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qtipcottonbuds · 2 years ago

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𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗞𝗧𝗢𝗕𝗘𝗥 '𝟭𝟲 ; 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗦𝗨𝗡 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗢𝗢𝗡 [CNC + STUCK IN WALL]

a little gift for @lovinglyselfish thank u so much for this idea, you absolute genius my bro <333333 this is technically a prelude to one of the other upcoming kinktober entries yes yes, i will also link it here also mayb this wwas too long oh hoo boy anyhoo I FINALLY DID IT. Am I embarrassed yes. But it's 2 in da morning. Whatevs

warnings ;; CNC, dubcon, (this is a roleplay), robophilia, robotfucking, possible mild language, stuck in wall, fingering, oral sex, fear play, worker!reader, reader is scared of the dark too, cumflation, excessive cum, hinting at a glory hole situation, uhhhh oh yes dacryphilia, i think thats it for now ??, also praise kink and petnames etc

by qtipcottonbuds 2022. do not repost.

𝗣𝗢𝗟𝗬!𝗦𝗨𝗡+𝗠𝗢𝗢𝗡 𝗫 𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥;

Of course, it naturally seems to be that when it’s allegedly ‘too late’ most realisations come to light, or rather stab you in the back. A double-edged sword. You’d opted to take on the graveyard shifts, swapping them for the daytime shifts you’d originally been scheduled to work on - it wasn’t anything to bring home about. Aside from the lecture given to you by one of the higher-ups that even when working after-hours on a day shift, it wouldn’t contribute towards after-hours pay. If anything, the supposed after-hours payment was a complete scam for the newer workers in the Complex.

An easy way to get more done with less hassle. What a load of shit. Sure enough, working the graveyard shifts allowed you a higher pay raise - and God knew you needed it - the original payment from the prior shift you were on barely covered insurance for questionable injuries.

Worn out, you unintentionally allow yourself to be caught off guard by the overwhelming bright lights occupying the Daycare Centre, almost blinding. In any other case, you’d be more aware, noting not to look up when easing yourself off the padding flooring - but it was late. Probably past midnight. You weren’t exactly used to these shifts. This being the first one of many more yet to come. You liked to think you’d get used to it - at some point, practice made perfect, regardless.

You did have to admit, the new working hours weren’t all bad, if you had room for some honesty. The animatronics, you had yet the pleasure of meeting, both offered some form of company at least. Being both alone, and in the dark, was something you could never bring yourself to get accustomed to. You’d suspected it was nothing more than a childhood fear, something to grow out of as you grew older, but it stuck firmly. If anything, it grew more intense; the fear of the unknown. The feeling of something being there. Maybe you didn’t have to see it, catch a glimpse of something moving about, away from your line of sight. But, it was the feeling of knowing something could be there. The feeling of feeling something there.

Wiping down and disinfecting the toys, no doubt having been touched or better yet, coated in substances you’d prefer not to think about (especially in the production of how they came to be, exiting a child’s body) you finish up, finally, squirting the disinfectant spray for one last time onto the scrub. A small touch up over the surface of the front desk.

Setting them down, you sigh. The term graveyard shift, wasn’t exactly an understatement when you thought about it. Your body ached. In more places you considered plausible. Yet, the quicker you got the job done, the easier it would be to head home and sleep for at least the next century. You could at least offer yourself a small break, you muse.

As you prepare to gather your belongings from underneath the main desk within the Center, you pause, catching on to the shade of an obscenely pink plastic ball from the ballpit, just near the entrance of The Cove. It wasn’t that you had any personal vengeance against the colour pink, or any of the selected colours within the Daycare Center (being nothing more than visual simulation for the little ones). It was more that they weren’t exactly gentle on the eyes. Close enough to migraine inducing from the vibrancy. No doubt some of the little children throughout the day had brought them in there. The entrance, near enough to a perfect circle, was just wide enough to crawl through. But, it was dark. Too dark. The soft fairy lights used for decoration had been turned off a few hours ago. Something about saving electricity - a fair enough point.

You contemplate for a short while, exhaling loudly. It wouldn’t hurt putting a few more plastic balls away - there were roughly around 10 to around 20 of them at the most, nothing too heavy. But, it was dark. It wasn’t the most appealing of situations, regardless of how small the hideaway was. There was no source of light occupying The Cove, aside from the overhead lighting cutting through the entry point partially.

Nibbling on the inside of the cheek, you shift your weight from side to side.

Quickly striding over (fear fueling your confidence more than anything), you kneel down, leaning into the circular crevice. You’d prefer not to spend any time in that area longer than you needed to. Five minutes at most if you jogged back to the main desk. Mindful of your shoulders bumping into the plush material, you reach in further, blindly palming around until the cool plastic connects with your hand. Latching on to it, you continue the process, taking out one ball at a time, steadying yourself. Nearly done. Squinting, you note there’s one ball further in than the rest, just about illuminated by the light seeping in.

You could just leave it there. No one would truly notice, most likely until at least the next morning. Yet, you knew, begrudgingly, that even if you had proceeded with leaving it there, you couldn’t risk any mistakes. Not at least on your first night on a new shift - what would that say about you? You needed the pay - you couldn’t risk the possibility of having your check being docked over something so trivial.

You tap your hands along the smooth material of the entrance, debating.

“Just one more, that’s all. Then you can rest.”

Exhaling deeply, you lean in for a final time, stretching further in. The entrance walls dig uncomfortably into either side of your ribs, hiking up your work shirt. Abruptly, you find your weight leaning more onto your upper half, leaving you unbalanced - much quicker than you’d anticipated.

Attempting to pull yourself back with the guidance of the entry point, you find yourself tilting further, having to support yourself reflexively, hands planted firmly on the cushy material - the plastic ball rolling farther in, engulfed entirely in the darkness.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

You try to breathe through your nose calmly. In. Out. In and out.

This was no biggie; you’d just overestimated yourself, that’s all. There wasn’t exactly much to the hideout (according to what you were told), mainly occupied by plushies of varying sizes. Nothing more than a safe space. Without the lights on. The majority of the light had now been overshadowed by your shoulders and head, only just filtering through the sides of your neck. Sweat begins to collect in the middle of your hands, hot and balmy, and you opt for shifting your weight onto your knees, internalising thanking the management who gave the green light for the padding flooring; the plausibility of being stuck here longer than you believed, becoming a real possibility.

Pushing backwards, with more urgency this time, you allow your shoes to dig into the flooring, giving some leeway for space as you attempt to twist out of the small hole - you shoulders hunching up together uncomfortably, elbows unable to move, limited by the only space they’d been occupying prior.

Who exactly would still be here? As far as you knew, you were the only one on the said shift, on the said ground floor of the Complex. If anyone else was working this late, they’d at least be working within another sector of the building entirely. The only chance of another hired employee stumbling across you would be nothing more than a coincidence, and that was excluding the possibility of them not even being able to hear you behind the double-glazed glass.

Vanessa; she’d normally finish up around a quarter to midnight, after doing a patrol, both on the security cameras and on foot - and it was already well past the time you’d arrived here initially. Rolling your wrists, allowing a brief break from the strain, you conclude that the only real nearby available help, at the very least, were the animatronics themselves. Either one of the two - Sun or Moon.

Sun, he was somewhat unnerving, his looming presence of being at least over 8ft tall did initially startle you. And was during the daytime shifts. Although he was mainly jovial, a natural part of his coding system - he was eager to please, eager to learn. Sweet in personality, overall. Moon, on the other hand - your constant fear of the dark did nothing to truly help your possible future interactions with him. You’d only briefly encountered him once, hiding away in the shadows on the ceiling, suspended by wires and bolts. He seemed nice (you hoped at least), you had no real reason to make any judgement but - he was absolutely fucking terrifying in the dark.

Sucking up your pride (the urge to remain quiet and pretend you’d never even involved yourself in such a stupid situation for a first time shift), you weakly call out, almost sheepish.

“Is, uh, is anyone back there? Hello?” Panic begins to creep into your voice, growing louder in volume. You were becoming increasingly aware of time, knowing that at every even hour, the power breakers would switch off. “Hello? If anyone can hear me, at least, could you help me, please? Hello?”

Nothing. Fuckfuckfuck.

You were okay, you were going to be okay - this was nothing more than a slight blip, a hold up.

Yet, the passing of time, from where you’d started your shift and had gotten stuck, had begun to bleed into one. Every so often, your eyes would drift, just about on the cusp of sleep. You were okay. It was just dark, nothing more, nothing less. The shadows in the corners luckily left nothing to the imagination, engulfing the majority of the given space into one black mass.

Blinking, you hear the faint whirring of fans and the heavy padding of feet somewhere within the Center. It’s dull, repetitive, a sleep-addled brain unsure of whereabouts it was coming from entirely - but you opt, albeit sleepily, to call out once more.

“Hello?” It’s slurred, weak. “Is… that you, Sun? M’stuck. I don’t… I can’t get out. Could, could you help me, please?”

“Ah! Hello! You’re the pretty new assistant, aren’t you, sunshine? Of course I can help you, silly! Sillysillysilly. It’s what I’m here for.”

Cylindrical fingers, soft and padded, tentatively grasp around your waist. And yet, it’s only until Sun allows his palms to rest on your hips, you acknowledge just how large his hands truly are. Dear God. Each of his fingertips meet across your lower stomach, thumbs kneading your lower back reassuringly - palms large enough to encompass your stomach entirely.

You were finally going to get out. To go home, brush off the simple mistake and get a much needed sleep.

In spite of the short relief at the thought of being freed, Sun’s fingers skim over the bottom of your work shirt, flicking up the fabric, curiously. His fingers, although coated in a plushy silicone material (for the benefit of preventing accidents), are cool to the touch, not too warm, but not too uncomfortable either to squirm away.

Still, the animatronic had still made no inclination to pull you out as of yet.

It could be that he was just surveying the situation, that’s all. Looking for the easiest way to pull you out without allowing you to be harmed, is what you tell yourself silently.

Sun’s hands still linger. They trail lower and lower, curling around the belt hoops of your slacks, tugging at the fabric.

“Suh- Sun? Is everything okay back there? You… You haven’t pulled me out yet?” The longer the silence draws out in response to your question, the more the growing unease settles heavily in your stomach.

Why hadn’t he pulled you out yet?

“You’re so soft, fragile. Plush - compared to me. Sososososo small! Little thing. Pretty sweet thing. All for me.”

“What?”

“Tiny and pretty, so small in my hands. Well-behaved.”

“Sun, I’d like for you to get me out now… Please? If that’s alright? I need to get home-” You’re more alert now. You don’t like the dark.

He hushes you softly, accompanied by the humming of his sun rays most likely rotating, “Shh. None of that now, sunshine. We don’t talk in our outdoor voices, do we? No; nononono we don’t. That’s naughty. Indoor voices only. Only.”

It’s phrased as a command, rather than as a question - with no room for argument.

Panicking, noticing his presence more closer to you than you anticipated, you struggle in his hold, legs kicking and thrashing about. You needed to leave. Get out of whatever this fucking was. You wanted to go home.

A palm jolts away from your waist, firmly encasing your ankle.

“Sunshine.” You halt in your movements, his voice taking on a deeper tone, breaking with static. “That, that, wasn’t very nice. Was it?”

A meek ‘no’ slips out before you could stop yourself. You couldn’t see - at all. To some extent, you were grateful for it, not being able to see the permanent drawn up smile positioned from cheek to cheek behind you, milky white eyes, too big in proportion to be considered something wholly human, but human enough to recognise the sentiment of certain emotions flitting through his optics.

You couldn’t see - but you could feel him. Behind you. Looming.

“I won’t ask you again.” A threat. You consider briefly fighting back - but what good would that do, truly? You were limited by your humanity, and him, it, whatever this was, was beyond that of a human. The bruising hold Sun had left on your legs would no doubt leave marks for days at most.

Sun supplies no response in return to the slight whimper you let out, instead, continuing on, his hands returning to where they originally had settled - metallic thumbs hooking around belt hoops once more, and shimmying your work slacks downwards. Fine hairs across the expanse of your thighs instinctively raise upwards at the sensation of cool air hitting your skin.

He was far from gentle.

He’s humming now, a tune you can’t say you’re too familiar with, and proceeds to trail his fingertips over the bare skin, up towards your underwear, rubbing over the outline of your sex. As if he was studying it, acquainting himself with your anatomy.

“Sososososo soft. Delicate. Made for me. A toy.” The last part glitches out, nothing more than an electric warble.

Hooking around the material of your underwear, the fabric strains from the force, sex now bare, embarrasingly so, and Sun, Sun, is nothing near to gentle. Mechanical hands follow around the surface of your rim, feeling across the muscle for a moment or two, before forcefully breaching in, dry and cold. It hurts. It fucking hurts. There’s no room to breathe, letting out a choked gasp of air, as his fingers bear down deeper and deeper, curling and rotating, searching.

Biting down harshly on your forearm, compelling yourself to avoid honing in on the burning pain, Sun carries on, almost jovially, twisting and spreading his two forefingers apart in a scissoring motion.

It hurts. It hurts and hurts and hurts.

“So warm, wet! All for me. Pretty and warm and lovely and-”

Unable to hold back the drawn out whine, bubbling in your throat, you just about hear the whirring and whooshing of a contraption sliding open, accompanied by a slight hhhhhssssh! and a thick, silicone textured tendril, sloppy and coated in an unknown liquid, brushes up against the fat of your thighs.

It feels like forever and an eternity.

“Wanna fill you up, sunshine, breed and breed, fillfillfill and fill you up just right! A gorgeous, little dolly just for me. For us. Love you, always - always loved you. Watched you, sunshine; talking with the parents, guiding the children if they needed help. Sosososo helpful, so sweet. Good little service worker. Servicing me. Us.”

You wait for him to stop. For it to end.

And yet he doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop. Sun continues to spill and spill and spill himself into you, thick and searing hot, whining helplessly; your stomach beginning to paunch from the volume, settling heavily in your tummy.

Unbearably warm and syrupy, you cringe at the feeling of the liquid seeping between your thighs, starting to cool and stick from the cold air.

Eyes glossy, you barely notice the feeling of him guiding himself back out, a slight surge of liquid landing on the padded flooring with a wet squelch! in doing so. You can faintly hear the rustling of fabric behind you - Sun casually tucking himself back into his loose fitting pants, but you’re all too oblivious to the chilled sensation of neon marker pens gliding across your heated skin - crudely drawn arrows all directed towards a specific spot.

You hardly take note of the said warmth of his presence leaving you, overstimulated and fucked dumb from the varying sensations - time once again passing. Merging into one and all the same. Joined by nothing but the darkness, you sag, mumbling weakly for ‘help’. You weren’t entirely sure if help would even reach you at this point - if anything, it was more for your own comfort, knowing at least you could hear your own voice, grounding yourself.

Until there’s a slight chiming of high pitched bells, jingling.

The strain in your neck, slack and weak, pulled forwards from gravity, becomes too much to handle, and you glance upwards, only to directly look onto two pin prick dots - a vibrant red, peering back at you from the darkness. You just wanted to go home.

Sniffling, you writhe, hastily urging yourself to get out, your shoulders burning from the movement.

“I can’t, I can’t. Please, I won’t tell anyone, I promise - just, please… Please help me get out of here. It hurts.”

The bells jingle in tandem, Moon crawling on all fours towards you from the shadows, and he coos. He fucking coos.

“Shh. Shhhhhh. Sun didn’t take care of you, did he? Left you messy. Messymessymessy indeed. And, you will go home, little one.” A smooth thumb rubs over your bottom lip, his faceplate unbearably close to yours, smiling. “Soon. Soon. Your words don’t match the sign left on your back. Not at all. You’ll go home when we’re finished. We’re not done yet.”

You make an attempt to respond, only to gurgle instead; Moon drives his forefingers into your mouth, as if aiming to reach your uvula, until you ultimately gag on reflex, drenching the digits in saliva.

As he draws his fingers from within your mouth, you immediately hunch over, coughing harshly, eyes blurred - your workplace badge, brightly coloured, now discarded onto the floor with an annoyingly chipper motto of ‘Hi, how may I help you?” with a neatly printed smiley face.

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worriedvision · 2 years ago

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An open marriage (Part 2) - Tighnari

Part 1 here. Gender neutral reader, in this part Tighnari only shows at the end, it expands more on the marriage the reader is in. Kind of angsty, but it’s not the usual level of angst

When you first moved to the desert, you were worried that everything would somehow remind you of Tighnari, given the whole reason you were here and trained up to deal with withering zones was due to your connection with Tighnari.

Thankfully, this didn’t really happen. The severe lack of trees and plants in the desert in comparison to the rainforest you were accustomed to as well as the heat was enough to cut you off the ties with him. You still did ponder how he was at times, but you had other things you had to focus on. Your new career, your relationship with your husband and working on the separation process.

See, you both spoke to each other as his relationship with his lover grew. You were the first person to bring up the possibility of a divorce, no longer wanting to hold him back from having a normal relationship with his lover where there wouldn’t be a third party living with them. Sure, your parents both wanted you to raise a family together to keep it pure, but you really grew to hate them for not allowing you to make your own decision when you grew up. Of all people you fell for, it was for another man in the same species as you. A man that your parents probably would approve of solely because of what he was, and it was also a man who was lucky enough to have parents that weren’t so close minded as to make their children marry someone without forming a true bond.

At first, your partner was not happy to hear this. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to separate because you both knew you didn’t enjoy these circumstances, but his family were especially close - he was fearful he would lose his family if you were to split up.

However, you reeled his lover in for her perspective, and she agreed with you that it would be for the best. You reason with your partner, explaining that his family were more likely to accept the separation than you - after all, your parents were the ones to make this happen, his parents were just convinced.

While you are out looking for withering zones and disposing of them, you spent your spare time writing up a contract to end the marriage. You needed it to be airtight, to be certain your parents couldn’t bring up the existing contract that you didn’t even sign. You include the fact that both you and your husband are adults, and you both have come to the realisation it would benefit both of you if you broke off the marriage.

Thankfully, your husbands parents are supportive - they sometimes assist you by showing you their contract and pointing out the weaker points in the contract you worked on. They understood completely how close minded your parents were, both of them not wanting you to marry someone who was not the exact same species as you were. They didn’t like the idea of humans mating with your kind.

The confirmation of the contract you made up went as well as it could. Your parents didn’t show up, thinking it was some sort of scam, and his parents showed up to explain the details of the relationship. The contractor that took on the case seemed to understand the complexity of this, and they gladly accept the contract.

And your divorce was finalised.

You had written a letter to Tighnari, asking if he could give you one of the trained forest rangers to assist you with clearing withering zones after you found an area with a few withering zones that, if not taken on all at once, would only duplicate.

As you wait by Caravan Ribat for Tighnari to show up with the ranger he was going to deliver to you for assistance, you hear your mother approaching. Taking a deep breath, you know exactly what she’s going to say. That angry look in her eyes, the shaking of her hands as she clenches them, her teeth gritting together.

“What human tainted you? I demand to know who has ruined your chance at continuing our bloodline.” She snarls. You see Tighnari walking in the distance with a forest ranger, and you can tell he is catching onto the words being said to you.

“Mom, the plan to have a family was not going to work under your command. Neither me nor my ex husband were ever intimate, we simply coexisted. After he got someone special, I figured it would be for the best to break things off.” You explain.

“He was a lovely husband, how dare you not keep him. You need another of your own kind.” She reasons.

“And how about you and dad. You found each other in your own respective fields, so what makes the idea of me meeting someone myself so difficult?” You retort. Your mother stays silent, seething with rage when she realises that you won’t bend to her rules so easily. “’Keep it pure’? How dehumanising of you.”

Your mother turns, Tighnari now withing a few metres of getting to you, and she makes eye contact with him.

“Oh, good morning.” She smiles warmly. “Have you met my child? I think they would be a lovely -”

“Mom, your contract ruined the chance of him ever being with me.” You scold her. She turns to you, opening her mouth to apologise, but you had enough. “I don’t want your presence here. Please leave.” You finish. Your mother can’t reason with you at this point, knowing that you made your choice, and she walks away.

Tighnari approaches you, the forest ranger there to help as well, and you thank him for allowing one of his rangers to assist you. You turn to leave, getting ready to walk with the forest ranger and leave Tighnari to his own thing, but he calls out to you.

“Is it true? Was the marriage truly just a contract?” Tighnari asks, swallowing his nerves after finishing the question.

“Yes.” You reply, not daring to turn to see what expression he wore.

#Tighnari #tighnari x reader #tighnari x gender neutral reader #genshin impact imagines #gender neutral reader

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mrsbrekkers · 4 years ago

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Hi! How are you?

Could I get a Kaz Brekker imagine where he opens up to the reader after a job about his past and the next day he tells her it was a mistake and a lapse of judgement, quite harshly. And then the reader gets hurt after a heist and he realises how much he actually needs her.

Thank you <3

i’m doing pretty good! first kaz fic tehe, i’ve been waiting to do kaz brekker one-shots since i read the books. he is v much a comfort character. i understand his aversion to physical touch ( i have panic attacks at times because of so ), his humor, and inner dialogue so he is v dear and near to my heart yeeee

i switched up the next day bit and did it as the same time since it made more sense to me?? i’m not sure how to explain it haha

pairings! kaz x reader / jesper x wylan + nina x matthias ( with inej third wheeling because she’d so do so. )

reader is female in this, but i can make it non-gender specific if one would like me too! just let me know i’m very flexible in my writing!

warnings! talking about jordie, ptsd, trauma, talk of death, loss of a brother + mother, swear words, kaz being sad, panic attacks, blood, near death experience, pekka a-hole rollins,

word count; 2610 ( proud again haha )

one-shot under cut!

COMPANIONABLE SILENCE

The Slat had become uncharacteristically quiet. A successful heist on part of the Crows made for easy celebration amongst the Dregs. Most sat gambling at the Crow Club, drinking the night away. Jesper had been having a weirdly lucky night, the money in front of him displaying such. Wylan had been on Jesper’s leg the entire night, and the occasional ‘This is my lucky charm’ could be heard from Jesper. Inej and Nina sat drinking together, Matthias looking like an unwilling bystander to the girls' fun. And yet, Y/N found herself back at the Slat after the long day. Her back screamed at her to call it a night, but instead, she found herself in front of Kaz’s door.

It was a routine the two had when they were the only ones at the Slat. Y/N would sit on the bed, head in a book, and Kaz would sit quietly at his desk planning whatever it was Kaz Brekker decided to plan. It seemed the same tonight, with Y/N quietly reading, until her head lifted to see Kaz rubbing his eyes.

“You need to get more sleep. The amount you manage is minimal. I’m surprised you’re not dead yet,” Y/N commented, her book falling into her lap, the page she’d left off on now folded at the corner. It surprised her how Kaz managed to live off of his, if lucky, two hours of sleep. She’d never understand it. Granted, she slept less than the suggested as well, but she always made up for it with at least a nap during the day.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

That might be sooner than you think at this rate. But Y/N wouldn’t take that for an answer. She wasn’t usually a pushy person, especially with Kaz Brekker. She’d learned being pushy with him was never a good idea, considering the amount of people who did were left with a ruined reputation and nothing to live with.

“Sleeping when you’re dead isn’t an option in Ketterdam. Even when you’re dead here, you’re really not. Especially when people know of you. And last time I checked, the entire city knows you, and half of it wants your head on a silver platter. I’m actually sure people outside of the city know you, and may want the same,” Y/N said, standing and moving over to the wooden desk, sitting across from Kaz. Her eyes landed on the work Kaz worked on, seeing another heist plan he was drawing out.

Kaz wasn’t going to give in easily, anyone who knew him knew he was stubborn. One of the most stubborn people who lived in Ketterdam, but he knew what Y/N was saying held some truth in it. One was never truly dead in Ketterdam. He suspected people would dig up his body to hand over to Pekka Rollins - no, he wouldn’t die before Pekka Rollins did, that was a promise he’d made himself after Jordie. Brick by Brick. He couldn’t pull Rollins apart if he was dead. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t dead yet: his vigor to destroy the man who’d killed his brother. But he did suspect that when he, Kaz Brekker, was dead, he’d never truly be dead.

“Even so, I have things to do, plans to make-”

“At 1 in the morning? I’m sure such plans aren’t going to disappear overnight.” Being cut off, Kaz casted Y/N a glare, eyes narrowing. Why she had such influence over him, he’d never know. Or, maybe he did know and wasn’t going to express why. Because why would he? Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason after all. He always had reasons though.

Finally, Y/N sighed. “I don’t expect you to listen to me, but I’m not going to let you rot away from the lack of sleep you get, Kaz. I am just as stubborn as you, and if I must? I will sit here and bug you about your lack of sleep until sunrise. Or until I inevitably fall asleep.” The smallest glimpse of a smile reached Kaz’s lips, an instinct to roll his eyes almost playfully too. Stubborn about the well-being of her friends was a Y/N special. Kaz had simply thought he’d have time before she got on his ass about his own health.

She’d already gotten on Wylan about his self-destructive habits. His tendency to blame himself for not being good enough. Y/N had practically choked him out once when he’d gone on a rant about how he was a problem for the Crows. A burden. Kaz himself had been somewhat frightened. She’d found ways to help Jesper and his gambling addiction, which usually included them gambling, but in ways that didn’t involve money. She’d gotten on Matthias for his excuses to not kiss Nina.

If Kaz remembered correctly, she’d called it ‘redirecting the issue’.

“You’re avoiding something,” Y/N then spoke, crossing her arms. Weren’t they all avoiding something? Kaz thought, huffing as he sat back into his seat. This was Ketterdam after all. If you weren’t running from some rich merchant, then you were running from their son. Wylan had simply been a lucky break in that usual streak.

“You say that as if we all aren’t running from something,” Kaz finally said out loud, his eyes casted downwards.

“Avoiding, Kaz. Not running, and something tells me the thing you’re avoiding isn’t something, but someone.” Y/N knew the look Kaz had on. She’d worn it herself dozens of times.

“I had a brother.” Kaz couldn’t bring himself to look directly at Y/N. It would make talking about this all too real. Too much. Was this a lapse in his judgement? Why was he telling her this? Had she managed to get so under his skin?

“We moved to Ketterdam after my father died. My brother . . . Jordie-'' the name came out with a small crack in his voice. He hadn’t said that name out loud since he’d laid on his sick brother’s chest. “Was hopeful about what the city would bring, and it brought peace for some time. We worked with a man for some time, and my brother was in on a deal. One that seemed too good to be true,” Kaz scowled now, his anger seeming to rise as he spoke.

Y/N sighed, knowing where this was going now. “When an offer is too good to be true-”

“It usually is. That man went by a different name then. One to scam people for their money to rise through the ranks of the Barrel.” Kaz finally lifted his eyes, seeing the realization rush over Y/N’s face.

“Pekka Rollins.”

“Pekka Rollins is the reason my brother is dead.”

The room fell silent for a few moments, Y/N contemplating what to say. She had a feeling she was among the few who knew Kaz’s story. She was tempted to ask how Joride died, but she could infer. She’d been around Ketterdam during the time firepox had plagued the city. Her mother had been taken from the disease. She’d been the same age as Kaz. It began clicking in her head too.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N murmured. “I know you probably don’t want my pity, but really, I’m sorry.” It made sense why Kaz felt like he needed to best Pekka Rollins. He wanted revenge. He wanted Rollins to be just as down as him and his brother had been.

Kaz sucked in a deep breath, standing and running a hand through his hair. His regret for telling the woman before him began to consume him. This was a mistake. Why had he told her? A harsh look fell over his face, looking down at the plans he had laid out. “I need to finish these plans, and I’m sure you need some sleep,” his tone was harsh, but it was clear there was hurt underlying it. He wasn’t going to be an outright asshole, but he needed his space now.

“You need sleep too, and I doubt you’re in the right headspace to try and make plans-”

“Y/N, leave.” He internally was begging. And Kaz Brekker never begged . . . but Kaz Rietveld would, and that’s who was begging.

“Kaz-”

“Leave.” Anger washed over his features, his eyes directing Y/N to the door.

Y/N sighed, walking towards the door. Before she turned the knob, she stopped. “You know being open about your past doesn’t make you weak, right?” But Kaz said nothing, afraid his voice would fail him. With no words spoken for a beat, Y/N opened the door, shutting it as she paced down the steps.

Her book still lied on the bed, the folded paper to the chapter she was on prominent. Kaz took one look at it before sighing and sitting in the chair, one tear making its way down his face.

---

It was supposed to be in and out. Another job. Another however much Kruge. Where is she? Kaz thought. Y/N was never one for being late. Sure she was working with Jesper, who was notoriously late, but she should’ve been out before Jesper was, and she wasn’t.

It’d been a week of no speaking. Kaz couldn’t speak to her after revealing so much. He feared it would become all too real. A common fear he had. Stealing, picking locks, it was all real to him, yes, but he never experienced reality when he was on a job. It was his way of ‘avoiding’ as Y/N would put it. But now, he couldn’t avoid the reality of this job.

The reality was: He’d ignored Y/N for a week in fear, and now she wasn’t at the rondevu point.

She’s Y/N, she isn’t dead. But that may not be true. She could indeed be dead. She could be, She could be, She could be.... Dozens of potential outcomes came to mind.

The world seemed to spin as he paced. Nina and Matthias had already tried to calm him. Nina had even tried to calm his heart rate down. Wylan seemed to be just as worried as Kaz as well, Jesper still out there alongside Y/N and all. Inej was calm, but it was clear she was worried too. They all were, but Kaz was being unusually emotional.

“At this rate, you’re going to have a heart attack Kaz,” Nina had said.

And if he did, then that’d be a first for the Bastard of The Barrel.

“And you’re not close to having one?” Wylan asked, shooting a glare over at Nina.

Kaz mentally thanked Wylan. At least he wasn’t the only one close to breaking down. Get in and out. In and out. What had gone wrong?

But then he heard the sound of boots running across the muddy ground, his eyes shooting up to see Jesper carrying a bleeding Y/N.

She’s bleeding. Who had hurt her? Kaz wasn’t sure, but anger filled him. That was until he fully internalized that Y/N was bleeding.

“Jesper, what happened?”

Jesper helped Y/N into the safe house, his breathing heavy as he helped her onto the bed of one of the rooms. “Rollins. He got word of the job. We became overwhelmed and Y/N here took a bullet to the shoulder.” Then Wylan was practically engulfing Jesper in a hug.

How? Was Kaz’s initial thought, but with a huff, he closed his eyes. Moving over to follow Jesper, he took off his coat. Upon entering the room Y/N was sitting in, he nodded towards her good arm, silently asking for her to take off the sleeve of the arm that was hit.

“I thought we weren’t speaking?” Y/N asked, groaning as she pulled the sleeve of her bad shoulder off with some help from Inej who pushed everyone else out of the room. Inej left as well, but gave Kaz a nod to let her know when he would need help.

Kaz didn’t lift his eyes to look at Y/N, his eyes steady on the bullet lodged in her shoulder. He pulled out the medical kit under the bed. Always prepared, Y/N thought.

“How did Rollins find out?” Y/N asked, watching Kaz pick up tweezers from the small medical kit.

“I’m not sure, but I plan on figuring it out. Stay still.” And Y/N did, knowing this was hard enough as it was for Kaz, she didn’t want to make it any harder. Squeezing her eyes shut as she prepared for the pain. She gripped onto the bed, seething as Kaz took the bullet out with the tweezers.

“I hope you know, I didn’t mean any harm last week.” Kaz knew what Y/N was referring too, and he simply nodded for the moment. Picking up the bandages from the kit, Y/N shook her head.

“Get Inej to do it, you’ve already pushed yourself enough.”

“It’s fine,” Kaz spoke, his voice firm.

“Kaz, don’t-”

“I want too.” His eyes lifted to finally look up at Y/N. She looked down as well, silently nodding. She understood Kaz enough to know this was his apology for ignoring her the past week.

“My mother, she died from firepox,” Y/N spoke quietly. She didn’t know how Kaz would take her bringing it up, but she felt that if she didn’t, they’d build up all this anger again. They’d ignore one another again. Kaz stalled. Flashes of Jordie and Reapers Barge consumed him for a few moments. Y/N’s skin turned cold, icy and raw. He flinched away from the feeling.

Then he heard it - Y/N’s heartbeat. She was living. She wasn’t a corpse. The heartbeat and blood were testament to that. She isn’t dead.

“I never told you how he died,” Kaz spoke quietly. He wasn’t used to talking about such subjects with anyone. It was the reason he’d taken on a different surname. That way he could cut ties with his past.

But for some reason, Y/N was able to make him feel . . . though begrudgingly, open with his past.

“I can infer, Kaz,” Y/N said with a small hiss as Kaz finished with the bandage, his hands shaky. “Now, you can continue ignoring me if you wish, I imagine you enjoy avoiding me.”

“I don’t enjoy it.” Kaz now had someone he connected with on a level he wasn’t used to. He wasn’t going to enjoy being apart from that.

“I know, I was simply making sure,” Y/N teased, her lips quirking in a small smile.

Kaz gave a small shake of his head, his lips pulling into a smile as well for just a moment. Then he picked up his coat he’d taken off. “I imagine you’re cold, here,” he spoke then, watching as Y/N took it and wrapped it around herself.

Then the door swung open, Nina rushing over to give Y/N a hug. “Kaz here almost had a heart attack. Wylan almost did. Jeez, never do that again,” she said, laughing a bit.

“Ouch, ouch, Nina,” Y/N spoke, referencing the still open wound on her shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry. We made food for you,” Nina said, smiling before handing Y/N a tray of food.

Kaz exited the room, allowing the others some time to talk to Y/N. Inej followed him, her arms crossed as she leaned against one of the walls.

“What information do you want me to get on Rollins?”

“Whatever you can find.” You’re not taking her from me Rollins, and you’d better be ready when I do come for you. Brick by Brick.

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charthanry · 3 years ago

Note

I saw your last ask and it reminds me of how I’m always confused as to why people think Pat fell in love first because don’t you need to know that it’s love you are feeling to have fallen in love? That’s not saying Pat wasn’t always drawn to Pran but I don’t think he properly fell until episode 5. Then he looked back into his memories and realised that it was romantic love. Had he actually fallen as a teen he wouldn’t have dated people and would’ve noticed Pran writing songs about his feelings for Pat and pursued him. But I’m so confused and probably wrong!

For those who missed it, this is in response to a separate ask on who I thought fell first between Pat and Pran. You can read my answer to that ask here.

Hello anon! I think this is a valid question, one that I'm sure you're not the only one confused by. You're not wrong! We've said repeatedly that Pat is an emotionally intelligent person so how is it possible that he completely misses that his feelings for Pran are less than rivalry-fueled and altogether more than friendly? It seems unfathomable, right? He's a smart guy and highly observant with an innate talent for reading people. He's proven this consistently throughout the series. So, what are we missing?

My simple answer? Pat is that much of an idiot when it comes to his own feelings. He needed his LITTLE SISTER to help him figure out if someone was into him. She literally has to spell it out for him, well, count (ON HER FINGERS because apparently Pat needs the VISUAL??) and list it out for him step-by-step. He's that much of a doofus, sadly, when it comes to relationships. He's been tricked and scammed by girls in the past, so I'd say when it involves himself and a love interest? Pat is Steve Carell's character in the 40-year-old virgin, only WORSE if you can imagine it.

So, Pat being an idiot, goes through his adolesence alongside Pran, thinking he’s fun, the rilvary is harmless so long as they both report to their parents what they want to hear, they’re left to their own antics. They both know the script by heart and can play their parts automatically – satisfying the parents is easy and routine at this point.

Through the years, Pat learns that if he pokes at Pran, he’ll get a reaction and inexplicably finds pleasure in it. After all, he’s annoying his rival and that's all this is about, right? Pran is amusing and Pat likes seeing him smirk back at him – every once in a while he even gets a bemused head shake that ends in a genuine smile. It sometimes makes his chest do this weird flippy thing, but that’s probably because he slept on it wrong or needs more vitamins or something. He should probably see his pediatrician about it. No biggie. But that can wait, because right now Pran is about to pull out his guitar and show off to the other kids in class and Pat can’t let him get away with it. He eyes the classroom broom and decides that Shakira’s right, hips don’t lie and he’s going to let them do the talkin’.

Like I said, he’s an idiot. What do you even see in him, Pran? Run before it’s too late for you. Save yourself.

But jokes aside, I do think it's possible for someone like Pat to have feelings and not recognize that it's love. He's never experienced it before, how could he know that's what this is? I don’t think what he’s experienced in the past could even be considered dating. Girls would flatter him and get him to buy things for them and because Pat is generous with EVERYBODY he does, only for the girl to ditch him once she gets what she wants. There’s no way Pat would equate any of that with love. Even Pat has more self-respect for himself than that.

We already know what he feels towards Ink is comradery. Here’s a girl that he enjoys spending time with, who doesn’t want him to buy things for her, she’s nice and easy to talk to, maybe this could lead to something more? It should be that simple right? Shouldn’t you want to be friends first? Only, none of Pa’s love signs work on Ink and if Pat is honest with himself, he’s not feeling it work on him either. Ink, as it turns out is Pat’s female-Korn, only nicer to look at, infinitely smarter, and less likely to get Pat into shitty situations.

So, Pat being oblivious, may not recognize that what he’s felt for Pran all this time is romantic love. We see it in his look of complete bewilderment in the music store. We see it in his agression with Wai. Why does Wai get to be next to you? That's my spot. That’s always been my spot going all the way back to grade school. Who does Wai think he is to slot himself in my place? And why are you letting him?!

And again on the roof when it finally clicks into place for him. He loves Pran. That's what this is. And if Pat is honest with himself, which he always is, that's what this has always been. He realizes it now. He knew Pran wasn't an option then, so he teased and poked to make sure Pran's eyes never looked anywhere else but at him. Maybe Pat was subconsciously biding his time. And maybe, just maybe, the timing is finally right that Pran can be an option now. Well, he'll just have to kiss him and find out.

#bad buddy #bad buddy series #pat x pran #pran x pat #bbs #is Pat that much of an idiot to not recognize his own feelings for Pran???#Yes #Yes he is #anonymous #my asks #anon #asks

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noodyl-blasstal · 2 years ago

Text

Scamming me, scamming you: chapter 4

Well, it had to all come tumbling down at some point...

Read below or on A03 Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3

Kravitz was spiralling. He was spiralling with a plate full of the best sesame noodles he’d ever eaten, but he was spiralling. That had not gone well. It had definitely not gone well. He was fairly sure that even Sloane, who usually told him things weren’t as bad as he imagined, would acknowledge that as a disaster.

However, it had helped establish some facts for Kravitz to scribble down: 1) Kravitz was Bad At People (known.) 2) Taako was the most attractive person in the world (known.) 3) Taako could cook lovely food and was also really nice about it (confirmed.) 4) Taako was funny and kind hearted (assumed, confirmed.) 5) Taako said Kravitz’s ass looked great in a suit (intention???????) 6) Taako had definitely said Kravitz’s ass looked great in a suit and flirted with him (supposition.)

Hypothesis: ?????????????????

Google said that you could compliment friends’ arses in a platonic way, so did it mean Taako was actually interested in him? Probably not, (see established fact 1). Maybe Taako was just being nice to make it less awkward? Yes, okay, he’d called him Krav, and no one gave him nicknames. No one thought he was fun enough to give nicknames to. But Taako had… Taako had said it was just about syllables though, and that made sense, it was convenient, not affectionate…

T hadn’t done it for convenience though, had he? He had just given him a name for fun… T was throwing affection about for free (well, until he bled Kravitz’s bank account dry anyway.) So, theoretically, if Kravitz just kept emailing T he could get used to it… He could adjust to someone being nice at him and being nice back and that would all just seem normal and fine. Maybe if he also went to one dinner with him? Just to practice, practice being cool and chill and absolutely capable of going on a date with someone. That would probably really help. Then Taako would come by work with food again and Kravitz would be suave at him instead of a panicky mess. That seemed reasonable.

Today had been awkward, that was undeniable, but it meant he had already gotten the apology for Candlenights out of the way. It was always going to be awkward speaking to Taako for the first time since then, of course it was. The way he acted was completely normal and perfectly understandable. Next time, next time, Kravitz would be able to deal with Taako flirting and touching his hand and being nice to him and giving him nicknames because he’d be prepared. He’d do one practice, just one practice dinner, and then he was going to get Taako’s number from Lup and just casually ask him out. Kravitz could do that. He was going to start practicing right now.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: RE: Question Body: Hey T, are you free Friday night?

Krav xxx

There. Just like that. Once he ticked this off he could do it for Taako too. He’d pay for one dinner, get scammed one time on purpose, but really the scammer wouldn’t realise that they were actually just helping him pick up a life skill. It was an investment. If anything, Kravitz would owe them for their time, so it was right to pay for dinner anyway. Before he could get too deep into the ethics of forcing someone to teach him without them actually being aware of doing it, his phone buzzed.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: RE: Question Body: For you Krav? Absolutely! I thought you would have asked earlier, I was worried I upset you. T xxx

Oh no, Kravitz should definitely not have left the phone in the drawer for so long… Balls. He didn’t want to hurt him… Not that he should feel guilty. It was that he needed to keep him on the hook! Of course he didn’t feel guilty, this guy was just trying to take his money! Kravitz didn’t have to worry about his feelings, this was why it was going to go so well. There was nothing to be worried about because it wasn’t real.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: RE: Question Body: Sorry T, I was busy earlier and then I got in my head. I’d really love to take you out. Now, you’re the chef, so do you want to choose where, or do you trust me?

Krav xxx

There. That was better, he’d apologised, he’d explained what was going on, and it didn’t matter anyway because T was just interested in his money. This was getting ridiculous. Between T and Taako he was struggling with any coherent thought today. Maybe he could just go home early. Lup and Barry hadn’t been in his office when he’d come to help look for Lup’s pen and they still hadn’t reappeared.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: RE: Question Body: Not that I don’t trust you, but, I know the perfect place - you’ll like it. I’ll send you over the address. What time works? I’ll be off work mid-afternoon, so I’ll just need time to get beautiful for you. T xxx

Kravitz smiled stupidly at his phone for a moment before shaking himself out of it. That’s it. He was going home. It wasn’t like T had thought of a nice spot that Kravitz would like, he was probably in cahoots with the restaurant or something. In fact, it was probably some kind of money laundering scheme, they were all working together. This place would become his favourite restaurant and BAM suddenly he was funding the drugs trade. Good job he was onto them. He’d make sure to not enjoy the food, and he definitely wouldn’t enjoy interacting with T.

___________________________

Friday arrived sooner than Kravitz anticipated. After a never-ending feeling of guilt about Taako’s visit he’d decided to write a formal note thanking Taako for the food (and, after the third draft realised that there was no good way to write “sorry for being really weird at you” so just stuck with the thanks). Lup brought back a box of the most heavenly brownie Kravitz had ever tried in return. Clearly Taako was the perfect man, too perfect for Kravitz, what was he even thinking? Maybe he should just give up and accept that he was going to have to date T forever. At least he could apparently hold a conversation with him. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad? He was a good conversationalist, and as long as Kravitz dropped a little bit of money here and there it should be enough to keep him on the hook… Yeah, no, that line of thinking was bad. Just one practice date then he could at least try and ask Taako out with his new confidence skills. If it went wrong it was okay, he could just leave the country under dark of night and go to Europe or something. He did a great French accent. Easy.

Kravitz was early. He wanted to make sure he was there first and had the high ground. He wanted to be able to see T arrive. He'd deliberated on what to wear for a long time, he wasn’t convinced that his suit was exactly appropriate for a scuzzy looking pasta place, but Google said it was important to look good on a date. If the suit was good enough for Taako then T would probably like it. Not that it mattered. Obviously. But if this was a practice date then he needed to be good at it, and part of that was looking good. Kravitz didn’t make a habit of failing tests, and he had absolutely decided that this was A Test. If he passed he could graduate to non-scam relationships.

Once he got inside and gave his name he was directed to a table in the window. Maybe this place was less scuzzy than anticipated actually… the outside had looked grim, but inside there were beautiful wooden beams and vines and twinkly lights across the ceiling. Each table had a small glowing candle and they were nicely spaced to give an element of privacy. That’d be all the mob money probably, plenty of cash to make it look good, and you didn’t want anyone overhearing your crime plans did you? Of course the tables were well spaced.

He settled in and ordered a fruit juice medley the server recommended. Hopefully T would actually show. Kravitz hadn’t considered that outcome until now, but it raised a fluttery anxious feeling in his chest. Getting stood up was not going to help with any personal growth. But maybe this wasn’t about a free dinner, maybe T’s car would break down on the way to their date and he’d need money for repairs? He might fall down the stairs and need money for medical bills. Or he’d get kidnapped and be on the run, needing money for motels along the way. Bugger… Well, at least Kravitz would get a nice meal out of it, alone or otherwise. He remembered that he was not supposed to like the crime connections meal. Fuck.

T was due any minute and Kravitz was starting to worry. His fingers were conducting music under the table and his knee jiggled as he stared out of the window, He couldn’t tell if he was anxious or trepidatious. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to meet T, frankly, Kravitz was interested to see if he was anything like the man he was pretending to be, but Kravitz wasn’t sure he’d be able to pretend he didn’t know what was going on. Kravitz was just beginning to spiral (what if he blacked out and tried to citizens arrest T?) when the sight of the last person he wanted to see right now shook him out of it. Taako was walking quickly along the street. Kravitz quickly flipped the menu up, hoping it might make him invisible. He knew there was a reason he hated window seats. Kravitz peered round the corner of the menu to catch another glance, he might not want to be seen on a date with someone else before asking Taako out, but looking at him was always a treat. He must have passed by already though, there was no sign of him outside.

“Krav!” Taako’s voice sounded over the quiet chatter in the restaurant. Oh no. Why would Taako be here of all places? Kravitz really really didn’t want to have to explain this.

“Hello Taako.” His voice cracked slightly, but it was okay, this was okay. He’d just have a quick chat and then T would be there and it would be fine. Taako would just think he was a guy who actually did things and knew people, that was good! T was technically a colleague, Kravitz was absolutely going to get at least a conference paper out of this, so it wouldn’t be a lie to tell Taako that he was meeting someone he was working on a project with.

“It’s nice to see you.” There, that sounded warmer. It was true as well, no matter how awkward this was, it was nice to see him. Kravitz stood up, not entirely sure why, but it seemed rude to sit while Taako stood.

Taako wrapped his arms around him in an enthusiastic hug and kissed his cheek softly. “I’ve really been looking forward to this.” He said, untangling himself and moving to take off his coat. Kravitz froze. Holding Taako was nice, very nice. Before he’d even got the chance to appreciate it he’d slipped away and left that whisper of a kiss on his cheek too? He wanted to grab him and pull him back in. But, what had he been looking forward to? Hugging him? Running into him?

“It’s really lovely to see you Taako. I, well, I’m so sorry, I’m afraid I’m meeting someone.” Kravitz said, voice deep with regret. He didn’t want to be meeting someone else, he wanted to have a nice meal with Taako and get the other side of the stories Lup told him, see if he could work out how to get wrapped in those arms again… But he’d made a commitment. Even if T hadn’t shown up yet, it would probably scare him off to see someone else there, maybe he’d think it was a sting? Then he’d stop emailing Kravitz and he’d prey on someone else instead. Kravitz had to stick to the plan, no matter how tempting it was to ask Taako to stay instead.

Taako let out a short laugh. “Good one, Stud. Now, what do you fancy? I’ve had my eye on the cappelletti, but there’s something else pretty tasty here too.” Taako let his eyes linger over Kravitz. Kravitz was too busy to feel any kind of way about it because a series of very important realisations were crashing into him at once.

“You call me Krav…” Kravtiz said quietly. “And you’re a chef.”

Taako frowned slightly. “Yeah, we’ve covered that, Krav. Quite early on, if I remember.”

“You’re saving for a food truck?” He asked, still hopeful that hypothesis wasn’t right.

Taako nodded. “Yeah, flaming cereal bowls. You just need to teach me your art.”

Kravitz was going to be sick. That confirmed it. How could he be so brazen about this? “So you’re doing email scams to try and get the money together?” Kravitz said indignantly. Taako pretended to look confused. It was almost believable. So that was how he was going to play it, was it? “You’re going to take advantage of lonely people, of people who think you’re just nice and kind and beautiful and want to spend time with them, and use them to pay for your truck?” He paused to take a breath. “If this was real I would have just helped pay for your truck.” Kravitz’s voice wobbled dangerously. He absolutely could not cry in front of Taako right now. “I have to go.” Kravitz stood abruptly and began to walk for the door, then froze awkwardly. He hadn’t paid for his drink. He couldn’t just leave without paying… Taako clearly didn’t have the money, his scam wasn’t exactly going well. There was no dignified option, so he held his head high, avoiding making eye contact, and marched back to lay some money on the table.

“Krav, are you okay?” Taako wasn’t supposed to ask questions about Kravitz’s wellbeing. He was supposed to be reconsidering his life choices, not out of his seat and preparing to follow Kravitz. He definitely shouldn’t look like he was about to cry. That was what Kravitz was doing right now. “Krav, what’s going on right now?” Oh, so he was going to pretend he was completely innocent and didn’t know what Kravitz was talking about? Maybe Kravitz would just do the same then.

“I don’t know, T. What is going on right now?” Kravitz spat, then turned on his heel and walked as hard and fast as possible, weaving down back streets so Taako couldn’t follow him.

#Kravitz! Please; please just use your logic brain; I know it's in there #Can you scam a scammer; you know; ethically?#Noodyl Writes #TAZ Balance #Taz Fic #Taakitz #Pasta crimes #fanfic

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xpacestuff · 5 years ago

Text

Su/gf crossover things

dipper: so like, you glow pink when you're stressed?

steven: Yeah, basically. Then at one point it got real bad.

dipper: ...How bad?

steven: I basically turned into a kaiju monster lol

dipper, writing that down, whispering: what the fuck...

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steven probably is probably gonna act like an older brother around them but only in a protective way

"if something bad happens to them i'm gonna break some necks"

"please... don't."

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Y'all know how Mabel likes crystals and such? Imagine she talks about a rose quartz, Steven turns pink and Dipper from a mile away is like "HUH??? WHAT???"

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imagine when steven is new and before they knew steven is a half gem hybrid it was like this

steven, to dipper: it seems your sister likes sparkly things huh?

dipper: yeah, pretty much

steven: wow... then she better not know i'm a half gem hybrid lol

dipper: you are a what

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dipper: Listen, I appreciate my sister but wow she can be hard to deal with sometimes.

steven: Oh yeah, kinda reminds me of Spinel lol. She tried to kill me and this planet

dipper: what the- she... tried to kill this planet?? and you? uh kinda reminds me of bill

steven: who

dipper: this weird triangle yellow demon

dipper: he can go into peoples dreams, is super dangerous if he wants to be, can even control peoples body too... it's so messed up. i hate him so much

steven, knowing he can do all that too: ahahaha.... i knoww right... yikes.. haha...

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steven meets gideon, tries to befriend him, gideon literally tries to kill him

steven: wouldn't be the first time this happened

dipper: huh?? huh??? please tell me more this seems interesting

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mabel is like "omg steven is so cool!!!" and dipper, completely tired "please don't say you're attracted to him or something how come you always fall in love with aliens or mermaids n stuff" and mabel just "...i just said he's cool :("

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Imagine Connie could just... appear there with lion

dipper: WHAT IS THAT!?

mabel: A PINK LION!!! OH MY GOSH!!!

steven: Oh yeah, guys, this is Connie and Lion. :)

connie: hey :)

mabel: hi!

dipper: that lion is... scary.

steven: oh, don't worry about him! You can ride him if you want, he's a nice lion. I'm sure you'd enjoy it!

dipper: no thanks

10 mins later

dipper, totally riding on lion as lion just runs in circles: WOOO THIS IS FUN!!! THI-

steven, opening the door, looking at dipper: :) told ya

dipper, immediately jumping off of lions back: Uh i mean uh... no i didn't like it

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Steven: makes a pun

Everyone else:

Stan: HAA! good joke kid

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imagine instead of dipper accepting the fact that he just works in the mystery shack he instead has a lot of trust issues and steven goes to mabel and it turns out like this

steven: it seems your brother doesn't trust me?

mabel: well you do almost have the same powers as this yellow dorito demon we had multiple fights with cause well he almost killed us multiple times and we were in a lot of danger because of him so

steven: ...

steven: y'know, ironic for me to say this but did you guys ever go to the doctor? i experienced the same thing and well uhhh turns out all the things i went through messed with my head a lot. maybe that's also the reason why your brother acts that way?

mabel: nahh he's always like that haha!

steven, visibly concerned: hmm..

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after dipper saw steven's destructive powers once he was deeply worried and afraid of steven, causing him to have trust issues. when mabel says something like "oh i'm gonna ask steven somethi-" he just cuts her off with "no! i don't want you to get near him!". steven realises this and at one point tries to show dipper that he's mostly nice and tells him that these breakdowns he has is because of all the terrible things he has went through. he also proceeds to show the good side of his powers (like healing, his shield to protect, stuff like that) so dipper can understand that when he is dangerous he doesn't mean it. he just generally goes on adventures with them (the not too dangerous ones, since he has had enough of those and just wants a break) and tries to protect them in any way he can to earn his trust once more. of course this takes time, since dipper generally has problems trusting people.

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

When Stan first meets Steven he sees how much money he has and sells him something that costs a lot and it's just

Steven: Wow your unkle?? grandpa?? g.. grunkle as you say? sure has a lot of expensive stuff. I bought them as a souvenir though!

Mabel: Oh, buddy... oh no..

Dipper: Yeahh, see... he scammed you.

Steven: what

Dipper: basically he just wanted your money.

Steven: oh. harsh.

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anyway connie meeting the twins thing

Connie: oh, hey! who are you guys?

Steven: h-

Mabel: YOUR GF IS PRETTY!!!

Connie: 😳

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Steven: talking about how beautiful, great and lovely Connie is and how she's always there for him

Mabel: THAT'S SO CUTE :")

Dipper: ... Anyway this gem stuff-

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

Steven: Dipper, I haven't known you for too long, but i know very well that these experiences are gonna mess with you later on. I also see you're struggling. Maybe get some help? Not to sound mean haha- it's just... I don't want you to go through a hard time in the future? Maybe go see a therapist?

Dipper: pfft, a therapist? Who needs that? I'm not some "mentally unstable" person hahaha

Steven:

Dipper:

Steven: I can pay for it if you want just please-

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he sends a picture to the cgs of himself, mabel and dipper and is like "i made new friends and work in this sketchy place LOL" and the gems are like "good enough?? i guess?? atleast he made friends?"

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dipper and mabel: we almost died multiple times

steven: same

dipper:

mabel:

mabel: are you okay?

steven: are you okay??

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

anyway that's it for now! I'm probably gonna add more but anyway i love this au/crossover a lot. I'm probably (definitely) gonna draw some of these so yeah! hope you enjoyed this post lol

#steven universe #gravity falls #su #steven universe future #gf #mabel #dipper #steven #su/gf crossover #crossover #i love this au thing sm #writing #ideas #(just in case but)#if you draw any of this please credit me!

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scpeen-l0l · 4 years ago

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049 with various types of reader

aaaaaa! i just got my first request! i’ll get working on it straight after i post this but ty anyways :’)

also sorry if this is bad, but i hope it’s a decent start!

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049 with Scientist! Reader

- 1 word: how? It’s honestly a miracle that you’re pestilence-free in the first place, let alone what he considers tolerable. Seriously, how did you manage? 049 is incredibly closed off emotionally, his obsession with curing the plague was the only thing that really made him feel anything. Someone special. That was who he needed, desperately. You made him feel, for the first time since he was a boy, clueless. Naturally, at first he thought he was ill. Or perhaps, if you were a colder type, that you had poisoned him, with some strange toxin that only acted up when he saw you. Regardless, it’d be a long and winding road until you both properly established something, if at all.

- I feel like he’d work best with a scientist who was either a near complete opposite to him, or someone similar. He’s very dedicated to his work, as we all know, and someone who was either capable of adding a new perspective to that, or could see through the same lens as him, would be treasured.

- A silent admirer, for sure. You’d have to be assigned to him for quite some time for feelings to arise, and he wouldn’t be complaining. He’d try to subtly prompt you to interview him, with concealed compliments such as “Ah, Dr. L/n seems to understand this better,” or something in the same vein as that. You’d likely then be called into his cell to interview him on a subject that you knew next to nothing about.

- He’d like his s/o to be a hardworking night-owl, that way he could just stare at them from the other side of the glass without anyone else around or them noticing. Saying that though, I think he’d stare for 5 seconds before turning away flustered, the mere thought of being anything more than a researcher and their lab rat enough to make his heart race.

049 with a D-Class! Reader

- Hah, good luck with that. You’d never enter a relationship with him, simply due to the fact that you’d only last for a month. 049 is well aware of what fate lies for you, and likely believes that it is completely just, meaning that nothing would develop on his end in the first place. Sorry to break your heart, but it’s not happening. :/

- HOWEVER! If you managed to live past that initial 1st month, somehow, maybe he might just start paying attention to you. Who knows, maybe there was something there after all.

049 with a Chaos Insurgency! Reader

(I don’t think I’ve ever seen a CI! Reader before, so I thought I might try something a little different)

- You’d meet during a breach, the worst that the site that he was on at the time had ever seen. Another Insurgency member betted a 20 on whether you would get him to join you without trying to ‘cure’ you of the pestilence, to which you stupidly agreed to. Of course, regardless of whether you were deemed sick or not, he’d still try his permanent paralysis on you, a test subject or even a new proxy would be useful, after all. Once you told 049 that your ‘organisation’ could get him as many proxies as he wanted, he was suddenly a lot more talkative. Anyways, fast-forward umpteen near-death experiences, you’d be out of the facility and making your way to the meetup point your squad leader had established a few weeks prior.

- On the stealth jet back, you tried finding the dude that you wagered with before the mission, only to be informed of him being MIA. Mildly pissed that you couldn’t scam him out of a 20, you decided to bother 049 in the storage unit at the back of the jet. 049 would have never guessed that he found your type attractive, but there he was, slowly becoming more and more complacent in your ‘organisation’ in order to gain your affections.

- He’d constantly dote over you before and after your missions, and whether you were together or not, you’d always give him the same curt nod and cheeky grin before catching up with the rest of your squad. It was a vicious cycle really, you’d come back from a mission, enjoy your time together, get a little closer only to be deployed again.

- In the unfortunate case in which you don’t return after a mission, 049 would realise 2 key things. The first, that the Insurgency is the off-brand version of the Foundation, the second, that it was best that he kept his heart under lock and key, lest he wanted even more emotional trauma.

---

thanks for reading, feedback is always greatly appreciated!

have a nice day/night :)

#049 x reader #scp 049 x reader #scp 049 #049 #scp x reader #scp x reader oneshot #scp x reader headcanons #scp #scp foundation #x reader

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uglypastels · 4 years ago

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New Beginnings // roommate!au

(a/n) I’m sorry @duskholland for coming up with these aus. the good thing about it is, that I have no self control so here it is, the New Girl!roommate!au :) i’m not gonna say it’s great, and also i’v seen like 5 episodes of the show maybe so it’s definitely my own take on the pilot. hope you like it.

word count: 6.3k

warning: swearing, sexual references (the first paragraph is as bad as it gets), dark humour and mentions of murder, sex trafficking - basically reasons why not to move in with strangers you meet off of craigslist. Please be safe and responsible. but it’s all just fluff and humour. Also, possibly some horrible writing cause i couldn’t bother editing this <3

“And when I walked into the bedroom I found him in there, completely naked, with some slut sucking his dick… so basically, that’s why I need a new apartment.” You looked around at the three men in front of you, realising you had zoned out a bit there while telling your story. “Sorry, what was the question?”

“Uhh,” the blonde one, which introduced himself as Harrison earlier, spoke, “Do you have any pets?”

“Oh,” well that was embarrassing, “No, I mean I had a schnauzer when I was younger and I always wanted to get another one but who am I kidding, nothing will ever live up to Mr Snuzzlekins.” For the love of God, shut up! “No, I don’t have any pets.” You felt your entire face heating up. Suddenly you became very aware of a strand of hair that was in front of your face so you pushed it behind your ear

“Mr Snuzzlekins?” The other one, Tom, laughed with a small smile.

“My sister named him,” you lied. You were already embarrassed as it was.

There was a moment of silence where no one knew what to say next, so you decided to break the tension. Awkwardly laughing, you said: “You know, the funny thing is, I didn’t expect you to be… guys.” That was true. When you had been searching through the Craigslist advertisements there had been a lot of applications for housing but you had ignored most of them because they sounded too much like human trafficking scams or some other creeps looking for a way to get a girl. You had particularly found interest in this apartment, not only because of the actual great (and safe looking) location of the building but also because you had thought that the ad was written by a woman. Not that you didn’t think a woman could murder you, but it did bring a bit more security to you to live with someone of your own gender.

Well, as you saw three men sitting in front of you, you had guessed that wrong. They did seem nice enough though. Handsome too. You really hoped they weren’t murderers. They wouldn’t do well in prison… also, your death. Not a favourable outcome in the slightest.

“Why’d you think that?” the third one asked. You had missed his name during the introduction round, but you already felt like you could be good friends with him. His boyish charms made you think he was younger than the other two, though he did have a very small resemblance to Tom. You found it cute how his curls bounced around when he moved his head.

“Well, the ad, it was phrased… very femini-ninely...” That was definitely too many syllables. Could this interview go any worse? No, probably not. But the guys didn’t seem to mind your momentary idiocy.

“Oh, yeah, we had our mum write it for us.” Tom explained, sitting a bit more straight up, “We had been trying to find someone else to live with us ever since our friend Tuwaine moved out, but we kind of suck at advertising ourselves, so yeah-”

“Oh, well that makes sense, yeah.” Their mum wrote it. So they were a family. Brothers? Yeah probably. You didn’t really see how the Harrison guy fit into that since he didn’t look anything like the other two. Shattering blue eyes instead of the warm hazel. Dark blonde hair instead of the reddish-brown. All three had magnificent bone structure that you had to admit, but not in the same way.

“So, what do you guys do?” you decided to ask.

“We’re actors,” Harrison said, pointing at himself and Tom. Since you had no heart palpitating reaction when you first saw them, you could probably safely assume that they were still trying to find their break out role. Harrison pointed at the third of their addition before continuing. “Harry is more of a behind the scenes man, photography and directing, that kind of stuff.”

“That’s… interesting.” You smiled. Were you about to move in with three wannabes? If you were, would it be inevitable that you’d end up paying the rent for all of them because they wouldn’t be able to find gigs? That was a bit harsh. Besides, you could always look for a new place before that happened and move out. And who even said that you could move in, in the first place? “Anything I might have seen you guys in? Or some of your work?” You directed the additional question to...Harry.

Harry. Harrison. Try to remember that.

“I’ve had a few roles on the West End, nothing big yet but once I have a role, it’s at least steady for a bit, you know,” Tom said.

“I’ve mostly been doing headshots for people, so I doubt you’d have seen anything I’ve done.” Harry said. You nodded to his statement.

“And Harrison has been signed with this fashion designer. You might have seen some ads around town.” Modelling. Not another model to live with. You tried not to let your smile fade.

“No, sorry, I don’t think I have. But I’ll be on the lookout.” The grin you put up actually reached your eyes genuinely.

“So what about you?” Harrison was the one to ask, not noticing any change in your demeanour. “What is it that you do?”

“I’m a teacher. I know, not very glamorous or anything- and I might sometimes come home with an abundance of ice-lolly sticks- but it’s good fun and it pays well.” You looked around some more around the apartment. As you focused on the spacious living room of the loft, you wondered how these guys could afford it. Were their rich parents paying for it? Was there secretly asbestos in the walls, making rent not even a problem? Were they going to kill you?

It was a really nice flat. With exposed brick walls and wooden beams at the ceiling, which the guys used cleverly to hang their houseplants from. Even with the large space and the big windows covering the outer walls of the room, it felt very homey. Comfortable.

“I’m sure you already know, but it’s a really great place you guys got.” Compliments always worked, so that was your way to go to ensure you had a roof over your head soon. Feeling a bit more comfortable now, you decided to get up to walk a bit around the room. The reason for that specific action was unknown to you, but you did it.

It had been the first day since your breakup that you had actually made an effort in looking presentable. Hair washed and brushed, you had clothes on that had zero Cheeto dust on it. Of course, since these were guys it probably didn’t even matter to them what you looked like but when you still thought you might be living with other women, you were terrified of being denied because of how you looked or something. That could still happen, but they just didn’t seem like the shallow type. And they had seemed really surprised when you appeared at their front door, as if they didn’t expect a girl to show up either.

All three of them turned their heads as you walked around, following you with their eyes. It was a mix of curiosity and the same fear that you saw in people on competition shows, when they were waiting for the judges’ critique.

You looked out the window to see the view. It was a lovely lookout on the city.

“How come your roommate moved out?” Was it your place to ask? You had no idea. They didn’t seem to mind the question, though.

“He moved in with his girlfriend instead.” Harry was the one to answer. A heart wrenching feeling fell over you. You didn’t know this Tuwaine, or his girlfriend, but a sudden wave of hatred towards them and their happiness overwhelmed you. Why did everyone have to be all happy and in love? It was disgusting. You were sick of it.

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t mind living here.” Somehow you managed to speak out without showing any of your feelings through it. You allowed yourself to walk around to the kitchen island. It was recycled wood with a dark varnish on top, making the light from outside shine on it. You could almost see yourself reflecting in it. Were they this clean or had they no idea how to cook?

“Don’t get me wrong, you seem great, but we don’t really know anything about you yet.” Tom got up and walked up to you. The other two followed his steps. You were now standing on opposite sides of the kitchen island, making you feel as if you were a bartender ready to take their orders.

“There really isn’t much more to tell. I mean, I did just go through a break up, so emotions are uhm… out there. I might be spending the next few weeks watching horrible Hallmark movies, like 4 or 5… a day.” You saw the disgust on Harry’s face and quickly made an attempt at recovery. “But I can do that on my laptop and headphones, so ya know, I’ll be quiet. I’ll be in my room the entire time too, probably, so you might not even notice I’m here.” You tried to sell yourself as un-pathetically as possible. It had come to desperate measures in desperate times. Because, what your (possible) new roommates didn’t know, was that you had already spent the last four weeks looking for a new place, and while there was no luck in that, you had to do with sleeping on the tiny couch of your best friend.

As if he could actually read your mind, Harrison’s next question was: “So, where have you been living the last few days then? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all,” you said, finding large interest in the pattern of the stained wood. Not looking up at the three men, “I’ve been living with my best friend. She’s great but I just don’t think I'm suited for the life she and her supermodel friends have-” Why did you mention the models? Your eyes shot up to Harrison’s. But it was Harry’s and Tom’s that were wide.

“Supermodels?” Tom coughed out. You nodded, having leaned in with your elbows on the table, looking rather unimpressed. The way Tom’s hands grabbed for the sleeves of his roommates did not go unnoticed by you. Before you could say anything, he excused himself and the others and they had disappeared into the corridor. Earlier on they had told you that was the way to the bathroom. They were trying to whisper, but weren’t doing a great job at it. You could hear every word perfectly well.

“What are we thinking, guys?” Tom said, closing the door behind him. When he turned around, Harrison and his brother were rubbing their arms, on the spots where Tom had been a bit too rough on his grip. Harry sat down on the edge of the bathtub, while Harrison decided to remain standing,eventually leaning against the tiled wall. There was a bright light in the small bathroom, but the vintage green tiles made it all look much darker.

“She seems nice.” Harrison spoke up finally. “But I don’t know, she’s obviously a… she. Won’t that be weird?”

“What do you think, Tom?” Harry asked his older brother, who, even though had been the one to pull them into the bathroom, had not planned on saying much. “You’re the one with experience in living with a woman. So try to cancel out those supermodels for a sec.”

“I don’t know,” Tom bit the inside of his cheek. Before he had moved in with his brother and best friend, he had been living with his then girlfriend, Stacey. They had been together for a while until she had decided that maybe, this wasn’t meant to be after all. Unlike you, though, the apartment had been in his name so he had a place to stay, but he just couldn’t get himself to live alone in a place that was intended on being lived in by two people. So, he moved out.

“I mean… every girl is different, so I can’t say shit.”

“I’m really not that bad!” you shouted from the other side of the door, immediately hiding your mouth behind your hands. Now they knew you were listening to their private conversation. The bathroom door opened and Tom’s head popped out. He saw you sitting on the couch.

“Could you- could you hear all of that?” he pointed back into the bathroom. You nodded, still covering your mouth, scared you would say something else embarrassing. But the guys seemed to be just as abashed. One by one they walked out and came to sit on their basically appointed seats on the sofa. Did they have their own claimed seats? Would you need to be prepared to only sit in one spot of the room forever? Shit, they had all the seats with the window view…

“So,” Harry said, “when you said supermodels-” but he never got to finish his sentence because Harrison slapped him across the back of his head. You suppressed a small laugh. It didn’t go unnoticed by Tom, who reciprocated the expression. This, in turn, was missed by you. You only looked in his direction a second later, when the smile had slightly faded already.

“Thanks for saying that whole ‘every girl is different’ thing. Not saying I can’t cook… even if that is going along with the stereotype, but I wouldn’t exactly want to be accepted to live here as a nanny… not that I think you guys can’t take care of yourselves! I mean just look at-” you eyes wandered around them just for a second before coming back on the right track. “- at the apartment. What I mean is- uhh.”

“Guys are dicks?” Harrison suggested.

“Yes! No! No, of course not, well some. But I don’t think you guys are. You seem really nice. I’ve just had… experiences with living with other types of guys and that really was not the planned outcome now that I think about it and I don’t know why I can’t shut up now because I have no idea why I’m telling you all this.”

“Is this Spencer that we’re talking about here?” Tom asked and your eyes shot to his direction, shocking even him. The name had become somewhat of a trigger for you in the last few days. At the last moment, you realised you had actually mentioned his name yourself to them during your introductory story, so that spared you a good bit of humiliation there. You decided to keep quiet. You all did. Great, because this day had not gone awkward enough. Maybe you could sink into the surface of the ground and die there? Then there would be no more reason to find any living space. It would all be over. Yeah, that really didn’t sound too bad even.

“So, do you wanna see your room?” Harrison broke the silence and his words surprised everyone, even him. You took longer than it should have to comprehend what he had just suggested.

“What? Uhh, yes! Yes! Oh my god, that would be fantastic. Thank you.”

“Great,” Harrison clapped his hands on his thighs before getting up. Then he extended one of those hands to you. He led you to the corridor opposite the bathroom, the third door on the left. The door had some scraped paint residue on it and you could see a poor attempt was made at pulling off the scotch tape that held up posters on it or something? It opened up to a room. It wasn’t big or small. The wall color was a nice beige, a bit of a sandy, almost peachy color. You could definitely work with it.

The guys let you take it in, but also took that moment to give each other death glares, most of them directed at Harrison.

“What exactly were you thinking?” Tom asked him, this time properly whispering. For extra measure he extended his neck to look into the hallway to see if you were walking out of the room again.

“Actually, I was thinking about how you had showed up at my door at 2 am when Stacey dumped you.”

“She didn’t dump me. No one was dumped.” Tom denied like always.

“No, you were definitely dumped, mate.” Harry said, not even making an attempt at hiding the amusement in his voice.

“Anyway,” Harrison ignored the interaction between brothers, “I thought of you and how miserable you were then. She’s probably going through that same thing.” If not worse, he wanted to add, but he also didn’t want to edge Tom’s ego any further. “So, let’s give her a chance.”

Tom still didn’t seem to be entirely sure. He raised his eyebrow, thinking. He looked once more at the corridor, expecting you to walk out any moment, but you still were in the room. What were you even doing there? The place was entirely empty.

“Fine,” he gave in, “but if she turns out to be completely psychotic, you’re kicking her out, Haz.” He immediately noticed the wince in Harry’s face. Had he mistimed his words?

Yes, he had, because you were standing right behind him now. The sight of you made his heart stop for a good second as he went pale.

“Fucking Christ,” Tom gasped, “if you live here, you’re getting a bell. None of that sneaking around.”

“Are we talking service, hand, cow, or the kinky cat collar type?” you smirked, knowing you had gotten him completely flustered at your joke. While Harrison and Harry burst out in laughter, Tom didn’t move a muscle. His cheeks and neck, however, had started to turn a lovely rosy colour. He opened his mouth a bit, just to close it up again as he changed his mind.

_______________________

While you had told them that you would be spending your days crying into a pint of ice cream while watching movies, reality was much more different from that. It was true that you barely left your room, but that was because you were too busy unpacking all your things out and setting up your room. The guys were nice enough to help you bring up the furniture sets and the boxes, which had been lovingly left at the curb of the building by the people from the moving company.

That ordeal had taken up most of Saturday. Your first task was to set up the bed, which Harrison helped you with. You tried to tell him that you didn’t need help, but your words were futile the second you almost dropped a wooden plank on yourself. The flatpacks were easy enough to understand, and unlike what you had done there, you weren’t the worst when it came to building, so all the furniture was set up by the end of Sunday. It meant that you could spend the rest of the week opening boxes and making your room really yours.

But Monday also meant work, so you only had the afternoons and nights to do it. Together with the fact that you had to leave early for work, meant that the guys really barely saw you. The only sign of your presence would be the music you were playing from your room while doing the unpacking.

It was the fourth hour of your One Direction sing-a-long that Tom walked into the living room. Harrison popped his head up from his book to look at his friend. He did not look happy.

“Dude,” he said. The one word already evoked all that Tom wanted to say, but Harrison loved to annoy him.

“What?” he opened up his book again, pretending not to really pay any attention to Tom. This was made harder when Tom sat down next to him.

“If I hear What Makes You Beautiful one more fucking time-”

“Then what?” Harrison still kept his eyes on the words on the pages, not taking in a single word.

“You have to do something. I can’t take it.”

“Why do I have to do something?” Harrison closed his book with his finger still between the pages and looked at Tom, just in time to see him narrow his eyes in annoyance.

“Really? So do you wanna see your room y/n?!” His voice turned higher as he mocked Harrison’s words, following it up by a gagging sound. “You’re the one that got us here. Now, go solve it.”

“I really don’t mind it. If you’re so bothered, go talk to her yourself.” And with that, Harrison went back to his book. This time actually reading the words. It was enough for Tom to know that the conversation was over. He didn’t even try to argue. He gave Harrison one more glare and got up. While walking to your room, he noticed that Harry had actually been in the kitchen this whole time, listening in on their conversation. He tried to give his little brother a look, hoping for support, but he didn’t get any of that. Harry disappeared behind the doors of a cupboard and Tom went into the corridor, still rolling his eyes.

When he reached your door, he couldn’t hear you singing anymore. It was just One Direction coming from the speakers. Now, he enjoyed the lads just as much as the next guy, but after a while he just needed it to stop. And coming in in five hours was definitely a while.

He knocked on the door. There was a sound that resembled you. A bit of a murmur that formed no particular word. It didn’t sound like a denial though, so slowly, in case you didn't want him to come in, he opened the door.

You were quick in decorating the room. Only a few days ago it was still empty and a bit cold looking, now the walls were covered with posters and pictures. You had used one entire wall just for your bookcase. There didn’t seem to be an order on the shelves just yet, but you left that for the last thing to do since the rest of the room seemed a bit more important at the moment.

The bed was unmade, with several pillows thrown about over it. Behind it the headboard, which simultaneously served as a shelf. Stuffed animals and a few more books were strewn about. Overhead were fairy lights, matching the ones on the doorframe and on the bookcase. Together with the lamp that was on the desk, it was the only light in the room. Since it was dark, it gave the room a warm and cozy atmosphere.

But the first thing that Tom noticed when he walked into the room was the smell. Coconut? It wasn’t overwhelming, just strong enough to be pleasantly surprising and noticeable.

You were standing on a small step ladder, which you usually used to reach the upper shelf of your bookcase (high walls gave the opportunity for more shelves, which you could never say no to). You were in the middle of hanging up a picture on the wall as the song from your speaker continued.

Can we take the same road, two days in the same clothes-

You were holding on to the frame with both hands, trying to centre it on the nail in the wall, but every time you pulled away, the frame would slant to the side.

And I know just what she’ll say if I can make all this pain go-

Tom saw you get fed up with the picture, throwing it on the bed with a groan. That’s when you looked up at him. The dim and soft light was shining just at the angle that when he looked at you, he could see the tear streaks down your face. You had definitely been crying. You were still sniffling a bit when you stepped down to the floor.

“Am I too loud? Sorry.” you immediately reached out to your phone, which was connected to the speaker, and pressed down the volume. Then you decided to just turn it off completely. Maybe you’ve had enough of it for now.

“Uhh, a bit, but it’s fine. We like 1D here, so.” Tom suddenly felt like a real dick when he saw the small, apologetic, smile you gave him. You were holding the speaker in your hands as you sat on the bed, staring at it, a bit lost, and Tom wasn’t sure if he was supposed to leave or not.

“Are you okay?” he asked. You had clearly forgotten he was still there, because you looked up looking a bit frazzled.

“No.” You said honestly. What would be the point in pretending? You couldn’t fool anyone even if you tried. Misery was the only thing feeling your once Spencer-filled void. Ugh, the sound of his name, even just in your thoughts, made you want to scream. Unconsciously, and a bit to Tom’s amusement, you had grabbed one of your pillows and started to hit your fist right in the middle of it. Your hits were getting harder and rougher.

“Ever considered boxing?” He brought you out of your haze. You looked down at the pillow, seeing the sad looking indent on the kitten-patterned pillow. Tom took the pillow away from you and fluffed it out to its normal shape before putting it back.

“It’s just been hard, you know,” you said, more to yourself than to him and Tom understood that. He knew what you meant. He had been in that same position not too long ago and seeing you like this did definitely bring back some of those feelings he had tried to suppress back then.

“Like, I thought he was the one. And I know it sounds so stupid, I don’t even believe in that whole soulmate crap, but he was it for me. For the first time, I could actually imagine myself enduring nine months of hell to have a kid with him, sorry if I’m being TMI.”

“You’re good,” he said. He also understood that feeling. Maybe not in the exact, child bearing way, but he could resonate with that whole it thing. He had felt the same way about Stacey. He had never told anyone this, and was never planning on telling anyone, but the day before they broke up, he had been out in the city looking for an engagement ring. It had come unplanned. He wasn’t thinking yet about actually proposing. But he had been in town for an audition and on his way home he saw the jeweller. It was the first time he had ever thought of it, and it seemed right, so he walked in and just looked around.

“You must think I’m so pathetic though. Crying for weeks about some douchebag.”

“Well, you’ve only lived here for five days, so I wouldn’t know about that.” He smirked. You groaned again and fell with your head on a big fluffy pillow.

“But no,” he said eventually, “I don’t think you’re pathetic.”

“Thanks.”

_______________________

Another week had gone by and your mother had somehow found out about your new living arrangement. So, the last 20 minutes you had been sitting on the couch, listening to her yelling.

“No mum, I’m fine.” you said, for what felt like the 50th time. Right at that moment, Harry showed up in the living room, making his way from a shower to his bedroom, only a towel around his waist. His usually curly hair was a wet mop, covering most of his face.

“You don’t even know them!” your mother shrieked.

“Harry, are you going to murder me?” you asked as he walked by, covering the microphone of your phone. Without missing a beat, or looking down at you, he answered with a snappy “Yup,” and walked into his own room.

“They’re really nice guys, mum.” You told her. It took you another ten minutes to convince her not to come over tomorrow (or ever, in general). The conversation had taken an abrupt turn when suddenly, she invited you to a video call. Knowing that if you didn’t answer it, you would never hear the end of it, you accepted the call. Your mothers face, or better said, forehead, showed up on screen. You tried to cover your chin as best as you could with the collar of your sweater since you were too tired to hold up your phone at a reasonable angle.

“Hi mom,” you sighed.

“Where are they?!” she said, looking around as if she could actually see more than what your camera showed. You were going to lie that they had gone out, but right at that second Harry walked out of his room. Thankfully he was dressed, but his hair was still a bit wet. His shoulder was just visible in the corner of your screen and you tried to move to the side, but your mother had noticed him already.

“Who’s that?” Why did your mother always have to be so loud?

“Uhh, that’s Harry.”

He looked up at the mention of his name. You were scared that it would make him uncomfortable if you talked about him to your mom, it was making you uncomfortable for sure, but instead he jumped up at the opportunity and the next second he was leaning on the couch, almost over you, and smiling at your phone.

“Hi.” He waved to your mother. His quick movements made his hair move around, giving you a nice first row experience of the fountain show coming from it. You wiped the water off your face.

“What’s your name again?” Your mother asked.

“Harry, Ma’am. Harry Holland.” He said with a smile. You both knew that when your mother had asked him his name, she meant his full name. She wouldn’t be able to make any deep research, but it was in case you suddenly went missing, of course.

“How old are you?” your mother went on with the third degree, glaring at your roommate at each question. Harry answered it all with a big and charming smile. You held the camera, hoping the couch could eat you already. This could not get any more embarrassing, could it?

Oh, it could. Because half way through, your sister had shown up and sat down next to your mom. She didn’t say anything, but suddenly a text notification popped up on the top of your screen.

Who’s the hot guy?

Your sister was not imbecile, yet she loved to act like it. Of course, Harry saw the text and erupted in a loud laugh, startling your poor mother. As the timer on the call was reaching 30 minutes you decided to say your goodbyes and end the conversation. Harry was still laughing.

“So… you’re sister…” he said once calming down.

“Don’t even think about it. She’s 17.” you glared at him and he immediately shut up, which you appreciated.

“Well, your mom seems nice,” he eventually said. You knew he didn’t mean it in that way, but in the context of your previous exchange, it didn’t sound great. Now you were the one laughing.

“That is not what I meant!” he shouted out, grabbing a throw pillow and hitting you on the arm with it lightly.

“Jesus, calm down. I know.” You grabbed the pillow from him. You were both in a fit of giggles by then. It took a moment to catch a breath and by that point, your head was actually hurting.

“So do you think I’m hot?” Harry asked, raising his brow like the cheeky fuck he is. You just rolled your eyes and hit him with that same pillow. Maybe a bit too hard, because it knocked him off balance and when you looked up, he was no longer leaning on the backrest of the sofa.

“Oops. Sorry.”

_______________________

Something you had to learn the hard way when it came to living with the guys was that you had to lock your doors. They weren’t doing it on purpose, but they had a tendency to forget to knock when walking into the bathroom, or even your bedroom. Specifically, Harrison.

Usually, you’d consider him to be the more logical of the three, but that didn’t really mean that much. He was just as much of an idiot as the two Holland brothers at times.

The bathroom incident had happened during your first week of living with the boys. You were taking a shower. The loud water had cancelled out the sound of the door opening so you didn’t know that while you were washing your hair, Harrison had walked into the bathroom.

In his defence, he thought it was Tom showering, not you.

You had not been made aware yet of the honourable fifth member of the household: a life size Nicolas Cage cardboard cut-out. So, when you pushed the shower curtain aside, and were met eye to eye with Nick Cage himself, you screamed bloody murder, almost falling in the bathtub. The door opened to horrified Harrison, realising his mistake. He realised it as soon as he heard the screams, which clearly did not belong to Tom.

But another scream followed, which was shorter and more specific, followed by a “Fuck!” made him feel like something else had happened. It sounded like you had gotten hurt. So, obviously, he walked in to see if you were alright.

You were, in fact, alright, and seeing him standing there, eyes wide as he saw your naked body, you screamed again for him to get out. He took a second to grab Nick and pull him out of the room, mumbling a few sorrys, and closed the door behind him.

Flushed, slightly angry, and with a pounding heart, you dried off and got dressed. Unlike the guys, you were never one to parade half naked around the house on your way from the bathroom to your bedroom.

You walked out, a pile of old clothes in your hands, to see Harrison. He looked like a puppy that might be about to be smacked with a newspaper on his nose. Usually you were very much against that disciplinary practice, but Harrison was no puppy, and you had been scared shitless.

“y/n, I’m so sorry.” he apologised as he followed you to your room. You were telling him that it was alright, and actually quite funny, but he really wanted you to know that it was an accident and that he didn’t mean to scare you like that or walk in on you naked or linger his eyes on you for that long.

“Seriously, Haz, it’s fine. Shit happens… just, don’t walk into the bathroom anymore when I shower. Or ever actually, if I’m in there, don’t.”

“Yeah, of course.”

And he kept to the promise. You didn’t get any other sudden visits in the bathroom, but it was not the last time that Harrison saw you naked.

You were all going out to a bar one night, and a bit shamefully, you were taking a bit longer than usual with getting ready. The guys had been waiting for a while already, and you were trying to hurry up, but you just had no idea what to wear. Finally you had found yourself a dress that might make you get a bit lucky that night. You weren’t even planning on hooking up, but the attention was appreciated. In your, still not exactly over your break-up situation, it was actually needed.

In the meantime, the guys were deciding which one of them had to go and tell you to hurry up. It was getting late and they needed their time to get completely smashed. And while waiting for you, getting knock out drunk was definitely not happening.

Harrison drew the figurative short straw. He thought you were doing your make-up or something, being aware how much time that can take sometimes. He never imagined opening the door and seeing you standing in the middle of your room, only in a pair of panties. You didn’t see him at first because your dress was over your head as you tried to pull it on. Harrison closed the door before you saw anything. But you could hear the thud of the door closing.

You pulled the dress over your body, grabbed a pair of matching heels and put them on as you got out of your room. There you saw Harrison. His red cheeks indicated that he was the one who had walked into your room. Tom and Harry were standing at the door. They could see you walk out and their eyes had gone a bit wide. Clearly, the dress was serving its purpose.

Having already gone through this whole embarrassing scenario already, you decided to spare Harrison. You have him a soft smile.

“Could you help me zip up?” you asked, turning your back and pushing the hair away from the zipper.

“Uhh, yeah, yeah, of course.” He was so flustered. It was actually adorable. You could feel his hands on you as he grabbed the two sides of the dress and the zipper and slowly, carefully, pulled it up.

“Thank you,” you said when he was done. He didn’t respond, his face still as red as a stop light. And it didn’t get any better when you kissed him on the cheek.

It was definitely interesting to be living with them, but you couldn’t complain about a single thing… except for the laundry, maybe.

The END

> Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed

> please leave a comment or ask with your thoughts. i love reading them and let me know if you want to see more of this au cause i really enjoyed writing it :)

>masterlist and link to taglist in bio

tagging:

@definitely-not-black-cat @artemisiaarm @nerdyhockeygirl @miraclesoflove @justasmisunderstoodasloki @thefridgeismybestie @m19friend @creative-happenings @parker-holland-osterfield @fanficparker @fanficscuziranout @peterparkoure @xxtomxo @happywolves81 @captainbuckyy @tra-gicx @qxeen-of-hearts @varshavisuu @kangaroobunny @petersunderoos96 @the-lost-fairy-tale @nerd-domland @sleepybesson @rissa067 @the-queen-procrastinator @scarletteclipze @screeching-student-unknown @spiderrrling @lonelyavenger @tomhollanders2013 @miraclesoflove @playinonaloop @queenoflostspirits @roses-hxlland @hereiamhereigo @sunnydays0803 @averyfosterthoughts @moorehollandplz @beiroviski @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @peterparkerbabyyy @multifandomlover21 @lmaotshollandd @badbitchydecisions @tikapollak @awesomehritz @madzleigh01 @oh-what-a-beautiful-parker @taciturnspidey @quaksonhehe @mountainsforwords @harryfobter @peepeeparkerr @viagracex @ethereal-beauty-p @slytherin-chaser @worldoftom @moonysoftt @peeterparkr @wazzupmrstark @saintlavrents @peachybloomss @blissfulparker @chloecreatesfictions-archive @fallinfortom @bitchydecisions @okokimfreakingoutahh @rxsydreams @musicalkey @joyleenl @multifandomdoodles121 @awkwardfangirl2014 @marvelouspeterparker @siriuslyslyslytherinyes @lunalovegoodsgirlfriendyes @bitchydecisions @okokimfreakingoutahh @quinjetboi @sheranatic111 @zspideyy @lizzyosterfield @dahliasbroken @parkerlovebot @itstaskeen @sarcasticallywitty15 @sluttytears @lilhoodhippie @theliterarymess @marlenetough @tomsirishgirlx @hiiii-i @wonderfulfluffer @dumbledorrs @hollandstea @roseke @outshineallthestars @spideyspeaches @ieatchildrenfordessert

#tom holland au #roommate au #tom holland x reader #harrison osterfield x reader #harry holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #harry holland fanfiction #harrison osterfield fanfiction #fanfiction #fluff

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sunsetcurvecuddles · 4 years ago

Note

Hello you told me not to hold back so I’m gonna be ANNOYING feel free to ignore indefinitely until you’re feeling it but I’m gonna send you like a bunch of prompts cause I can’t sleep and am stalling finishing my own fic.

First one: Bobby (obviously), Reggie or Luke or friends I don’t even care, tea and blankets

lol hi have a rebuke cuddle-puddle disaster, also available on ao3 here. warning for swearing and very vague allusions to physical child abuse.

i guess we belong to each other | reggielukebobby | 1.8k words

Luke has his guitar in his lap and his writing notebook by his side even though it's late at night. He's playing his acoustic, so that he has no chance of stirring Bobby's parents from where he's sat in their studio, and though he'd never admit it to anyone, it's cold enough that he's found one of Alex's hoodies in the back of the studio, a black one Alex never wears any more, and he's bundled up in it to try to fight off the chills. He regrets storming out earlier this evening — not because his parents might be worried, he's still too mad at them for that, but because he misses his own warm bed in a house with central heating.

But it's late, and he doesn't want to bother Bobby, who's already been generous enough as it is (and is exceptionally grumpy when he's woken in the middle of the night). So Alex's old hoodie, smelling vaguely of the dusty studio and distantly of Alex, will have to do.

A noise distracts Luke from his writing. Something outside the studio, maybe an animal, but it sounded like footsteps. Cautiously, he draws his guitar closer, running through what he could say if it's Bobby's parents, his heart suddenly rabbit-fast in his chest.

A head pokes through the door.

Luke's shoulders drop with relief.

It's Reggie.

He looks a little scruffy, not like himself, because usually Reggie pays such close attention to his appearance, fusses over his hair and colour-codes his outfits and shaves with the precision of a professional painter. But he kinda looks messy, which makes Luke's stomach feel even colder than the air around him.

“Oh! Hey, man,” Reggie laughs, putting on a big smile, and it'd fool anyone else — Reggie's too experienced at this for his own good. “I didn't know you'd be here!”

“Hi, Reg,” says Luke, sounding a little distracted even to his own ears as he carefully looks Reggie over. He's not walking like he's been hurt, and there are no visible injuries. So that's something. Jesus, Luke wouldn't know what to do if Reggie turned up here with a fresh version of the bruises Luke sometimes catches him trying to hide. “You, uh — you good?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Reggie agrees easily, saunters into the studio and slumps down on the couch next to Luke. The relaxed way he moves soothes Luke's worry somewhat. “The house was just — ugh. You know how they can be.” Looking over at Luke, Reggie adds, “Hey, isn't that Alex's hoodie? I was wondering what had happened to that.”

“Hey!” Luke sputters, a little defensive. “He didn't, like, loan it to me or anything, it was just here! I found it.”

“It is cold,” Reggie concedes, pulling his flannel a little tighter around him. “Wish I'd brought my jacket, but it was in the kitchen and I didn't wanna. I dunno. Didn't wanna get in the way.”

Luke nods, puts his guitar to the side so he can press up against Reggie's side. Hip to hip, his cheek on Reggie's shoulder, links their ankles together and puts an arm over Reggie's stomach. Almost automatically, Reggie links his arms around Luke in turn.

Honestly, Luke was intending to steal some of Reggie's body heat, but after Reggie's walk outside and in such a thin layer, he thinks Reggie's probably leeching his own. Luke lets him go ahead; Reggie seems to need it more than he does.

They sit for a moment, both unusually quiet, huddling and not talking. Not so much for a lack of things to talk about, but more because any topic that comes to Luke's mind feels insurmountably complex and emotional. There’s so much stuff he can't tell Reggie — so much stuff Reggie isn't telling him. So they sit together and try to create some warmth without the need for disclosure.

Until there's another set of scuffled footsteps outside.

“Not Alex too,” Reggie sighs, at a whispered volume so that the newcomer can't hear him, “he squirms so much in his sleep, man, I can't share this pull-out with him again.”

Luke muffles a laugh with the back of his hand, but he can't help worry it's Alex, too. Things have been... okay, he thinks, with Alex's folks since he came out, but he also knows Alex hoped for better. Suspects there are things Alex isn't telling them (so they all have that in common).

But it's not Alex. Preceded by an armful of blankets that he's almost tripping on, Bobby staggers in, still in his pajamas and with his eyes almost all the way closed. “Luke? It's fucking freezing, I thought I'd—” He stops when he gets far enough in to see Reggie on the couch too. “Oh, shit.”

“Hey, Bobby,” says Reggie, voice a little nervous. “I hope it's okay that I—”

“Shut up,” Bobby grumbles, and dumps the whole pile of blankets on top of Reggie. “You guys are stupid. You're both out here, in the freezing cold, and neither of you come wake me up?”

“We didn't want—” Luke starts, at the same time as Reggie insists, “You were sleeping—!”

“Idiots,” Bobby growls, rubbing his eye with his sweater paw and yawning. He looks stupidly cute, like a little kid. “You're idiots, and I hate dealing with you. I'll be back.” Turning to leave the studio again, he turns back and adds, “Hurry up and burrito yourselves in those blankets, I swear to god. And Luke, isn’t that Alex’s hoodie?”

“He left it—!” Luke starts, but Bobby’s already gone, leaving Luke with Reggie, cackling at him.

—

By the time Bobby returns, Luke and Reggie have folded the couch out into its bed form, and are snuggling under the several blankets, giggling together as they talk about how grumpy Bobby had been.

“We should have woken him up,” Reggie snorts, “I think then he would have been less pissed.”

“I would have,” Bobby agrees, sounding somewhere between menacing and amused, as he reappears over them. His hair is all shaggy in his face. He's carrying a teapot. And cups. “Sit up.”

Luke does right away, Reggie pulling himself up a little slower. Bobby sits cross-legged at the foot of the couch-bed, tucking his socked toes under his own legs to keep warm, and pours them each a mug of what smells like peppermint tea. Suddenly, Luke can't imagine anything better in the world. When Bobby offers him a cup, he takes it eagerly, wrapping his cold hands around it and enjoying the steam wafting up to his face.

“Wow,” says Reggie softly, eyes wide, “thanks, Bobby.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Luke echoes, letting out a sigh as he takes his first sip.

“Forget it,” Bobby says, a little bitey. Luke knows it's because Bobby hates being seen as nice, so he doesn't take it personally, and he knows Reggie won't either. He has his own cup, which he drinks as though it's done something to offend him, scowling off into the corner of the studio. Reggie nudges Bobby with his foot from under the layers of blankets, and a tiny smile tugs at Bobby's mouth as he nudges Reggie back with his elbow.

After the cup of tea, Luke feels better. He feels warmer on the inside, now, and sleepy too. Reggie is starting to get that dopey, slow blink that shows he's on the verge of sleep as well. Bobby clears his throat and holds out a hand, beckoning for their empty cups. Luke and Reggie hand them over.

“Okay,” says Bobby, after a pause. “G'night, guys.” He goes to stand, but Reggie leans forward and catches Bobby's sleeve.

“Would you stay?” he asks, as if he can't help himself, as if on sheer impulse, but he doesn’t look embarrassed afterwards.

“Reg!” Luke says, a little startled. “It's cold out here, he won't want—”

But he sees Bobby's face, and he stops himself. Because he can see it in Bobby's eyes. That he does want. He’s Bobby, so he won't say it, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his gaze fixed on some point behind Luke and Reggie's heads, but Luke has known Bobby for too long to miss something this obvious, no matter what else Bobby can hide from him.

“That being said,” Luke backtracks hurriedly, “it would be warmer with you here, Wilson. I'm happy to be a leech.”

“That's all I'm good for, huh?” Bobby snorts, but he's already setting the mugs down on the floor near the side of the bed, already shuffling the teapot down there too. He hops up for a moment, and Luke wonders where he’s going, before he realises Bobby is just switching off the light. When Bobby comes back, he pauses, like he's not sure where he fits, and Luke and Reggie make eye contact for only a second before they move apart, leaving a space in the middle.

Bobby looks even less sure of himself, eyebrows knitted, jaw tight. His hands flex and one of them twists in the hem of his sweater. Luke gets it. It looks too much like it's on Bobby's behalf, like they’re doing it to make space for Bobby. Bobby’s always had trouble accepting anything that seems like it’s for his own benefit.

“I already sucked all Reggie's warmth up,” Luke explains.

“Yeah,” Reggie agrees immediately, and Luke loves him, “and you're warmer than Luke anyway, man. I wanna huddle with you. As a penguin, you would be my first-choice huddle-buddy.”

Bobby barks a laugh. “The fuck? What does that even mean?” Finally, he wriggles his way under the blankets in between them, and rolls his eyes when they both throw limbs over him right away, twining legs and arms together and resting cheeks on his chest.

“Like, if we were penguins. You know? In the winter?” Reggie says, like this is totally obvious and self-explanatory. “If I was a penguin, I'd be looking for the Bobby-penguin in the winter huddle to stick close to.”

“Aaand I'm at my capacity for dumb shit,” Bobby says, closing his eyes pointedly, but it's a scam, because his hands come to run through Luke and Reggie's hair. “Goodnight, morons.”

“Goodnight, Bobby,” they chorus. This close, Luke could almost brush noses with Reggie, has to try to focus his eyes to keep Reggie from getting blurry. Reggie sticks his tongue out at Luke just a little, and Luke grins back, links his fingers with Reggie’s over Bobby’s stomach, rubbing over Reggie’s knuckles until Reggie’s fingers don’t feel so much like icicles. When Luke uses his free hand to tug the neckline of Alex’s hoodie up over his nose, the familiar smell of the third piece of his heart soothes him right down.

The feel of Bobby’s fingernails on his scalp makes Luke’s eyelids flutter, and before he knows it he’s dopey, the world feeling blurrier and safer and cozier. Honestly, more like home than his own house would have. He no longer daydreams of returning to his own warm bed. Instead, he feels the way Bobby’s chest rises and falls with his breaths, pushing his and Reggie’s joined hands up and down. If he listens closely, Luke can hear Bobby’s heartbeat, familiar and steady.

Maybe the cold isn't all bad.

other prompt fills here :)

jatp taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @queenmolina @nickalicious @bi-reginald @malecacidd @burntchromas @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @cinnamonstickrayofsunlight @chickwiththepurpleguitar @fairylightsandrainydays @joyandthephantoms @fighttoshine @michelangelinda @queenofthequillandink

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #reggie peters #bobby wilson #luke patterson #lukebobby #boggie brain rot #rebuke #idk how else to tag this LOL #my fic #chickwiththepurpleguitar #peterpatter

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ibijau · 4 years ago

Text

chap 4 of the modern xisangyao, also on AO3

Meng Yao faces his past and his future

Meng Yao screams upon seeing the face of those two intruders, and nearly stabs himself in the cheek with his tiny knife as he brings up his hands to cover his mouth.

He knows these men.

They killed him, once.

The one in blue chopped off his arm.

That one in red destroyed his reputation, exposed the darker sides of him for all to see, leaving him no choice but to die.

And Lan Xichen, of course, dealt the fatal blow.

Three men in this desolate house with him. Three murderers. Or is it really three? After all, none of this would have happened without…

Meng Yao, who refuses to fall to his knees like Lan Xichen out of sheer pride, sobs. He doesn’t know when, exactly, he started crying. But his face is now wet with tears and snot under his hands and his breath fogs up the blade of his knife. He hasn’t cried like this since his mother died.

In every life he’s lived, she has died too early.

A curse bound to repeat itself, a punishment for everything Meng Yao ended up doing after she died in that first life, and the second, and the third, and…

Somewhere a thousand miles away, heavy footsteps climb up stairs two, three at a times, rushed and loud as they never are usually. Meng Yao can’t see through his tears, but he still knows it must be mister Shanzi. A suspicion confirmed when a moment later his employer speaks up, breathless from running up those stairs.

He never was an athletic man, mister Shanzi, not if he could avoid it.

“Don’t hurt him!” Mister Shanzi cries out, trying to run again, only to settle for stumbling along until he’s in front of Meng Yao.

It’s a surprise, and it’s not. Either way, it startles Meng Yao out of his tears. He blinks a few times, until his vision clears. Mister Shanzi is there, shielding him from the other three, arms spread wide as if to better protect him. Meng Yao can’t see his face, but he can imagine the fierce, determined expression on his employer’s face.

His fourth murderer, and yet now Meng Yao feels less scared at last.

The newcomers aren’t impressed with mister Shanzi. The man in white and blue, kneeling next to Lan Xichen, glares up at mister Shanzi. Meng Yao feels he should know his name. He knew it, once, but they haven’t met in many lifetimes.

“You didn’t say,” the man says coldly, eyes darting toward Lan Xichen, still prostrated on the floor, as if he’s remembering as much as Meng Yao does, and enjoys it as little. “You know how much I’ve tried to find…”

“I’ll buy you lunch, Wangji,” mister Shanzi cuts him. “Deal with your brother, I’m taking care of Meng Yao.”

Lan Wangji frowns at this answer.

That’s his name, Meng Yao recalls. Lan Wangji, the one who goes where the chaos is. And the other, then, is Wei Wuxian. Two parts of a whole. Meng Yao thinks he hated them, once. Even before they destroyed him, he hated them for their freedom, for their right to be careless, when he had to measure his every word, his every action. Or perhaps it is just that a part of him always knew they would kill him.

As Meng Yao tries to remember which came first between hatred and murder, he feels mister Shanzi reach for his hands. The knife is taken from him and put away on the nearest surface, which ought to scare him. He knows, though, that no weapon he might yield could protect him, should mister Shanzi have it in mind to murder him again. Meng Yao has never once been successful in defending himself against him.

With this certainty in mind, Meng Yao doesn’t resist as mister Shanzi pulls him away, back to the basement. This, too, reassures him. Mister Shanzi loves his paintings more than anything in the world, more than scamming powerful assholes and overconfident idiots. If he had to kill Meng Yao, mister Shanzi wouldn't do it somewhere that would taint his precious art.

Once they reach the workshop, mister Shanzi gently brings Meng Yao inside and invites him to take the chair while he closes the door, locking it behind them. This too should scare Meng Yao. It doesn’t.

“How are you feeling?” mister Shanzi asks, coming closer but stopping at few steps away from Meng Yao. Giving him space, so he can feel safe. “How much do you remember?”

“I remember dying because of you,” Meng Yao says, falling onto the chair which rolls away from his employer.

Mister Shanzi is unphased, his face showing only polite interest, the way he does when meeting sellers and buyers. With him dressed like this, the neutral expression feels wrong. Funny, almost. Meng Yao would laugh, if he remembered how.

“You killed me several times,” Meng Yao says. It should make him angry. When he looked at Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, he felt unfathomable rage over what they did to him even if he doesn’t understand what, exactly, it is that they did. They only killed him once, though. But mister Shanzi, who he can remember towering over him, holding a blade wet with his blood… “You also saved me, didn’t you?”

Mister Shanzi smiles, if you can call it that.

“I had to find a new way of dealing with you,” he casually admits. “After the first few times, killing you wasn’t as fun anymore.”

“I was a child the last time you killed me,” Meng Yao protests, and maybe there is some anger to be felt over that. He was just a child that one time.

A toddler really, playing in the street with other kids, Meng Yao suddenly remembers. His mother hadn’t quite died yet in that life, but her health had been declining, so he’d been left to his own devices too often. Someone had offered him sweets and he’d been too young to know he should refuse.

He hadn't even gotten those candies before getting his throat slit.

“It was a low point for me,” mister Shanzi admits with a shiver. “At that time, I was... You see, you had killed my brother in the first life in which we met, and in a truly horrible manner too,” he explains, and Meng Yao nods. It rings a bell. A corpse butchered, a melody... “and since he had never reincarnated, I didn’t see why you should get to. I’d always found you as an adult before that, and it was easy to find some failings of yours to excuse killing you. A child though…” He grimaces in disgust, looks down as his hands as if they're still stained with the warm blood of a three years old. “After that, I started reconsidering the way I was doing things. My brother had believed you were worth giving several chances, once, so I thought I’d honour his memory and do the same.”

“I suppose I should be grateful?” Meng Yao asks. “Just as I was supposed to be grateful toward Mingjue.”

Hearing his brother’s name makes mister Shanzi jump. But he’s not mister Shanzi, Meng Yao realises. That was never his true name.

“You’re Nie Huaisang,” Meng Yao says, mostly to himself. “You’re… after so long, and you’re still doing all this for him. I’d murdered the wrong brother, back then.”

Realising what he just said, Meng Yao tenses and throws Nie Huaisang a sharp glance, terrified that he might lash out at the reminder of that crime which has entangled their fates through centuries.

Nie Huaisang turns away, curling up on himself, shoulders shaking. Meng Yao braces himself for an attack, verbal or physical, but instead after a moment Nie Huaisang bursts out laughing, loud and unrestrained.

“Every time!” Nie Huaisang giggles. “Every damn time, you end up saying that! And every time I say that…”

“Da-ge would have been just as fierce in avenging you, so there was no right brother to kill, no right brother to spare,” Meng Yao finishes in a whisper. “I’m not saying that I want to kill you now,” he quickly adds. “I don’t. Not after what I owe you.”

Of course in that very first life, he owed Nie Mingjue, and that hadn’t stopped him. Meng Yao can feel the reek of the terror he’d felt then, stuck between a rock and a hard place, certain he didn’t have a choice. Perhaps he didn’t. Those were different times, and he had promised his mother to be a good son so his father would give him the status he deserved. So she hadn't suffered in vain when raising him.

Meng Yao had tried to be a good son, which had turned him into a poor friend. Not to Nie Mingjue exactly. They weren’t friends anymore by then. But to Lan Xichen, who had suffered first the loss of Nie Mingjue, and then years later the horror of having helped it happen.

And then Lan Xichen had killed him.

Maybe he hadn't been a very good friend either.

“I’m really sorry for this,” Nie Huaisang says. “You’ve always remembered, whenever I’ve taken you in, but it’s never been quite so fast and brutally. And it’s the first time that…”

He trails off, looking over his shoulder toward the door with a mix of dread and longing.

“Lan Xichen,” Meng Yao guesses.

“Lan Xichen,” Nie Huaisang agrees, before chuckling sadly. “Did you… does he… did he know before coming here, or…”

Meng Yao thinks on it, and shakes his head. He might be deluding himself, but he doesn’t believe Lan Xichen knew, not until they arrived to the Hanshi, not until he saw Nie Huaisang, not until he was confronted by his own brother. It took both of them by surprise.

Meng Yao wants to ask about Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, but doesn’t. It’s not necessary, he realises. Having been in their presence, he can guess that they are more like Nie Huaisang than like him or Lan Xichen. There is just something about those people who no longer die that sets them apart from ordinary humans, even at first glance.

“He was just here about the painting,” Meng Yao explains. “He’s writing a book on… well, on you, I guess.”

The expression on Nie Huaisang’s face is a complicated one, equal part regret and relief.

“Wangji had been looking for him,” he says. “Quite desperately. Well, he found him now, good for him. As for myself, I don’t think I should… well. Well. It doesn’t matter. Lan Xichen made it clear once how he thinks of me, and I know better than to impose myself where I am unwanted. I’ll just disappear for a while, make sure we don’t run into each other. The antics scene was getting a little bothersome anyway. Damn technology, ruining my life. I’ll have to find something else to keep me busy. I guess I’ll have to leave this house, too.”

As he speaks of abandoning the Hanshi, Nie Huaisang looks truly sad. Almost in spite of himself he raises a hand to touch the nearest wall, brushing his fingertips against it as one would a lover.

He's owned this house most of his life, he once told Meng Yao. At the time, Meng Yao had thought his employer had bought it young, or inherited it somehow, meaning he’d lived there for maybe twenty years.

He wonders how long “most of his life” really means.

“Am I fired?” Meng Yao asks instead. A more practical question, and one to which he’s more likely to get an answer.

“Fired?”

“I… I betrayed you. I took someone here without your knowledge.”

Nie Huaisang blinks a few times, then laughs softly and comes to kneel before the chair, taking Meng Yao's hand. His skin his warm, his touch grounding, and Meng Yao, stupidly, wants him to never let go.

“Oh, A-Yao,” Ni Huaisang sighs, squeezing his hand. “Neither of us would ever know how to refuse Lan Xichen anything that he asks. How could I blame you for this? No, you’re not fired.”

Meng Yao lets out a deep exhale.

“I still can’t keep you around anymore,” Nie Huaisang adds, tilting his head slightly. It makes him look like a curious bird. He’d like the comparison, Meng Yao thinks in a panicked effort to not delve on what his former employer just said.

“I won’t betray you again,” he promises, grasping Nie Huaisang's hand tightly, as if that could keep him here.

“If Lan Xichen asks, you will. I don’t think he’ll ask, mind you,” Nie Huaisang says with a smile. “I haven’t seen him since that first life we all shared, and we didn’t part on good terms. You wouldn’t know, you were dead already, but I… well. He did not take kindly to being used as my weapon to kill you, to put it mildly. And now you’re in love with him again, in a world where… well, it’s easier to love him these days, isn’t it?”

“I’m not in love,” Meng Yao says, but the protest sounds hollow as it leaves his lips.

If he’s not in love with Lan Xichen, he’s more than halfway there already. Why else would he have betrayed Nie Huaisang, whom he does love, in spite of how stupid it is? Even without realising exactly what 'mister Shanzi' was, Meng Yao could tell there was something off about the man, something unnatural and dangerous. He's an idiot, though, and loved him all the more for it.

“I’m not in love just with him,” Meng Yao corrects, which startles Nie Huaisang. Good. Meng Yao isn’t quite as cruel as he was in that first life or some of the following ones, but he wouldn’t call himself kind either. If he must suffer, why shouldn’t others do too? “Take me with you. Wherever you’re going, take me with you.”

“No.”

“Do you really think Lan Xichen would still have anything to do with me, now that he remembers?” Meng Yao insists, rising from the chair. Nie Huaisang lets go of his hand and stands up as well, takes a few steps back as if putting distance between them will do anything. “It’s pointless to leave me behind. Take me with you.”

“No. You’re mortal,” Nie Huaisang sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You… I’m not doing that. I’m not involving myself with a mortal. I’ve seen what it does to people like me. I won’t… I can’t allow anything to destroy me like that. Not until I’ve found da-ge again, not until I’ve seen him safe and happy.”

Meng Yao nods, because he understands, because he’d give everything for a chance to see his mother again, would sacrifice anything just to make sure she’s happy. And still, he says again: “Take me with you.”

“No.”

“You’ll need an assistant. You need one. You're useless on your own. You suck at keeping track of appointments, and you still haven’t figured out social media, and… just that, just your assistant.”

“No.”

“I can keep things compartmentalised.”

“I can’t,” Nie Huaisang snaps. “I… I would have let you go soon, anyway,” he adds, more quietly, as if confessing a terrible secret. “You are… I got attached, more than planned. You’re good, in this life. I think the world is finally changing enough to allow you to exist and you’re… but it doesn’t matter. I was always going to let you go, it’s just happening sooner than I’d planned.”

“So I am fired.”

Nie Huaisang grimaces. For a moment, just a second, he looks exactly as old as he is. There’s an exhaustion in his eyes, so deep and ancient it is almost frightening to behold. Centuries after centuries of looking for the same person, of never finding him, of meeting instead his brother's murderer over and over and over again.

“You’re not fired,” Nie Huaisang tiredly insist. “I’m going to continue paying you until you find another job, and I’ll make sure the right people know you’re on the market again, if you want to stay in that line of work. I also don’t mind paying for any school you like. I’ll write you letters of recommendation, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re good even without me, but… but after today you won’t see me again. I just can’t risk it.”

“And if you found your brother again,” Meng Yao suggests, because unlike Nie Huaisang he’s good with new technology. If Nie Mingjue is alive somewhere, he can find him. He will find him. It can’t be a coincidence that Lan Xichen and him met like that, so maybe…

Nie Huaisang shrugs, and shakes his head.

“I’ll never stop looking for him. But I don’t think he’s coming back. I think the damage to his soul was too great, and it was just the end for him. I’ve got to keep looking, but I think there’s nothing to find. So I won’t make promises to you, Meng Yao. I’ll have that decency, at least.”

It’s funny, Meng Yao thinks, how little Nie Huaisang has changed since that first life.

By which he means, Nie Huaisang is still the same dramatic asshole as he used to be, still so wrapped in his own problems that he doesn’t really care about the effect his decisions have on others, because he’s a Nie so of course he’s always right.

It used to drive Meng Yao grazy, in that first life, when he thought all Nie Huaisang had going for him was a good inheritance and a pretty face.

It still drives him crazy right now, when he knows Nie Huaisang is perfectly capable of being more than this, should he feel like it.

Before Meng Yao can insist, there is a knock on the door. They both startle, having half forgotten there are others with them in that house. Nie Huaisang looks panicked for a moment, but quickly gets himself under control. He probably guesses, as Meng Yao does, that it cannot be Lan Xichen, who surely would never reach out to either of them.

That guess turns out to be right. When Nie Huaisang goes to open the door, he finds Wei Wuxian there, who looks… not quite angry as such, but ready to be pushed there if anyone says the wrong thing.

“You still want us to take you away?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Nie Huaisang nods quickly, than shakes his head, looking up at the ceiling.

“Zewu-Jun can’t… If he's coming too...”

“He needs time to digest, and he says that one…” Wei Wuxian nods toward Meng Yao, who flinches on instinct “...called him a taxi, so he’ll make his own way home. Lots to think about. Did you fucking know, Huaisang?”

“Not until today, and I called you right away. You think I wouldn’t have told you, if I’d known? You think I’d have gone anywhere near him by choice?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs, in a manner that seems to imply he doesn’t really know what Nie Huaisang might do about anything.

“What about that one?” Wei Wuxian asks, nodding again toward Meng Yao.

Nie Huaisang shrugs. “He has his car. Wei-xiong, I just want to leave now. Please.”

They do leave. Wei Wuxian glances one last time at Meng Yao, but Nie Huaisang doesn’t look back as he exits the room.

Just like that, Meng Yao finds himself alone, with only paintings and a broken game console for company.

He allows himself a moment of sorrow because, and he can admit this to himself now that it no longer matters, he’d been hoping to spend the rest of his life with either Lan Xichen or Nie Huaisang. Both, if fate chose to be kind to him.

Fate has never chosen kindness, when it comes to him.

So Meng Yao dries his tears, and picks up that shattered console on the floor.

The paintings in this room are worthless to him. Over half are fakes, and even Nie Huaisang, who painted them, doesn’t always recognises just from looking what’s real and what’s not. But the console… well, there’s a guy who lives in Meng Yao’s building who’s made a business of buying broken electronics and either repairing them or scavenging them for parts.

Maybe Nie Huaisang really will continue paying him, or maybe he won’t, but Meng Yao hasn’t gotten where he is in life by counting on the kindness of others.

He’ll sell the console when he gets home.

#xisangyao #sangyao #xisang #xiyao #mdzs #counterfeit au #everyone is a mess with a crush oops #jau writes

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sickfic-shiz · 3 years ago

Text

Rest

Whumptober 2021 | Comfort

Warnings: emeto/vomiting (stomach bug)

Notes: thought I’d post a piece of writing for the first time in a long long while, introducing some new characters! I’d love to talk more about them and answer any asks about them!

“You’re sick, go back to the dorm.” Muqing repeated for what felt like the fiftieth time in the two hours they had been studying together in the campus library.

Wu Ming was shivering miserably as he tried to focus on his notes, even beneath two jackets— one being Muqing’s which they had shrugged off and wrapped around him after watching him tremble for the first half an hour. It didn’t take a genius to tell that he wasn’t feeling well.

“I’m fine. I’m always cold. You know that.” Wu Ming replied with the same thing each time, scowling down at the words swimming on the page as if they had offended him. He knew fully well he was sick, or at least getting there, but he couldn’t afford to let his grades slip.

“Jesus, at least go back and take a nap first or something, how are you getting anything done?” Muqing grumbled irritably, before softening his tone somewhat. “C’mon, I’ll even walk you back if you want.”

“I really need to finish revising this. Just focus on yourself.” Wu Ming sighed, briefly leaning his forehead on his palm. “Believe me, I don’t want to be here either.”

Muqing muttered something under his breath pointedly, standing up in a manner that made his annoyance clear. “Fine. I’m going to take a break.”

Wu Ming watched him stalk away, before letting his facade crumble a little more, laying down on the table with a muffled groan. Truth be told, he felt awful. He was cold and shivery, and his stomach had started to feel oddly unsettled. His head was starting to hurt something fierce, and he hardly wanted to think about how he would get through his shift at work later.

“Hey.” Muqing’s voice came from above him some time later, and he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I bought you some tea, it might help. You really should get some rest. At least before your shift.”

Wu Ming picked up the paper cup that had been set in front of him, immediately grateful for the warmth. He took a few small sips, finding it a welcome change from shivering. It was true he wasn’t getting much done right now. “Fine, you win.”

“Really?” The agreement surprised him. As much as he wanted Wu Ming to get some rest, he was also ridiculously stubborn.

“Sure. There isn’t much time left before work anyway. In exchange, get me some stuff from the pharmacy.”

“Okay, asshole. I’m not buying you tea ever again.” Muqing made a show of rolling his eyes, but still reached over to help pack and carry his things. “What do you want me to get you?”

When he returned with the requested medicine, (and several things that were, decidedly, not medicine, Wu Ming was a horrible scam) Wu Ming was curled up in bed, fast asleep. Muqing smiled despite himself, bending down to pull the covers up and wrapping them snugly around him. He rarely seemed to let himself rest, and Muqing almost never saw him go to sleep before he did.

He took the time to sort out the supplies he had picked up— painkillers, fever reducer and an antiemetic from the pharmacy, (the latter two he had gotten just in case) followed by green tea, canned soup and crackers from the supermarket. Muqing figured he could boil some water first, so he could bring the tea with him to work. The kettle boiled just as Wu Ming’s phone alarm went off, and Wu Ming moaned, sitting up groggily.

“You really are in no condition to be working.” Muqing remarked, even though he knew that it wouldn’t do anything to convince him. Instead, he pressed the back of his hand to Wu Ming’s neck to check for a fever, and he wasn’t particularly surprised to find that it was too warm. “Take your temperature first. If it’s too high, I’m dragging you to the hospital no matter what you say.”

Wu Ming took the thermometer that was held out to him obediently, still hazy with sleep. Muqing took it from him when it beeped, frowning. 37.9. To be fair, it wasn’t very high, but he almost wished it would be higher so he could justify manhandling Wu Ming back to bed.

“Did you get the tea?” Wu Ming asked, rubbing at his face in an attempt to wake himself up.

“Yeah, I boiled some water already, I’ll put the tea in a thermos for you so you can bring it to work.”

“Mm.”

“Take some medicine before you leave. I got you your painkillers and a fever reducer too.” Muqing handed the medication over, and placed a glass of water on the table. “Don’t take too many painkillers again or I will hit you and it will hurt.”

“Okay, okay. That was just one time.” Wu Ming fumbled with the packaging, his hands shaking more than he’d like as he took the pills. He didn’t feel much better after his short nap. In fact, his stomach was churning now, making him feel as if he would be sick.

“You could call in sick.” Muqing suggested, knowing it would be futile.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Yeah, because you’re too fucking stubborn.” Muqing glared at him, resisting the urge to just knock him out with a heavy book so he would rest. “Better not get a call asking me to pick you up later.”

Work didn’t start out too badly— he was just manning the register today, and it was a fairly straightforward job, even if he was standing right beneath the AC. Most importantly, it was at some high end grocer’s attached to a cafe, so it paid really well. However, it didn’t take long for his sick body to start protesting against the strain he was putting it through. Wu Ming alternated wildly between feeling hot and cold, and the shirt beneath his jacket was drenched in cold sweat after a few of these cycles.

Thank god he had worn a mask out. Forcing himself to sound cheerful was enough of a challenge, let alone having to muster up a smile. He took sips of tea from his flask in between customers, hoping that it would at least settle his stomach. He was so dizzy— at some points it was so bad that his vision was blurring and he was forced to guess at what he was doing.

Suddenly, he realised that he was about to throw up. Wu Ming caught the attention of his coworker, then gestured towards the bathrooms, not trusting himself to speak without throwing up. He didn’t think he could’ve spoken anyway, his throat feeling tight. After getting a response, he hurried towards the bathroom as much as he could without making it obvious that he was about to be sick.

Wu Ming was forced to tear off his mask and retch into the tiny bin by the entrance several times, bringing up a gush of liquid before he could stumble into one of the stalls. Hunching over the bowl, he braced himself against the wall with one hand, the other wrapped tightly around his stomach as he heaved. Wu Ming aimed as best as he could, trying to reduce the mess, but some of the puke splattered onto the seat regardless of his efforts. At least it was mostly liquid, most likely the all tea he had been drinking… as well as the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything since early this morning, probably.

Wu Ming sank into a squat slowly, his legs feeling weak, yet still not wanting to kneel on the tiles. He needed to hurry up if he didn’t want anyone to get suspicious. He dry heaved a few times, then decided that he was done, at least for now. He cleaned up the splatters of vomit left on the toilet seat before flushing, ignoring how the swirl of water made him feel sick all over again. Wu Ming stood at the sinks for a while, staring at his sickly appearance and splashing some water on his face to wake himself up. As he turned to leave, his coworker entered, calling his name. Shit. He had taken too long after all.

“Manager sent me to check if you’d passed out in here.” They joked. “You okay? You’re looking a little ghostly there.

“I’m fine, I was just…” The nausea returned in full force, catching him off guard. Wu Ming spun around, gagging into the sink.

“Oh dear…” They gaped as he threw up into the sink painfully, awkwardly reaching over to pat his back. “Um, you’ll feel better after getting it up?”

“I’m fine.” Wu Ming gasped between retches. “Just give me a minute.”

They nodded, watching him uncomfortably. It looked brutal, the way his shoulders shook badly with each heave.

“Sorry.” Wu Ming murmured apologetically when he was done, turning on the tap to rinse away any remnants of his stomach contents left in the sink. “We should head back before we get in trouble.”

“You should go home if you’re sick.”

“I’m not.” Wu Ming said a little more harshly than he had intended as he put his mask back on. He was so tired of being pressured to stop doing things. If he could afford it, he would’ve gone to bed long ago. Still, he hadn’t meant to snap. “I’m really fine. Let’s go back.”

“Alright, alright.”

They headed out together, and Wu Ming took up his position at the register again. It was terribly hard to focus through everything going on. The painkillers he had taken had started to wear off already, and he bit his lip anxiously. He should’ve brought them with him to make sure he’d get through his shift, though the bigger challenge would’ve been making sure it didn’t come back up right away.

“Ah Ming?”

Wu Ming’s head snapped up to see the next ‘customer’ he was meant to be serving, coming face to face with his boyfriend. “Guoqin? What are you doing?”

“Checking on you, what else? Muqing said you’d gone to work sick, and I was worried— you weren’t looking at your texts.”

“I’m fine.” Wu Ming had lost track of how many times he had said this today, reaching for his basket to ring up the items. “You know I don’t text when I’m working.”

“You look dead on your feet.” Guoqin furrowed his brow, helping Wu Ming to pack the scanned items. “I’m bringing you to see a doctor after your shift at least.”

“I don’t- no doctors.” Wu Ming tried his best to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth and ignore the splashes of acid at the back of his throat. There was no way he would convince Guoqin if he threw up now. “I’m really perfectly fine. I just need some sleep.”

Guoqin studied him closely. There was no way he was well, but it would be nigh impossible to get him to a clinic if he was so adamant. “Fine, no doctors, but I’ll send you back to your room later, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” Wu Ming didn’t think he could say any more without making a mess on the floor, so he kept quiet, hoping that Guoqin would leave. He managed it for all of about five seconds before his roiling gut decided that it was done with being ignored and he muttered a hurried apology before tugging his mask out of the way and booking it for the toilets.

Wu Ming slammed the stall door shut behind him, scrambling into a kneeling position in front of the toilet, too desperate to care about the cleanliness of the floor. He had barely managed to contain the vomit on the way over using his hand, which was now covered in light brown puke. He groaned in disgust even as he gagged into the toilet, now struggling futilely against bringing up the thicker remains of his breakfast. The tea was one thing, but Wu Ming hated few things more than wasting food. It had been a fairly good breakfast too…

The thought of food sent him over the edge, and he quickly lost the battle against the nausea. Gripping the side of the bowl tightly with his clean hand, the vomit sprayed forcefully into the toilet, now unrecognisable.

“Ah Ming, are you okay? Can you let me in?”

“I couldn’t-hrrRRK- get up for long enough, even if I wanted to.” Scratch that. Being seen— well heard, this time, in such a compromising position, twice in one day no less, was a far worse fate than losing his sausage and egg muffin. “Please, just… go outside. I don’t want you to be here for this.”

“Okay.” Guoqin finally agreed. He was worried, but he knew he would only add to Wu Ming’s bruised pride if he stayed. “I’ll be right outside.”

Wu Ming stamped down the urge to beg him to stay.

When he finally felt done, or at least too empty to bring anything up in the near future, he lay his forehead on the toilet seat, too exhausted to care. Hopefully he wouldn’t catch anything else from the germs. Wu Ming stayed in that position for several long minutes before he could muster the energy to get up. He reached up to flush the toilet, then slowly got to his feet, trying his best to breathe through the sudden vertigo. For a moment, he believed he was about to pass out right there. When it had abated slightly, Wu Ming left the stall to wash the puke off his hand, before heading out.

“Ah Ming, how are you feeling?”

…right, Guoqin had said that he’d wait outside.

“I’m…” Wu Ming had meant to say he was fine, but he was assaulted with a lightheadedness that knocked the breath out of his lungs. He couldn’t stop himself from tipping forwards, and the last thing he remembered before passing out was being caught.

When he came to, it took him a while to figure out that he was laying on one of the couches meant for the customers. It took him a bit longer after that to realize that his head wasn’t on a pillow, but in Guoqin’s lap. After he’d made that connection, his face flushed, and he weakly tried to sit up.

“Hey, stay down for a bit, you passed out.” Guoqin pressed him down firmly but gently, then pressed a hand to Wu Ming’s forehead. “You’re burning up, dear. I think I caught you in time, but do you think you hit anything when you fell?”

“No, thanks to you.” Wu Ming mumbled. He was so tired now that the thought of getting up felt overwhelming, not to mention going back to work. “How long…?”

“Just about five minutes. How are you feeling?”

“Sick…” No shit, Wu Ming berated himself internally.

“Yeah?” Guoqin hummed sympathetically, brushing a few strands of hair out of his face. “Your manager said you should take the rest of the day off.”

“I… I want to go home.” God, he was getting all emotional and Wu Ming hated it.

“Okay, let’s get you back to the dorms. I’m sure Muqing will be worried.”

“He- he’s mad at me…” Wu Ming’s voice shook unnaturally, recalling what Muqing had said when he left. “He told me not to call him.”

“Shhh, that’s just the fever talking, you know that’s not true.” Guoqin reassured him. “That’s just the way he speaks, but he’d never stay mad at you. After all, didn’t he ask me to check on you?”

“Yeah…”

“Okay, do you think you’re ready to head back? I’ve got all your stuff ready to go.”

“Mm.”

#sickfic #illness #stomach bug #stomach flu #whumptober #whumptober 2021 #emeto #emeto tw #wu ming #muqing #guoqin #Lan writes

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spectrumed · 3 years ago

Text

8. book

I decided to start writing a book. A novel, it’s going to be fiction. It’s a big project. I dread big projects. I don’t feel as if I am ever able to complete them. It’s going to be left unfinished, why do I even bother? So many projects that I’ve started and never finished. I get an idea, then I can’t make myself do the actual work to make it a reality. Why do I think I can write a book when I can barely read books without becoming distracted and doing something else instead? I give up too easily. But, then again, do I really have it in me to produce something that is good? That people would want to read? Insecurity creeps in, telling me that I will fail. I fear failure. Of course I do, who doesn’t? Whenever people say that their greatest fear is failure, all I wonder is who out there is not afraid of failure? Is there someone out there with so much confidence that they absolutely do not in any way fear failure? Even narcissists technically fear failure, it is what leads them to such ridiculous overcompensation, putting on the facade of bravado to mask their actual dire sense of insecurity. Do not fall for the scams, no person is truly without self-doubt. (Well, I guess maybe psychopaths, but there’s a whole lot of things amiss with them.)

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve entertained myself by coming up with stories, fictional universes that I would populate with characters of my own invention. When I was a kid, what I really wanted was to become a comic book writer and artist. Well, in between other gigs I imagined would suit me, including at one point wanting to be a “singing farmer,” as I put it. Still, I’ve always returned to fiction and storytelling. There’s something about creating a world that lets you so fully distract yourself from all the stressful daily hullabaloo that goes on around you. Escapism, it’s fun, it’s therapeutic, I think. There’s a reason why humans have been telling each other stories for millennia, since even before we lived in houses. Back when we were all huddled around the fire, wearing our best comfortable animal furs, sharing tales of the hunt. Your uncle who once took part in killing a mammoth, the impressive beast nearly gorging him with its big tusks. How clever he was when he noticed that the mammoth had one leg weaker than the others, and used that to his advantage. How the entire hunting party banded together to bring the behemoth down, getting all that meat to feed their families with for months! Stories make you feel good. Like as if you have something to celebrate, even when you might be starving due to the more recent hunts not having gone as well. Damn that saber-tooth tiger that killed your uncle…

Storytelling is linked to acting. Both with acting and with storytelling you have to commit. Whatever you are doing, whatever role you are performing, you have to sell it. You may be on stage talking about that time you went scuba diving with your future wife, and how you encountered an oyster with the most magnificent pearl inside, and how you made a ring for the pearl and used it when you proposed to her. You have to sell it. You have to get the audience laughing, gasping, crying, going “aww,” feeling as if they were there with you that day. Of course, they don’t know it is all just lies. You made it up. It’s all fiction. But you committed, so they won’t ever know. Storytelling is a gift to others, people will appreciate you if you tell good stories, but you’re also kinda deviant. Even if it’s technically based on a true story, you’ve certainly added your embellishments. You’re a trickster, a devious individual. No wonder actors have historically been seen as dubious folks. They come into town, romances all the young women and men, telling them big tales of their lives on the road, and they can’t possibly know if you are telling the truth or not. You may just be lying. You probably are lying. Let’s be honest, you’ve probably not told a single true thing in your life.

I am bad at the hustle. No, I can talk quite well, and I can keep people’s attention for a long while. But I can’t be a huckster. Going out there, putting myself on the line hoping people will swallow my bullshit. I can’t really avoid speaking from my heart when I do speak. Or when I write, as I happen to be doing now. This blog has so far been thoroughly candid in places, in such a way I may come across like I’m at a confessional. Not that I have much evil to confess, but I can’t help but be transparent. I can’t flip into different kinds of personalities, each with its own schemes and plots, being some master manipulator, someone who you can never figure out what they're truly up to, or what they truly want. No, what I am is clearly written on my face. I’ve got one self, and it is the one before you. He’s hairy, and tall, and a bit of a dork. I am happy to talk to you, to engage with you, but I won’t be anyone but myself. I am me. I hope that’ll do.

Of course you are familiar with all those pick-up artists that plagues the internet. Or well, not just the internet. Go into any old-fashioned bookstore (where they store books on paper, not in digital code,) and you are bound to find some sleazy book written by a sleazy guy about how to sleazily seduce women. Those books don’t want you acting like me. According to them, seduction is all about manipulation. To figure out the very right thing to say to get women to fawn all over you. They don’t want you to be sincere, telling the truth as you see it. Nah, you gotta keep that stuff bottled up, deep down inside your soul, because most likely, your true self is ugly. It’s interesting how you can get little details from these pick-up artists depending on the sort of things they say, the tips they provide. The fact that all of them seem to harbour this festering misogyny is no big surprise, but every so often, you get these little glimpses of these people’s true worldview, one where power is everything, true love is a fallacy, and happiness is a lie manufactured by Hollywood to make us all into docile consumers. No wonder the “red-pill” so often leads to people taking the “black-pill.” First hucksters will lure you in, telling you that they’ve got the secret as to how to be a success, then when they’ve got you isolated, they reveal to you how truly misanthropic and bleak their actual beliefs are.

I am fascinated with cults, for much of the same reason why I am fascinated with storytelling. What is a cult leader if not just a great storyteller? They’re something like the modern day shaman, capable of spellbinding people with their weird idiosyncratic way of speaking. High-functioning people with autism are often said to have an idiosyncratic way of speaking. No, I am not suggesting that cult leaders are all somewhere on the spectrum, though it wouldn’t surprise me if some famous cult leaders did turn out to have been on the spectrum. However, for an autistic person to become a cult leader, I think they would have to be a true believer, and not some fraud just looking to scam others. Ultimately, no autistic person would want to surround themselves with people unless they truly do believe it is essential, to like, save mankind from damnation or something. It’s the difference between sincerity and insincerity. It is difficult for autistic people to be insincere, as insincerity requires a lot of social skills that autistic people struggle with. Having to juggle all these balls in the air, making sure you keep the big lie going, that you remember to change your behaviour depending on who you are speaking to in order to keep them from figuring out that you’re a bullshitter. Hollow people are great at being insincere. People like L. Ron Hubbard, the founder of the highly profitable cult that is Scientology, was at his core a hollow individual. He had no problems twisting the minds of the people around him, because he never felt a need to be sincere. If an autistic person were to become a cult leader, I can guarantee you that it wouldn’t be a profitable cult. Nah, autistic people aren’t in it for the money, we’re all about keeping it real.

Being a sincere person, surely I should be able to write a novel and make it feel earnest. Like it was delivered with passion, because I wouldn’t be able to write anything that wasn’t true to myself. Well, I do hope so. Having something I’ve made be referred to as genuine is something I see as a great compliment. I’m a student of art history, I’ve made some “serious” art before, I know how terrible art can be when it is not delivered with good faith. Sure, some art is cynical, or ironic, but even then, it tends to come from a real place. Good artists, even when they’re fully armed with the dada mindset, must believe in what they are doing. Whether they are doing it for a laugh or not, that’s irrelevant. Even if all you wish is to be silly and make something that is comical, you have to believe in what you are creating. Or else people won’t bother engaging with it. Why look at a painting by someone who is just interested in making money? Insincere artists do exist, and they can end up becoming quite successful, but ultimately, history won’t be kind to them. Damien Hirst comes to mind, heard he's into NFTs now.

Sure, I don’t like insincere people. Does that make me a bigot? Like, it’s not as if they can help themselves. It’s just who they are, spineless maggots with no soul. It doesn’t mean we have to hate them. No, no, no... I am just generalising. Don’t go thinking there’s just two kinds of people in the world, the sincere and the insincere. It’s not a binary. Most people are both, just like with introverts and extroverts, humans are complex. But there are definitely those that decide to feed into their insincere side, realising that it is often the key to success. Through insincerity, you learn to let go of self-doubt, you stop worrying so much about what others think of you, because you are never truly yourself. If they hate you, then so what? They don’t actually hate you, they just hate a role that you are playing. So what if you seduced that woman, made her feel as if you were the perfect match, then you ghosted her and completely forgot about her? It’s her fault for falling for your tricks. You were clearly just playing the game, being a super-seducer, she should have known better. By embracing insincerity, it’s like gaining a superpower. No longer do you have to care about the impact you have on others, no longer do you have to worry about what it means to be a social human being making choices that affect the others around you. Because you’re not the person they think you are. Actually, you’re not quite sure you’re the person you think you are… Who are you?

I’ve got the plot all laid out in my head for the novel. It’s going to be based in the fantasy world that I’ve been working on for the last few years. I’ve been working on this world for almost half a decade now, come to think of it. Why do I keep feeling as if I am never able to keep to a project, when I’ve clearly been working on a massive project all this time? Sure, it’s all just in my head, but it’s not as if most people have the kind of patience to keep going back to a single big project, even if it is just in their head. Not once, while thinking about my fantasy world have I been distracted and started thinking about cute puppies, instead. And you know how difficult that is. Maybe I am too hard on myself. Maybe I will finish this book, and maybe people will want to read it. Maybe it will even get a minimal number of angry reviews, like, I may get a book published without some folks trying to harass me into committing suicide for daring to think I can write. Some people may even be enthusiastic, blowing up my ego with great praise. Maybe someone will come along and tell me that they want to buy the rights to make my book into a movie or a television series. Maybe I will get rich? Maybe I will get famous! Woo! Success here I come!

Well, no, here I go being insincere. That’s not what it’s about. I should be writing this book because I want to write it. Because I want to prove to myself that I am able to write it. Sure, it’s not as if there’s not a little brain goblin inside my mind whispering sweet nothings about how one day I might turn out a real respected author. One with real fans that gets to do big book tours talking about how brilliant I am, how brilliant my work is, and how brilliant things are going for me. I am not going to pretend I don’t have the same aspirations for success that others have. Inside of me you will find the same greedy piglet of an ego hungry for more adoration and more validation that you will find in any person. Humans don’t know when to quit, we always want more. But I am at least safe knowing that I will never debase myself, descending to the same depths as those inhabited by soulless grifters who go through life abusing the trust of others in order to get by. I’m sincere, in the end. I always turn out sincere, in the end. I am a good boy.

And I am also really sexy. I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before on this blog, but I am really, REALLY, sexy. Like, you wouldn’t believe it. Oh, I am so hot. And if you follow and subscribe and hit that bell, I will teach you how you can be just as sexy as I am! And buy my book! And my merch! And my new single! And of course, my new cryptocurrency, by the name of “autism-coin.” It’s going to be a real success on 4chan, let me tell ya!

#neurodivergent #neurodiversity #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health

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fantasy2739 · 4 years ago

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I also would love some sad Douxie for the father and son dynamic he and Merlin had. Like- Merlin finding out more about Douxie’s past?

I’m not sure if I nailed the father-son in this one but I gave it a go. I hope you enjoy it!

Merlin’s trying but he’s not equipped to deal with anything other than world ending disasters.

Merlin sighed and shook his head at his apprentice’s antics. The loot playing was bad enough, what with the terrible songs the boy composed. Scamming the knights out of their coin was worse. Merlin supposed it was some kind of petty revenge over almost arresting him. Being called an errand boy no doubt making it worse. He’d let Hisirdoux have this for now but he needed to talk to him about it later. He did think if Galahad hadn’t worked out how light fingered his apprentice was by now it was his own fault. Sometimes Merlin couldn’t even see how whatever object Hisirdoux had put under a cup vanished. He supposed after years of running the scam Hisirdoux knew all the tricks. When the boy turned up to the work shop later, looking pleased with himself, Merlin told him to sit.

“Hisirdoux stop scamming the knights.” He said firmly. “It’s not appropriate for my apprentice to resort to such lowly activities.”

“It’s not my fault they can’t keep their eyes on the right cup.” Hisirdoux said, looking put out. “I’m not making them give me their money. They chose to.” Merlin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You and I know full well they will never guess the correct cup.” He said pointedly. “Petty revenge is unbecoming of a wizard.” Hisirdoux flushed but didn’t look repentant.

“It’s not petty revenge.” He said brightly. “So it’s fine.”

“Then why on earth are you doing it?” Merlin asked. What else could it be about?

“The money.” Hisirdoux replied, a look in his eye that Merlin couldn’t quite place.

“Greed is not-“

“It’s not greed.” Hisirdoux interrupted. “It’s always good to have some money tucked away. Just in case.”

“In case of what?” Merlin asked. “You have everything you need don’t you?” A hot meal, a bed, steady work. Even more leisurely things like a lute and books.

“For now.” Hisirdoux muttered. “It’s just in case.” He repeated. Merlin sighed, deciding that was most likely the best answer he was going to get.

“Very well.” He said. “Go get started on your chores.” Hisirdoux nodded and grabbed his broom.

Merlin was still thinking about it a few hours later. Just in case. Just in case of what? The castle blowing up? Arthur finally deciding he didn’t want the old wizard there anymore and throwing them out? It’s not like he’d leave Hisirdoux to fend for himself. Merlin paused and mentally swore at himself. Hisirdoux had had to fend for himself. Merlin had found him on the streets. Hisirdoux may dress better than the average street urchin but it didn’t make him less of one. Just in case indeed. His young apprentice was prepared for a worst case scenario. No doubt Hisirdoux knew that Arthur’s view only magic was as unpredictable as the ocean. He was waiting to be thrown out. Or worse he thought Merlin would. But then he’d have something. Merlin almost smiled at his apprentice’s forethought before shaking his head. He should reassure Hisirdoux that for now he was in no danger, and Merlin wouldn’t just abandon him. He went to Hisirdoux’s room and knocked.

“Come in.” Hisirdoux called from inside. Merlin was glad to see his apprentice studiously examining a book of spells. “Yes Master?”

“The money.” Merlin started, seeing Hisirdoux’s frown and raising his hands to stop him interrupting. “It’s in case you can’t stay here, isn’t it?” Hisirdoux’s expression changed from a frown to weary but he nodded.

“If I have to leave, then I’ll have something to get by on for a while.” He said bluntly.

“Do you think if you were made to leave I would just abandon you?” Merlin asked. Hisirdoux winced slightly. “Or do you think I would be the one throwing you out?”

“You never know what might happen Master.” Hisirdoux replied with a vagueness that Merlin realised Hisirdoux had probably got from him.

“If you were told to leave,” Merlin said, glaring at his apprentice for using one of his patented techniques of avoidance. “Then I’m sure you could find work quickly.” Hisirdoux blinked at him, tilting his head.

“Now I could.” He agreed. “When I first stayed on the streets. Well no one would hire a ten year old.” Merlin tried not to think too hard about a ten year old Hisirdoux begging for work or food. “Besides finding work takes some time and you might not even get paid quickly.” Merlin could see the points his apprentice was making. He’d never been a street child. Too powerful a wizard by the time he’d left home to even think he wouldn’t be hired by someone. He sighed, wondering how much he’d missed of the world by living at such a high standard. He sat down next to his apprentice, steeling himself to ask some personal questions for once.

“You don’t talk about the time before I took you in.” He said casually. “Do you want to talk about it?” Hisirdoux ducked his head, fiddling with the book pages.

“Not really.” He said in a small voice. Merlin wouldn’t push him but he did want to know. Even if it was just to be there for his apprentice. “It wasn’t a great time.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t.” Merlin agreed. “Running street scams must have worn on you. Even if it was all the work you could do.” Hisirdoux laughed darkly and Merlin knew he’d said the wrong thing.

“There’s lots of work on the streets if you know where to look.” He said with a bittersweet smile. “Those ‘scams’ just happen to be the most favourable option.” Merlin drew his own conclusions from that and tried not to shudder. He wondered fleetingly if his apprentice’s cheery disposition was just a front to hide a scared and scarred child. The conversation was getting too heavy. Merlin didn’t do feelings and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to shoulder Hisirdoux’s. He did know one way he could make some amends.

“You are rather good at the shell game. Sometimes I can’t even see how you manage to keep people from the correct guess.” Merlin confessed. The smile Hisirdoux gave him was small but warm. “And if Galahad is fool enough to keep trying... that’s a him problem.” Hisirdoux snickered at that, ducking his head again to hide his mirth.

“I’ll try not to scam him in front of you.” Hisirdoux said earnestly when he got his face under control. Merlin gave him a wry smile and a pat on the head, which seemed to surprise Hisirdoux.

“Now then,” Merlin said briskly. “Why don’t we work on some spells?”

#fanfiction #submisison #asks #toa merlin #toa #toa wizards #tales of arcadia #tales of arcadia wizards #douxie #hisirdoux casperan #toa galahad #merlin is trying #he just suffers from foot in mouth #douxie has issues #mainly ones i keep giving him #the amount of pain i put this boy through #pls enjoy #its not sad Douxie #more bitter

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balenciagastones · 4 years ago

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hi im kinda new to this can you pls explain to me why everybody hates lauryn? all i know is she wants kyle to be a dad and he isn't

here we go! putting this under the cut so i don’t flood people’s dash who don’t care <3

okay so bit of backstory first cos im gonna try and do this in chronological order, she is chloe goodman’s sister and she used to go out with marcus rashford’s brother, apart from that she was pretty much a nobody. i also dk how much you know about kyle but basically he’s been with annie for agessss and they have 3 sons together. at the start of 2020 it came out that lauryn was pregnant with a mystery england footballer’s baby and it was kept a secret who it was for ages and just said that they were in a whirlwind romance and the baby was a miracle because she has endometriosis and pos meaning she would struggle to conceive naturally. it was outed cos of pap photos that have been said were staged by her, pretty much the whole of this has been staged by her tbh but it was later announced that the baby daddy was kyle walker and all hell broke loose tbh.

all throughout her pregnancy and a bit after the baby was born she wouldn’t reveal the gender but constantly baited it and hyped it up and drew a lot of attention to the baby’s gender (a little bit of backstory to this is that annie obviously has 3 boys as we said before but she always always wanted a girl and has always been v public with that fact, she also had a miscarriage which wasn’t talked about until after the baby was born but hindsight makes this whole gender situation worse but back to the story). her sister was also pregnant at the same time as her and was public saying she was having a girl so lauryn used to post stories with girls’ baby clothes and pink things in basically to just bait she was having a girl when she knew all along it was a boy, there’s literally no reason for this apart from her wanting to spite annie and imply that she was having a girl baby with the man she loved to hurt her for no reason.

cut forward to when the baby is born and she starts to promote these bracelets which have different ones for different situations, so she has one for anxiety, one for sleep, one for fertility (you can see where this is going) and there’s a few points with these scam bracelets. first off she came out and said she was wearing one at the time she slept with kyle so this baby perhaps wasn’t so much an accident on her part as she was manifesting fertility and that she’d become pregnant basically, take from that what you will but it was clearly her intention to fall pregnant with his baby when she knew he was with another woman long term and had 3 little boys with her. and the second part to it is just what an absolute scam those bracelets are, they’re not cheap and they target vulnerable groups of people and profit off their struggles which is obviously so immoral and disgusting when a fuckin bead bracelet clearly can’t make you fertile or make you sleep better or any of this shit, it’s taking advantage of people in desperate need and taking money from vulnerable people, it’s awful.

so now the baby is born and she’s said it’s a boy but hasn’t announced the name and allegedly didn’t pick the name until he was 4 months old or something, but she decides that they need a name to call him so decide to say his name is junior. now you can immediately see the issue with this, she’s been banging on for the whole of her pregnancy that she’s a single mother and he’s not involved blah blah blah then calls him junior, which ofc people asked if the name was kyle junior and she as much as said it was and started referring to him as junior until she posted a video of the baby holding a necklace that said KW. obviously calling your baby junior implies that they have the dad’s name and are the jr version of the dad so when she posted the KW necklace alongside a caption that said ‘for those asking why it doesn’t say JW, KW are his true initials’ ofc everybody assumed his name was kyle walker junior, and she let this go on for 6 MONTHS. she wore this necklace that says KW everywhere it’s lit in all of her instagram photos, it literally came across as a trophy just shouting that she got knocked up by kyle walker and just using it as a constant reminder to anyone and everyone that her baby was half famous footballer kyle walkers regardless of whether he was involved or not, baring in mind in the same breath she’s continuing to go on about how she’s a single mother and doing it all on her own. her saying she’s doing it all on her own is a load of shit too because her family helps her constantly and she always has someone looking after him with her and she lives in a big fancy house so she’s putting across she’s struggling and a single mother out on her own but that’s not the truth.

she also kept giving questionable parenting advice out on her story and endorsing products and methods that weren’t the most effective and weren’t recommended, even a blanket method that im sure was said to be harmful and she’s promoted many products that she shouldn’t have just in the name of money and fame and clout, she isn’t qualified to be giving out parenting advice to the scale she is and i understand she’s gotten experience but she talks like she’s a professional and holds q&as giving advice she’s not qualified to give and considering she promotes half dodgy products, it’s not the best situation. two more random things before we’re caught up to what’s happened today, she put the baby in a city jersey then the next week put him in a liverpool jersey just to spite kyle LMAO and they all went on holiday to dubai and im pretty sure paparazzi isnt allowed in dubai that’s why all the celebs go there but she was papped there so she must’ve set that up too lmaoooooo. but now we’re at today.

basically it started by kyle posting a picture of his own personal football boots that he played in for the final match of the season im sure, and he had printed on the names and dates of birth of all 3 kids he had with annie, and as you can quite imagine, lauryn wasn’t very happy with this. so she went straight on her stories preaching how horrific it was that he didn’t include kairo’s name on his boots and he’s done nothing but he cute and innocent and kyle was ‘bullying’ his own son which is obvs the wrong word to use but she’s daft and has been throwing around the word bullying, and talking about how she won’t let their son be left out, baring in mind she constantly says how she’s a single mother and prides herself on that she doesn’t have him involved and that he’s a horrible person etc etc. so all of her little minions who love her started replying to her story saying he was disgusting blah blah blah and decided as a collective with her encouragement to spam his page with kairo’s name and demand justice for kairo or something so after he got a few comments he turned the comments off from the post about the boots so they went to his first post before the boots which was a memorial post for the victims of the manchester arena attack. fully grown women commenting on a memorial post for such a tragic event demanding to know where kairos name was or spamming his name letter by letter, first off it’s just batshit crazy but second off how disrespectful?? from lauryn as well to encourage it and think of nobody but herself and want the attention because realistically it wasn’t gonna achieve anything but slightly irk him that he had to turn the comments off.

she’s also been encouraging people to email puma themselves and demand to know why they did it as if they had any input on what kyle had on his personal boots, puma probably had no idea about any of this and certainly didn’t do it on purpose to cause a storm so there’s no reason for them to be complaining to puma. she posted a list of what she wanted to happen including kyles post to be removed, the boots to be pulled (i don’t think she realises they were just personal boots for kyle and not a product for the general public to buy), a public apology to kairo and a public statement to be put out, none of which would solve the greater situation or help the situation that’s already been caused.

she posted saying kyle was bullying the baby and mentally abusing him which is disgusting to be throwing around when that’s not the case at all cos in reality kyles just trying to mend his relationships with annie and his family while keeping lauryn and the baby out of it like she keeps going on about, but then when it comes down to it she uses his surname, posts about it 24/7, wants his name on his boots, uses him for clout, walks around with a KW necklace on etc etc etc. most recently she’s created a petition to get pumas attention to do all of what i listed before and i think about 600 people have signed it so far.

i think that’s all although im sure anons will chip in if ive missed anything, that’s if anybody’s actually read this far 😭 so yes, more than you bargained for probably anon! story time with han! xx

#anon

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