a mistake! I can’t-! I can’t be here, I’m sorry-!”

Virgil wrenched himself from between them, making a beeline through the tables and just getting out of the door before the two caught up to him. In the back of his mind, Virgil assumed the serving staff that followed behind were either desperate to see this unfold or just making sure this wasn’t going to be a dine ‘n’ dash scenario.

“Virge, come on, you’re not making any sense! I’m not meant to be with Janus,”, Roman assured him, rolling his left sleeve up the whole way and revealing Virgil’s soul mark, “I’m meant to be with you! You’re my soulmate, Virgil! Surely you knew-”

“That’s,”, Janus interrupted, “That’s not possible, because Virgil is my soulmate.”

Both Roman and Virgil turned to face him, watching Janus roll up his right sleeve to reveal Virgil’s soul mark in the exact same place as Roman’s had been. 

To say Virgil was confused was an understatement, “W...Wait, no, that’s...”

Roman and Janus stared at each other’s soul mark then looked to Virgil, “You… really didn’t know that I- that we were your soulmates?”

Virgil shook his head, ”I don’t have your soulmarks though! It doesn’t make sense...”

He turned away, grasping his arms as he tried to make sense of all this. All his life, Virgil had looked in his mirror and wished - God, how he’d wished - to find just one mark. Something to prove that he was indeed someone’s soulmate. That the universe hadn’t forsaken him. And now he had two of the most wonderful men he’d ever met sporting his soul mark while he had nothing to reassure him this wasn’t some cosmic fluke?!

Janus and Roman stood in awkward silence, the latter giving the servers an apologetic look and pulling out his wallet to pay when the former noticed something about Virgil that had him squinting to get a look. “.... Virgil, do forgive me for this.”

Without hesitating, Janus whipped out his pocket knife - why he brought it on a date, Virgil had no idea - and cut a hole in the back of Virgil’s tights, careful to avoid his skin.

“What the FUCK, Janus!?”, came the obviously horrified reply, only for Janus to take a picture with his phone and hand it to Virgil, rendering him speechless.

Sure enough, there on the inside of his right knee joint was Janus’ soul mark. 

“I just happened to spot the same shade of yellow showing through and, well….”

He didn’t need to finish, Virgil was stunned to silence. All this time, how could he have missed it!? 

Well, it wasn’t in the easiest to see area, and come to think of it, his mirror was a little too high off the ground for that kind of angle, and with the marks being so small..…..

The revelation was met with a shocked gasp from Roman.

“... Virgil, may I-”

“I’ll just take them off, fucking hell!”

Both men turned away to let Virgil remove his shoes and tights in peace. When he gave them the all clear, Roman was ecstatic to note his own soul mark adorning the left knee joint. Virgil glanced towards his two soulmates, letting out a soft sigh of adoration at their delighted faces. He was feeling a whole rush of emotions, but right now? The last thing he wanted was to waste any more time.

“Gimme a second to pay these guys,”, Virgil gestured to the gaggle of servers set in various expressions of celebratory delight, “Then we can go back to my place and have a movie night.”

Roman and Janus offered sweet smiles to their soulmate; that sounded like the perfect end to a wild night.

---- Bonus (Because I got attached to this universe, fight me) ----

With the cafe clearing out aside a few stragglers, Remy sighed distantly, “Well, it’s a good thing we both won, babes, I didn’t wanna get stuck with all that overtime.”

Logan gave him a perplexed look, “Actually, we both lost, therefore we both should work overtime.”

Remy pulled down his shades to glare at Logan, “.... Are you fucking kidding me? Bitch, we WON, and we get to keep our money, babes. What part of that makes you think “nope, overtime sounds better”!?”

Logan was about to go into the technicalities when he chanced a glance back at his soulmates, watching as Patton excitedly gushed over the night’s events, stimming excitedly with their apron while Emile folded his own and put it away for the night, glad to listen to Patton’s bubbly rambling. Logan couldn’t deny, the idea of staying late while his soulmates were home without him wasn’t an appealing idea. Maybe this once he’d spare Remy a lecture.

“.... You know what, you’re right. Excuse me.”

With that, Logan went to join his soulmates while Remy stifled a fond smirk and went to go ask the last patron to leave. He wanted to just go home and collapse into Remus’ arms. Ugh, he just hoped this dude wasn’t going to make a fuss. He wasn’t sure what kind of guy combined a suit, a beanie, shades, AND a face mask, but Remy just hoped he wasn’t here to rob the place.

“Alright sweetie, you gotta go. We’re closing and I wanna get home to my loveable dumbass. Let’s go-”

The man gestured to his ear. Ah. Remy rolled his eyes and leant down to speak closer,

“I said-“

The man quickly pulled down his face mask and stole a peck from Remy, a grin spreading across his face that curled excitedly to match his moustache.

“You gotta get home to meeeee~.”

Remus took off the sunglasses and beanie, revelling in the surprise that painted itself over Remy’s face. He stood up, wrapping his arms around Remy’s waist as his soulmate tried to form a sentence, “How long have you just been sitting here?!”

“Ever since I figured it’d be funny to watch Virgil realise he was trying to set up his own soulmates-”

“You- Wait, Virgil!? That’s the guy you’re always telling me about?!”

“Yep!”, Remus grinned.

Remy wrapped his arms around Remus’ neck, unsure if he wanted to strangle him or hold him closer, “...Did you know he-”

“Had two soulmates? Yep~!”

Remus chuckled and kissed Remy’s cheek, “Virge and I used to have gym together. He kept saying he couldn’t find his soulmarks, I’m surprised he never got my hints...”

Sighing annoyedly at his soulmate, Remy pulled him in for a proper kiss before he could go on more of a tangent. Once they broke apart, Remy poked Remus’ chest, 

“You made me lose thirty bucks, y’know.” 

Remus grinned harder and pulled out twenty dollars  “Well then, I better take this generous donation from my best friend and treat you to a milkshake on the way home then...”

-----

It’s finally doooone!!

This was a long one for sure, but sue me, I got super into this one!!

I’ll be playing catch up for a while so get ready for Day 11, I ended up with a last minute change and it’s gonna be a tear jerker. @tsshipmonth2020

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @cateye-glasses @fandomsofrandom

[biussworld]

Safe and Sound

Requested by: @riarora

“So I was thinking platonic LOV x child reader (You can make them 18 if you're more comfortable, but I was thinking more like 14-15) The reader (I'll refer to them as she/her, but you can make it gender neutral) has really bad insomnia so every night, she would be pacing around, doing anything and everything to make sure no dark thoughts take over. Usually, none of the LOV would bat an eye, but considering the fact that she's a child, they feel sympathy, so they indirectly try to get her to fall asleep. Like, sending her on extra missions (always with protection of course) or changing her normal tea with sleeping tea, or maybe just straight up telling her to sleep. Could you make it a fic too?“

Sorry if it took long! Here it isss~ I tried my best to write insomnia and stuff, but I didn’t want to misinterpret it ;(( I hope you like it!

Relationships: Platonic League of Villains x Gender-neutral!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: anxiety triggers, vague descriptions of anxiety attacks

Word Count: 1.4k

The moon's high up in the sky and looming over Japan as you lie wide awake on the thin and ragged futon laid on the floor. The walls of your current base are cold and mold-smelling which adds to the reasons why you couldn't sleep. You count the handful of bullet points you've crossed off your to-do list for the day: tracked the new equipment delivery, took down the sole witness of you and the League's traipsing from one hideout to another, stole some snacks from an old man's convenience store- yep. Just another day for you.

You did receive good remarks from the team after you've proudly reported to them at the end of your mission, but Shigaraki's words clung onto you: "I'm just glad you didn't mess up."

Sure, you are, too. Until you were reminded of one moment where you've landed a step louder than the previous ones and almost blew your cover, or when you almost forgot to clean up your mess after dispatching the witness. Your mind sidetracked to what could've happened if all of those did happen, and it didn't help that you knew how their powers work. Shigaraki would probably reduce your limbs to ashes, or let Dabi cremate you alive, or confine you in one of Mr. Compress' marbles. All of it made you sick in the stomach and you had to clasp your hand over your mouth to muffle the sudden belching sound that came out of you.

Your head started throbbing and your vision spun slightly as you sat up. You stayed hunched over yourself for a bit, eventually standing on your feet and lightly treading towards the little 'kitchen' set up by Kurogiri to grab yourself a glass of water. Except Dabi was already there to hand it to you. "You look awful." He greets. "Thanks. Not as much as you do."

The small exchange between you two incited a chuckle from him. He takes a sip from his cup, and you wonder, "Why do you have an extra glass of water?" He puts his down and says, "I know you get up at midnight to drown yourself in glasses of it so I figured I'd help you out." You nod absent-mindedly and at the back of your mind you think to yourself, maybe you weren't too careful or were too loud the past few nights. As you start lecturing yourself in your head, he notices you space out and ever-so-slightly flicks your forehead. "Don't know why you can't sleep, but just close your eyes and it'll happen eventually."

After all of that, he leaves the makeshift kitchen and sprawls himself onto his space, leaving you squinting at him.

You believe there's nothing particularly special with his words granted that his upbringing didn't really teach him to be friendly towards kids your age, but you'd be stupid to admit it didn't help ease you even just a teensy bit.

---

The next day drew quick and everyone's fast asleep in their corners. As always, you're left to wallow in the corners of solitude, mind racing with destructive thoughts that keep you very much awake. You make your way toward the kitchenette. You find a few used tea bags and teacups lying on the countertop, and figured Compress might have been awake just like you. Still, you reached for a tall glass and filled it with water to the brim, then exited the room to sit in the chilly air outside.

As you approach, you hear two- three voices speaking just outside. Hushed, but audible enough to discern who's who. Toga and...

"Twice?" You meekly croak as you stare at both of them, head tilted in wonder. Toga struts to you and tugs you by your wrist, carrying your glass of water for you in her other hand. "We've been waiting for you! Come sit with us~" She makes you sit on a wooden box beside Twice, then said man hands you a teacup filled with nice-smelling liquid. It must've been them in the kitchen, you thought. You set your glass down, take the cup and sip.

"Why are you two up so late at night?" You ask in between sips. Twice replies with a passive-aggressive statement along the lines of "We were worried you weren't getting enough sleep" and blaming Dabi. Huh, I guess he told them.

You smile at the thought of the intimidating man caring for you, and Toga flashes you her signature toothy grin back while she proceeds to tell you about her day as if it were any different from yours.

You were pretty sure she was loud enough to wake the others up, but the overflowing energy she radiates that much late at night couldn't bring you to shut her up. Besides, you've got Twice doing that work for you. 

The conversation ended when you yawned quite hideously for the fourth time that night, Twice took your hand and led you to your bed that he had tidied up before tucking you in. He pats you on the head gently as your eyes flutter close.

---

It's been three weeks since then and during the time that had passed, it was always Toga and Twice that put you to bed. However for tonight, since Toga and Twice are away on a mission given to them by Shigaraki, you're left on your own.

You'd be lying if you said the midnight tea times you and the duo shared didn't give you a false sense of security, and that you hadn't clung onto it as soon as it dawned on you. Your mind drifted to Toga's face and her various comical expressions when she tells you her stories, or Twice's fatherly hands as he puts you to bed. It's been those two that took care of you and you've grown visually more attached to them, even familiarized yourself with their scent and warmth.

What if they get hurt badly? No. They won't.

But they said the mission was a little dangerous- They'll make it out alive. They're amazing!

Again, you find yourself in a downward spiral as your thoughts pull you into the void. Your mind's filled with what-ifs and buts that you don't notice your feet dragging yourself to someone else's room. You're caught in a mindless haze, your breath's starting to feel stuffy and your body feels sweaty and shit- no, it can't happen tonight. I have to be fine until Toga and Twice comes back.

Unless they don't-

"Hey, you're up." Shigaraki's voice snaps you out of it. He's standing in front of you, without the derpy-looking hand thing covering his face and he shows no emotion until you look at his eyes. His eyes meet yours and you see the worry, the sadness, the tender-loving brotherly look that he rarely sports. "Kurogiri, go make her some tea." He says after carefully taking your hand.

He sits on his makeshift bed, motions for you to sit and you oblige. He pulls you to him, resting your head on his chest and he pats your back softly. His movements are awkward and calculated to not destroy you with his quirk but he's trying, and you appreciate it and flash him a soft smile.

Not long after, Kurogiri comes back with a cup of the same nice-smelling tea you've been drinking with Twice and Toga. You remember the first time they’ve given you the drink, and how Dabi was the one who told them to do such a thing. They were precious, and your big brother and big sister for the time you were lost and insecure about your capabilities. For some out-of-this-world reason, you start bawling your eyes out on Shigaraki's shirt. He calls you out for staining his shirt, but his actions speak otherwise as he continues to pat you on the back. Kurogiri takes your hands, places the cup in them and gently rubs your forearm to console you. "They'll be fine, kid. We'll make sure of it."

“I feel like we haven’t told you this, but you’re doing well. Even Shigaraki says so.”

“Just don’t wanna inflate that pretty little head of yours or you might expect too much from us everytime.”

Shigaraki and Kurogiri's efforts of comforting you went deep into the night. Shigaraki wasn't sure if it was worth it, but when you've finally finished your cup of tea, relaxed and started snoring softly in his arms, he felt as if tons and tons of weights were lifted from his shoulders.

Somewhere in the midst of your slumber you’re reminded that everything’s going to be okay. You don’t know if it’s Shigaraki’s scent or the roughness of his fingertips on your scalp, but it tells you that you’re right here, safe and sound.

[myemergence]

take me back to the start

Title: take me back to the start Author: @myemergence Rating: E (for one smut scene, later in the fic) Artist: @benjaminrussell Artwork: MAGAZINE COVER and MUSIC VIDEO Warnings/Triggers: mentions of alcoholism, mentions of OC character death, car accident Notes: Thanks to @marcia-elena for the beta on this. I so appreciate all the work you put in! Written for @buddiebigbang. And the artwork is amazing! I love them so much, Holly! Summary: Country music star, Eddie Diaz, is on a break before his US tour when he gets unexpected news: he has a son. He needs to come home to his hometown in West River, TX right away. He hasn’t set foot there since he left for Nashville nine years ago, leaving his old life behind. West River is the last place that Eddie wants to be—he needs to focus on his career, and his tour—not looking after a kid that he doesn’t even know yet.

Crossing paths with his high school sweetheart, Evan Buckley, who’s now a Deputy with the sheriff’s office just might change all of that, reminding Eddie of the person that he used to be… and the kind of person that he wants to be.

Read the whole thing here: AO3 LINK

*

The thing about being a musician and wrapping up a big tour is that it makes the time afterward to unwind and let loose even more rewarding. Taking the time to ground himself before hitting the road again has become essential for Eddie, an integral part of his process. 

This time, there’s no unwinding. As soon as the last concert in the tour ended, he boarded a red-eye flight from Los Angeles into Houston. And he’s tired, a feeling that’s not exactly foreign to him, but he feels weary down to his bones. He’s headed back to West River, Texas, about fifteen minutes outside of Austin, where he was born and raised.

A place he hasn’t as much as set foot in for nine years.

Eddie blinks blearily as he pulls his rental car up to the drive-through at Dunkin for a much needed coffee. He’s within an hour of West River, but he’s going to need something to power through the last hour of his drive as the sun is beginning to rise over the expanse of otherwise deserted small-town Texas that surrounds him.

It’s so quiet out here that it’s almost unnerving.

“Good morning, sir. That’ll be $3.27.” The dark-haired girl at the drive-through window can’t be more than eighteen. 

“Morning.” He holds out his phone so that she can scan his payment.

“Aren’t you…” She trails off slowly, eyeing him suspiciously. 

Eddie adjusts the trucker hat that he’s wearing, despite the fact that the sun hasn’t become a hindrance yet. He’d put the hat on before he pulled up to the drive-through only a couple of minutes ago. He knows that he’d be nowhere without the support of his fans, but he’s exhausted. He just wants to get to his abuela’s so that he can fall into bed. He’s tempted to drag a hand over his face and beg for his coffee.

“Eddie Diaz.” He introduces himself with a winning smile. He’ll try to find time to rest later. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Rosie. I-I can’t believe I’m preparing Eddie Diaz’s coffee. Nobody is going to believe me,” Rosie practically squeals, her face flushed as she fumbles with scanning his phone. “Here, um,” she steps away from the drive-through window momentarily and comes back with a pastry bag along with his coffee. Simple like always: black, with 2 sugars. “For the road. Gone Now really helped me through a hard time, when I lost my grandpa—and you wrote it about yours.”

Eddie’s smile becomes more genuine as he takes the coffee and muffin from the girl. He’s sure he looks like a mess, with blood-shot eyes and bags under his eyes. “I think most people have forgotten about that song. That was on my debut album.” He’d written that song what feels like a lifetime ago.

Like he was a different person back then than he is now. He supposes that in some ways, he was.

“I was only thirteen when it came out,” Rosie says. “I hope you make more songs like that. Your new stuff is great, but… that’s definitely my favorite. Anyhow, I won’t keep you, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere to be.”

“I do,” Eddie confirms, reaching over into the top of his duffel bag that’s resting on the passenger seat. “It was really nice to meet you, Rosie.” He hands her one of the signed albums that he carries with him, a simple thank you that he likes to have for those truly special fans. “It’s not my debut album, but I do hope you’ll enjoy it.”

Eddie offers her a parting wave as he pulls away, and tosses the hat that was his poor attempt at disguise onto the passenger seat. He takes several sips from the steaming coffee, then sets it in the cupholder, wincing as the heat nips at his tongue, hoping that the caffeine will help keep him alert for the rest of the drive home.

Before he pulls onto the road, he scrolls through his phone, pulling up his debut album on Spotify and pressing play, a wistful smile crossing his face. He’s trying to put a little space between him and the reason that he’s coming home to West River; Rosie’s words remind him, at least for a moment, why he started making music in the first place. He hears the familiar opening chords and pulls out onto the quiet road.

There was a time when not a single day

Went by without us talking

And now I can barely remember your face

We’d spend hours weaving words

And guitar notes together

Just you and me in the music’s embrace

But you’re gone now, you’re gone

All those moments lie six-feet deep in the ground

You’re gone now, you’re gone

I keep missing you ‘cause you’re not around

He knows he can’t live in this world of make-believe for long. He can’t pretend that what matters is his connection to the music anymore—he stopped writing his own music long ago. But it’s nice to remember, even if those moments are fleeting.

*

Eddie pulls into the same gravel driveway that he used to skid his bike tires on as a kid. His abuela still lives in the same house she did back then, only a few doors down from his childhood home. His parents moved an hour north about five years ago. Eddie’s stomach flops a bit, and he tries not to dwell on how little he talks to them these days, or their lack of support over the years.

 He drags himself out of the rental car and grabs his bag out of the passenger side, leaving the rest of his luggage in the trunk. Before he can even make his way up the short drive, his abuela steps out onto the porch.

Eddie yawns into the crook of his elbow, then makes his way up to her. “Hey, Abuela,” he murmurs, pecking her on the cheek.

“Eddie,” Abuela says. She welcomes him with a crushing embrace, and he smiles as he hugs her back. She pulls back just enough that he can see a fire in her eyes; he already knows what that means, so he remains silent until she spits it out. “You were supposed to call me back so I knew you were doing alright.”

“I told you I have you listed as my emergency contact. If anything happens to me you’ll be the first one they call,” Eddie teases with a laugh.

“Edmundo,” she scolds, swatting his arm, and he watches as her jaw tenses under his name.

“Okay,” Eddie acquiesces. “I’m sorry, alright? I’ll be more cautious next time and call you. But Houston to West River isn’t a long drive.”

“Shannon—”

“Can we talk about this later?” Eddie asks. “I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I just need a couple of hours and then I promise we’ll talk, okay?”

“But, Eddie—” Despite the fact that he’ll probably be reamed for not turning his full attention to her, Eddie pushes the door open and steps inside. He stops in his tracks as his eyes catch sight of the figure who’s settled at the table, and his duffel bag drops to the floor. He feels abuela’s hand on his shoulder. “This is—”

The pretending is over.

“This is Christopher, your son.”

*

Eddie knew coming back home to West River wasn’t going to be a vacation in any sense of the word. He knew what would be waiting for him; baggage so heavy that it had the ability to destroy his entire career. The dream that he’d risked everything for, that he’d given up everything for.

This is Christopher, your son.

Abuela’s words echo in his ears.

Sure, there had been a few phone calls beforehand, warning Eddie of the kid’s existence after Shannon had shown up at Abuela’s with the boy. That hadn’t prepared him for this moment at all.

What the fuck is he going to do?

The temptation to drop by the hole-in-the-wall bar downtown to take the edge off is there. Instead, he tells Abuela he has to take care of some things and he disappears. He just needs to drive around for a little bit to clear his head. He needs to figure out what he’s going to do.

A kid will ruin everything.

How could Shannon keep this kid to herself for years, not mention a word of his existence, and then just drop him off and leave like he’s somehow now Eddie’s responsibility?

Eddie unrolls the window, letting the evening air hit his face as his foot presses down more firmly on the gas pedal.

Take care of it. You only have a few months until the tour.

Fuck all of this.

These backroads are so familiar, and there’s something comforting in driving down them late at night, when the rest of the town is quiet. It reminds him of those late nights when he and Buck would—

Eddie stops his thoughts short, the ache in his chest just as familiar as these roads. Buck.

What are the chances that in a town of a few thousand people he won’t run into Evan Buckley? That’s even if he still lives here. Eddie shakes the notion from his head, refusing to allow himself to get nostalgic about the past. A past that revolved around Buck.

Right now, he needs to focus on how he’s going to fix his life—before it becomes a public relations disaster.

Pressing down on the gas harder, Eddie gets lost in the feeling of the cool night air hitting his face, saving him from his downward spiral and memories of Buck.

Unfortunately, the moment is short lived. Red and blue lights flash in his rearview mirror amidst the otherwise stark darkness of the night. With a sigh, he pulls over to the shoulder of the road.

*

Buck climbs out of the cruiser and closes the door, walking up to the driver’s side of the out-of-state car. “Do you know why I stopped you tonight?” He quickly scans the inside of the vehicle, assessing if there are any passengers that he needs to be aware of before settling his sight on the driver.

Of all the people he could’ve had the unfortunate task of pulling over tonight, somehow it’s Eddie Diaz. He studies Eddie’s face, tipping his head to the side as his identity registers with Eddie. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Buck.”

It’s like he took the words right out of Buck’s mouth, because really, what are the fucking chances? After nine years Eddie somehow still has the ability to make Buck’s heart thunder in his chest merely by saying his name. His jaw tightens as he looks at the country music star in front of him.

“It’s Deputy Buckley,” Buck tells Eddie, his voice tight. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“This has to be an actual nightmare,” Eddie mutters, though Buck’s sure at this point that he’s talking to himself.

“License and registration.”

“Evan—”

“I said, license and registration. Don’t make me ask again. I’m going to suggest that you actually listen this time if you don’t want to end up in jail for the night.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut at Buck’s words. “I’m gonna grab the registration from the glove compartment.” He opens the glove box and hands over the paperwork, along with his license.

“Yeah, didn’t think you’d want that news story,” Buck mutters as he takes the documents and inspects them. He obviously knows that it’s Eddie, and he already ran the plates and knows that it belongs to a rental in Houston. He hands the paperwork back to Eddie. “Watch your speed, because next time I’m not going to be this nice,” Buck warns.

“This is nice?” Eddie actually has the audacity to laugh at him. “Seems more like you’re Deputy Dick to me.”

Buck’s lips press together into a tight line. He’s used to not being well liked while on the job—but it feels harsher coming from Eddie. “You know, I could still take you in tonight, if that’s what you want.”

Eddie shrinks under the words, and what he says next sounds sincere. “You know that’s not what I want.”

The same words that Eddie had said to him all those years ago, at the end. Buck feels his chest fracture down the middle, a reprise of the heartbreak that Eddie left in his wake.

He forces himself to school his expression despite the way he’s feeling. “Have a good night, Eddie.”

He doesn’t wait for Eddie to respond, turning sharply on his heels and walking away from the man that’s had his heart all along.

*

“You know, I don’t really think that this qualifies as guys’ night,” Buck says as he looks across the card table at Chimney, taking a sip of the lemonade in front of him. 

 Chim raises his brow a little, glancing in the direction of the living room. “You’re my brother-in-law,” Chim says, “and I’m not sure how to say this delicately, so I’m just gonna say it. If there’s one Buckley I’m trying to make happy right now, it’s not you, Buck. I’m trying to get in her good graces after the bottle rocket incident.”

Josh snorts from where he’s sitting, bringing the beer up to his lips.

“I’m not going to be the one to tell my wife that she needs to leave so we can have a proper guys’ night,” Chim adds.

“You would never say something to Maddie, and not just about guys’ night,” Josh challenges, his brows shooting up.

“I’m sorry, was that a complaint I just heard? Because I’m pretty sure that the last time you hosted a card night your mom showed up,” Chim points out.

“And Buck’s place—”

“Has constant interruption. I know, I know.” Buck rolls his eyes dramatically. “Are you gonna deal us in, or what?”

“Mads, were you gonna join us?” Chim calls helpfully into the other room, and Buck glares at him.

Maddie lifts herself off of the couch and walks out to the dining room table where they’re all situated, grabbing the bowl of chips from the counter and pulling up an empty seat. “I don’t want to play, but I’d love to talk to you guys.”

They really need to start finding different circles of friends, at least for nights like tonight. It’s not as if Buck’s going to tell his pregnant sister to go away, so instead he smiles. “We’d love it if you talked to us, Mads.”

“Really?” She grins, and Chim looks at Buck gratefully. “So, I heard a rumor that Eddie’s back in town.”

“Pick a different subject.”

“He’s back in town and got pulled over by West River’s youngest and brightest the other night,” Chim says.

Just the mention of Eddie’s name is an unwanted reminder that he’s back in town, at least temporarily. The fact that this wasn’t a figment of Buck’s imagination sends his brain into overdrive. There’s been some speculation over the reason for his return, and Buck has done everything in his power to stay squarely on the outside of those conversations.

He’s made it clear to his family and friends since Eddie left town that there is one topic that he refuses to discuss: Eddie Diaz. A lot of the locals were around Eddie growing up, and having someone that’s famous from their small hometown is something to talk about—especially when there’s a new tour that’s announced, or when Eddie is working on a new album.

But his friends? They know that it’s a hard and fast rule, and bringing it up on guys’ night is a definite foul. 

“Guys,” Buck manages as evenly as he can muster. “Talk about something else.”

A tense silence falls over the room, and for a minute Buck refuses to look up, knowing the pity that crosses their faces any time that someone brings up Eddie. He’s tried to hide his heartbreak behind indifference, but he’s not naive enough to believe that any of them buy it. Most of them had front-row seats as they watched Buck’s hopes and dreams shatter to the ground around him, leaving a hollow shell behind.

Finally he looks up.

“Can we make an exception this one time, Ev?”

“Maddie. I don’t talk about— about this, and you know that.”

Maddie’s hand covers his, her touch light, her tone equally calm and even. “You know, this has a name.”

“Why are you bringing him up now? You know I moved on from him a long time ago.”

It’s as if Chim and Josh aren’t sitting awkwardly at the table, trying to avoid the line of fire. Even if Maddie is officially a Han now, nobody wants to get obliterated during a battle of the wills between the siblings.

“This is guys’ night,” Buck reminds her. “The one night of the week that I can unwind and relax. Instead you’re here and dredging up a past that died years ago.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “I was a kid. Just a stupid kid. There’s nothing else to say. We were together and then we weren’t. He has his life now, and I have mine.”

“Maybe that’s true, but you never did move on, not really. He’s in town for who knows how long, so maybe it’d be a good chance for the two of you to talk?”

“No, it wouldn’t. And, uh, thanks for ruining tonight,” Buck mutters as he stands up from the table. This is the kind of interference he’d expect from their out-of-town parents, always assuming they know what’s best, but not from Maddie.

“Buck,” Chim warns, and Buck sighs again, shaking his head in frustration. Chim’s always been protective of Maddie, something that Buck’s always appreciated, especially after all that she endured with Doug, but tonight feels like the exception.

“I’m gonna head home.”

“Buck, you really don’t have to go,” Josh says helplessly.

He attempts a smile for what Josh is trying to do—slapping a bandage on the evening, trying to piece everything back together. Buck shakes his head. “I think it’s for the best if I go.”

Buck says his goodbyes and hops into his Jeep, driving home. He knows that Maddie has the best of intentions, and that she cares about him with her whole heart, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

When he arrives home he notices there are only a few lights left on in the house, and that the porch light is on for him. 

“You’re home awful early,” Carla says as soon as he makes his way inside, barely looking up from the little girl that’s propped against her side.

He shrugs a little, not wanting to get into all of the details of how the night quickly spiraled out of control in a way that was just too much for him to handle. “I couldn’t stand the time away from her.”

“Mhm,” Carla says in her knowing way, and Buck’s thankful that she doesn’t say more than that. She knows enough about his past with Eddie, but she’s always stayed out of that part of his life.

Buck toes off his shoes, crossing the room then and scooping Lucy up in his arms. “Hey baby,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on the crown of her head.

“She insisted I read her three stories out here and not in her bed because she was ‘not tired yet, Carla’.”

Buck chuckles at her words, feeling Lucy squirm in his arms before she settles again. She rests her head against his shoulder and he hoists her up higher so that she can curl into him. In a world where everything else is imperfect he’s able to come home and hold a little piece of perfection in his arms. Their lives have been far from easy, and there isn’t a day that Buck doesn’t wish he could be more for her.

He’s doing his best to make up for the huge piece missing from her life—the absence of her mother. Every day she helps him remember that there is more than heartbreak and loss, that sometimes there’s hope, too. He has to hold on to that.

“I’m gonna head out,” Carla says, kissing the back of Lucy’s head and giving Buck a sideways hug before leaving.

Buck walks down the hallway, glancing at Lucy’s bedroom door and then pivoting, walking across the hall to his own room and laying the sleeping girl down on the pillows, covering her with the sheet and comforter. He gets ready for bed and lies on top of the covers beside her. He knows he shouldn’t make a habit out of this and he won’t, but tonight he needs the physical proof.

He hasn’t lost everything, because he still has Lucy.

[fanfalc-616]

The Rights Of A Nindroid

Chapter Twenty-Six

(Previous Chapter Here)

Yeah okay this took forever,,,, have fun with it! (;

Also it was too long for one post again so I’ll reblog this with the rest-

Cryptor struggles to find the solution to the latest puzzle they gave him, doing his best not to let frustration show on his face as he ignores Kyle and Martha talking in the background.

He hates this. He just… he wishes that there was some way out, some way to be free, some way to be okay again.

But there’s not. He’s stuck here, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

He feels tired. So tired. Nothing even seems to make sense anymore, so his only real choice is to just… keep going. Even if the only way he can do that is to follow their orders.

Exhausted, he takes a moment’s pause from the puzzle, absent-mindedly listening in on part of the conversation going on behind him.

Martha is the one speaking. “- and when Sentry is here, we’ll be able to-“

Hold on. Did he just hear what he thinks he did? Did she just- Sentry? She’s going to bring Sentry here?!

He whips around, turning to face them. “What did you just say?!” He demands, ignoring the voice screaming at him to just do what he’s told. He can’t sit there and do nothing, not while his friend is on the line!

Kyle seems to wince some, but Martha glares. “It’s nothing you need to be concerned with, General.” She snaps. “Do not speak out of turn again, and go back to your task.”

He completely disregards the order, only staring at the two of them. They- they’re going to bring him here?! No, no, Cryptor’s been behaving, he’s been following orders, why would they-

“General, calm down.” Kyle interrupts his train of thought. “You knew it would come to this eventually, right?”

Cryptor can only stare in sheer horror as he struggles to come to terms with the implications of what they’re saying. “I- no. No, I didn’t- I-“ He abruptly stands up, pushing the small bench he’s on backwards as the metal screeches, but he ignores the loud sound, barely even able to hear it over his racing thoughts.

“No!” He shakes his head rapidly, struggling to figure out what to say. “You- you can’t-“

“Sit down, General.” Martha orders, her expression one of annoyance.

Fear and anger take over him, leaving him trembling. “You can’t hurt him!” He shouts, trying to come up with something, anything he could do to stop this.

“General! There's nothing you can do about it!” Kyle snaps, an aura of almost unease around him. “Calm down or you'll get hurt yourself!”

Okay, there’s something going on here, usually he doesn’t get so many warnings, why would-

Oh, who cares about what’s going on with that?! Sentry is at stake here!

His words showcase his fear and anger, his voice trembling as he snarls the words out. “I- I can’t just sit here and follow orders when- when you’re going to-“

Martha’s voice is dark as she narrows her eyes at him. “That’s enough, General.” There’s a clear threat to her tone, and just that is enough to make him start shaking…

For a few moments, all he can do is stand there, fighting against the urge to cave, to do what she says, to hopefully avoid punishment-

It’s a struggle, but he manages to hold his ground. “No.” He gets out, making himself hold her gaze. “No, I can’t. It’s not.”

He forces the words out even as he feels his power source kicking into overdrive- he’d rather have it ripped out than let them do what they’ve done to him to the innocent nindroid back at Borg Tower.

Shifting on his feet, Kyle seems to want to say something- but after a moment, he minutely shakes his head, looking over at Martha- likely for instructions.

Every gear and wire inside him feels abuzz with the mechanical equivalent of adrenaline, but he can’t think of what to do or say. His mind is running so fast that he can’t catch up, leaving him only able to stand and stare as the fear floods through him.

“Take it to the training room.” Martha turns to some guards as she speaks, still seeming annoyed. “It appears it needs to relearn an old lesson.”

The words send their own kind of fear through him, the thought of a punishment leaving him shaking even more. But he does his best to shove the feeling down, letting himself be escorted back to the training room and tied down once again.

There still seems to be something off about the blond as he dismisses the guards, but in all honesty, he doesn’t have enough processing power to even try and think about what it might mean.

Kyle sighs, but it doesn’t seem to be out of annoyance. “Okay, use the usual method. Just shocks for an hour.”

Wait- what? That’s it? Well, he- he doesn’t want to be punished more, but usually he gets in more trouble for this kind of thing.

He starts to voice his confusion out loud, but the shock he gets serves as a reality check, reminding him of his situation.

He’s not allowed to speak unless spoken to.

There’s silence, for a while. Which is surprising in its own way- Kyle usually gives him a lecture about what he did wrong while he’s being punished, but this time he’s… oddly quiet.

After all this time, you’d think that Cryptor would have grown numb to the pain. With everything he’s gone through, some shocks are hardly the worst thing in the world.

But somehow, he never seems to be able to quite adjust to it. Every blast of pain is just as bad as the one before it- and sometimes worse, when they start accumulating.

Breathing deeply, he looks down at the floor, struggling to hide how much it hurts. It’s- it’s not really real, anyway. It’s just… just a digital reaction designed to warn him that his circuits might be in danger. But he’s not in any real life-threatening danger, so all it does is-

A particularly painful shock jolts him from his train of thought, and he grinds his teeth as he struggles to push the pain from his mind.

In all honesty, he’s lucky that he’s had the life he did. With all the abuse he suffered from before the facility, he had actually gotten the chance to learn how to cope with this kind of thing.

But Sentry, on the other hand…

No. No, he can’t think about that. He can’t- there’s nothing he can do at the moment, he just needs to keep breathing, needs to not think about it, needs to not imagine what Sentry’s screams would sound like, needs to not picture the way he would curl in on himself as he struggled to cope, needs to not even consider what he might look like after going through even half of what he and Zane had-

He’s pulled from his downward spiral by Kyle, the blond suddenly speaking- and loudly, at that.

“OKAY! Okay, that's enough! An hour is way too long for that small of a mistake, I- Stop!”

When the shocks die down, Cryptor still can’t figure out what’s going on. Something is going on here, but Cryptor honestly doesn’t have the energy to piece together what.

He knows that he’s shaking like a leaf, and it makes his gut churn thinking about how damn weak he is, but he doesn’t dare lift his gaze.

It takes a moment for him to remember what he’s supposed to do. Right, they finished a punishment, he- he needs to confirm that he learned from it.

“ ‘m sorry, Master.”

The words are choked out and pathetic, and just hearing his own voice like that makes him want to cringe.

For some reason, Kyle seems to look uncomfortable, almost regretful in a way. “It's okay, it's- here. Let me-“

He trails off in favor of taking off Cryptor’s restraints- and after he does, he turns away, looking at the far wall.

For a second, the door tempts him. No one is watching, it would be so easy to-

No. No, he can’t do that. He has to stay, to follow orders. He gets hurt if he doesn’t follow orders. And while this punishment wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, that just means that the next one will probably be worse.

A hand comes to clutch at where one of the chains had been pulled a little bit too tight- with the shocks, he actually hadn’t even noticed the way they were digging into his plating until now.

Once again, he remembers what he’s supposed to do. Kyle let him go- and early, at that. He’s supposed to acknowledge that.

There’s no pride left for him to ignore as he speaks. “Th- thank you, Master.”

Kyle doesn’t react, looking almost lost in thought. He brings a hand up to his face, and if Cryptor didn’t know any better, he’d say the blond was trembling.

Alright, something is definitely up here, but Cryptor isn’t going to risk getting punished again for asking. Whatever it is doesn’t seem to be causing any immediate harm, so he’d be better off leaving it alone.

With no orders or distractions, his mind begins to drift. And unfortunately, his stupid processer takes him back to Sentry.

He really, really doesn’t want him to get hurt, but no matter what he does, it won’t make a difference. They’ve proven time and time again that he’s too pathetic to stand a chance, and… it’s hopeless.

Well, he- he could try to, at the very least, minimize his suffering. There has to be something he can do for that, right?

He could try taking punishments for him, but they’d catch on pretty quick, and then they’d just start hurting Sentry to get to him more. He could do something worse after every mistake Sentry makes to make them put it in kind of perspective, but that would just prolong it.

He- he could… help them. Help them- help them break him. If Sentry’s not really there anymore, then he won’t be suffering. He-

A feeling of disgust wells up inside of him as he realizes what he was even considering. No, he can’t do that, he can’t do anything like that! He can’t help them do that to him, he- he just-

Cryptor forces himself to keep breathing, trying to get his shaking under control. He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to Sentry, but if push really does come to shove…

He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

There’s an almost numb feeling spreading through him, but he’s thankfully given something else to focus on when he hears Kyle’s quiet murmur.

The blond’s voice is strained, even breaking a little as he talks. “...'m sorry, Gav…”

He seems to be trying to shove the feeling down as he clears his throat, and Cryptor could almost swear that he’s near tears.

“I'll t-take you back to your locker. You'll say you- you'll say you learned your lesson if anyone asks. This is a one-time thing, okay?” His eyes narrow as he finishes, but with how he looks, he’s hardly threatening.

The words he’s saying aren’t making any sense, but Cryptor isn’t going to turn down a break when it’s offered.

“Y- yes, Master,” he nods. The confusion is eating away at his processor, but he forces himself not to show it. If he does, he’ll be dragged right back into the training room.

Kyle starts to take him back to his locker, and Cryptor keeps his gaze on the floor as they walk, trying to keep his mind away from Sentry and what might happen to him.

He’s shaking, trembling, and he shouldn’t be- showing emotion this much isn’t a good idea, but for some reason, he’s still just being taken away from the training room.

Stepping inside the small cell, he still can’t wrench his mind away. All this time, all this sacrifice to protect Sentry…

“... all of this to protect you, and it didn’t make a difference…”

Crying.

It’s something he hated before. A sign of weakness, of something that could get in the way of a task.

But now?

Cryptor wishes he was allowed to cry.

The door is abruptly slammed shut in front of him, Kyle using much more force than necessary. There’s clearly something going on with the blond…

His confusion intensifies some, but in the end, does it really matter? Kyle was right. There is nothing he can do. Sentry is going to be brought here and broken whether he likes it or not.

He can only hope that he breaks before he has to watch the one he loves do the same.

{ { { { { { { { { { ~ } } } } } } } } } }

[dessarious]

How to Not Get a Date Pt3

AO3   Beginning   Previous   Next

Marinette actually threw her arms up and stalked away before Damian noticed her. Chloe winced. She was going to have to do something huge to make up for this. When she looked back at Damian he seemed to be waiting for something. Crap. He must have said something.

“Sorry, what was that?” She had to bite back a smile at his annoyed frown. He was cute when he pouted.

“I said, do you really think it’s a good idea to date outside your social class?”

“Excuse me?” Her knee jerk reaction was to be offended but given that he had more than one sibling that started off at a different social class there had to be more to that question than the obvious.

“I just mean that it’s not an easy adjustment and no one knows how they’ll cope with it until it happens. What if the recognition, not to mention the press, are too much for her to handle? Can you afford to risk it? Is it fair to her to ask her to give up any sense of privacy and normalcy just to date you? I just think it would be simpler to pick someone who is already used to such things.” Rational and logical. She should have expected something like that.

“Did you have someone in mind?” She couldn’t help the tease and felt a surge of hope when his cheeks pinkened. “But honestly Damian, that’s not how feelings work. You can’t help who you’re attracted to or fall in love with. Yes, you can date and marry out of convenience but that’s not what I want. I want to be with someone who wants to be with me. I don’t want what my parents have. A sham marriage they play up for the cameras when they actually happen to be in the same city. I want something real. Don’t you?” The look he was giving her… what even was that?

“Yes, I suppose so.” The words were soft, almost like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud. She was going to respond when something caught her attention over his shoulder.

“Damn it! What is he even doing here?” She barely registered Damian’s confused expression as she rushed past him towards the man cornering Mari. The bastard hadn’t even left his house in the last six months so she thought it would be safe. Apparently not. “Shit.” She continued cursing and only vaguely noticed that Damian was beside her. When she got close enough to hear what was being said she felt there was a real possibility she’d end the night in jail for assault.

“Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, you may think yourself clever but I can have you blacklisted in the fashion industry with one phone call.” Gabriel had never been her favorite person but about a year ago he’d started targeting Mari and no one seemed to know why. Adrien was standing behind his father looking like he was about to throw up. They really needed to get him out of that house. Mari just raised an eyebrow at the fashion mogul.

“Even if you are still that influential in the industry, and I highly doubt it given your current lines, at best you’d be able to blacklist me in the world of high fashion. No offense, but designing thirty thousand dollar dresses that might be worn once doesn’t really appeal to me.” Chloe held back a laugh at Mari’s words and bored tone. Damian could be as concerned as he wanted about how Marinette would handle herself in the spotlight, this proved she was more than up to the task. She walked up behind the shorter girl and glared at Gabriel over her head.

“Not to mention you can’t even do that. My mother is still the last word in fashion and Mari is her favorite up and coming designer. You can take your empty threats and leave.” The disgusted sneer he aimed at the pair of them set her blood boiling. Adrien was making nonsense hand gestures behind him, probably trying to get her to calm down.

“Audrey is fickle in her approval, you of all people should know that.” That’s it she was going to castrate the pompous prick. Before she could snap back, Damian stepped in between, forcing Gabriel to back up.

“And you should know when to roll over. Or do you enjoy being ripped apart by teenagers? Regardless of the influence and power you think you have, I assure you this is a battle you can’t win.” The man didn’t even attempt to hide his contempt.

“This does not concern you Wayne. Run back to your father before you get yourself in over your head.” The demonic smile that took over Damian’s face should have made Gabriel wet his pants but the man was apparently far too wrapped up in his own ego to have any concept of self preservation.

“I believe about half of your current revenue comes from your contracts with Wayne Enterprises, does it not?” Damian didn’t even wait for an answer, and Chloe honestly doubted Gabriel knew anyway. “You might want to rethink your condescension given that as of Monday I’ll be running the Paris branch and I have full authority to cancel any and all contracts if I feel they aren’t in the company’s best interest.”  

“You’re bluffing.” The words seemed to surprise the man even though they came out of his mouth.

“Try me Agreste. Your image has been in a downward spiral for years, that’s all the reason I need to sever all business dealings with you and your company.” Gabriel looked too stunned to respond but Adrien was actually giving Damian a thumbs up behind his back. It was rare anyone struck the man speechless. Mari leaned back to whisper in Chloe’s ear.

“Okay, he just shot past handsome to smoking hot.” They made eye contact and burst out laughing as Gabriel stormed off in a huff, dragging Adrien with him. Damian was frowning at them as though they’d lost their minds.

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[cialbi]

Boy with Hope: Lavender - Chapter Two

Summary: Severely depressed and addicted to alcohol, you had given up entirely on life. Your passion was gone, your friends had left you and you found yourself completely alone. As you closed your eyes for the last time, the smell of lavender wafted through your nose and a boy with purple wings appeared above you.

Genre: Angst, Romance, Fantasy

Pairings: Angel Hoseok x Reader

Warnings: Language, Depression, Alcoholism, Future Smut

Word Count: 2105

⤎Previous

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

You did it. 

You're dead.

You're dead, you're dead, you died, you're dead. 

That was the only explanation, because seriously, gorgeous men with beautiful smiles don't just appear in your room, cook you breakfast and heal you with their magic hands. And they most certainly don't sprout enormous, sparkly purple wings from their backs. That shit only happens in romantic fantasy movies and you're movie genre was most certainly a mix of angst and horror. Magical stuff doesn't happen in those kinds of movies.

Yes, being dead was the only logical explanation.

This is what you wanted right? To be dead. 

Life had been so dark, the pain so unbearable, you could barely walk through it each day. Everything you did was to alleviate some of the anguish: the drinking, the drugs, but it was never enough. You had needed peace. Now, finally, for once in your life you had gotten what you wanted--you should be happy!--so you didn't understand why, instead, you felt so... empty.

"I can't believe it..." You whispered, clutching your arm for some kind of support. "I actually did it, I actually--"

"Wait, no!" Hoseok started, grabbing your arms with his big, warm hands. "That's not what I--"

"And this--" You angled your face to meet his eyes. "This must be my punishment!"

The orange-haired man searched your face frantically for some kind of answer to what you meant. "I'm sorry, what are you talking about?"

Laughing shakily, your expression fell blank. "You know, my punishment. In Hell."

Hoseok's head cocked to the side as he observed you, curiously waiting for you to provide some kind of followup to your statement. When you gave none, he huffed, trying to hide his exasperation. "I don't think I understand Y/N. How is sending an angel to help you a form of punishment from Hell?"

"No you see, that's just it!" You huffed back, prying his hands off of your arms and thrusting them back and away from you. "You say you're here to help me, and maybe, maybe, that's true. But sooner or later, you're gonna realize."

Hoseok sat back, leaning against his elbows. "Realize?"

"That I'm unhelpable." Your voice dropped so low it was barely a whisper as you averted your stare to your hands clasped in your lap. "Just like everyone else did."

A silence fell across the room of your tiny apartment, the air growing thick with a tense energy that dropped low on both your shoulders. Hoseok's sparkly eyes narrowed to slits as he watched you closely. You could hear the soft breathing blow through your noses as you busied your gaze on the silver cross that rose and fell with each movement of the angel's chest.

Slowly, Hoseok broke the silence. "Y/N. I guarantee you're still very much alive." The serious tone mixed with the stern stare he fixed you with had you looking up to meet his face. His expression was soft and smooth, but his eyes twinkled with sincerity. Considering his next words, he continued. "But you should know, it was very difficult to bring you back after all those pills you swallowed. I tried to take away the pains of the aftermath, but it looks like it's going to take much more time for the effects to completely go away." He paused again. "And then there's still the withdrawal period. That, I can't take away."

Oh. 

Withdrawal. 

You were so caught up in the action that you hadn't even stopped to think about that. 

According to Hoseok, you had been asleep for two days, and usually withdrawal can kick in within thirty minutes of sobriety, especially for someone who had become so reliant as you had. Symptoms are usually worse at night--something to do with your brain getting sleepy--but with just the mention of withdrawal you could feel some of them begin to rear their ugly heads. Muscle pains, racing heart beat, the sweats...

You'd become painfully conscious of them now.

As if sensing your awareness, Hoseok sighed. "You're going to have to go through them without my magic, even the hallucinations... I'm sorry. But--" He flashed you a beautiful, reassuring smile as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. "--you don't have to go through it alone."

A new realization dawned on you. You hadn't considered that either. That all of this was just a-- "Hallucination..."

Hoseok blinked. "What?"

You laughed a little, suddenly feeling stupid for believing any of this magical nonsense. "This is all just some fucked up hallucination. Those floating lights weren't real, those wings weren't real. You're not real."

"That's not--"

"Man. I really did a number on my brain this time. I mean, I can't believe I fell for it! Angels? Hah! What is my mind going to mess me up with next?" You yammered.

"Y/N, please just---"

"Hahaha, oh my god. I've been talking to a hallucination this entire time!” The speed of your voice was picking up as you went on, the words meshing together in an incoherent babble. “I guess I've had hallucinations before, but they've never talked to me. I must be going crazy.” Your eyelids became extremely wide. “That's it, I'm crazy! I'm totally and completely cray--"

"Ok! Let me just stop you there!" Hoseok interjected strongly, placing a firm hand on your knee and bringing you out of your downward spiral. You immediately snapped your attention to him, the look on his face making you gulp. It was dead serious, lips pursed into a thin line and ivory skin so smooth that not a laugh-line nor dimple was visible. "Let's get something straight.” He held up one finger next to his cheek. “One. You're not dead. Two.” He added a second digit. “You're not crazy... don't ever say you're crazy in front of me again. And three." He held up three fingers, this time in front of your face. "This is not a hallucination. Me... this..." Placing a hand on your shoulder, he looked you square in the eye, the silver chains around his wrists dipping cool against your skin. "Is real."

For a few moments you both just sat there, staring at each other for the thousandth time in one morning. It was like he had you in a trance with those deep chocolate eyes, so it took all you had in you to tear your gaze away and lean back up against the wall to steady yourself. You felt completely thrown off by his sudden change in character and it was making you feel a little woozy.

When you didn't say anything, Hoseok took your chin gently between his fingers and moved you to look at him again. The sunny smile was back on his lips. "Hey. It's going to be ok Y/N. We're going to get you through this together."

The withdrawal symptoms were more present now, and your body had begun to grow hot and cold at the same time. Little beads of sweat began to pool around your forehead and your muscles groaned in dehydration. Maybe it was from all the adrenaline you exhausted while trying to get away earlier, but you were suddenly very burnt out. And still very much in denial.

"You're not real. And I can't get through this. I don't want to get through this." Your head lulled from side to side against the white brick of your wall as you said that. You really didn't. Sobering up took a lot of discipline and work--you just wanted the easy way out and you knew exactly what you needed to get there. So with a voice barely audible, you declared. "I need a drink."

Like, you really, really, needed one.

Hoseok rubbed your shoulder in soothing circles. "Yes. I am. And no. You don't." the angel assured, then snorted softly, running a hand through his sunshine colored locks. "Man, when he said you were stubborn..."

You ignored him, the rapid thumping of your heart distracting you from anything outside of yourself. You needed to quench these symptoms, to dull the noise. You needed to be numb again, and there was only one way to do that. 

“I’m sorry but, I just can’t.” You said weakly. 

“Hm?” Hoseok hummed, lowering his arms to rest on each of his knees. “Can’t what?”

“I can’t do it.” 

‘I can’t stay sober.’

Swallowing thickly, you pushed yourself from off the wall, first into a sitting position, and then, with Hoseok watching curiously, you forced yourself into a standing position, legs spread in the shape of a V atop the bed.

His eyes widened, realizing what you were about to do. "No, Y/N. Please! Don't!"

But it was too late.

With as much energy as you could muster, you lept over him, dodging as he made a dive to stop you, and landing on the floor, just barely keeping your balance. Your bummed knee howled in pain at the impact but you ignored it. Hallucination or not, nothing was going to get in your way. Nothing, no person, no angel, was going to stop you.

Looking over your shoulder, you stuck your tongue out at Hoseok. "Don't touch me, featherbutt! And don't try to stop me either!"

"Y/N, wait! I need to tell you--"

But you didn't waste time for him to finish. You turned on your heel and made a break for the front door, still dressed in your soiled clothes from two days ago and completely barefoot. The adrenaline was beginning to pump through your veins again, giving you that extra boost as you swung the door open and raced down the hall of your apartment complex. Your knee hurt like fucking hell, but you willed yourself to disregard the pain and keep pressing forward.

Glancing triumphantly behind you--haha! Sucker--oh shit!-- you caught a glimpse of an orange head before you collided into something firm and warm, sending you flying back onto your butt.

You winced, clenching your eyes shut at the new pain in your backside. "Goddammit!"

"Woah there. Language." A deep voice bellowed from above.

Cracking an eye open, you made a note to send your steeliest of glares at the person standing over you, but instead, you gasped. There was another good looking man with jet-black hair towering over you, a cigarette clamped between his lips and a long stream of smoke blowing from the dull orange light at the end. His face was young looking, which mixed in a shocking manner to the maturity of his profound, onyx eyes. 

Goodness, he was painfully handsome.

And scary.

He was wearing a black cashmere sweater underneath a black blazer, bottomed off with loose-fit black jeans and a thick silver chain that looped through his belt. But what really caught you off guard was the array of silver jewelry glittering around his body, or, more specifically the detailed silver cross that refracted the light around his neck.

It was identical to Hoseok's.

"Oh great, there are more of you?" You glowered under your breath.

"Yoongi hyung quick! Catch her!" Hoseok called, slowing into a steady jog as he tried to catch up to you.

The man took the cigarette between his lithe, ringed fingers and flicked it off to the side, giving a heavy sigh as he fixed his eyes on you. His expression was suddenly very focused and alert, and you found yourself feeling like prey all over again. "Now where might you be going in such a hurry, princess?"

Scooching away from him, you picked yourself up off the ground and started a slow walk backwards, turning your head every few seconds to see Hoseok inching closer and closer. You didn't have the stamina to take on two of them in this state, hell, you wouldn't have had the stamina regardless, and by now your knee was throbbing in an angry rage. You had to find an opening somewhere between the two of them.

The blacked-haired man made the first move, lunging forward with his arms outstretched, attempting to restrain you but you just barely slid past him. In comparison to Hoseok, he was much shorter, which made it easier to weasel your way around his grasp. He cursed rather colorfully by your evasion and you couldn't help the victorious smirk that pulled on your lips as you continued your stampede down the hall.

And he scolded you about language.

"Fuck Hoseok, she's fast!" You heard him yell from behind you. "She's not even wearing shoes!"

"Quick hyung, after her!" Hoseok's voice replied.

Hearing their words only fueled your speed, racing down the winding staircase that led out into the alleyway and where a few steps ahead laid the mainroad. You could hear the clatter of their footsteps from above as they raced to keep up with you, and by the sound of it they hadn't quite made it to the staircase yet. You paused for a moment to catch your breath, gathering what was left of your bearings as you turned to look down the alleyway. There's a liquor store just around the corner, about three minutes by foot; somewhere you frequented on especially hard days and you most certainly considered this to be one of them.

"Y/N wait! Please!" Hoseok's voice came again, this time from the landing of your apartment complex.

But you didn't wait.

You ran.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Next⤏

A/N

Again, completely unedited!

I hope you enjoyed this next part, the story's just heating up! I wonder if I should make the chapters longer....

[imaginejamesandsirius]

I love your writing and get super happy when I get a notification about this series. My prompt would be: Sirius tries to get Regulus to leave the death eaters and gets roped into trying to destroy the horcrux with him. Sirius drinks the potion instead and this whole mess somehow ends with James and Sirius getting together. Would love some angst!!!

((A/N: Warning for mentions of suicide))

"You sure about this?" Regulus asked nervously. 

Sirius gave him a flat look. "It's a bit late to change your mind now," he said, gesturing to the cave around them. Crossing the water hadn't been easy since the boat was designed to only carry one, and now, standing in front of the basin with the necklace visible on the bottom was kind of the worst time to decide that he didn't want to do this anymore. Their goal was in sight; even if Regulus decided to leave, it would mean that Sirius had to try this on his own. He would prefer not to try that, but he couldn't, in good conscience, walk away. 

"Not that. I just meant- you're better at thinking on your feet. Maybe I should be the one to drink it." 

Sirius shook his head. "No way. You know more about Voldemort and what's going on with the Death Eaters than I do. If the potion is designed to kill the drinker, we'd still need you alive and well."

"You're not going to die from drinking it." 

"You know that for sure?" Sirius asked, tying back his hair. He had no idea how this was going to go, and he didn't want his hair in his face for it. 

"Are you suicidal and I'm just now learning about it?" Regulus asked, looking alarmed. 

"For fuck's sake, Regulus. Take a deep breath, and calm down." 

"I can't believe you are telling someone to calm down, and if there were ever a moment to panic, I should think you'd agree that now is a fitting time." 

"Panicking is going to make it hard for you to think. Just remember: as soon as you can, grab the necklace and get out." 

"I'm not leaving you behind." 

"I'll be fine. I'm not planning on dying in a cave in the middle of nowhere," he said with a smirk. 

Regulus wasn't the least bit comforted by that. He knew Sirius was lying-- he wouldn't be fine. 

Sirius took a deep breath and picked up the cup sat on the side of the basin. "Here goes nothing," he muttered. 

*

Regulus felt like he was in some state of shock. His body was moving automatically, but it's like his brain was frozen in place. He'd seen Sirius have all sorts of emotional outbursts-- from angry and screaming at their parents to silent and shaking. This was a first for seeing him cry so hard he couldn't breathe. Sirius had been fine drinking the liquid at first, but the effects were cumulative. He got a little choked up after a few cups, and by the end, Regulus had been helping him drink it. He hadn't wanted to, but Sirius had figured out about halfway through that he wouldn't be able to finish all on his own. 

It had been a steady spiral downwards for Sirius, but that didn't make seeing the end result any easier. He was a wreck, and it wasn't getting any better. Regulus had been sure that it wouldn't kill him at first, but after seeing him vomit because of how hard he was crying, he started to doubt it. He needed to get Sirius help, and he needed to do it fast. He couldn't just walk into St. Mungo's after betraying the Dark Lord with his brother in tow and expect for nothing bad to happen. 

That left him with one option-- or at least one option that he could currently think of. 

Personally, he didn't trust Potter. He didn't know him, and he didn't care to. But he needed help-- both with the necklace and with Sirius-- and there was no one better than Potter for that. 

Sirius was heavy. Regulus hadn't thought about it before, but Sirius was taller than him and almost twice as big around. Regulus had never felt like a bloody stick before, but he was wearing himself out trying to drag him around. It was something of a miracle that he hadn't fallen over, to be honest. He landed with a grimace on Potter's front stoop, then kicked the door-- he couldn't take an arm away from Sirius for long enough to knock unless he wanted to drop him. He waited a couple seconds, then kicked the door again. "Come on, come on, come on," he chanted, hoping desperately that Potter was home; if he wasn't, they were buggered. He kicked the door again, sending jolts up his leg. 

"What the hell are you-" James said, yanking the door open. His eyes darted from Regulus's face to Sirius's slumped form. "The fuck happened?" he asked, hurrying forward to take Sirius's weight. 

Regulus's arms felt like jelly. Numbly, he followed him into the house and closed the door behind himself. 

"Oi, I asked you a question. What happened?" 

"There was- I needed help," he said, voice small. 

"With what?" James asked, maneuvering Sirius onto the couch. 

Regulus didn't want to talk about it, but he knew that he had to answer a few questions before Potter would relax. 

*

Sirius felt like utter shite when he woke up. The nightmares-- or whatever they were called-- called by the potion had been... vivid. Overly realistic like he was reliving every single moment of the worst day of his life. 

He'd realised, one day back in Hogwarts, that James wasn't going to ever be interested in him. It had him hard. James had gone on a date, and then he'd been so excited about it that he'd started to tell Sirius every little detail-- just like they did with everything else. Sirius had snapped at him halfway through and told him that he didn't want to hear about that shite; James hadn't understood why he was getting upset and got mad in return. There had been a decent amount of insults thrown back and forth, and Sirius had stormed out. He'd spent half of the night away, and he'd seriously considered never going back. He'd been hurt and angry and so depressed that he felt like he couldn't even pretend to be okay. In his opinion, he'd had worse days, but that was the only one that had been horrible where James was concerned. Everything else, he'd had James around to comfort him afterwards. For that, he'd been all alone. He couldn't exactly go running off to James when James was the problem. 

Sirius wasn't suicidal. But he had been that night. Looking back on it, it felt stupid, but reliving it had reminded him of why he'd been thinking about it. It hadn't been stupid that night. 

It meant that when he woke up, not only did he have a tender stomach from vomiting and a headache from crying, but he also felt... fragile. He wondered where Regulus had brought him, because he knew as soon as he opened his eyes that he wasn't in hospital. 

"Hey," James said softly, off to the side. 

Sirius rolled his head to the side to look at him. 

He gave a small smile, looking worried. "How do you feel?" 

"Been better," Sirius said, swallowing. "Is Regulus okay?" 

"He's fine. He's asleep in a guest room." 

Sirius nodded, eyes closing again. He felt James brush some hair away from his forehead and press a kiss to the skin there. 

"I could've been there if you told me about it," James said, softly reproaching. 

"Regulus didn't know who to trust," Sirius mumbled. Sleep was tugging at him again, and he knew they'd have time to talk about it later. For now, it was enough for him to be reminded that James didn't hate him. 

*

The next time he woke up, he knew it was for several hours. The trouble was that he'd rather go back to sleep. He didn't see anyone as he got off the couch and walked to the kitchen for some water. He didn't feel firm enough to stay standing, so he sat at the table to sip gingerly at his drink. He'd need to brush his teeth soon, because this wasn't sustainable. 

He got halfway through his glass before James walked into the room. "Feeling any better?" James asked. 

"A bit," Sirius said. He winced at how rough his voice sounded. His throat didn't hurt, and he didn't really remember much about last night. Or whenever it was that he'd gone to the cave with Regulus. After losing time first with the potion then with sleeping so much, he didn't know how long it had been. "How long was I sleeping?" 

"Couple days," James said with a shrug. "Lily came by to check up on you." 

Lily was training to be a medi-witch, so it made sense that she would've been by. What didn't make sense was that Regulus hadn't protested; he wasn't a blood supremacist anymore, but he'd made it clear that he wouldn't be comfortable around Sirius's mates. He hadn't exactly been lucid for it, but he assumed that the only reason he'd gone to James was because he hadn't known what to do with Sirius otherwise. And, given the choice between Sirius possibly dying and talking to someone he'd rather avoid, Regulus would always choose to talk to someone he'd rather avoid. 

"Is Regulus still here?" Sirius asked. 

"Not right now. He's with Dumbledore, filling him in on what he knows about Voldemort. I told them that they could stay here, but Dumbledore insisted. I figured you wouldn't mind since there's nowhere safer than with Dumbledore. And er, I guess safe is where you want your brother? You're talking again? Or still?" 

"Again," Sirius said. "I wouldn't have been able to keep something like that from you even if I wanted to. Did he tell you what me being sick was about?" 

"Yeah. Pretty sure he didn't want to, but I was sort of freaking out." He admitted it easily, utterly unashamed of it. He still looked worried, even though Sirius was okay now. "You should've told me what you were doing before you left." 

"You were on a date," Sirius said. It was a weak excuse, and he knew it. There was no easy way for him to explain that any time James said he had a date, Sirius left him the fuck alone. He never wanted to do anything that could make James think he was jealous. It had been stupid and he knew it, but he'd figured that James couldn't get too mad at him for not telling him if he got injured-- and if he didn't get hurt at all, then he would've been able to tell James that there had been no reason to worry. 

"That's not the point. You should always tell me when you're going to do something stupidly dangerous so that I can be available if you need help. What would you have done if I wasn't home?" 

The thing was, Sirius knew when James was deflecting. So instead of answering his question, he said, "You were on a date, weren't you?" 

Guilt flashed across his face. 

"What, you lie to me now? About dates?" Sirius had thought he did a pretty good job of hiding his crush, but if James was lying to him about going on dates, clearly he hadn't hidden shite. "What the hell?" 

James swallowed, averting his eyes for a moment to peer at the floor. He toed a piece of dirt. "I didn't want you to worry about me." 

"What the buggering hell were you doing that I would've worried about?" If James said that he was going into Knockturn Alley all by himself in the middle of the night, Sirius was going to kill him. 

"Nothing," he said, taking a seat at the table. 

Sirius glared at him suspiciously. 

"Nothing! I swear. I just sit at home when I tell you I have a date." 

"Why the hell would you do that? If you don't want me to visit, you can just say so." 

"No- fucking hell, no that's not what it is." 

"Then what is it?" 

James looked at him for a long moment. There was something haltingly hopeful in his eyes, but it was clear that he was trying to tamp down on it. "You really don't know?" 

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Am I supposed to know why you lie to me just to sit at home all by yourself?" 

"I didn't want you to figure out that I'm in love with you. I knew it would make things weird. Hell, the only reason I'm fessing up to it now is because Regulus figured it out, and I didn't want him to drop it on you out of nowhere. He thought we were together, you know," James said. "You kept saying my name when you were hallucinating, so he asked me. I guess I didn't answer in a way that wasn't suspicious. He'd make a great interrogator," he added thoughtfully. "He stared at me, and it felt like everything came spilling out." 

Sirius blinked. James had said that he loved him like it wasn't even a revelation. "You love me?" he asked hoarsely. 

"Well yeah," James said, pairing the statement with a soft, small smile. The sort of smile he did when he looked at Sirius like he was the most wonderful thing in the world-- like he was looking at him right now. 

Sirius's throat worked. "I kind of want to kiss you silly, but I'm not really feeling up to standing. Would you erm- help me out and come over here?" 

"You- me?" 

"Not going to snog anyone else," Sirius said. 

James scrambled over to him, nearly knocking over his chair. Only instead of kissing Sirius, he wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight. 

"Hey, my lips are down here," Sirius joked. 

"Believe me, I know," James muttered, like he'd thought about kissing him a hundred times-- and he had. "I want to wait until you can stand on your own for that though." 

"I can stand," Sirius protested. 

"For more than two minutes?" 

"You're making this harder than it needs to be," Sirius muttered, but he relaxed into James's chest. He'd get a kiss soon enough. And after that, as many kisses as he wanted. 

[cake-writes]

Six (5/6)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Angst, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (Bucky), Eating Disorder (Reader), Fluff, Slow Burn, 18+

Summary: Bucky knew that there were more important things for him to worry about. Of course he did. He still had to work through the horrors of his past, never mind his present, which was the exact reason why he honed right in on your petty bullshit. You distracted him from the things he didn’t want to think about. You also drove him up a fucking wall.

Part Four / Master List

Put me down, you dick.

Yeah, he deserved that.

You’re a real asshole, Barnes, you know that?

Bucky absolutely did know that, and yes, he deserved that, too. He deserved each and every insult you flung his way. He internalized them, naturally, but he just couldn’t sit by and watch you kill yourself. He wouldn’t, not when you scared the hell out of him like that, when he found you all alone in the middle of the woods, unconscious and unresponsive. Although it may not have been the first time he’d seen you that way, it was the second time he thought the worst – and he panicked.

Your skin felt so cold to the touch, too cold, too clammy. He could just barely hear your shallow breaths if he listened closely enough – but he somehow kept his own steady and even despite the panic. Somehow managed to calm himself, ground himself, with gentle pats to your cheek and soft, whispered words.

Come on, pretty girl, wake up for me.

Pretty. Gorgeous. Inside and out, he’d come to realize. Platonic admiration.

At first, anyway.

He’d long since shoved the idea out of his head because you weren’t well, and neither was he. Didn’t stop the words from slipping out sometimes, though. Didn’t stop the fleeting thoughts every now and then, either.

Pretty girl. Sweetheart. Wake up for me.

No matter how sweetly Bucky tried to rouse you, however, you just wouldn’t wake, and it was all his fault. Again. He hadn’t had your six. Again.

He’d gotten on your case for months about the very thing that you couldn’t handle – drove you to starve yourself, and if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d made some stupid, offhand comment about your weight. It was a joke meant to lighten the mood, but in all actuality his carelessness had contributed to your downward spiral, or maybe he’d just caused it outright.

Malnourished. Dark circles, chapped lips. Half-dead, barely breathing.

His fault. All his fault.

You scared the absolute hell out of him, and rightfully so.

His fault. Always.

For all his worth, however, Bucky couldn’t quite keep his emotions in check – not during such a long, tiring, emotionally exhausting day, and as a result, he lashed out. Of course he did. He lost his temper, and he shouldn’t have. Not this time.

It certainly had something to do with the therapy session he’d attended early in the morning, the one that set him on edge for the entire day. His therapist had dredged up a hell of a lot of memories that he didn’t want to think about. Not today. Not ever. Memories about the war had been playing on a loop inside his head for hours – dark, grim, bloody memories where he’d seen at least half the men in his platoon meet their untimely deaths. Friends of his, left without a proper burial. And Italy – Italy was worse. Italy was where he’d been forced to sit by and watch even more die.

Just like now. Just like this.

Here you were, killing yourself, and all he could do was watch.

He couldn’t let that happen, and not just because he felt guilty. No, you were broken, too. Broken just like him. Two jagged pieces of glass – easily shattered, a total mess – and Bucky had found some solace in that, some comradery. If he didn’t know better, he would have called you a friend, but it wasn’t like he’d ever confided his secrets to you. Only the opposite. You’d confided in him. You’d trusted him.

Not anymore, you didn’t.

The first jab would have been when he brushed you off first thing. You’d trusted him last night, but he’d been too caught up in his own head this morning to know how to act, how to treat you – and then he found you like that, unconscious, and that ended up like this. Small fists pounding against his back, and each weak blow felt like a dagger. Death by a thousand cuts. One for each of his mistakes.

Then the barrage began to slow, before it stopped altogether, and he knew you’d given up.

Bucky, please. Don’t do this to me.

His stomach lurched at the beautifully broken syllables of his name. Quiet. Scared. Bucky.

You’d only just started calling him that recently. For months, the two of you had well and truly hated each other. You’d always driven him up a fucking wall; still did sometimes, if he was being honest and although things had become somewhat amicable, he’d never been able to open up to you. Not really. Not like how you did with him.

Why was he so afraid to trust you?

The minutes passed in insufferable silence, save for the rustle of wind in the trees and the sharp crunch of autumn leaves under every footstep. Your body sagged against him, lifeless and unmoving. You’d stopped fighting, stopped arguing, stopped caring.

That was what made him realize that he’d only won the battle, not the war. Quiet contemplation. Temporary surrender. He could take you in, but you wouldn’t comply.

When Bucky spotted the compound in the distance, he hesitated, because he knew.

Why the hell was he so afraid to trust you?

You’d done nothing but be honest with him the entire time he’d known you. You’d never lied to him, never tried to act like your disorder was anything other than it was – had you? You did try to hide it, of course you did, and he couldn’t fault you for that. He hid his problems, too. Even from you.

But relationships were a two-way street, and something had to give.

As he set you back down on your feet, his fingertips dug into your shoulders, gentle but firm. He used his grip to hold you steady because he was afraid to let go – afraid to trust you, trust that you’d be alright. He didn’t feel confident about it at all, but he let you go.

“What, aren’t you condemning me to hell?” you spat, like pure acid, but your voice sounded weak from crying. It bothered him more than it should have, and the dried tears on your cheeks made him feel even worse.

His fault.

“You’re just gonna fight some more if I take you in.” A statement, not a question. Level and even. “No sense in forcing you into treatment if you don’t care.”

At that, he caught a spark of recognition in your eyes but it disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by righteous indignation and a frown. The moment his hands dropped back to his sides, he might have expected you to immediately turn heel and leave, maybe even run, but you didn’t. Instead, you just crossed your arms.

“No shit, Barnes. What tipped you off?”

Not ‘Bucky’ anymore.

He had to trust you. He had to give.

“It’s just…” This time he sounded a little more unsure, not at all like his calm, controlled demeanour whilst carrying you like a sack of potatoes. “If someone forced me into therapy a year ago, I don’t think I would have gone along with it.”

The implication was clear: you wouldn’t either.

That was when the sharp edge to your features started to soften, and when you spoke again, your voice was softer, too, even if it did still have some bite to it. “What changed your mind?”

“I think I wanted to move on.”

Honesty.

“And have you?”

Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away, already feeling defensive and out of his element because he knew the answer was ‘no’. He may have worked through some things with his therapist, but he’d never be able to move on. Not really.

Your derisive snort set him off in an instant. Mocking. Spiteful, and Bucky’s eyes snapped back to you. Here he was, opening up a little, trying to make amends, doing the best he fucking could and you thought it was funny—

But then he saw the smile on your lips, and those bitter words caught in his throat. You were smiling a little, smiling at him – a genuine smile, full of tears and empathy and care.

Pretty girl. Broken just like him.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” you croaked, hastily rubbing fresh tears away with the heel of your hand. The flush that came over your face made his heart stutter in his chest; not only were you right, but you were embarrassed about it. Why?

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently, reaching up to pull your hand away. “Shit, I’m— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

His fault. Always.

You sniffled, small fingers lacing through larger vibranium like it was the most natural thing in the world. So small, so delicate, so god damned fragile—

A sob escaped you, followed by a choked, “I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m so sorry.”

Bucky.

Something broke inside of him, then, because his body reacted before his mind could catch up. Bucky let your hand go in favour of pulling you forward into his arms – cradled your cheek to his chest, and he soon discovered that you weren’t ice cold, not anymore. “You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry about.”

“But you— you keep helping me and I don’t deserve it, not after being so— so—”

He felt your shoulders shake with every sob, and his stomach twisted into knots.

“That doesn’t matter,” Bucky told you softly, stroking your hair. Hot tears soaked through his t-shirt – his fault, always his fault, but this time he pushed the blame away to focus solely on you. “Shh, I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

Fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, you buried your face in his chest and cried – a real, proper cry, ugly and uncontrollable, just like last night. Smeared makeup and mascara likely left stains, but neither of you cared. Not with him holding you so close.

Warm. So warm. So right.

“I— I don’t wanna die,” came your hushed voice, muffled by his warmth, barely audible. “I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he whispered into your hair. “We'll figure it out. Everything's gonna be okay.”

And for the first time, Bucky believed it, too.

(If you like my work, please consider donating to my Patreon or my Ko-Fi!)

Part Six

[justimagaine]

“Melancholy” Series Part 7 - Back to Square One / Chris Evans

 Part 1 - “Oh, fuck them” ; Part 2 - “I’m here” ; Part 3 - “Just Try” ; Part 4 - “I Support You” ; Part 5 - “I Need Help” ; Part 6 - “I Can’t”

  You ended up being one of those fools that believed going to a professional to talk about your problems was going to be it. It would do the trick, but that wasn’t the case. Your doctor prescribed you medications and you were terrified. But the want to get better had become so much stronger. She warned you about how it could happen, but she also couldn’t ell you how your body would react. And that was what scared you. Not knowing scared you. When you felt your dark days coming on you knew how it would happen. You knew how dark it could get, you knew you’d stay in a dark room, not eat, lock people out. You had been over this so many times before, so now when you were sitting with pills in your hands, about to embark on something so unknown, you were afraid.

  When she told you would have to take medication, a wave of shame came over you. Had you gotten so bad that this is what you need?  What will happen when you take them. This was yet another secret you had to keep from the world and people around you. It was one thing to go see a doctor to talk but it was a different thing to take pills with all that. Looking at those little things in the palm of your hand, pills that were meant to help you be good again, happy again, they made you sad and made you cry.

  “Why can’t I be normal?” you asked the empty room, searching for answers you won’t be getting. It was cruel to yourself to say that you weren’t normal, you were but that little devil voice in your head made you think you weren’t. So maybe if you took those people with time the voice will go away. That was your motivation to take them. You wanted to stop saying mean things to yourself, to stop saying you weren’t normal or good enough. So you stepped on this new life path and were proud you did so.

  It had been a few weeks since you started to take your medications and things seemed to be going good, with a few times of you feeling sick and being a bit more sleepy. The doctor reassured you that it all was normal and sometimes these things happened unless it was happening more and more. She told you to call if anything changed in your everyday life, if things started to happen to your body that never happened before. At first you didn’t think about being sick as a side effect because you felt like that a lot. Sometimes you’d forget to eat the whole day or other times you’d only eat dinner and it wouldn’t be the healthiest choices, so you’d end up feeling sick. You had to learn to tell apart what symptoms were caused by your lack of self love and care and which ones were caused by the medication you were taking.

  On your week 3 of taking medications Chris had to leave to Washington on business. He of course didn’t want to leave, knowing what you were going through, but you told him you’d be okay. Chris knew you were trying to be strong for his benefit. He kept saying he’d  do his best to speed things up so he could get back to be by your side, but you told him

  “You don’t have to do that Chris. You don’t need to rush your own work for me. I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but you have your own life too, go live it” you’d try to joke around with him, to let him see you’ll be just fine. Chris had spent so much time with you, it surprised you when you’d read or see that he’d given an interview or started to a new project. You couldn’t understand how this man could do so many things at the same time and succeed at all of them. 

  Things took a turn just as he left, at first you didn’t notice how much they had started to change. You had started to vomit, when you knew there was no reason for it. Slowly you’d  find yourself not sleeping, at all. Just staring at the dark ceiling and thinking. The first night that happened you didn’t pay much attention to it, wrote it down as being tired from work or anything else other then you medications. But it didn’t stop, it got worse. Everything seemed to exhaust you, no matter how much sleep you’d get or try to get. No matter how much coffee you’d drink or how long you’d lie down trying to regain the energy, something inside of you had jus simply given up. 

  You felt the downward spiral start to happen, and you knew you were getting bad again, but couldn’t do anything to stop it, you just wanted everything to stop. Without you even noticing you started to fake your days again, fake smiles, say you were fine when you weren’t. It all happened without you knowing, all those things had become such a big part of your everyday life you were used to it all. Chris wasn’t around to call you out on your lying and fake smiles. You’d talk to him over the phone and before you could even started to fake your joy and great days, Chris would be called to do some work and the call would end. And you were once again alone, in pain. You felt yourself become confused a lot of times, by the most simple things, but kept on fighting and moving forward.

  Chris had did his best to finish his work early. He wanted you to come over, so you two could catch up, watch a movie, have a nice night in. That’s what he said but that’s not why he wanted it. He wanted to see how you really were, he needed to see your eyes, see you walk, talk. Seeing all those things could really tell if you were doing good or not. While being away and calling you he’d feel that something was off. Even when he wasn’t talking to you, he’d get this sudden feeling that something wasn’t right with you, how he wished he could just quickly teleport to you, see how you were and then go back. In stressful moments like these people do tend to wish for the most supernatural things to be possible. You wished you could turn time to the point where you felt good: mentally and physically. But both of you had to wait and it seemed as if time had slowed down, when you had an end goal. Chris’s end goal came much faster then yours and so much easier. There you were talking to him, telling him about your work and what you and your therapist talked about. You’d ask him how he’s work was, it was a regular day where you two hang out. Chris being Chris watched you closely, noticing small things in you that had changed, you were different. He saw you had much darker circles under your eyes, you looked tired

  At first he didn’t say anything, but then he saw how your hands shook when you reached for your cup and even seemed you were in pain. You massaged your arm as you talked, Chris saw how you didn’t even pay attention to your arm, that clearly was in pain, it was just a normal thing for you

  “Are you in pain?” Chris interrupted you, he then pointed at your arm when you looked confused. 

  “oh, yeah, I guess I slept on it wrong” you said pulling your sleeve over your arm “well saying sleep is a stretch. Probably with all the twisting and turning I hurt myself” you told him with a smile, hoping he’d be fine with your answer.

  “You haven’t been sleeping?” he asked turning to you, with concern in his eyes.

  “Yeah, kind of” being honest with him was easy for you, but you felt like you should be lying to him, tell him you were fine, because making him sad upset you. Anger was something you had been feeling a lot for the last week. Everything seemed to upset you, most of the time you upset yourself. Every little small thing going wrong was all your fault. That's what you told yourself, you had gone back to blaming yourself for everything. Chris started to ask question after a question making you feel like you were on a trail and slowly loosing air in your lungs. Suddenly you jumped up and yelled

  “STOP! Stop with all the fucking questions.” you yelled at him, then walked around the room “I don’t know, I don’t know anything” you felt your chest start to hurt, palms started to sweat. You felt the world crashing down on you

  “Hey, hey”  you hear Chris say grabbing you by your shoulders then cheeks. You couldn’t see him, your vision had gone blurry “Look at me, look at me” Chris begged you 

  “I can’t” you said with tears running down your cheeks.

  “Focus on my voice” he said holding you by your cheeks, so your eyes would be aligned “breath sweetheart, breath. Come on do it with me” you did as Chris said. Breath in....breath out. He kept telling you everything will be okay and that you were doing great with your breathing. With every breath your vision started to focus and you soon were looking into his eyes. Eyes that were filled with tears “it’s okay. You’re okay” it was hard to tell if he was saying that to you or himself.

  “I’m so sorry” you dropped your head on his chest and Chris pulled you in closer. Held you letting you cry out any emotion that felt like coming out. The world had just crashed down on you and you didn’t even notice when it started to lean down on you. Sitting on the couch in his arms, crying, feeling so helpless, in pain. You were back to the same place you started, you were back on square one. What was the point in stating to do any of this if you end up where you started. None of it made sense to you. Chris knew that maybe he shouldn’t ask anymore questions, in fear to cause another panic attack, but he needed to know hoe long this had been going on. What else has been happening

  “How long have you been feeling like this? Panic attacks, pain, all the none sleeping?” he was upset that you hadn’t talked about it before, he thought you two were past this. Past keeping secrets like these inside, to the point of breaking.

  “I’m not sure” you sighed pushing yourself off Chris, sitting up and looking at the ground. You tried to think back but you couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment. “Some days I’d feel everything and other I’d feel nothing. I’m struggling finding a reason to even breath” you heard Chris sigh and suddenly you were back in the dream you had. Where Chris had enough of you and started to yell at you. Telling you were just too much and wasting time. Squeezing your eyes shut you waited for the yelling to come, for him to kick you out and be done with your sorry ass, but that never came. You felt Chris slip his warm hand in between your intertwined ones, and softly say

  “You need to tell you doctor about this. You medication is doing this to you. You’re strong and there are so many reasons to breath,” you looked at him, still trying to understand how you got so lucky to have such a understand person in your life. Someone who was there for you, when you didn’t want to be there for yourself “how about for now you breath for me. Breath because I can’t breath when your not breathing” he looked down at your hands “and remember it’s okay to have some fall backs, you just have to keep fighting, so please keep fighting, because as selfish as this sounds...” Chris looked back into your eyes, they were once again filled with tears and a bit more fear and sadness “I can not lose you., I will not lose you”  as a tear rolled down his left cheek you let go of his hand and hugged him. This time you were holding him

  “You won’t” his grip around your body got tighter, his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck. Comparing from all the other moment you and him shared when it came to your mental health, this was very different. It seemed more painful, more emotions and truthful. Chris was desperate to not lose you, to hold you as close as possible. He wanted you to know how much you meant to him, how much he need you in his life. To him it was selfish but not to you. Knowing and feeling that someone truly needed you, someone really feared of losing you. There had been people who’d tell you they don’t want to lose you, but this was so much different, so much more meaningful. Chris hadn’t said everything he wanted to tell you, but the way he talked, held your hands and held your body said a lot.

  Going back to your doctor you told her everything that was happening from feeling sick to feeling done with the world and ready to just end the never ending pain. She changed your medications and also told you to come now twice a week, that made you feel miserable. It felt as if you were starting over, from ground zero and were ashamed, she saw all of those emotions on your face

  “I want you to know something. Some days you’ll feel like you can move mountains and others you’ll feel as if you can’t move yourself out of bed. And it’s okay, it’s okay if you fall back sometimes. We’re learning what works for you, what will help you. All you need to do is sometimes kick back, relax and listen to your own body. It’s okay if we have to change the medication again, it just means we’re getting closer to find what works for you” her words calmed you down a bit, helped you breath. It really was okay, this wasn’t a failure, this was lesson on what not to do. This helped plan for the future. You just had to keep your head up. Now you knew what to prepare for, what could happen. Now you knew what to look for, how fast you should react. This was a lesson, painful but none the less a lesson “so, is there anything else you want to talk about? We have few more minutes” she asked looking at her clock. You thought for a moment then looked at her

  “I was just wondering. If these medications could also affect my feeling for a person. Make me feel something that maybe not be true?” you asked unsure if you were even explaining yourself correctly to her.

  “Feeling like anger?” shaking your head you slightly looked back at the door

  “Love” from the corner of your eyes you saw her smile and shake your head

  “No, those feeling you’ve had all along. Now maybe they’ve become stronger” she knew who you were talking about. She knew how Chris was there for you, how he help calm you down. What he told you. You wanted to ask her if you were in love, because with everything going on you were unsure what you were feeling. Thinking about love made you confused and a it stressed. You can’t deal with the most simple emotions of happy and sad, how are you supposed to deal with love.

  Right now all you needed to think about was finding your right medication, going to see your therapist, work on yourself. That was all you needed to focus on. 

—

Tag: @chris-butt​ ; @denisemarieangelina ; @jennmurawski13​ ; @chriscaprogers ; @raabrakha ; @captainchrisstan ;  @katiew1973​

[tiredcowpoke]

TITLE: Should Have Seen It From the Start PAIRING: Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader REQUEST: Anon requested an Arthur/fem!Reader where he tries to set her up with a “good man” in town and things don’t go as expected. BLURB: “Really, it was hard to hold his gaze as you spoke, dropping it away as you looked back off into the distance as you awaited his reaction. Though, you had to admit that the words had some weight to them, considering the light feeling that settled in your chest upon saying them.” WARNINGS: Some minor angst, mutual pining. Nothing too heavy. NOTE: I may not have set this up exactly to how the request was, as I don’t feel like Arthur’s the type to play matchmaker or force someone into a relationship, but I tried to keep a similar feeling behind the request. If that makes sense. Lmao Anyway, thank you for requesting and putting up with how slow I have been with these. This was also an uphill battle with writer’s block so I hope it doesn’t read too strongly of that.

This whole thing was just making you feel worse as the days went along, but this had come to a head.

Really, you felt like you should be enjoying the relatively peaceful stay in the area (at least, as peaceful as the gang could be) but this whole situation you found yourself in was souring the situation. It was hard to explain exactly how or why you decided to let it go to where it was. There had been a good amount of frustration, you had to admit, and...well, perhaps there was a touch of loneliness in there. How many times had you tried to clue him into how you were feeling? The number of times where it seemed like he had known but would then do something to toss that feeling out of the window? Seeing him with different people and wondering why it was never you?

You had argued with yourself several times about having to move on from it.

It was stupidly painful to deal with, and Daniel Lovette was probably one of the nicer men you had run into. If not the nicest, at least to you.

He was the son of the local fence, which gave you more than enough time to run into him when turning up with your (stolen) goods that wouldn’t do well in the general store. Considering the gang’s current plan of laying low, most of the money you did bring in was stolen jewelry and goods robbed from sleepy homesteads. The first few times, he had just given you a couple of nods and greetings when you would show up at his father’s still side business, which eventually led to a couple of conversations and...well, it seemed like he actually cared for your company these days. Returning to camp at that point was a different world. They were outlaws, you knew you would never quite fit in with the society that surrounded the gang. Still, it had been enough of a home for some time, but Arthur was always a bit of a source of frustration for you.

It had started slow, and you were somewhat used to him running a bit hot and cold. Sometimes it felt like you were as close as you knew the two of you were, then he would distance himself for some reason or another, before coming back around again. You got rather sick of the dance at points, but you hadn’t done much to put a stop to it. Hell, you had found yourself doing the same at points, almost as if you were following his lead.

During those points, you thought about maybe just saying something and getting it out in the open. That it could be dealt with instead of being this unspoken thing that you hoped would be mutual. You knew some of the women in camp had seen right through it and your dismissals. There had been some support in the beginning, but it wasn’t hard to see how they were growing frustrated with your refusal to address anything.

However, you knew you were scared. You knew Arthur enough to know he wouldn’t toss the admission back into your face, but...well, it could ruin things. The thoughts made you feel childish at points--you were both grown adults, you could handle talking truthfully. Yet, everything remained shut behind your teeth.

Yet, with all of that sitting on your conscious and Arthur switching back into his brand of cold shoulder (that it wasn’t one fully, you had noticed over time, but enough of one to get the message across) you had found yourself spending more time with Daniel.

However, it wasn’t hard to notice what he was looking for after a while. He wasn’t malicious or forceful about it, but there was a bit of hope in his eyes when you would give him more attention. At that point, you had started to wonder if it would be worth seeing where that went.

Which had felt like the beginning of the downward spiral of the situation.

Daniel knew who you were, what you did. He may not have been running his father’s business, but it wasn’t hard to figure out what with the fence seeing a number of people from different walks of life and he had been pretty intuitive in regards to what path you currently walked. The more you spent time with him, the more you thought about staying with him. He was understanding, too, having just gone through a rough courtship himself and it allowed you two to grow closer. Some of the gang members had seen the way you two interacted during the odd points where you were in town with someone (Daniel giving some subtly, thankfully.)

You should have expected word to get back to camp in some way, but people developing relationships out of it had happened in the past. Arthur was a prime example.

So it was damn confusing when Daniel had approached you one day at the fence, his tone curious yet his expression seemed somewhat troubled.

“This is gonna seem like an odd question, but do you got a brother or something?”

“Brother? No…”

“Well, I had been thinking along those lines because I just got cornered by someone who said he was lookin’ out for you.”

You had straightened up at that point. “What did he look like?”

“Ah, I dunno...taller than me somewhat, tan leather jacket, black hat.”

That had caused your stomach to clench, hands balling into fists. Oh, you had a good idea of who Daniel was talking about, you just didn’t want to believe it. Was that supposed to be some sweet gesture on Arthur’s part? All it did was make your blood boil somewhat.

“Don’t worry about him,” you had said after a moment, “I’ll deal with him.”

It was easier said than done, considering how Arthur had seemed to go right on the defensive about it. There had been some arguing back and forth about what you thought you were doing. (You really wished you had a solid answer to that at the time, but you had brushed it off easily enough.) How Arthur didn’t fully trust the guy, that you were putting the gang at risk by getting involved with someone outside of it. That it would cost them the peace they had found at the moment.

The last comment had made you scoff, your mouth somewhat parted in disbelieve.

“Oh, you’ve had no issue doing so yourself!” you had snapped, “I didn’t get involved once in your relationships but suddenly it’s fine when it’s mine? I am just supposed to watch you do the same and just stay miserable?”

The last question had been a bit of a slip up on your part, but it had been enough to keep Arthur from retorting as a somewhat confused look crossed his face. However, you had just pressed your lips into a thin line before turning and walking back off into camp. You had been expecting him to call after you with how quick he had been to jump into an argument when Daniel had been mentioned, but he had stayed away from you that evening and, for once, you hadn’t minded.

Things had seemed to subside after that, Arthur almost stepping right out of your business and getting caught up in the gang’s. It was a bit of a relief, honestly, giving you some time to figure this thing out. Yet, things didn’t quite seem to feel like they fit. Daniel was a sweet man, but something was keeping you back. It felt like it was gnawing at the back of your mind, leaving you taking steps back for each Daniel tried to take forward. It wasn’t hard to see where he wanted things to go, and...well, you had stuck up for the idea of that, hadn’t you?

Really, the more you thought about it, the more you realized it was the hypocrisy of it all that had you more angry than some attempt to block an opportunity.

The whole situation twisted and sat heavily in your gut as guilt made its way to the forefront of your mind.

You had to admit to yourself, and more importantly Daniel, that there wasn’t there. If it were the feelings you had for Arthur that lingered just out of reach with how far you had shoved them down, or if Daniel just wasn’t the right person, you weren’t sure.

However, it wasn’t right.

The memory of you telling him so still sat heavily on your mind as you sat on the top of your horse, riding rather slowly back toward camp as you could feel a tightness in your throat and in your chest. Daniel had taken it well for the most part, and you knew it could have gone worse if you had forced anything on your part, yet something he had said was lingering on your mind.

“If it’s because of that gang of yours, and I don’t know if it’ll make any difference, but that guy that threatened me before had come back to apologize about it and...guess he wished us luck? I mean, he looked conflicted about it, but I kind of expected that given the aggression before, but…”

You had been quick to assure him that it wasn’t because you were worried about what others thought, but rather something you weren’t feeling. Yet, his words kept circling in a way Daniel likely didn’t intend. Really, it felt like you were suffocating with the heat of the area and the way your mind seemed to be turning things over. A part of you felt like you were shooting yourself in the foot with a chance to get over this thing with Arthur, yet a more certain and louder part silenced that with the fact that you didn’t feel anything really there. You knew he would make someone very happy one day, but that person wasn’t going to be you.

Now it was just the strange feeling that had cropped up at what Arthur had supposedly told him.

Really, you just...needed to tell him.

Even if it went nowhere or you had been reading this whole thing wrong, it would at least allow you to close the book instead of leaving it open to glance back at whenever you thought about courting someone.

The day was starting to bleed into late afternoon by the time you had arrived back at camp, your mind a jumbled mess but you were certain of the goal you had in mind. You hitched your horse and glanced around the area, the camp lively with the usual amount of activity for that time of day. However, you noticed Arthur was, thankfully, writing in his journal under the canvas of his wagon. The sight of it put a nervous twist to your gut, causing you to pause somewhat in your approach.

Damn it, c’mon, a voice in the back of your mind hissed. It had you continuing to move as you decided to shove the feeling down for now.

Arthur glanced up at your approach, resting his pencil against the page as you came to a stop just under the canvas.

“We need to talk,” you stated, the words pulling a somewhat tense expression from him as he shut his journal.

“‘Bout what?” he asked as you crossed your arms, glancing down toward the ground.

“Some things I have been thinking about, I guess,” you replied, glancing back up at him, “About Daniel and...you.”

“Me? What’s that got to do with me?”

“It’s...it’s not something I want to talk about here. Come for a walk with me, will you?”

“Guess I got no choice…” Arthur muttered as he tucked his journal into his satchel, rising from his cot as you turned to walk toward the edge of camp.

The area was dry and hot, camp settling in a place that at least offered some form of shade from the trees but it wasn’t too much. So, you had wandered far enough out until you found a rock near a tree, far enough away from prying eyes and the heat wouldn’t stifle you any further. Really, you just wanted to spit it out but...well, you wanted to handle it better. Get some read on the situation from him before you took any sort of leap.

“You gonna tell me what’s gotten into you?” Arthur asked once you had stopped walking, causing you to raise an eyebrow toward him.

“Me? I’m not the one watching after your relationships.”

“...That man can’t keep a damn conversation to himself, can he?”

“Not when it’s about me, apparently.”

He shifted a little closer to you, stepping under the shade of the tree as you looked out at the area around you both.

“How’s that goin’, anyway?”

You let out a small scoff at the question, but the touch of amusement didn’t stay as you glanced over at him before shrugging.

“It’s not going anywhere,” you replied, leaning back against the tree truck as you crossed your arms, “He fancies me, but...guess I’m not all that interested in him. Where romance is concerned, at least.”

“So all them dramatics, they were for nothin’?”

“No, it got you to wise up,” you returned, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, “I had also been hoping that something would come out of it so I could...well.”

“I still ain’t so sure how this involves me,” Arthur said as you let out a steadying sigh.

“Why’d you bother?” you asked, “Getting involved like you did. I know you said you didn’t trust the guy, but have you been doing what you did for the other people in camp?”

“I saw you two in town once,” he replied, letting out a sigh, “Guess I just...didn’t like the look of him, wanted to see what he was ‘bout.”

“He’s a good guy,” you assured, “Just...too good for me, I suppose.”

“That ain’t true, you’re one of the better ones out of us here,” Arthur stated, causing your heart to thump hard in your chest as you pressed your lips together before letting out a small chuckle.

“No offense, but that’s in comparison to the company I keep.”

“Sure, but...I dunno.”

“I told him I couldn’t do what he was hoping from me,” you replied, shifting as you glanced toward him, “Would’ve been nice, but...I think I’m still caught up in something.”

“Caught up?”

“Arthur…” you started, letting out another breath. It was now or never. “When it comes to things like that, I feel like I’m running into a wall because...I have feelings for you. I have for a...long time.”

Really, it was hard to hold his gaze as you spoke, dropping it away as you looked back off into the distance as you awaited his reaction. Though, you had to admit that the words had some weight to them, considering the light feeling that settled in your chest upon saying them.

You had been frustrated about carrying it around for so long, the feelings, the thoughts, even the odd dream. A part of you weren’t sure how long ago they had started, perhaps when you were younger even, but...well, things were complicated. You had legitimately thought it wouldn’t happen at points for reasons outside of the courage to admit to it.

“Me?” he asked after a moment, causing you to finally look back at him, “You’re tellin’ me this Daniel’s too good for you, but I’m sayin’ you’re too good for the likes of me.”

“Well, I can return your argument against my own thoughts about that,” you said, “If you’re going to try to talk me out of these feelings I’ve been carrying for years over just telling me you don’t return them, I wish you would do that instead.”

There was another pause as you let your response linger between the two of you, your heart hammering away in your chest now as you just hoped he would give you some sort of answer. At that point, you didn’t care what it was outside of it being some sort of answer to an unsaid question that had been sitting for quite some time.

Do you feel anything for me?

“I ain’t a jealous man, but...part of me was scared at the idea of you leavin’. I knew that much, but the idea that it was for someone who...well, I can’t lie and say I ain’t had somethin’ for you for a while too, but...I always thought you could do better than me. You can do better than me.”

“You could let me decide that for myself…” you returned, shifting so that you weren’t leaning against the tree, standing before him with that damn fluttering in your chest and stomach.

Arthur didn’t say anything in return, meeting your gaze with more intensity than he had been giving you throughout the conversation. There was a part of you that feared you might be reading the situation wrong, that taking a step toward him was the wrong move, but with the pause and the flicker of his gaze about your face, you found yourself chancing it. You reached a hand up and cupped his cheek, feeling the light prickle of his stubble that was growing out somewhat these days, Arthur accepting the touch after a moment.

You leaned up and pressed your mouth against his in a light kiss, ready to pull back if things didn’t seem right, but you felt his arms wrapping around your back. He pressed you against him as you pressed a more firm kiss against his lips, slipping your hands up into his hair and around his neck, Arthur pressing back into the kiss as you did so. Your mind seemed to relax for a few moments, taking in the feeling of his lips against yours and his hold.

Though, eventually, you found yourself pulling back somewhat as the need for air seemed to press into the forefront of your mind. However, Arthur didn’t release his hold, and you didn’t back all that far away from him as you pressed your forehead against his own.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for...longer than I care to admit,” you muttered, letting out a soft chuckle as you saw a small grin pull at Arthur’s lips.

“...Me, too,” he returned, your gaze meeting his own in the closed-in space between you, “I’m sorry I’ve been actin’ a fool, I just…”

“You’re not the only one,” you replied, shifting your hands down to rest on his shoulders, “I should have been more honest with you and myself.”

Arthur let out a small sound in the back of his throat, not much in agreement but you didn’t pick up much disagreement from it. However, you didn’t read too much into it, not knowing where his head was at most of the time, but you were glad you got to know this.

Looking into his eyes, and knowing very well it would be a fun time to address this with camp after everything, you couldn’t find yourself regretting the choice to finally say the words.

[lemonietrinket]

Muse’s Memories ||| Jae x Reader

Summary: You believe you have a crush on YoungK, Jae has a mega-crush on you. Moping ensues. Genre: Angst, humour, some fluff, happy ending Warning(s): Jae is melancholic and melodramatic, but that’s it Word Count: 2334 i lost 2k words are you kidding m-- Song(s): Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex AN: sorry it took a bit of time anon, i wrote a big chunk of it and then scrapped it entirely and started again, and then lost all of it to my laptop shutting down.  its been a long time coming so i hope it was worth the wait :((

~~~

The guitar strings were rough at Jae’s fingertips. They dug deep like thin strips of wrought iron, scraping at the skin as he ran them across the board, waiting for them to inspire him. Pressing his fingers by the frets hard enough to dent, he had been perched upon his stool, acoustic guitar in his embrace, for well over an hour.

A numb sigh fell from his lips and he curled in on himself, forehead knocking against the varnished body as his arm fell emptily away. His breath came out staggered, and at the first sign of the crumple of his lips, he straightened his back and stared into the bushes right outside the practice room window.

“I think I have a crush on Younghyun,” you had mused to him one afternoon, between sips of coffee and the chatter of the room. It had been at the beginning of term, when the sun was tinged with frost in the early mornings, sat inside the small milkshake place you always visited before your Wednesday classes, just the two of you. He avoided the place now whenever he could.

Despite the long weeks that had passed since then, the words caught up with him in the moments of silence, when he could hear how it was banished for others. Now, the suffocating quiet twisted at his throat, whilst next door came the sounds of cheers—friends discussing dream projects and futures they believed in, a young singer coming to the end of her solo practice to be received with astounded compliments from those at her side.

Hand heavy, he moved once again to strum a chord, to banish the silence and relieve himself of the thoughts that intruded. His fingers rose, then fell, and no sound followed. His fist hung lifeless at the guitar’s side.

The truth was, Jae he hadn’t gotten over you. Far from it.  Not when his roommate told him, not when he heard it from your very lips himself. Because there was no escaping it. No matter where he went, there were reminders of you. In the street corner player’s melody, in the loud stereo of the passing cars. When he tried to spend more time apart from the two of you, it was as if you were following him, and the only explanation he could procure was that you were waiting for Younghyun every time. If he was with him, then lo and behold there you were too. If it was just supposed to be you and Jae, he would arrive and find an extra chair already pulled up. It was as if the world wanted to rub salt in the wound.

And so there was no way for his eyes not to catch how whenever Younghyun turned up you smiled, how whenever he added a comment to his joke you laughed, just as freely as you did with him. Even though you confided in everything with him, he could only ever think of how much it must have paled in comparison to how Younghyun must make you feel. Of all the people you would have a crush on, it had to be his second best friend.

But you were his first, and so he sucked it up. He answered all the questions you wanted to know about him, gave the best advice he could, all the encouragement he could muster. It was the right thing to do after all, and he supposed that if he could’t make you happy, then at least the person he would next suggest would be able to instead.  

“He doesn’t like this place.”

“What? So what does he like then?”

“Bars, restaurants. Fancy ones, you know the sort. The old-timer lounge at the very top of the mall?” 

He couldn’t forget how your voice lilted into incredulous snickers. “What poor taste he has.”

“He’s more of a classic romantic,” Jae had defended, words flowing despite the cuts they seemed to embed in his tongue, “he’ll treat you well, Y/N.”

“You’re talking as if he’s already asked me out.”

He might as well have done.

Jae rubbed his temples roughly, wishing the ache would dissipate alongside the memories seemingly tacked to it. That was when the guitar slipped down his thighs, and disconnected from his body, he rushed to catch it. The wood felt too big in his hands, the edge pressing hard against the lines of his skin, but his mind was too busy caught up elsewhere to care. 

His finger had caught the E string, sending a quiet hum through the practice room, and straight to his heart. The weight lifted from his palms in that moment, as the image of you lifted the instrument into your lap. He could almost see you before him, sat upon the stool that he couldn’t remember pulling up, across from his knees. 

You were perched clear as day, clutching at his guitar. It was too big for you, your arm too short to embrace the wooden body snugly, and your grip was all wrong, pressing the frets too lightly and leaving the strings to squeak, but you didn’t care one bit. You were aglow; your grin was bright, your humming effortless, while your fingertips traced along the strings, as if greeting an old friend. You knew nothing of course, and it showed as you played around with the notes you could find from the stickers upon the fretboard. 

Your eyes had been alight in a playful awe at the sounds you made with literally no knowledge at all. It had been so similar yet so different to the amazement that you had given Younghyun when he mentioned he played the bass. 

Jae couldn’t help but wonder just how happy you would look strumming at the bass guitar. It was indulgent to a downward spiral but he couldn’t help it—the two pictures were barely separable anymore. Knowing his friend, he was so much more confident than he was. He would correct your grip, gently rest his chest to your back and raise his fingers to meet yours, gently entwine them so he could teach you how to strum, until you were truly making music, together...

It stung. Just like it did every other time he pictured it. Because he’d had some many more opportunities to do the same with you, but he hadn’t taken them. Just as he’d had all that time to confess, but didn’t. Whenever you asked if he was interested in anyone, he shrugged it off, biting in his nerves as best he could to change the subject. Just like how he did nothing but watch you play, with a stupid smile on his face, laughing when you did at the flat twang of an E string.

The guitar fell heavy in his palms once again, and he was reminded of the song left half finished that you had inspired. He’d started it in an effort to capture the memory, capture the sounds, to remove them from his head but to keep them safe. So he could reach a state of peace. But it hadn’t worked, and you stayed with him. It should have been no surprise really—how could he write about his muse to escape the problems that the muse had unfortunately caused.  It was as if the world was stopping him for some reason, one that he couldn’t discern, and so he was left at a loss for what to do. 

At that moment, the light of the room dimmed. 

Bringing his eyes back into focus from where they had sat staring unintelligibly at the wall, he blinked against the discomfort to find a silhouette in the window. Their head was low by the pane, curbed by no hood as their hand waved behind the specks of water upon the glass. You.

Barely comprehending what he was seeing, and still uneasily not trusting his senses much at all going by how out of reality he had been just moments before, his body moved surprisingly quickly of its own volition. Propping up his guitar at the side of the stool opposite, he ambled over to the window. 

With your hair wrung and bejewelled with droplets of rain, cheeks mottled with blush from the wind and a small and sweet smile upon your lips, he would have been at a loss for words for sure if he hadn’t been already. Nevertheless, he was beginning to ease back into the swing of reality, when your mouth parted in a way he was all too familiar with. Even though he couldn’t hear you, he knew you were calling his name.

Yanking the window open as far as it would go, he remained silent as the wind pierced through the open gap, pluming into the tepid warmth of the room behind.

“Hi, Jae,” you greeted. Your voice was unusually quiet, mottled by the rain, but regardless was music to his ears. 

“Y-Y/N, hey,” he cleared his throat, hoping you weren’t paying too much attention to how dry he sounded, “what are you doing out here, it’s cold, you should come inside—”

“You know I can’t open that old door,” you chuckled, eyes glancing off to where the entrance to the music block vaguely sat. “Anyway, I’m fine, don’t worry.”

He knew he should have pressed the matter further, but between the murk of his swirling thoughts, he could barely comprehend a thing, and so ended up running with the first piece of clarity they choked up. And this of course, true to character, came in the form of a memory. 

Peering at your empty fingers, tucked beneath the sleeves of an old jacket too thin to protect you from the weather, he began, “Hey... why aren’t you with Younghyun? Where are the flowers...? Like... you said, you were going to give him those flowers... to... turn the tables...”

The words poured off his tongue and he couldn’t stop them no matter how much he wished he could. However, what struck him more confused was the reaction that followed.

“I binned them.”

“What?!” he’d exclaimed, senses returning to his fingers in the face of the cold.

“I binned them,” you reiterated, “because the guy I should really give them to doesn’t like them.”

“But... Younghyun likes roses! I’m sure of it! And... and I’m sure he wouldn’t have an issue with receiving them for a change. Like, it would be—”

Your eyes failed to meet his, and instead appeared much more entranced with the way the rain spilled off the leaves of the bushes by your legs. You sighed, in preparation to take a deep breath, before answering, “He doesn’t like them because... one, allergies. And two, allergies.”

Jae’s head was a mess and with a strange sensation of pins and needles slowly spiralling up his hands that were pressed into the windowsill ledge, he ended up not responding, in an effort to finally decipher what had just unravelled before him.

Readjusting your fingers beneath your sweater paws, after the moments of silence, you drew your head up at last cautiously, dreading what you would find. It turned out that you had no reason to worry. The poor victim of your mistake was stood dumbfounded and dead still, plush lips agape while his dark eyes blinked rapidly at you,in the face of confusion and the wind. Had this been a more lighthearted matter you would have called him cute. 

You explained, in an attempt to help him to process the information before him. “I’m sorry I’m such an idiot, Jae,” you said, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you watched the light frown trickle onto his features, “I... I pavlov-ed myself. Please forgive me.” 

Still, he remained quiet the realisation sinking in. He had been wrong, so painstakingly, utterly wrong, and he was beginning to notice he didn’t care a single bit.

“I got my feelings mixed up and... well I was always happy around Younghyun, and always felt excited to see him so I just... figured it was him that made me excited,” you continued, “not that... I was actually excited to see you, and that he was usually a precursor to you... uh...”

Everything clicked into place for Jae, and with his reactions seemingly on a delay, he finally spoke up. “You... pavlov-ed... yourself?”

Meeting his gaze at last, you offered him a nervous and guilt-ridden smile. “Yeah.”

The wind whistled through the window, as the rain eased for a few seconds. And then came the burst of laughter. 

It began slow. First, the corners of his lips twitched, and subsequently upturned. A small disjointed flow of giggles followed, next chuckles, until, finally, Jae cackled.

The two of you erupted into sheer guffawing at the state the two of you had been in. Jae shoulder’s relaxed as he leant away from the window, while the cold seemed to leave your bones. You wiped at your eyes, whether it was rain that was clouding them or tears of happiness or relief you had no way of knowing. Instead you relished in the moment, and the sight of your actual crush in fits of laughter. He was too cute after all. Jae meanwhile couldn’t believe his ears, nor just how quickly the melancholy left his system. 

Some would argue that he should have been more annoyed, but there was no way that he could have been. Not at you, his muse. Besides, he had to take partial blame, all that distancing from you after picking his narrative and choosing to only listen to evidence that agreed with it left him appearing vacant and disinterested.

Still, it wasn’t like he would let you forget this, in all playful tones of teasing. This was in fact, a memory worth keeping.  As long as he forgot the moping that came before it, which he was sure he would be able to do. 

“Jae can I come inside now, it’s getting real cold out here.”

“Oh, yeah, of course, uh—sorry, hang on—”

~~~

an: i hate how melodramatic this is. and i dont like the ending, but having the fluffy kiss thing doesnt really fit the vibe imo. even though i hoped it would. i will give yall a window kiss thing at some point i promise. maybe the san x reader royalty au oooh now thats an idea

Masterlist

[radley-walsh]

PANIC 01. THE JUMP

tagging → @walsh-miles , @braxton-walsh, @serena-stein , @agnescohen

location → 4th of july, dead man’s quarry

notes → MCU, radley is waiting for his call

In this game there were those with everything to lose or those of them like Radley who had nothing left to lose. In the last few months they had lost their home, some of their jobs, and even that strong familial pride that had kept them so strongly bonded together all these years. And had been the defining factor behind why their friend group had become their second family. Without any of that, what was to become of the Walsh family?

Miles and Agnes jumping hadn’t been what any of them expected. Pretty obvious by the expressions on the faces of his friends, their loud protests met with silence when they realized what was going on, as Miles ran up to jump. And how without a moment to spare Agnes had entered and jumped, right on his tail. It frustrated Radley, having heard from his Miles himself that he wouldn’t jump and changing his mind felt all too much like a child throwing a temper tantrum. He could only watch as he prepared for his own jump, silently trying to make sense of everything. How had they gotten to this point?

The development of the SoWood project hadn’t felt like much of a threat to them. Even when families and small business they had grown up with had slowly started getting pushed out of town Radley hadn’t really believed that they would be affected. That was the thing about the Walsh parents, they were hard workers and always so damn optimistic despite their constant financial and socioeconomical struggles, that they instilled the idea to their children that if they worked hard enough they could make it through any rough patch. 

So when despite the fact that the boys took up multiple jobs to help pitch in with the rent and other bills that kept increasing by the month, despite giving their everything to make sure they didn’t lose life as they knew it, they lost their family home....it was like everything Radley had grown up believing was a total lie. And he knew that it hadn’t just affected him. Miles, had basically run off and left their family behind, unable to deal with the situation they had found themselves in and seemingly angry that their parents still tried to act normal despite their shitty circumstances. And Braxton, he seemed to be off in his own bubble, Radley assumed trying to make the best of it by distracting himself with other matters. Honestly, Radley wasn’t totally sure, he stopped keeping up with him a while ago. His resentment towards his older brother having reached it’s breaking point long before they had lost their home. The fact was that all of them had given up in a way. 

And yet here they all were at the quarry, fighting for the same prize. But were they all even fighting for the same reason anymore? With so much more distance between the brothers it almost felt like they were strangers, like Radley didn’t even know them anymore. An idea that was only further cemented when Miles had last messaged him, upset about the plan that Serena and Agnes had carried out behind their backs. The fact that Miles believed Radley had prior knowledge to it long before he did, or that he could think Radley would go forward with it without making sure that Miles knew was worse than any of the punches the jocks had thrown at him back in high school. And maybe he wouldn’t have told him, considering the fact that lately talk of anything too serious seemed to send him into a downward spiral. Maybe part of him didn’t think his brother could handle another let down. Maybe he was becoming slightly closed off because his brothers had let him down, and left him to fend for himself, one too many times. Fact of the matter was that there wasn’t enough communication there anymore. And because of that there was a serious lack of trust. Their crew was falling apart.

That was what Radley was fighting for. He was fighting for the cash obviously to give to his parents, so they could find another safe haven for their family, but a small part of him hoped that this could also be the thing to fix all of cracks in their relationships. 

He walked up the cliff with the determination of all the action heroes he had admired from his favorite movies growing up. Ready to take on the world. Not just for himself but for his family and friends. When he was instructed to say his name, he held his head high and shouted from the top of his lungs. “Radley Walsh! Don’t forget the name!”

And he jumped. Determined to win.