#hard to feel optimistic about anything. if I think for more than five minutes about the more than immediate day to day future

[buckynats]

.

[ch6rm]

♱ ࣪˖ date night — chris sturniolo

. . . you're caught up in a terrible date, and a rescue from chris turns into something more than just a friendly favor.

˖ warnings. smut (fingering, no actual p in v, implied sex), confessing feelings kinda(?)

˖ soph's note. first one shot, and whoever requested this im so sorry it took forever 😭

the restaurant was a cozy italian place, tucked in a quiet corner of the city. candlelit tables, soft music playing in the background, and a warm basket of breadsticks in front of you—it was exactly what came to your mind when you thought of a perfect date. tonight was anything but that. it would’ve been perfect, if only the person sitting across from you wasn’t so insufferable. you felt like you were being held hostage, forced to listen to him talk about himself and nothing else. your friend was a horrible match maker.

within five minutes of sitting down, he’d managed to interrupt you twice. you sat across from him, trying to force a polite smile as he launched into yet another story about himself. here we go again….

“oh, and i’m super into traveling,” he continued, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. “but only first-class, you know? i work too hard to settle for anything less.” how had we even gotten to the topic of traveling?

“oh…” you nod absentmindedly. gosh, this guy was a jerk. you glanced around the restaurant as he spoke, hoping the waiter would interrupt with the check.

he obviously didn’t notice your lack of enthusiasm as he dove into yet another story, leaning forward in his chair enthusiastically. how many stories was this guy pulling out of his ass? you fought the urge to roll your eyes. you’d been here for over an hour and he’s barely asked you a single question all night.

“anyway,” he said, waving a hand, “enough about me. what do you think about my watch?”

you blinked, staring at the obnoxiously large gold watch on his wrist. “it’s… nice?”

“right?” he grinned, clearly fishing for compliments. “cost me a fortune, but hey, i deserve it. gotta treat yourself, right?”

you tried to stay optimistic, but as the evening dragged on, you could feel yourself mentally checking out. when he started boasting about how many instagram followers he had, you knew you were done. you needed an escape.

forcing another smile, you reached for your phone under the table, sending a text to chris, hoping he could save you from this nightmare of a date. you: can u please pick me up? this date is a total disaster

you press send, fingers anxiously tapping on the table as you await chris’ response, the man in front of you too caught up in his life story to notice your anxious glances around the restaurant. finally, your phone buzzed.

chris: wya?

you sent him the address, feeling a rush of relief knowing you were gonna be out of here soon. there was so much precious time wasted on this stupid date, and you mentally cursed yourself for even giving this guy a chance.

ten minutes later, you spotted chris’ car through the window. you began to speak, cutting the guy off mid-sentence as you stood abruptly, grabbing your purse. “im really sorry, i’ve got to go,”

“what? why?” he looked genuinely confused, furrowing his brows as he saw you getting ready to leave so sudden.

“something came up,” you lied, giving him a sympathetic look, already heading for the door before he could say another word. chris was leaning against his car, arms crossed, his expression one of amusement as you both got in the car.

“rough night?” he asked as you approached.

“you have no idea,” you groaned, slipping into the passenger seat. chris climbed in after you, pulling away from the curb. almost immediately, you launched into a rant, frustration bubbling over as you spoke about everything that went wrong. chris listened, feeding into your frustration as he let out a sarcastic remark every now and then.

eventually, your complaints died down, and with nowhere else to head, chris pulled into an vacant parking lot as the car was engulfed with a comfortable silence.

“thanks for coming to get me,” you say, glancing over at him. “i couldn’t handle another second there. he was driving me insane.”

chris chuckled, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. “‘s no big deal, really.”

you give him a soft smile, glancing around the empty parking lot. the only light came from the dim glow of a nearby streetlamp. for a moment, neither of you spoke. you shifted in your seat, looking over to chris as his fingers stilled against the wheel. you couldn’t help but notice the way the light hit his face, accentuating his cheekbones and jawline. you stared for a second longer before your voice broke the silence.

“but seriously,” you begin, “you’re always there for me. i really appreciate that, chris.”

chris turns to you fully, his expression softening at your words. “of course,” he says, his voice quiet, “i’ll always be there for you. ‘s cause i care about you. you know that, right?” he looks over at you, and the sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten.

“i know,” you nod, looking away from his gaze, “i care about you, too.” you feel a rush of heat rise up to your cheeks as you speak. why were you getting so flustered?

something shifted in his expression as you said that, his playful demeanor no where to be found as your eyes met his again. “you’re not just saying that?” he asked, leaning in slightly, his hand resting on the steering wheel.

“no,” you murmured, the word catching in your throat. you watch as his gaze dropped to your lips for a split second before darting back up to your eyes, and you found your pulse beginning to quicken.

“okay, cause i mean it. i care do about you—a lot." his voice lingered on the last word, and the way he said it made you feel a way you couldn’t quite explain.

you swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. his eyes were locked on yours, and you felt unable to look away. it felt like he could see straight through you, past all your nervousness and hesitation, and straight to the way your heart was pounding.

“chris…" you started, but his name barely left your lips as he leaned in, his hand slipped from the wheel. you felt his fingertips brush lightly against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine.

"tell me to stop," he murmured, his voice low and his breath warm against your cheek. his eyes flickered to your lips again, lingering this time. but you didn’t tell him to stop.

his lips met yours, tentative at first, like he wanted to make sure this was real. but when you responded, your hand moving to cup the side of his face, his hesitation disappeared. the kiss deepened, and you soon felt yourself being pulled onto his lap, now straddling him. warmth flooded through you as he gripped your waist, fingers digging into your hips. you felt the kiss becoming needier, his hands moving to pull you closer, deepening the kiss. your hands find their way to his hair, softly tugging at the strands as he lets out a quiet groan into your mouth. his hands moved to your thighs, rubbing up and down before they slipped under your jean skirt to tease around the soft lace of your underwear. chris pulls away, beginning to pepper kisses down your jawline and to your neck as his fingers inched closer to your clothed core.

his middle finger delicately brushed over your cunt, feeling the wetness seep through your panties as you let out a gasp, your hold on him tightening.

“you want me to stop?” he murmurs into your neck, beginning to add more pressure with his fingers. you quickly shake your head, mumbling out a desperate ‘no’ before you feel him slip two of his fingers into your panties, groaning at the feeling of your wetness. you let out a moan as he teases your entrance, slipping his two fingers inside you effortlessly.

“fuck,” you breathe out, and chris begins to pump his fingers into and out of you, curling his fingers as he elicits another moan from you, your grip on his hair tightening.

chris leaves hot and opened mouth kisses on your neck—the pace of his fingers quickening. he continued to bite and suck at your neck in response to your whimpers, his free hand coming up to squeeze at your tits as you bucked your hips into his hand, the knot in your stomach threatening to snap.

“i’m gonna cum, chris,” you whine, your head falling against his shoulder before you felt him remove his fingers, bringing them to his mouth as he tasted your arousal, leaving you whiney and needy for more.

chris patted your hip, urging you to get up as he spoke, “backseat, now.”

© ch6rm

[hotheadedhero]

Daft Pretty Boys

AN: I was going to try and get something Halloween-like out but it's been busy lately. Have some fluffy angst with Raph, instead :D

Raphael x Reader

Warning: kinda angsty, soft-hearted Raph ahead :)

When you blessed the turtles with your bright presence and inevitably befriended them, Raphael didn’t realise just how much of an emotional rollercoaster it would be. As a person, you are amazing. You always make a point to engage with him and his brothers, even for the small things. Other than April, they’ve never felt more welcomed by human company before. The thing is, if he were to put one fault on you, it’s your taste in men. 

You fall fast and hard, and it’s not because of their looks. It’s the ones who have this idea that they know they look good: the confidence they exude, sharp-witted flattery on the end of a hook that you can’t help biting into. You get caught, pulled in, they have their fun, and then you’re chucked back into sea awaiting the next juicy-looking cast of bait. One would think you’d be smart enough to not fall for the same routine tricks over and over again but here we are.

Each time you say, “He’s really sweet,” followed by a “This one is different,” but he never is. You’re always taking that chance, betting on the next guy being Mr Right, only for it to end in heartbreak, and every time Raph’s at your aid when you come crying to him. That isn’t said with any malice for you. He will always be there to pick up the pieces. Maybe broken pieces of these stupid shmucks if he just had five minutes alone with them.

You grasp so desperately to hope. Raph would commend you for your optimistic persistence if it didn’t break him to see you in tears. There’s only so much one heart can take. He doesn’t want you to become some calloused husk of your sweet self, too afraid to take another chance. He doesn’t want you to end up like him. Raphael knows he’s unloveable. Regardless of his appearance, he has a temper - one that he keeps as far away from you as he possibly can. His feelings for you never seem to pass despite how much he tries but he isn’t meant for love. That isn’t how this world works. You, on the other hand, should be cherished and he’ll beat the next sorry sucker who does any less than that.

How? How can someone be so foolish to drop you like these men have? He doesn’t get it. Were it him, he’d spend every waking moment appreciating you, letting it be known just how precious you are and how lucky he is to be the one to call you his. But he isn’t. The same daydream can play as many times as it likes, it’s never going to go in that direction. He needs to keep reminding himself of that.

You just deserve so much more than the cards you keep getting dealt. You’ve probably got to be the sweetest person he’s ever had the luxury of meeting. A little bubble-brained at times but that’s in part what makes you so cute. It’s also why you end up in and out of these short-lived relationships, he reckons. Much like now, for instance. It’s almost routine, weirdly systematic in a way, how you waddle into the lair glassy-eyed and red-faced wearing that grey sweater - the one he calls your breakup sweater - that’s two sizes too big for you. So much for the macho man with the green eyes. Making it to one month is a record, so there’s that at least.

Raphael doesn’t say anything, just holds a hand out whilst the other cradles the back of his neck. By now, he’s learnt that there’s nothing he can say. It’s better to wait on you until you manage to find your words. You slowly trudge towards him and smack your forehead into his chest. All he can do is stand there and stare at the top of your head whilst he battles the urge to pick you up and take you away from all this frivolous bullshit. His arm falls to his side as he watches you, and you just about say what he would expect you to.

“I really thought this one would be different,” you whimper quietly and the hiccup in your throat makes his chest burn. “He seemed so genuine.”

Raphael’s heart clenches. He wants to scream that he’s the one who’s genuine, that he’s the one who’s been here through every heartbreak, every tear. But instead, he swallows his words, feeling the weight of his own unspoken feelings pressing down on his chest.

He pats the top of your head, almost awkwardly, and sighs, “I know.”

A pained laugh muffles against his chest. “I’m the problem, aren’t I?” you ask rhetorically, playing it off as some joke at your own expense but it only angers him further.

“It’s not you,” Raph replies, a hint of a growl edging into his tone. “They’re the ones who don’t know what they’re missin’.”

“But there’s a common denominator here. It feels like it’s me.” You pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. “Like, maybe if I was just different-”

“Stop right there,” he interjects, his brow furrowing. “You are not the problem. They are. Trust me on that.”

You always say the wrong things about yourself: the things he thinks about himself on a daily; if he was different. You are such an honest person and yet you lie so frequently when you talk about yourself. A nasty bi-product of those worthless scumbags treating you the way they do. You want to believe him on his word but you also can’t ignore the facts. It’s always the same song and dance. You stupidly cling to hope, searching for the silver lining that never seems to come, and end up in this sad mess of a person.

Raphael watches as you pull away, the warmth of his body replaced by the chill of reality. It’s painful to see you so vulnerable, so exposed. He wishes he could shake you out of this cycle, snap his fingers and make you see what’s right in front of you. But he can’t. All he can do is stand there, the silent sentinel, while you cry into the fabric of your sweater. The moment lingers, heavy and full of unsaid words. He wants to tell you that you deserve better, that you should never settle for the likes of those clowns who don’t recognize your worth. Yet, the words stick in his throat, tangled with his own fear of inadequacy.

He clears his throat, trying to break the tension. “Tell you what, let’s grab a couple sodas and a slice. Sit up top for a bit, yeah?”

You pull back slightly, wiping your eyes. “I don’t know if I can eat right now, Raph.”

“Doesn’t matter. You need to get outta this gloom. Plus, I’m starving,” he responds with a half-hearted attempt at humor, but the grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Finally, you yield. Begrudgingly, he might add, but food and the fresh night air is what you need right now, especially seeing as you’ve been cooped up in your apartment all day crying. He takes whatever pizza he had leftover - it’s only lasted because Mikey has luckily been out - along with a couple cans and leads you through the sewers. Whilst he’s essentially forcing you outside, he goes at your pace, never pushing you beyond that. Sure, it takes longer than it should but you get to a nice rooftop eventually, and before you know it, he’s already got you venting with a slice in your hand.

“And then he pulls out the classic ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ shtick,” you say and Raph follows with a quiet “Of course, he does,” before you continue, “and I swear, I could’ve just slapped him.”

“You should have.”

You hum shortly against a bite of pizza and shrug. “Ah, the moment’s long gone, anyway.”

The two of you glance at each other with a small laugh before returning to the view ahead. This feels better. Much better. Once again, your knight in shell-y armour has helped you bounce back from your foreboding. If you had it your way earlier, you would have loved nothing more than to curl up on the couch and watch some bad reality TV to cheer you up. Not where Raph is concerned. He’s soft-natured when you need that shoulder to cry on but knows when to crack out a bit of that tough love, too. You’re always thankful for that - him - and you hope he knows just how much of a difference he makes.

"Hey.” He nudges you with his elbow and you look up, noting the light smirk on his face, though the seriousness behind his eyes isn’t something to be ignored. “Next asshole that breaks your heart, you just point me in the right direction.”

"And be an active participant in murder? Not a chance," you laugh and playfully swat him, earning a low chortle. You think you know what he’s getting at and it’s sweet in weird kind of way. With a perma-smile now glued to your face, you rest your head on his arm and speak more gently, "Thanks, though."

He glances down at you and tempts the idea of stroking a hand over your head. His fingers clasp into a fist and he looks ahead again, taking a gentle breath before responding quietly, "Yeah... don't mention it."

[bg-brainrot]

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 7: Just One Night

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, angry Astarion, threats

WC: 3k words, 7/?? chapters

Summary: You plead your case to the vampire.

Ao3 | [Ch6][Ch8] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

You idiot. How could you be so dense? How in the hells is 'You're the man from my dreams' the right sentence to spout when meeting the man whose very existence makes your soul sing? This might be worse than your previous life. You may as well send your soul back to meet Corellon for all the good it's doing, but no. You can salvage this. You take a deep breath.

Another few knocks on the door. 

You don't hear anything from the other side for a second or two, but the door swings back open in another breath. "What about 'not interested' did you not understand?" Astarion’s tone seems to be growing angry now, and you recall a memory with a vile drow woman, how important saying ‘no’ was to him. You don’t want to push this, and you know that this is different. You just need to be yourself and help him understand.

“I know you’re not interested, and I’m sorry that this is abrupt,” you start, holding up your hands in a show of peace.“But I’m an elf!” You say, as if that were an explanation.

He clicks his tongue at you. "That you are. The pointy ears rather gave it away I'm afraid." 

"I mean," you start, shooting him an annoyed look. How in the hells did your previous self deal with his attitude. "I have an elf's soul. I know it's hard to believe, but I've been dreaming about you since I was young. Hence the– erm, rather odd introduction. In my previous life… I was the hero of Baldur's Gate."

Astarion all but laughs in your face. "My what an original idea you have. Must have earned yourself a pat on the back for that one." 

“I… don’t know what you mean by that.” Your tone is cautious, sensing that his hostility is not improving by any means. “But, please let me prove it to you.”

“No need,” he responds easily, waving a hand at you dismissively. “If you’re here on that premise, I know what it is that you want.”

Your brows furrow– the words should make you feel better, if he truly understands. But it just fills you with a bit of dread. “You do?”

“Of course,” he says, flashing you a fanged smile. “I should have assumed, night has fallen, you’ve done your research. You’re here for a vampire.”

You blink at this, unsure what he means. “I did do research, but I’m not sure what–”

The man holds up a hand to stop you. "Are you here for a nibble or aren't you? I haven't got all day.” He crosses his arms and taps a single slippered foot on the floor impatiently. 

Oh, no. He thinks you’re here to offer him blood? Or sex. You’re not sure which is worse.

"Gods below, none of this is going to plan," you mumble, putting a hand to your head in frustration. Halsin had been entirely too optimistic, and 'eccentric'? Eccentric was certainly not the way to describe it – more like a closed off, standoffish, arrogant man. You suddenly realize how woefully unequipped you are to handle this man. “I’m not here to–to be a meal of any sorts. I just want a bit of your time and understanding.”

“My understanding?” he asks, tone sharpening. “I’m afraid I’m fresh out.” He starts to close the door on you and you shove a hand forward to stop it. The look that he shoots you could curdle milk.

“Please. Just five minutes. I beg of you.”

At that, he barks a single laugh, short and harsh. "Darling, if you think you'll be able to get something from me, you have another thing coming. I have dealt with fools like you for my entire, unending existence and you’re no better than the last person who came to my door to beg.”

Something in you finally snaps at this. You were so used to his sweet, loving words over decades and decades of dreams. The reality of it threatens to bring you to rageful tears. How dare he, you can’t help but think. How dare he treat me – my soul – like this, after a lifetime together. “I am telling you, I’m nothing like them! I promise you, on my life, I want nothing more than to speak my peace.”

Sensing your own building anger, he stops snapping back for a second, opens the door a small crack once more. You feel his eyes rake up and down your body, the judgment in them plain as day. “You, my dear, are everything like them. And more importantly, you could not possibly be the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. If anyone were to recognize them, it would be me.”

“Halsin recognized me!” You spout, and immediately regret the words out of your mouth when his face shifts from one of open judgment to one of complete and utter disgust.

“As if my former lover would go see that oddity of an old man before me. You’re not even a good fraud,” he says, going back to closing the door.

Oh no you don’t, you think. Through the crack in the door, you focus on a point. Magic flows through you as you speak the incantation, “Inveniam viam!” Blue mist surrounds you as you’re teleported into the house in a single step.

You find yourself in a grand foyer, framed by two grand staircases leading up to the top floor. You’re struck by how opulent this entrance is, all reds and golds, including the extravagant carpet you’re currently standing on.

“Gods, do you have any idea how expensive that rug is?” Astarion’s voice comes out annoyed, you turn back toward him just in time to see him taking long, angry strides toward you, knife drawn. Shit. “Get your dirty boots off of it before I’m forced to spill your blood on it.”

Hastily, you hop off the rug, onto an equally lovely looking hardwood floor. Astarion tuts, clearly still annoyed, but stops short of an attack. Now that you’re both staring each other down like this, you have a chance to get a better look at him.

And good gods, you’re not surprised he left you speechless. Not only does he look identical to your memories, but he’s dressed impeccably, neck to toe in delicate satins, each piece of his outfit a testament to the arts of embroidery and fashion. It fills you with a small joy to see him doing so well, one that’s quickly dashed by the predicament you find yourself in.

“Fine, you’ve had your fun,” he says, pointing the knife at you. “You’ve managed to anger the beautiful tortured vampire in his mansion. You’re not here to offer blood or sex, you’d be even more of an utter fool to rob me. What are you really here for?”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose to compose yourself. Is this worth it? you think. He’s clearly not interested and he seems hellsbent on misunderstanding me. “I only want you to believe me. Can I please show you my memories?” you ask, chancing one last effort. You’re prepared to use a number of illusion spells to prove who you are, and you raise a hand to express this.

Astarion waves the knife back and forth in a pseudo-head shake. “Not a chance, darling. I saw that magic you used. If you so much as think of a spell, this blade will find its way into your pretty little throat.”

You expected as much, nodding. “Right then. I’ll just talk.” 

“Excuse me–”

You cut him off, understanding now a bit better how your past-self might have dealt with him. “I remember memories that only the Hero of Baldur’s Gate would know. I can’t tell you everything, but I can recall a lot of your time together, defeating the Absolute, helping the spawn in the Under Dark, living a life together.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t recite history books to me,” he says, but there’s no venom in his voice. Now it seems to be clouded by a dull ache. “Especially of events that I myself have experienced.”

“It’s not history, it’s memories. Like that time you both spent the day sitting at the glowing purple lake in the Under Dark. Or the time you both tried riding unfamiliar horses at night on a farm– I could never tell where that was…” You trail off, realizing that his expression is entirely closed off to your words, his mouth firmly set in a displeased frown.

“Darling, you think I’d trust a wizard with their horrendous little tricks?“ He jabs the knife in your direction emphatically.  “You could be reading my mind for all I know. Out with you.”

You shake your head, “I’m not done. I have notebooks, journals filled–” Your hand approaches the lip of your Bag of Holding and before you can so much as pull the string, Astarion’s cold hand wraps roughly around your wrist.

“I’m not about to let some strange person open their magic bag in my house,” he says through gritted teeth. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Startled, you try to pull your hand back. He doesn’t budge so you simply say, “I promise I only brought journals. Full of your life and…” You gulp. “Your love.”

His hand grips your wrist even tighter, painful now in its pressure. “I don’t know who put you up to this,” he growls, face suddenly closer to yours. His red eyes are narrowed at you, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him level a look like this at you in any of your memories. “But stop. Now.”

Suddenly, you feel so small in the face of his fury. It’s entirely unfamiliar to you and you don’t like it. “Let go of me,” you command, voice steadier than it has any right to be.

To his credit, Astarion releases you. Taking a moment to rub out the pain in your wrist, you dart a look back at him only to find him staring at you, eyes trained on where he’d grabbed you. He still holds the knife, but it seems to be limp in his hand. “I’ve listened to you,” he says, voice losing all of its anger, all of its bravado. It sounds tired. “Now please, leave.”

There’s something about his resignation, the slump of his shoulders, the dead voice that gives you pause. And a slight modicum of hope back. He’s not mad at me, you think. He’s just… sad? And tired. Well, I’m tired too. Tired enough to try one last tactic. A tactic that might work on the reluctantly kind man from your memories, the man who wasn’t quite as mean as he made himself out to be.

“I traveled so far to get here, and it’s getting rather late. Could I at least stay the night? Surely you can spare a room for a lonely traveler.”

“There’s an inn down the road, closer to Baldur’s Gate.” His words come out flat, harsh. 

It’s better than anger or sadness, so you keep going, trying your best to look pathetic. You feel pathetic after all of this, so you suppose it’s not a grand disguise. “That’s almost an hour out. Please? I promise I’ll be on my very best behavior. No magic in the house unless you ask.”

Astarion arches a single eyebrow at you and narrows his eyes in suspicion. “If you were really who you say you are, I know you wouldn’t be on your best behavior. So which is it?”

After all of your memories, you know his words come from decades of experience. You also know that you have no plans on giving up now. So you smile at him unconvincingly and say, “I won’t be on my worst behavior?”

“I'm 500 years old, darling, do you really think I'd fall for a pair of puppy dog eyes? Especially when the pup is fresh off the teats by the looks of it.” Another narrowed look, this time his gaze boring into your eyes. As if he could see through them to your real intent. 

“What if I offer you something in return for the stay?” You say, sounding far more easy-going than you feel. You know that you’re treading a very delicate line at this point. “I have blood.” 

He yawns at you dramatically, looking bored. “That ship has sailed.”

“I have gold.”

“I have more gold than you can hope to see in your entire lifetime. You’ll have to do better than that.” He inspects his nails, putting on an air of indifference.

An idea strikes you then, understanding that this might be the only truly unique thing you have to offer him. “I have memories from my past-life. Memories before they met you, memories where you weren’t present. If you let me stay, I’ll share them with you.”

He stops his inspections at that. Then Astarion looks at you, eyes open and questioning, vibrant like how you remember them. Perhaps you’ve finally broken through. He asks, “And why would I care for those?”

“Because you loved them,” you answer, simply.

The way his expression closes off just about stops your heart. “Exactly right. Loved. Past tense, my dear.” You might have up and left at the sharp honesty he’s pierced you with. But you can see a bit of his former self in the hard set of his jaw. Like when he was in the early stages of his relationship with your past-self, lying through his teeth.

“Well then, because they loved you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, and where it’s abundantly clear that you know nothing of whom you speak,” he says, a cruel glint in his eyes as he leans forward. “If they truly loved me, they would be here, not you.”

It hurts. Your heart is fighting for its life and he may as well have stabbed you in the chest with the knife he brandishes. But you can’t relent, because you know your past-self wouldn’t either. “It may mean nothing to you now, but they died loving you.” You look away from him, the anger in his eyes far too much for you to bear. “Until their last breath.”

A moment of silence passes between you. You wonder if you've gone too far, pressed too hard on an unmended wound. Perhaps you've come too soon, or, more likely, should never have come at all.

Then he says something that leaves you well and truly speechless. You were about ready to ungracefully bow out, leave him and this waking nightmare behind. But he lifts his head and glares as he says, “You can stay the night. But come morning, I want you gone.”

–

Once things settle down, you finally introduce yourself to him– your present day self. He nods in acknowledgement, and only says, "I'm Astarion, but you clearly already know that."

Better than you're willing to believe, you think.

So many questions burn on the tip of your tongue, and, if you hadn't already barely made it into the house, you may have been foolish enough to ask them. As it is, you silently follow him up the stairs to the East wing of the house.

You walk down the hallway in awe, amazed by the tapestries on the walls, the decadent rugs that lead you forward. Again, you're struck by how very ostentatious this all is, and a huge part of you wants to ask him just how much gold he's spent on this house. You refrain, mentally calculating what must be an absurd sum.

When you finally reach the doorway of your lodgings, you find that the room is somewhat tucked away, this part of the house markedly less gaudy than the rest. Astarion doesn't seem to have any commentary on this, nor much more to say. As you're tired of saying the wrong thing, you leave him with only words of gratitude, "Thank you, Astarion. For letting me stay, and, well, hearing me out."

The man gives you one long look, eyes guarded behind his long lashes. After the appraisal, he gives you a scoff. "Only because you look so ludicrously weak. Also, if you get bored after your reverie, don't even think about crawling your way to me. If you try anything, you'll be dead before you can so much as whimper my name."

Turning on his heel, he leaves you in the doorway to your borrowed room. You know you should take that for the threat it is, but you only find yourself blushing. Gods, I'm as idiotic as my past-self. It must be that damn voice.

You ignore the warmth in your veins and turn to the room you've been offered. It seems oddly out of place in terms of decor, somewhat cozy compared to the luxurious trappings of the rest of the mansion, and something about it sets off a thought in the back of your head. The couch is plush, the bed is laden with blankets, the hearth is large and welcoming. And there's a large standing mirror in the corner. You distinctly recall that Astarion can't see himself in mirrors.

Whose room is this?

You have no one you can ask, of course. So you turn to the next best thing. You flip to a journal entry, recalling a particular passage.

Hero’s Life - Entry 9978: I was in bed with Astarion again. He refused to let me get up, claiming that I'd and I quote, "Been neglecting a stunningly beautiful lover in favor of dull adventures for too long." I felt guilty, but also a bit… annoyed. I don't know what my past-self has been up to, but he seemed really reluctant to release me. I would have just stayed in bed all day with him.

We did stay in bed for a while, I lost track of the number of kisses he showered me with. I just remember sitting up in bed to see myself in an elegant standing mirror. My hair was tousled, my face flushed, and before I could even attempt to get up, his pale hands pulled me back to bed.

[lalalenii]

For the past year and a half, I really struggled taking care of myself, especially when it came to cooking. I used to live with an elderly roommate who unfortunately was hospiced due to her COPD about two years ago and died shortly after. I lived with her for over five years, and from the beginning, we had a very close relationship that felt more like family than anything. I cooked almost every night. After coming home from work, I used the time in the kitchen to unwind, I loved trying out new recipes and navigating my vegetarianism and her weirdly specific food preferences. I liked the physical work of it and the act of service it let me provide, especially during covid and when she kept getting sicker.

After she died, and I moved to my own place I stopped cooking. It was probably for a multitude of reasons. Grief I didn't recognise as such, my relationship hanging on a thread and all the energy it took from me. Me having to navigate living on my own for the first time, navigating a household on top of my 40hr week + 5ish hours for my side job, but sadly probably also that I tend to feel more motivation when I perform tasks for anyone other than myself. Even though I knew that I enjoyed cooking, I just rarely did it. Instant noodles and ready meals, ordering takeout... it just all felt so much easier. I was also away from home a lot so buying groceries would often result in them going bad.

So for the past 1.5 years, I frequented the pretzel stand at my local train station a lot. I got breakfast and/or lunch there multiple times a week. So often, that the people working the stand would recognise me. There was this elder Turkish woman, who had a really kind face and was always nice, even though she probably gets paid jack and has to get up at 5 or something. But seeing her always kind of made my day. I always walked away with a smile, feeling a little bit better about everything. She was so unpretentiously optimistic, a hard worker and as far as I could tell always nice to her colleagues. She always greeted me and wished me a nice day. Until one day, she told me that tomorrow would be her last day.

I was really touched that she considered to let me know. Let me know that she wouldn't be part of my routine anymore, despite us never exchanging more words than "one spiced pretzel please" "that would be 1.50" "with card please" "thank you have a nice day" "you too!"

I hadn't actually planned to go get pretzels again the next day, but I just had to, and I also took the opportunity to tell her how much her kindness meant to me. That I saw her kindness and that I appreciated it and that her smiles made my day better.

That was that. The following week she was gone and I went about my life, buying pretzels, struggling through my job and my relationship. I saw her every once in a while helping out at the stand – I was so elated every time and even if I didn't buy pretzels I made sure to at least wave at her in passing.

Months later, things changed. I gathered the courage to quit my job, to uproot my life. It was a risk but it paid off. My commute changed. From one hour to 25 minutes – what a luxury. My commute also now runs in a completely different direction. I take the underground to the town over and then get onto the bus. The added free time from the shortened commute is such a relief and while at least I manage to pack lunch every day now I'm still not very settled in, so I hit up the local bakery for some breakfast. I always get the same thing and after the salesperson stopped asking whether she can snap the cheese pastry in half to make it fit into the bag when I came in for the fourth time this week I decided I needed to change it up. I didn't want to become the cheese pastry girl. So on Friday, instead of the bakery I went to the local pretzel shop. I didn't even think about it too much. It's really the only other option near the station I switch to the bus. I was in a hurry to catch the bus, hoping that the woman and her child before me wouldn't also go into the shop, because if I missed the bus I'd have to walk and I'd be later than intended.

So I walked in. And what happened next honestly felt like the most stupid and clichéd movie scene. I did an actual double take. Because there behind the counter was my lovely, elder Turkish pretzel sales woman. I didn't even consider she just switched to another shop, I assumed she retired or did something out and only helped at the other stand occasionally to cover shifts or help out during rushes. But there she was, in all her glory. And when she saw me, we both laughed. It felt so ridiculous. We have no connection besides her selling me pretzels but the familiarity she brings into my life and into my morning routine was such a comfort. I don't know how she sees me, if she has a lot of customers like me but I do know she recognises me.

"I work in the neighbourhood now" I said as I stop laughing and she bags my regular order. "I'm stationed here now" she says and I tell her I'm happy to see her. I genuinely mean it.

"See you on Monday then," she says cheekily and although I was planning to cut the habit of getting breakfast at the bakery I make a promise to myself to stop by at least once a week. For the god-awful addicting spiced pretzel and for the kind woman who makes my day brighter without even meaning to.

[chiclet-go-boom]

of things to come:future imperfect

Very Important Apple Pie Points™ if you know where this is placed.

---

"Kiss?"

He's a half dozen meters ahead, crouching next to a hulking mass of metal. Probably an overturned truck, maybe even the leftover remnants of a Titan although it's kind of hard to tell with the rust and overgrowth. Not that it really matters. 

"Yeah?"

"I think I've got something."

Something in the way he says it this time, comm crackling in my ear, tightens my gut. Damn it. Five days we've been crawling over this sector, one shattered street at a time and so far we've been lucky enough not to find anything larger or badder than us. I guess it was too much to expect it was going to stay that way.

"You don't say. What you got, Bandaid? More dogs?" Yeah, that's me. Eternal optimist.

Nearly a week on bait patrol has given the greenie this much; he's got his head down and he's not peering around like a prairie rat just waiting to get shot. The scanner in his hands is waving slowly, trying to get a better fix on whatever it's found. Sniffing.

"Nah, Kiss, I really got something this time. We've got action two, two fifty south of us. I got spikes in the twenties."

I start picking my way up to where he is, ignoring the deep ache in my leg. With the armor on nothing heals like it used to. 

"Say again?"

My own damned fault, this time. Misjudged the terrain like the rookie I’m not, sliding into a pit when a section of street just gave way, hollowed out forever ago by whatever concussive force broke the buildings. Took us an hour to get me back up again, both of us sweating and swearing by the end.

That was three days ago and at least I'm not limping anymore. Not running either which is why Bandaid is point and telling me he's found something to spike his needle when I was really hoping to not find anything at all. 

Not for the first time I think about taking off the Crey armor.... but that'd be suicide. Any drones in the area would have me in a heartbeat and I'm not willing to bet three minutes of uninterrupted healing that there aren't any lying dormant in the wreckage. That much of an optimist I'm not. 

Ghost carefully up to his shoulder, skirting the rubble and crouch down to look at the numbers myself. Shit. "Somebody's fighting. Somebody's fighting hard."

"We going?" He looks up at me, unsure. Under his helmet Bandaid's young, barely out of his teens and pure human. I keep forgetting what it's like to be that young. Feels like I've been fighting my entire life, what with one thing or another.

"What, you think HQ sent us out here just to enjoy the stroll? We're not packing daisies, you know. C'mon." Tap him on the helmet, just above the little piece of tape that gives him his nickname. "Let's go check it out." 

Brave words. I can feel the presentiment of cold in my bones. 

____

Don't let anybody tell you different, there's a real art to walking through the disputed zones. 

I mean, you gotta watch everything. Everything. Don't get me wrong, Rikti can hide damned near anywhere, their shields fooling even the best scanners sometimes. Not the drones though; we don't have to care about them. They'll ignore Bandaid as useless and me.. well, unless I get stupid, the only thing they'll flag me on is ambient temperature and the armor takes care of that. 

No, it's more that you've got to watch that nothing is going to fall on you, drop out from underneath you, or contain a nasty surprise from ten years ago when they were mining the streets to stop the advance. Harry's bunch got themselves smashed when a strip planting went off near what used to be the north end of Kings. Nothing but much left of the entire platoon but what you could scrape together in a baggie. If all I do is fuck up my leg on this run I'll count myself lucky. 

The hotspot on the scanner is our lodestone. Fade and slide through what was probably a nice little commercial area, once upon a million years ago. A shopping mall maybe, who knows. Teenagers and soda pop and sock hops.

A drunkenly leaning sign catches my eye, paint faded into obscurity. The artwork is all but choked with scrubby grass. Something in the shape teases my eye though and I think I could almost remember what it said if I thought about it. A haircutting place maybe, or a restaurant. A piece of faded cloth caught at one edge flaps in a random breeze before settling. 

Funny, what memory can do. The sign, the cloth. His favorite sweater was red, black with a bull's head. For a moment the dust and sweat meld and I can smell spice and lime, taste cool water. For a moment his dark serious eyes swim in front of mine.

Jai Marchan. God, I haven't thought of him in years.

Shred the memory almost as fast as it hits me because it's just that - memory, and an old unimportant one at that. Marchan left years ago, before the war even started. An argument, same old story, over something I can barely remember anymore. I don't even know if Trinidad is taken or not, still on the map or not. He's probably not even alive anymore, not if there was fighting. He'd have been front line day one and we died like wheat under a thresher back then. 

"We're getting close." Bandaid crouches down, hunkering over the scanner. I follow and for a couple of minutes we stagger-advance, using any cover we can find. When the coords hit red he motions us down and we worm into a position to see what we're up against, scraping ourselves up over a tumble of concrete to peer down the slight incline. 

The metal spikes of equipment on his back stick up weirdly from this position, like his helmet grew roots. He's got most of the scanning and communication gear but he's also got the tripod for the weapon I'm carrying. There's still some advantage to not being human even now - Bandaid couldn't have carried this load an hour before collapsing. 

"What the hell is that?"

For a moment I can't answer because I don't believe it. I don't fucking believe it.

Thirty, maybe forty feet away they're fighting.

I haven't seen one of those in ten, maybe twelve years; so long ago it's like another lifetime. The energy is pouring off in waves as they fight, the Rikti soldiers swarming like ants. Tracers of light like fireflies streak across my vision.

Beautiful. So beautiful.

And so fucking doomed.

The massive stone hammer swings, takes a gunner in the side in an explosion of bone. The body careens to the side to join others but there are more, too many more as energy splashes against augmented hide. Blood, undistinguishable from each other, spatters. 

"....troll."

"What?" 

Clear my throat and try again. "It's a supatroll. What, you never...?" Yeah, I guess he never has. They got taken out fast too, at the beginning. "Take a good look, Bandaid. Take a good look because you'll never see one again." 

The troll screams with fury as another Rikti soldier gets too close and a skull shatters as one massive fist crashes down. They roar with approval, arms cording with effort. They turns and I see that one eye is already gone, lost in the ruin of their face.

Red and black. Ice and pain. The hammer swings up even as we watch to carve a deadly arc in the air in front of the massive body. Nothing dies this time but it's only a matter of time before it's them. They don't have much left. 

I'm squirming past Bandaid to slide down the concrete face in front of us. Why? I don't know. The troll is dead. They just haven't fallen down yet.

"Kiss! What are you doing?" His voice is a sibilant whisper like they're going to hear us. "Kiss!"

I'm sliding towards level ground in a barely coordinated fall, listening with everything I've got for the whistle that says incoming. The frantic cursing in my ear is suddenly chopped off and the noise behind me is him scrambling to catch up.

Good kid. Stupid, but then again, they don't send you on disputed recon for having all your marbles packed tight.

So what the hell do I think I'm doing?

"History lesson." Is that my voice? Yeah, I think it is. "That's a troll. You capiche 'troll'? I'm sure they showed you pictures in Basic." His breath whistles through the comm. "Only this one's hopped up on 'Dyne. Supatroll."

I remember, I remember. Stone gods in their day, pumped up, juiced out, kings of their earth. God in his blasted heaven, I remember.

My brain is freeze framing, grabbing everything I know, everything I see. 

Thing is, superdyne's injected, blood borne. This one must have found an old cache, a hospital not entirely ransacked, a gang's horde, something. Cut themselves open, poured the drug into their veins in a lethal dose. I can almost see it. A smashed window, the glass embedded in their skin, opening themselves to the invasion. Ampule after ampule, directly into that massive heart.

Lethal dosage because as soon as any of it hit their system they were dead. Couldn't have been more than a half hour ago too. Just long enough for the change to happen, to stagger out into the street, supernatural energy roiling over their skin. One last fight.

Oddly enough there's no pain in my leg anymore. As soon as I hit a stretch of ground that's long enough, flat enough, has cover enough, I ship the weapon. He's a heartbeat behind but then the maglocks that hold the tripod to his pack webbing release and he's bracing it on the ground even as I crank the pieces together.

"Shit! Kiss? What are we doing?" His whisper is panicked.

"Fighting."

"Why? Command just wants us to map this area, report..."

"Shut up. We've got about a minute before drones show up. Less."

Which is true. I'm just surprised they're not here now.

The weapon is so new tech I can almost smell the factory on it. A prototype that's supposed to be able to take out the drone shielding and any patrol with a super on it carries something like it in the half assed hope that maybe it'll do some good if one triggers. 

Since I run recons that usually consists of me and some poor greenie who's in trouble with the brass, I make sure I've always got the latest tech going. It's not like anybody else out here is going to save my ass.

We have the weapon shipped and mounted in thirty seconds which isn't half bad considering Bandaid's probably never done this in the field before. Settle behind, leaning back nearly to the ground with my legs braced to the side, hands to the grips. Low target, just the muzzle pointing out towards the battlefield.

He's swearing under his breath in a high voice, slamming in the payload. 

The supatroll's decimating the Rikti squad. They haven't seen us, probably doesn't see anything at all. They had to have known, right? Had to have known what they were doing. You don't fall on that many 'dyne needles by accident.

The chilling whine hits my ears like a knife.

"Where?" Bark it out, sighting. Bandaid looks up, his face shiny. Slides the HUD over his eyes. I've been there and I know. His vision is green numbers now, distances, vectors. 

"Mark six niner niner, up and easy!" At least his voice is steady.

Swing the gun and there they are, arrowing in over the horizon, just skimming the rubble. Just two this time, not even going to question that fortune. The first swings wide to survey and I turn to follow, shifting weight. Fucking seekers. Don't even engage the enemy to save their own side until they've assessed and taken the damned data. 

Target down the rear aperture to the sight post. Breathe out. 

The troll destroys the last remaining soldiers like I knew they would. They’re not feeling anything, they never did. A bellow of triumph shakes the sky, arms upraised and dripping with blood, thicker things. So furious.

Fire. 

The tracers flare out, looking. Finding my target.

The second drone hasn't hesitated. The snaking advance is suddenly an arrow bright flash in the corner of my eye.

Yet somehow they see the danger. Energy crazes over their skin as they turn, charging to meet their maker. The stone hammer arcs back to meet the assault. The seeker is firing even as it goes for the kill and green blood explodes. The hammer bounces harmlessly off the shields, sending it flying.

"Up two up, left one! Kiss!"

The first is already finishing its sweep, turning to lock in as well. But this one I have. This one is mine.

Flick the sighting, fire again. The world is halo bright.

"Left left two! Acquired!"

The recoil kicks as I fire the main gun, the gyrojet launching. 

Perfect. So perfect. My little doomsday wakes up halfway to its destination, sensing its mission. The shriek of hyperacceleration rings in my ears even as the rocket enters its murderous spiral.

The drone streaks for the sky but this is its own technology turned back on itself, stolen. Used what they learned, built the guns that went for the EMP shields without hesitation.

The drone explodes in a roar of blue flame. 

Yes. Oh fuck me, yes.

No.

Not destroyed. Damn it. Damn it. It spins the air, listing dangerously to the side but still turning, now reorienting back towards us. Aiming.

"Reload! Damn it John, reload!"

"On it, on it!"

He fumbles, frantically feeding the next belt in. I can feel the cold settling in my bones, arctic memory. Everything is clear.

The troll roars, still standing somehow, still undefeated. Rips a chunk of asphalt from the ground and hurls it against their seeker. Power rips crazily down their arms, imbuing the car sized concrete slab with kinetic force. The shields still hold on the drone but it flickers. Another red thread of energy lashes out and the troll bellows as it impacts their side.

"Fire!"

And I do. Tracers spin out.

"Acquired!" 

The weapon jerks again with a satisfied movement. My seeker can't dodge this time, too damaged on the first hit. The 'jet takes it square and it spins backwards like a toy.

The explosion is like sex, deep and tight. Shrapnel arcs like a fountain.

"Got it!" That's Bandaid. "We fucking got it!" But I'm already swinging to rough target, feeling the triggers under my thumbs as keen as blades.

"Again, damn it, reload!"

The supatroll. They’re swinging around, traitor shrapnel buried deep into their side. Deep, so deep. I can see the bone through the blood. That one’s mortal for sure, as if that matters.

Oh no, no, no because they’re now ignoring the drone. Turning. The hammer tries to rise. Takes one step towards us.Two. A bellow of rage echoes like all this broken concrete grew a voice.

Forgotten, the seeker rises behind him. Tilts down.

I'm screaming back and I don't even know what.

The blood sprays like a decoration. They’re on their knees without intervening motion.

Fire.

The tracers streak out. I hear the numbers, rotate the cylinders.

Fire.

Acquired.

Destroy.

They must have done something. They did something because the shields break without hesitation, shatter. The second drone tumbles backwards, out of sight. A heartbeat later flame rises and a deep concussive tremble confirms what I need to know.

On his knees, they sway. Keel over like a slow motion film. Roll onto their back. I can see the massive chest panting as alien metal pulses obscenely with each breath.

Bandaid is yelling. Cheering. I'm gripping the gun so tight I don't know where I end and it begins.

"... did it, we did it!" Bandaid knocks my helmet, right above where the word KISS is hacked in, reminding me always that I hate that name, I've always hated that name. "We fucking got them!" 

It takes hard effort but I release my fingers one at a time, pull back with a tearing sense of loss. Standing up takes more energy than I have.

Listen but I don't hear more. Not yet. Did we get them fast enough? Maybe. Maybe.

I'm walking before I realise what I'm going to do. 

The troll is still making sounds of rage in their throat. hands flex, over and over. Still reaching for the hammer, I think. This close I can smell copper, offal, the sharp sizzle of Rikti metal that's more taste more than anything else.

I pull my helmet off to run a hand through the short white stubble. My hand is a distant shake.

Have the crazy, insane knowledge that this is Skyway. They’re dying and this is Skyway again and I'm the one that killed them, taunted them, made them die while we danced, while others tore their life away.

The memory overlaps this one until vision is superimposed. They glare up at me from then and from now, a singular eye flaring with hatred, with need. They’re not done. Even still. Even now. 

Their eye. 

-------

"Mother?"

"Yeah, Ranger?"

"You know anything about trolls?"

Roll over on my side and stare curiously at her. She's watching the stars it looks like, leaning back on her hands. The grass is cold under my side.

"Well, yeah. You all smell funny or something."

She doesn't laugh like she's supposed to, looking up. "No. I mean, about what happens." She hesitates. "Supposed to happen."

"Huh?" 

She sits up then, picking some grass between her feet to flick the small threads away. "I mean. I read this, okay? There's some scientist somewhere that says trolls just.. I mean. We just all turn into trolls. Later on." Her skin is dark enough to be black under starlight. I can barely make out her expression.

"Barrier, you're making no sense." And she's not. "Sure you're kind of a troll already. That's sort of indisputable. You got the cute horns and everything. Didn't they figure your dad was some sort of ogre or something?"

"Stasis, don't you read anything they give you for homework?" Her voice is exasperated. I shrug.

"Only when they make me."

Her voice deepens until she doesn't sound like anything, like anybody I know. Like rock would if it had a voice. “They end up all the same. All the same." She shifts a little to look at the sky again, I can just make out her tilting profile. "No boys. No girls. Just the 'dyne mutation taking over everything. At the end they're... we're... just trolls."

Takes a minute but then the sense of it sinks in. I'm already shaking my head, sitting up in a hurry.

"Oh no, Ranger, that's not true. Totally not true. Not gonna happen."

"Yeah? You think?" She looks at me out of the corner of her eye or at least I think she does. "Like you know. You don't even read your homework."

"Don't need to. Barrier, it ain't gonna happen. Trust me on this, okay? You got a little troll in there, sure. But you got freckles and your horns are the wrong color and stuff. You even got.., uh, tits. You are not going to turn into some weird thing, honest."

"Yeah? You know this."

"Well, yeah. I know this. Trust me." Reach out and grab her hand, curling my littlest finger around hers. "Totally trust me. Pinky swear. You're a girl, I’m a girl and we get to be girls together. Even if you don't like it much."

She laughs then finally, like she's supposed to, and pushes me away.

"Mother, you don't know anything at all."

-------

Their eye.

Her eyes.

"....Saskia?"

There's no recognition there, not anything at all. There's a cold tremble in the pit of my stomach. Relief. 

Then I realise it's because they’re dull with death, glazed over. Nobody home anymore. No understanding.

No name. 

"Kiss?"

Look down at the dead hulk. Barrier?

"Kiss?"

Take a deep breath and pull my gaze away. "What?"

"Look, we totally kicked ass and everything but can we get out of here now?" He looks excited, freaked out, scared. 

Look around and he's right. The dead Rikti, the sprawled corpse of the supatroll. The flaming wreckage of the two drones. We're sitting targets. We've got to get distance between us and here as fast as possible. This is a demilitarized zone but it's far from fucking empty.

"Yeah. Yeah." Look down once more though, can't help it. There's nothing there though. Just a dead, stupid troll. We're going to be right with them if we don't get moving.

Mother, you run the play or you sit on the bench.

Yeah Ranger, I know. I'm going.

Turn away, back toward the gun. 

Realise even as I walk that Command needs to know. One 'dyne freak could mean more. More power signatures means more drones which means more Rikti activity. Start to move faster. More activity means more need for the grounders, hit and run. This whole zone could light up in a matter of days. 

If my leg hurts still I'm not paying it any attention. 

Leave the troll to cool on their improvised bier, already forgotten. We've got to get out of here. 

There is only one direction anymore and that's forward because looking back is just another word for suicide.

[bejoomi]

joomi knows, realistically, the band is over. they already weren't playing any shows while they tried to figure out how to replace cam, and even if kian, kou and yejun want to continue as a band, he doesn't know which of them will take on the responsibility of finding a new bassist and singer now. he also knows kian's heart lies with the kpop industry, and kou is just...not particularly committed in general. he doesn't doubt that the band was (or is...?) still important to them, too, but he doesn't think their whole hearts were in it the way his and yejun's were.

even with all of that, maybe joomi's wasn't in it enough either, because it's his fault that this is a sort of last hurrah for dead calm. at the same time, he tries to tell himself he's being dramatic; they'll all still be friends, and still be able to get together on weekends sometimes, if they want to. surely this mattered enough to all of them that the band itself disappearing won't mean them going their separate ways altogether, right? they won't have scheduled practices where they're obligated to see each other anymore, and joomi will be busy, but if they try hard enough, they can still feel as close as they do right now...right?

maybe he's just being too optimistic. he doesn't know if he's ever thought that about himself before in his life.

"you guys can be whatever you want," joomi says, lips quirking up in a small smile that isn't entirely forced. "start a trio and like...sing trot music," he jokes. honestly, kou and kian probably have the spirit for that. he feels like yejun would rather die, but he also feels like that's not really saying much, considering yejun's current state of existence.

"i think...i'm happy for me too," joomi replies. it feels nice to get something. it feels nice to know people believe in him enough to invest their time and money and effort into him. he likes having the opportunity to learn new things, and knowing that his songwriting and creativity are valued, even within a kpop company. "i just..." he turns his attention to a halloween themed little clock, or at least tries to, inspecting it absentmindedly.

"kinda feel like dead calm was the best thing i ever did," he admits. "it sounds kinda stupid, because we were a band for like, five minutes, but..." he shrugs, and almost says i haven't done much worth anything, but doesn't want to make yejun feel like he needs to reassure him more than he already probably does.

"maybe joining delta will be the best thing in the end, and dead calm will be the second best, but it feels like," he laughs sardonically, "good things don't really happen to me, historically. so suddenly i get two really good things, but at the same time, and i have to pick one. like, what the fuck?" he laughs again, and shakes his head.

"sorry, i'm probably making this super depressing and i'll just...shut up about this soon," probably hard to believe jung joomi will ever shut up about anything when around people he has something to say to, "but i want all of us to stay friends. i feel like kian is going to be good at keeping in touch with everyone, and kou is like...easy." joomi doesn't know how else to explain it. hopefully yejun gets what he means. "cam is busy but social enough. i feel like it's actually you and me that are going to be shit at it," he smiles, equal parts amused and sad. "so i guess, if you can do one thing for me, it would be...don't disappear." he finally actually looks at yejun then. "okay?"

yejun feels like a fucking idiot.

why is it that just a few short weeks after he tells his best friend about dead calm, it's suddenly ripped away from him? it's not like yejun hold any resentment towards cam or joomi—he'd actually be more mad at them if they hadn't taken the contracts they were offered—but his life must be the laughing stock of god and all of the angels, or something like that. he knows, as is life, all things must come to an end sooner or later. he just didn't expect dead calm's ending to be so soon. wasn't it just a few short weeks ago that they were playing their opening gig? did time really fly by that fast?

he tries not to dwell on it too much, but he finds it harder to enjoy the halloween festivities with the guys knowing that it's a last huzzah for the group. yejun was happy with them, something he can't say very often these days. he'll mourn the loss of that safe space, that temporary reprieve from the pressure of his parents and teachers. he wonders if this is the end of his dabbling in music for real this time, if he'll manage to sneak his way into another band or if it's really time to resign himself to a life of economics and accounting. he doesn't know. he just knows that dead calm is nothing without joomi and he doesn't think he'll survive being alone with kian and kou for very long.

joomi's sudden speech startles him at first, nearly knocking over a very cute and probably very fragile scarecrow ceramic statuette that he probably shouldn't have been touching in the first place. he glances over at the other man, confused at his thanks at first until he goes on to explain it. if yejun can count on joomi for anything, it's for talking way more than he ever needs to. maybe it's what made him a good lyricist; he has so many words in his head anyway.

"to be fair, i didn't really sign up for anything. i told you i broke both my arms," he jokes, somewhat uncomfortable with the heavy atmosphere between them. joomi takes everything so seriously and to heart and yejun recognizes that, but he doesn't want to see his friend sulk too much on their last day as a group. he nearly nudges joomi with his elbow, a sort of reassuring touch, but thinks better of it while they're around so many fragile things. this is not the best place for that kind of affection.

"i'll probably sit kou and kian down and ask them what they want to do now without you. personally, i don't think we can be dead calm without our founder, but i'll stick it out with them if they want to try." yejun's already given it some thought, he already has an idea how this is all going to end. he's sad to say good bye to something that had been a small light in his life, but he supposes he should be used to it. "i'm glad you're doing this, though. i'm happy for you, seriously."

he's jealous too, admittedly. but those dreams are for a yejun of the past, buried years ago with no intention to dig him back up. it's too late for him now anyway.

[geminiwritten]

because why ; bones

fandom: star trek

pairing: bones x reader

summary: after five long years of pining for the doctor and a whole month of him acting weirdly distant you finally decide to go on a date, but when you get called in for your routine medical you end up finding out exactly why bones has been acting so strange

notes: i kind of like this even though it’s a bit messy, but i think i’m finally getting through my writer’s block! let me know what you think!

word count: 3958

“He asked you out?” Nyota gasps and turns to face you, abandoning the control panel she was previously very focused on.

You scowl, “keep your voice down, but yes, he asked me out.”

“Who asked you out?” Jim asks, appearing beside you.

“Great,” you sigh as Nyota offers an apologetic smile. You turn to your captain, “Finn asked me out.”

“The new nurse?” he queries, and you nod. “I’ve heard he’s pretty hot.”

“And tall,” Nyota says, a smirk on her lips.

You roll your eyes, “and a good nurse, and a nice guy.”

Jim chuckles, “you don’t have to justify yourself to me, we all need to get laid.”

You stand abruptly and smack him on the shoulder, “I’m not trying to get laid, I’m just going on a date with a nice guy, and if- well, I mean, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Been a while?” he asks, still giggling with a stupid grin on his face.

You sigh, “yes, Jim, it’s been a while.”

“Been a while since what?” Leonard asks as he comes up behind Jim, his PADD in hand.

Your cheeks burn and you lock eyes with Jim, a silent plea for him to – for once – keep his mouth shut.

“Since Y/N has been on a date,” he replies, and you let out a small breath of relief.

“Well, that’s a little hard to believe,” Bones says, at which point Nyota turns once again from her control panel.

“Why’s that, Doctor?” she asks.

He finally looks up, his gaze lingering on you before quickly averting to Nyota. “From what I’ve heard, she gets plenty of male attention,” he says before returning his attention to his PADD.

Jim and Nyota glance at you, and you can feel your cheeks burn even hotter. “Not from anyone that matters,” you turn on your heel and storm toward the door, almost stumbling in frustration as you exit the bridge.

You’ve known Bones for five years, meeting him mere minutes after Jim tried – and failed – to hit on you during a medical lab back at the academy, quickly realising that you were far more interested in the doctor who was TA for that lab than the soon-to-be-captain himself. And you’ve been hopelessly in love with him for just over four of those years, realising it yourself one drunken night when he treated your wounds after you tried – and failed – to jump one of the stone walls that separated your cadet’s accommodation building from theirs. It was all down hill from there, and despite your best efforts to get over it, you’ve spent the better part of the past four years resenting every woman that Bones has done as little as have a conversation with. It was exhausting, but you were too afraid to do anything about it for fear of ruining the friendship, which in the past month has been more strained than ever. You don’t know what exactly has happened, but since stopping at one of the Federation’s starbases for resupply and to pick up a new division of recruits, Bones has been distant, and it’s killing you.

Your feet hurt from stomping by the time you reach your quarters, and you’re more than relieved to shed your shoes and uniform before sprawling out on your bed. Focus on Finn, you told yourself, rolling onto your side and gazing at your open wardrobe to begin thinking of what you should wear on your date. It was always risky going on dates while aboard the Enterprise on her extended mission in deep space, but after several advances from the handsome new nurse, Nyota convinced you to try and move on from the doctor, so agreed to one date. You weren’t optimistic about it, but you rarely were about anything when it came to dating, not after four years of painful disappointment.

Eventually, you find the energy to shower and change into one of the few dresses you brought with you aboard; a short-sleeved, black wrap dress with a deep v-neckline that was a little bit sheer. You could still faintly see your bra underneath, but you decided that with the dim lighting on the ship at night, it didn’t really matter. The only shoes you have that aren’t steel-capped boots for your shifts down in engineering or black lace-ups for your shifts on the bridge, are plain black sneakers. They will have to do.

The crew lounge is located on the deck below the cafeteria, fit out with dozens of rounded blue sofas and a huge bar lining the back wall. There are small private rooms that were most likely built in for the sole purpose of onboard dates, and the whole level is dimly lit with huge floor to ceiling windows to display the dark expanse of outer space surrounding the ship. It’s one of your favourite places, primarily because you often end up here with Jim and Bones, and a few of the other crew members, after particularly long or stressful days.

Finn is already seated in one of the private rooms, but you decide that it would be best to help yourself to a drink before joining him, so you make a b-line for the bar. You quickly take a sneaky shot before pouring yourself a glass of something blue that smells like bubble-gum and making your way toward your date.

“Hey,” you say, sinking onto the sofa opposite him.

He looks a little tired, but perks up immediately at the sight of you, “hey, you look gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” you sip your drink, trying not to acknowledge the fact that the butterflies in your stomach are dormant, unlike when you receive the occasional and far less obvious compliment from Bones. Damnit.

“How was your day?”

You shrug, “the usual, long shift but Jim needed me on the bridge so at least I wasn’t elbow deep in some possibly radioactive warp core part.”

He chuckles, “you are the backbone of this ship.”

“Scotty would disagree,” you sip your drink again, “but thanks. How was your day?”

He groans, “awful, Dr. McCoy has been riding my ass since I got here, but this afternoon was just a whole new level of crap.”

“Oh,” you frown, “how so?”

“I don’t know, I just don’t think he likes me much, but he’s got me doing all the routine check ups and paperwork that no one else has time for. He came in right as I was due to finish and told me to do inventory on every medical cupboard aboard the ship.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you say, before realising your glass is empty.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “I was so sure he was going to make me stay back tonight so I told him I had a date and he just stormed off, muttering something about how ‘I don’t deserve it’. I think he means being on the Enterprise, but he hardly even knows me, I just don’t get it.”

You try to come up with something supportive to say, but all you can think about is the doctor, so you stand up with your glass in hand. “Another drink, then?”

He chuckles and tilts his still-full glass, “sure, why not?”

You hurry to the bar and take another shot of the blue liquid before pouring two full glasses mixed with whatever clear soda is in the fridge.

“I’m sorry about McCoy,” you say as you return to your seat, “he can come off as a bit of a-”

“Jerk?”

“I was going to say hard-ass,” you take a generous sip of your new drink, “but he gets better once you get to know him.” And fall in love with him, you refrain from adding.

“You’re good friends with him, right?” Finn asks, and you nod. “I don’t want to overstep here, but do you think you could talk to him, or even the captain? I know you’re close with him too.”

Your stomach drops, “oh, I- uh-”

“I mean, you don’t have to if it’s weird, I just-” he sighs again, “I just really want to keep this assignment, this ship is great and… well, now I’ve met you. I think having to leave might break my heart.”

He chuckles awkwardly at your dumbfounded expression. His heart? You don’t even know this guy’s last name.

“I’d love to help you out, but McCoy has been a little weird with me this last month too,” you say, “he might just be having a hard time. I’m sure he’ll warm up to you.”

“Yeah,” Finn finishes his first drink in one gulp, “hopefully.”

The rest of the night passes with pleasant conversation, and only the occasional awkward pause, but after several hours and probably one-too-many drinks, you both decide to call it a night. He walks with you back toward the lift and only when he neglects to press the button to his own level of residence do you begin to worry about what he might be expecting.

“When’s your next day off?” he asks, following you out of the lift and into the bright white corridor.

“Two days from now,” you reply, “I have three off because I’m needed planet-side at our next stop.”

He grins, “that’s great, me too.”

“Which part?”

He chuckles, and you slow your steps as you reach your door. “I have three off,” he says, “did you want to do this again? Maybe we can watch an old movie, I have a few on the computer in my room.”

“Oh,” you rock back on your heels, “I-I guess, I mean, if I don’t end up on call or anything.”

“Great, I can’t wait.”

The door to your quarters slides open when you swipe your key, and you look back at him trying your best not to appear inviting. Before you can bid him goodbye, he leans down and presses his mouth against yours. It’s so quick and so sudden, that you barely have time to respond before he pulls back, his cheeks pink.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You do your best to smile, “Night.”

When he turns his back to you is when you notice another person in the hall, standing midway between you and the lift with a harsh scowl set between his brows. Leonard. Your heart leaps up into your throat, and you can suddenly taste every drink you’ve had tonight as your stomach does an acrobatic rendition of the tango, determined to expel every drop of alcohol within it. You rush into your room and into the bathroom, reaching the sink before the toilet and hurling every blue, green, and purple drink you had drunk into it.

You’re surprised to be woken by your alarm in the morning, since you usually wake up several minutes before it. The lights in your room blink on and your head begins to pound. Great. You brush your teeth, shower, and dress just as you do every morning, but the knot in your stomach is heavy and insistent on reminding you of every detail of last night.

As you’re making your way down to engineering, and thankfully not the bridge, your comm whistles. “Captain,” you say, knowing it would be Jim.

“Morning Y/N,” his voice replies, “would you be so kind as to report to the bridge immediately?”

You sigh as you step into the lift, “roger that.”

The bridge is quiet and absent of the doctor, much to your relief, but Jim is wearing his signature smirk which makes your pulse race nervously. “What do you want?”

He chuckles, “that is no way to address your captain.”

Your roll your eyes, refusing to correct yourself.

“Anyway,” he says, and you follow him as he moves toward his chair, “how was last night?”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

Nyota stands from her station and approaches with a mischievous smile, “I would also like to hear about last night.”

You sigh, “it was pleasant.”

“And?” Jim prompts.

“And what?”

“The kiss,” he says, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

Your stomach just about falls out of your ass. “Bones told you?”

“Bones knows?” Nyota gasps.

“He saw us,” you tell her.

“He saw you?”

“On his way to his room,” Jim clarifies, and Nyota gasps again.

“When the hell did he have the time to fill you in?” you demand.

The captain shrugs, “none of your business, gorgeous.”

You groan, “that’s just great, thanks.”

He stands and grabs your shoulder before you can turn away, suddenly concerned, “what’s wrong? I thought you liked this guy.”

Why the fuck is Jim playing dumb? It’s not as if he’s been totally clueless all these years, and just because he swore to stop meddling after a full two years of scheming to try and get you two together doesn’t mean he isn’t still fully aware of your feelings for the doctor.

“I never liked this guy, Jim,” you say, keeping your voice low, “I just wanted to try and get over that stupid-”

Jim’s comm beeps. “Bones?” he answers it, offering you an apologetic smile before turning away. “Okay… I’ll send her down now.”

He turns back to you, “you’re due for a medical.”

You frown, “right now?”

He nods.

“Why couldn’t he tell her that himself?” Nyota asks, wearing her own indignant frown.

Jim sighs as his comm beeps again. “I’m sorry, Y/N, just… please? We’ll talk later, I promise.” He turns toward his chair again and takes a seat before answering the call.

Nyota grabs your arm, “are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” you reply, “I’m pretty sure Finn is doing routines right now, so at least I won’t have to deal with him.”

You arrive a the MedBay only a few minutes later, somewhat relieved to find Finn sorting through a cart beside an empty bed. “Hey,” you sit on the edge of the bed, “I got called in for my routine, is that you?”

His face lights up with a boyish grin, “Oh, I didn’t know you were scheduled for today, but yeah, I’m doing-”

“No you’re not Jenkins,” Leonard interrupts, startling you as he appears with his usual frown in place, “I need that inventory list by the end of the week.”

“But you said-”

“Inventory, now.”

“Okay,” Finn sighs, his expression sour, “I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

You nod and swallow on the lump in your throat, watching him leave before turning to the grumpy man in front of you. “Hey, Bones,” your voice comes out quieter than you intended.

“This won’t take long, follow me,” he doesn’t even bother making eye contact with you before turning toward one of the private rooms at the back of the MedBay.

You want to say something, confront him maybe? But instead, you follow quietly and take a seat on the bed in the room as he closes the door without even glancing up from his PADD.

“How have you been feeling lately?” he asks.

“Fantastic,” you reply, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

He ignores it. “Any unusual pain, headaches, or nausea?”

“Aside from last night, nope.”

He finally looks up, his hazel eyes sending the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. “Last night?”

You curse internally as you reply, “I- uh, I threw up but… I had a bit to drink.”

The way his gaze affects you is almost pathetic. Fire blazes through your veins, heating every inch of your skin and undoubtedly turning your cheeks bright red. You’re not sure if it’s Leonard-withdrawals or simply because you had a whole month’s reprieve of the way he makes you feel, but it suddenly feels like you might actually die if you have to stay away from this man.

“Right,” he shakes his head and returns his attention to his PADD, “have you had any adverse reactions to any food or drink, aside from alcohol, in the past couple months.”

You shake your head.

“Any accidents or minor injuries while on shift that didn’t require a visit to MedBay?”

You scoff, “seriously? Bones, I work in the engine room with Keenser and Scotty, I couldn’t possibly document every cut and scrape I get.”

He raises a brow, “have any of these cuts or scrapes taken an abnormally long time to heal?”

You shake your head again, “no.”

He nods once before continuing, “and when was your last routine check-up?”

“You would know better than I would.”

He sighs and taps on his PADD before muttering, “six months ago.”

You nod, “that sounds about right.”

“One last question and then the physical, are you- uh, comfortable with me performing the-”

“Yes,” you reply, before even thinking about how eager you sound, but you can swear you see his cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

He clears his throat, “are you sexually active?”

You can’t stop yourself from giggling, “no, I’m not.”

“Really?” he asks before he can stop himself.

“Really.”

A moment passes where neither of you dare to even breathe. His frown remains but its more curious than anything, and you feel as if the air between you has turned into a heavy and electrically charged storm cloud.

“Okay, uh,” he puts his PADD down and picks up a tricorder, “physical.”

You straighten instinctively as he approaches you and begins scanning your body. “So,” you say, keeping your eyes on anything but him, “how have you been?”

“Fine,” he mutters.

“You sure?” you know you shouldn’t go on, but this is the first time in over a month that you’ve been alone with him, “because it’s been a while since we’ve hung out.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Frustration bubbles up inside of you. “Yeah, bullying cadets,” you mumble.

He pauses, “what was that, darlin’?”

Usually, that nickname would make your head spin but the way he says it now almost makes you shudder. “Nothing, I just-”

“If you’ve got something to say, then by all means,” he steps back, “say it.”

You’ve never experienced this side of Bones. Sure, you’ve seen it, more often than not when he would chase off any unwanted advances from random men on the nights that Jim would force you all to go out clubbing, but you haven’t ever been on this side of it.

You clear your throat, “I just think you should be nicer to the new recruits, that’s all.”

“Nicer?” he scoffs, “I’m a doctor, not a babysitter. If they can’t handle the pressure, then they shouldn’t be on this ship.”

“It isn’t about babying them, Leonard, it’s called being polite,” you grip the edges of the bed, “and being a mentor that they can trust.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, “you don’t think I’m trustworthy?”

“That’s not what I said,” you bite back, “I know you’re trustworthy, but I also know you’re a-”

“A what?”

Frustration ripples through you in hot waves and you have to stand, even though it gives you absolutely no physical advantage. “A jerk.”

“Oh, you think I’m a jerk now?”

“I didn’t until five seconds ago, I-” you stop yourself before you can say something you’ll totally regret.

Bones huffs and drops the tricorder much harder than necessary on the bench. “Look, I don’t know what your little boyfriend has been telling you but-”

“Boyfriend?” its your turn to cross your arms, “first of all, he’s not my boyfriend, and secondly, don’t patronise me. I’m not one of your subordinates, I’m not even one of your crewmates, I’m- well, I thought I was one of your best friends.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want you to be one of my best friends,” he snaps.

Your heart sinks, all the way down into your stomach, making you nauseous. “What?”

He sighs, “Damnit, Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that.”

It takes all of your strength to keep from crying, “no, Len, it’s fine. I get it, you’ve made it perfectly clear over the past month how you feel about me.”

“I’ve made it clear?” he steps between you and the door, preventing your escape, “I’m not the one who has been pretending to visit you on shift, just to flirt with one of your damn subordinates.”

Your eyes grow wide, “you think that’s why I come in here? You think I actually give enough of a shit about that cadet to spend my whole break, every day in the fucking MedBay?”

“I think?” he exclaims, “I know, Y/N, I’ve seen you here every day!”

“Yeah, every day, Leonard!” you shout, fully aware that the whole MedBay is probably hearing your argument, “not just this past month, every damn day that we’ve been on this ship!”

He takes a deep breath, readying himself to shout right back, but he stops and frowns. “Every day?”

“Every day,” you repeat.

He sighs, his whole body relaxing, “why?”

“Because I-” you hesitate, “i-it doesn’t matter. I’ll stop visiting if that’s what you want.”

“Because why?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you move toward the door again, but he blocks your path once more.

“Because why?” he presses.

“Because you, Len,” you exclaim, “because I’m in love with you!”

The room is suddenly quiet, and all you can hear is each other’s breath. Only then do you realise that you lost the battle with your tears, and your cheeks are damp.

“You’re… in love… with me?” he repeats quietly, his eyes searching for anything to look at that isn’t you.

“Yes,” you sigh, “now you got what you wanted, can I please leave?”

He doesn’t budge, “no, that’s not all I want.”

You frown, “what? You want what’s left of my dignity, too?”

He shakes his head, stepping closer, “I want all of you.”

You barely have time to process his words before his lips are on yours and you knees give out beneath you. His arms circle your waist and hold you up, pressing your body against his in the way you’ve dreamed of countless times. The only thing your brain can do is scream, and if your mouth wasn’t so busy, you’re almost positive it would be audible.

When he pulls away, its only because oxygen is absolutely necessary. “I’m in love with you,” he whispers between breaths, “I love you.”

Your head finally stops spinning, and you blink up at him, “what?”

“I love you.”

“Why?”

He chuckles, “because you’re fucking incredible, darlin’.”

He worries for half a second before a grin breaks across your face and you press your forehead against his chest, giggling. “Four years, Len.”

“Four years?” he echoes.

“I have been waiting for four years for this,” you speak into his shirt, unable to stop the mirth bubbling from your lips.

“You’re kidding,” he laughs again, and you can feel it vibrate through his body, “me too.”

You look up at him, “what?”

“Jim tried to tell me too, and I didn’t listen to him.”

“Jim, what?” you snap, immediately thinking of a thousand different ways you were going to kick your captain’s butt.

“He tried to tell me that you liked me,” he says, “several times actually, and I-”

“I’m going to kill him,” you make a move toward the door but Leonard doesn’t let you leave his arms.

“Hold on, darlin’,” he holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “we can kill him later, but right now,” he glances at the bed behind you, “we should really finish that physical exam.”

You have to bite your lip to keep from grinning too wide, so you nod instead of speaking. He smirks, and you can swear your heart stops, before he leans down and captures your mouth with his. He swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, coaxing it from between your own teeth and drawing it between his, biting down just enough to elicit a soft whimper from your throat.

END.

[lxvislxdy]

Lock and Key | Bakugou K.

Summary: It all started out as a harmless prank - Denki’s idea, to get the two of you to talk. It was no secret that you had feelings for Bakugou Katsuki, at least, not amongst your friends. Denki had meant well, sure, when he’d handcuffed the two of you together, but when the key goes missing... well, let’s just say, it’s gonna be a long 24 hours.

Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki x reader

Warning(s): Swearing, that should be it

Notes: Reminder that my requests are open! Let me know what you’d like to see on my page! Hope you enjoy this cute little fic for Bakugou :) I just wanted to write something soft and lighthearted, and cute, so this is that.

You were going to kill Denki. That is, if Bakugou didn’t get to him first.

“Calm down, Bakubro! Murdering one of our classmates would not be very manly of you!”

And if it wasn’t for Kirishima, holding Bakugou back with all of his strength and giving you a sympathetic look as you were dragged along, Denki would’ve been toast. Literally. 

“Look, man, I’m sorry!” Denki was saying, hiding behind Mina and Sero, “It’s just a prank, dude, a joke! Don’t kill me!” 

“I’m gonna end you, spark plug!” Bakugou growled, “Get over here and get this shit off of me!”

Sero, barely holding back his laughter, said, “Aw, come on, Bakugou, I wouldn’t call y/n ‘shit’!”

For a moment, Bakugou blinks like he’s stunned, but then his murderous glare returns ten fold. “That’s... That’s not even what I meant, dunce face! I meant the handcuffs! Get. Them. OFF!”

You know, from the look Mina is sending you, that you’re blushing. 

“Okay!” Kaminari scrambles out from behind the two, smiling sheepishly as he searches all his pockets, “No worries, man, let me just... let me... get the... key...”

Bakugou finally settles down, and you breathe a sigh of relief as he drops his hand, yours falling with it. You rub at your wrist lightly, eyebrows drawn together. You’d been handcuffed to Bakugou for almost ten minutes now, and your wrist was already sore from being yanked around so much. 

“What’s taking so long, dunce face?” Bakugou grumbles.

“Well, you see, uhm... okay, listen, don’t be... don’t be mad, bro, just...” Kaminari laughs, eyes wide in fear, voice dropping so low you could hardly hear him, “I can’t exactly find it.”

You yelp in surprise as Bakugou activates his quirk, feeling the heat against the back of your hand. 

“What did you say?!” 

Everyone winces as he yells, face almost as red as Kirishima’s hair. 

“Careful, dude, don’t burn her!” Kirishima says, hand on Bakugou’s shoulder. 

Bakugou shoves him off, but listens to him nonetheless, and the heat subsides. 

“It’s okay, Kiri, I’m fine.” You tell him quietly. 

“Y/n, I’m so sorry,” Denki says, guiltily. 

“Yeah, you’re about to be real sorry.” Bakugou says, “If you don’t get these off in the next five seconds!”

“Look, let’s just calm down for a minute, okay?” You say, stepping between the two. You feel Bakugou’s arm tug back against yours, as you move farther away from him, and your blush deepens. “Sorry. Anyway... why don’t we just see if Momo can make an extra key? Right?"

“That’s a good idea!” Kirishima says, optimistically. “See? Everything’s fine.”

“Yeah, why didn’t I think of that?” Kaminari scratches his head.

“Because you’re an idiot.” Bakugou mutters darkly.

Mina purses her lips, shifting back and forth on the balls of her feet. “Yeah, that would be great... Except Momo is visiting her parents, and won’t be back till later tonight.”

And just like that, Bakugou explodes again. “WHAT?!”

...

After a stressful call with Momo, involving Bakugou taking the phone from Mina not once, but twice, and telling her to ‘get her and her stupid ass ponytail back to UA NOW!’, it’s finally decided that you’ll just have to wait it out. Even Bakugou can’t say he’d rather go to Aizawa, because explaining this meant explaining the handprint shaped burns in Denki’s door.

Of course, Momo promises to help as soon as she’s back, but that’s still hours and hours away. 

Bakugou, who still practically had steam coming out of his ears, sat beside you on the couch silently. Across from you, the rest of the group watched in sympathy (and fear). No one dared to break the silence, in fear he’d blow up on them again. You couldn’t say you blamed them. 

“Come on.” Bakugou’s sudden command startles you.

“What? Where are we going?” You ask, following his lead and standing up (you were getting dragged along, either way). 

He rolls his eyes, sighing, “I don’t know, but I’m not just gonna sit around like an idiot all day.”

He doesn’t wait for your response, marching out of the room. You look over your shoulder on your way out, a silent cry for help, and Denki has the audacity to give you a thumbs up and wink. You glare at him, sending your friends into a laughing fit.

“What are they laughing at?” Bakugou mutters, brow raised.

You flush in embarrassment, shrugging. “Dunno.”

The two of you eventually end up in the kitchen. You knew Bakugou could cook, everyone did because he regularly kicked everyone out of the kitchen so he could, but you’d never actually seen him in action. He was much calmer now that the two of you were alone, but the scowl never left his face. 

After a few minutes of awkwardly trailing behind him as he gathered ingredients, you mustered up the courage to ask, “Can I help?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, and you begin to think he’ll just ignore you, before he’s handing you a spoon. “You stir while I chop vegetables. I don’t trust you with a knife.”

Ignoring the backhanded comment, you take the spoon from him, happy he’s letting you help. You stir with one hand, resting the other on the counter beside him, so he can use both hands to chop the vegetables. It’s not easy, trying to cook while handcuffed to the angry blonde, but the two of you eventually find a rhythm. 

“So what are you making?” You ask, turning to look at him. His focus is all on what he’s doing, and he looks so serious you try your best not to giggle. Does Bakugou ever just... relax? Still, the way his lower lip just barely juts out and his brow furrows, when he concentrates hard, is really cute.

“We’re making zosui.” 

You’re heart does a little flip as he says ‘we’. He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know that, but you still have to turn away in an attempt to hide your smile. As mad as you were at Denki, you had to admit that being able to actually spend time with Bakugou doing something so... normal, domestic? It was nice. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time daydreaming about a moment like this (except, in your daydreams, you weren’t handcuffed, and maybe there was kissing involved), but you’d never thought it would actually happen. The only time you got to spend time with him outside of class, normally, was if you asked for help with the homework or agreed to spar. But that was rare, these days. Bakugou normally sparred with Kirishima, anyway, and you always felt like a bother when you asked for help. 

Sneaking another look at Bakugou, you find he’s already looking at you. He takes the spoon from you, gently bumping his hip into yours to move you out of the way, and you watch as he adds the veggies to the soup. As he stirs them in, he asks you to hand him the spices he’d set out beforehand. 

“What, have you never seen someone cook before?” He asks.

You laugh sheepishly, “I ate a lot of microwave dinners growing up.”

The look he gives you is incredulous, borderline angry, and he scoffs. “You’re kidding. That shits terrible for you!” 

You laugh, wrinkling your nose. 

He meets your eyes for a moment, lips parted slightly, and you raise a brow at him. Before you can ask, his attentions is back on the soup, and he’s quiet again.

It doesn’t take long for the soup to be done, then, after he adds the rice. And you have to admit, even though you hadn’t helped much, you do feel a sense of accomplishment when you sit down to eat a meal that you made yourself. 

The two of you sit down beside each other, forced to scoot your chairs so close that your thighs are almost touching. Surprisingly, he doesn’t complain.

“Thank you,” You say quietly, before digging in. “Wow! This is delicious!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” He rolls his eyes, but you recognize the slightly smug look on his face. “You helped.”

You giggle, bumping shoulders with him. “Sure, but you’re the chef, here!”

He hid it behind another bite of food, but you could have sworn you saw him smile, too. 

The two of you finish your meal in silence, Bakugou waiting with surprising patience for you to finish eating, before putting the bowls in the sink. 

“Thanks.”

He gives you a look, “For what?”

For being so nice.

“For teaching me how to cook!” 

He shrugs, muttering out ‘whatever’ in reply. 

“So... what do you want to do know?” You ask, hoping his tolerance for your company would last. 

You end up back in his dorm, awkwardly huddled together at the head of his bed. He was reading, as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone. The silence wasn’t awkward, like you’d thought it would be. It was comfortable, almost calming. You found yourself getting tired, the more you sat there. 

Eventually growing bored of your phone, you turned to see what Bakugou was reading, and started reading the pages yourself. You didn’t think he’d noticed, until he slipped his finger behind the next page to turn it, and paused. 

“You done?” He said, quiet and soft, his cheeks tinted the slightest pink. 

Your eyes widened, blushing, “Uh, yeah. S-Sorry.”

He turned the page without another word, looking at you from the corner of his eye. You tried to ignore him, pretending to read, before he sighed. 

And then, Bakugou began to read to you. 

“W-What are you doing?”

He stopped, narrowing his eyes. “Reading, dumbass.” He snapped. “You read slower than me, it’s annoying.”

Despite the backhanded remark, you grinned. “Oh. Okay.” 

He started again, sounding significantly less irritated, and you tried to slow the beating of your heart. In all the times you’d imagined hanging out with Bakugou, you had never thought of something this sweet. You especially hadn’t anticipated his voice ever being this soft, and calming. 

As he read to you, you shifted closer, eventually resting your head on his shoulder. He faltered for a minute, hiding his fumble with a cough, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge it. It wasn’t until he reached the end of the next chapter that he realized you’d fallen asleep. 

And he definitely wasn’t blushing, no, not Bakugou.

Hours later, when Momo and all your friends piled into his room, he whispered harshly, “Wake her up, and I’ll kill you!”

Maybe Denki’s plan had worked out, after all. 

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

happy getting hitched day! 1.9k, (sort of) ft. this

Most days of the year, Sam's the optimist.

It doesn't usually fall on Dean to keep the spirits up in times of war anymore. Or worse, loss. And Dean, well, he thinks himself as enough of an in-the-moment kinda guy to not wallow when everything's not going to shit, right friggin' then.

Sam, on the other hand?

Beacon of light when there's a little Hell to raise, harbinger of hope when there's a God to defeat.

And losing his shit entirely when there's an aisle to walk down, leading to the girl of his dreams and the best decision of his life.

"Dean."

Dean fusses around Sam in compact little semicircles fixing his already perfect tux, while his brother panics in a way Dean only remembers from before the kid stopped having to look up at Dean.

But he's looking down at Dean now, wide-eyed and sweaty like the very first time Dean saw him off on a date when he was fourteen — with supple, bullshit eighteen-year-old advice, he bets — and thirty eight year old Sammy is, clear as day, losing his shit.

"Yeah?" Dean channels all the calm he's got into it.

"What if I forget my vows?"

"Well," Dean lifts his eyebrows, and picks up a linen thread from Sam's shoulder that caught his eye. "First of all, would kinda serve you right for writing six pages worth of them."

"Stop being a —"

"Front and back, Sammy. Front and back."

"Dean." Sam glares, more indignant than mad. Dean rolls his eyes, and Sam continues, replacing the look immediately with a troubled one that reflects the dilemma in his voice. "I mean, I've learned them, of course. At least I think I have — I practised twice last night, once this morning — but what's to stop me from fumbling, or forgetting —"

"Your gigantic nerd brain?"

"This is serious." Sam frowns, levelling another look at Dean like he's the one with the stellar proverbial cold feet. "Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean throws back immediately, and pauses in his shuffling around for effect. "Also, no. No, it isn't." And Sam goes to argue with a bitchface already surfacing, but Dean keeps going, sterner, more confident. This is something he's been doing all his life. He can probably talk the kid down from a panic high like this in his sleep. "And you're going to stop being a dumbass, and listen to what I'm saying."

"'M not a dumbass." Sam mutters.

"Yeah, you are." Dean shrugs, completely nonchalant, and Sam laughs in spite of himself, nervous, but a welcome improvement as he waits for Dean to proceed. (Big brother voice never lets Dean down.)

He's still got it.

"Here's what you're going to do. You're going to get out there," Dean continues, smiling now. "You're going to hold Eileen's hand while the minister marries you. And approximately ten to fifty minutes later, when he asks you to, you're going to look into her eyes, and you're going to say your vows. All stupid six pages of them, verbatim, 'cause I know you, and you're going to that's why."

"They're not stupid."

Dean hums in consideration, then smirks. "There's bravery in acceptance. They probably are."

"Cas called them exquisite." Sam crosses his arms, and Dean uses the opportunity to pick up a hair from his sleeve with a disapproving look.

(Dean had offered to give him a haircut seventeen times and gotten turned down, and now Sam was shedding.)

"Yeah, well, he's a walking-talking scrabble board with good manners, what is he supposed to do?" Dean rolls his eyes but instead of the expected response of Sam snarking back at him, bitchfacing him or something, Sam sighs.

The air thickens with something that's probably a bigger deal than having to wing a couple paragraphs of page three of the vows.

Dean watches Sam fidget with the buttons on his cuff.

"How did you know, Dean?" Sam asks, subdued, after a pause. "How did you know that Cas wasn't — that Cas wasn't making a horribly wrong decision."

Dean's almost halfway to making a joke about the other shoe but he stops himself.

Because this?

This, he gets.

This feeling of thinking — knowing — you're not good enough, that you aren't right for the one you love, that you're somehow deceiving everything that your life has stood as proof of, in allowing someone else to bind themselves to you, forever, when you know that everyone who's ever meant something to you has lost, and died, and hurt.

And that is exactly why he also knows what to say.

"Because I trust him, Sammy."

Sam's eyes start glazing over. "I trust her too. I just, I'm just so scared —"

Dean winces at his words.

(That's Sam, but it's Sam in Dean's shoes. It was Dean's job — for better or for worse — to keep him safe. And he's failed, failed repeatedly, and now Sam — well, he's as broken as Dean.)

"I love her too much for anything to go wrong, Dean, and something — no, everything, always goes wrong." Sam grits his teeth, and Dean puts his hand on Sam's shoulder.

Squeezes. "I get it. I swear to you, I do. But I also promise that you might regret the things we've done, and the things that have been done to us, but you're never going to regret this."

Sam nods jerkily, eyes downcast.

"And I get being scared. Hell, I was more scared than you the entire week, dude. But you know how — and why, I pushed through?" Sam looks up again. "Because at the end of all of this, there's something more important than the promises of eternal happiness, and forever, and the Celine Dion lyrics I know you've stuffed in your vows. There's them. The ones we love."

Dean swallows.

"And who love us too, because our fucked up heads be damned, I've seen the way she looks at you, Sammy." Sam's face breaks into a small, wet smile. "So you better believe she does."

"I do." Sam slowly nods, again, eyes brimmed with tears.

(Probably about to start spilling. The only consolation for Dean is that at least his tears don't fall. Means as long as he doesn't mind a blurry view of everything, he might as well ignore their existence like he means it.)

"There, was that so hard?" Dean laughs instead, although it's weak until Sam joins in, surprised, and only then registering the words he just spoke.

"Thank you, Dean."

Is all he says, and anything Dean might've wished to say (or wisecrack) back at him is dismissed immediately because he's being pulled into a full Winchester hug by his door-sized little brother, and all he can do then is hold onto Sam as tight as he's holding him, and hold on.

(Because they made it.

They found free will, they found love, and they found their happy ending.)

Because Sammy's getting married today.

And they don't just get to be okay anymore. They get to be happy.

Sam doesn't pull back from the hug for at least a whole minute, but Dean doesn't mind, because the tears welling up in his eyes are gone when he finally smiles at Dean, earnest. "I'm —" He starts to say, but gets interrupted by Cas walking up to them with a cluster of carnations in his hand, wearing a rich navy blue tux (the same as Dean's) and a wide smile.

"Hope I didn't interrupt anything," Cas beams, knowing exactly what he walked in on, and Sam shakes his head courteously while Dean battles the weirdly overwhelming need to kiss him right there — Cas is almost ridiculously beautiful when he's happy.

(He doesn't, though.

Cause he and Sam may've just had a moment but it's not like that means he'd be any less likely to be a pain in the ass about urgently requiring brain bleach and therapy, if Dean did.)

Cas carries on.

"Actually, Eileen's friend, Cara, brought her flowers and she suggested I should bring some to you."

"A corsage." Dean realizes out loud, beginning to grin at once, while Sam resorts to ducking his head like an overgrown teenage girl on her way to prom. Doesn't mean that Dean absolutely doesn't put on his best chickflick Dad voice (after he's taken over pinning the flowers to Sam's pocket from Cas, cause he was doing it wrong) and pat the corsage when he says, "Get 'er home by ten."

"The dynamics of that are all wrong." Sam points out with a traditional Sam smirk, and yeah, he's okay.

"The dynamics of your face are all wrong."

"Great comeback, yeah." Sam snorts, and Cas smiles. "Points for effort. I think."

"Whatever, you're the one wearing flowers right now."

"Dean, you wore an ascot on our wedding day."

"Ascot trumps flowers!"

"No, it doesn't." Sam bitchfaces, and Dean turns to Cas, and —

"No, it doesn't."

And Sam lets out a victorious "Hah!", and high-fives a (only slightly) confused looking Cas before pulling him into a sasquatch-sized hug as well, while Dean rewards the entire ordeal with a heartfelt eyeroll and absolutely doesn't look on at two of the most important people in his life while he pretends to be bristled about being ganged up against on his special day as Best Man.

Cas and Sam separate sooner than Dean and he did, and just in time for Jack to poke his head out the church door and remind them they're ready.

Then, Cas leaves to get Eileen, with another big smile and a signed Congratulations at Sam, and a fleeting cheek-kiss for Dean.

Then, Sam and Dean get in position behind the door and Sam refixes his tie.

(Then, Dean has to stage-whisper "Jack!" about seven times before the kid realizes he's being cued — the band had just started playing, he makes it a point to try to explain to Dean afterwards — and the great, wooden doors finally swing open to reveal a beautiful white aisle, and dozens of their friends and family smiling from both sides of it.)

And then, Dean finally walks the kid he's raised and the brother he's saved the World with countless times, down the aisle.

*

(Sam only messes up once in his vows. It's the last verse of Thank You, by Celine Dion.

Rumor has it, it was intentional.

Something about the first time they met.

Dean tells Sam, "You're welcome", the next time he sees him.)

[minor-solemnity]

hi i love your work and am excited for your series. i was wondering if you can do a one shot where the reader comforts tom and let’s him fall asleep on her while she plays with her hair 😩 soft tom 😈

Yesssss! Soft Tom - I cannot resist! This may have gotten away from me a bit so I hope you enjoy 2.6k of fluffy comfort!

Tag List: @jinxqsu @naps-and-lemons @riddles-wifey @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute @crumpets-are-better-with-jam

What Equates to Worship

The door to your bedroom is open and you roll your eyes when you peer inside and find the source of your broken wards slumped in the armchair next to your bed. Tom’s best robes are in a heap at the foot of the bed, his smartest brogues are kicked into the furthest corner of the room, his hair - usually so neat - is disarray. He looks like the world’s most harangued man. “Good evening, my love,” You murmur as you make your way over to his side, kneeling on the floor so that you can take hold of his hands which are resting loosely in his lap. “You broke my wards again.”

It’s late when you get home. There is a Very Important Case being tried in the Wizengamot and your boss, Gerald Montague, is running you ragged in an attempt to get the edge on the prosecution. It’s a nasty case, the defendant, Mr Vickers, is on trial for the kidnapping and murders of five women. His chances aren’t looking good - there is enough physical evidence to bury him and his alibi is flimsy at best. In private, both you and Montague are convinced of his guilt but that doesn’t matter when it’s your job to convince the Wizengamot and a jury of his innocence. Needless to say, it’s not been an easy couple of weeks.

Your shoes click against the uneven cobblestones as you make your way down the narrow road to your flat situated just off the main drag of Knockturn Alley. It’s not the best part of town, but the flat itself is double the size of what you would be able to afford if you lived somewhere more reputable. Besides, it’s not as though you’ve ever been scared by the less savoury parts of humanity and society - you’d be awful at your job if that were the case. You throw a couple of sickles to the hag that operates outside your building, and she promises you glory in the afterlife in thanks. “If you could promise me glory when I’m alive, I think I’d find that more useful,” You say as you fumble with your keys.

She laughs, “That will cost you more than a few sickles, love, try again tomorrow.” You chuckle and shrug a shoulder. It was worth try at least. The gas lamps that lead the way up the winding stairs to your attic flat are already lit, casting a dim, flicking light across the stairwell. You frown slightly as you make your way up the stairs; no one usually lights the lamps, leaving it up to you to light them when you return from the Ministry every day. Your curiosity is further piqued when you reach your front door and find it glowing a dim red, indicating that someone has broken through the wards. You have an idea of who it is, but you take your wand out just in case you’re mistaken. You have a few files from the Very Important Case hidden in the depths of your bedroom, which in the wrong hands, would be disastrous for you and Montague.

The inside of your flat is dark and cold and looks just as you’d left it this morning. With a sigh, you flick your wand at the fire and smile as flames begin to flicker and burn. Your flat is relatively spacious, but the fireplace is enchanted to spread the warmth further than a normal fire would and with any luck you’ll be toasty and warm within a few minutes. You shrug out of your travelling robes and kick off your heels, rubbing your aching feet with relish. Next on your list of things to do is figure out who has broken into your flat and if it's something you should be concerned about.

You pad through the flat, your stockinged feet making no noise against the polished wooden floorboards. The door to your bedroom is open and you roll your eyes when you peer inside and find the source of your broken wards slumped in the armchair next to your bed. Tom’s best robes are in a heap at the foot of the bed, his smartest brogues are kicked into the furthest corner of the room, his hair - usually so neat - is in disarray. He looks like the world’s most harangued man. “Good evening, my love,” You murmur as you make your way over to his side, kneeling on the floor so that you can take hold of his hands which are resting loosely in his lap. “You broke my wards again.”

He makes a small sound in the back of his throat which is honestly pitiful and you are struck by a burning desire to make whoever put him in such a state pay for their crimes. Tom should never look so downtrodden - it doesn’t suit him in the slightest. You rub soft circles against his palms, smoothing the tension out of his fingers with careful strokes as the quiet of your flat weaves a gentle spell of calm and soothing around the two of you. “Is it a good evening?” He mutters and when you look up at his face, you can see the hard lines of annoyance and defeat marring his forehead.

“Hmm, don’t frown, darling - you’ll ruin your pretty face.” This at least gets a small hum of amusement out of him which you count as a win. Heaven knows that when Tom gets in these moods it can take a lot more than gentle touches and murmured sweet-nothings to get him to smile. You rise from your position and move behind the armchair, resting your cheek on the crown on his head and your hands on his shoulders to kneed at his knotted muscles. “I assume that you didn’t get the job?”

You’ve been so busy with your own work that you’d forgotten that Tom’s interview with Dumbledore was today. If you had remembered you would have taken the day off because even the most optimistic person would have known there was a fool’s chance of Tom getting the Defence job. Despite everything though, Tom is an optimist. You would never have guessed it when you first got to know him, but underneath his taciturn facade is a terribly hopeful young man who still believes that things will turn out in his favour. His idealism is part of what you love about him if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s a good contrast to your cynical realism.

It’s ridiculous, of course. Tom, despite his young age, is the most qualified person you can think of for the position. He knows more about Defensive magic than anyone save for maybe Dumbledore himself, and beyond that, he has the right temperament for it. It comes as a surprise to most people who meet him that Tom would be a good teacher, but he really is. His love of Hogwarts, defensive magic, and his desire to impart that knowledge all adds up to someone who sees struggling students and wants them to succeed. If it had been anyone other than Dumbledore, he would have been a shoo-in for the role.

“You assume correctly.” His voice is still tight and muted with resigned anger, but he begins to loosen under your hands, his head lolling to the side and coming to rest against your forearm.

“Did he give you a reason why?”

Tom sighs and the sound is world-weary and destitute. At that moment, your hatred for Dumbledore intensifies. “He never intended on giving me a chance. He invited me in and lectured me about dark magic. He essentially said that as long as he was Headmaster I would not be welcome in the castle.” The worst thing is that Tom sounds so forlorn. Unlike you, who had decided after a year at Hogwarts that the only thing you wanted to do was leave, Tom’s fondness for the school is unparalleled. “Knowing him, that won’t be for another hundred years or so.”

“I’m so sorry, Tom,” You say, dropping a kiss into the dark curls of his hair. “He’s an old coot. Still so struck by the mythology of his own genius that he can’t see past his own prejudices.” He hums lowly in response and eventually, you feel him start to relax. It’s gratifying to know that it’s you over anyone else, that he comes to when he needs support. You know his friends and followers would do anything to gain his favour, but at the end of the day, he doesn’t seek them out. No, he doesn’t trust them to see him like this, to see him in his more human moments of vulnerability. He trusts you to understand him and comfort him. That in itself is a gift.

“Now, come on. We can worry about Dumbledore later, but right now, let me find us something to eat.” Food, in your opinion, can go a long way to right a lot of wrongs and you have a sneaking suspicion that Tom probably hasn’t eaten all day. He’s annoying like that, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to care about silly little things like eating and taking care of oneself. You can’t help but chuckle softly as he mumbles something under his breath and reaches for your hands to hold you in place. “Later, my love. I promise,” You say and disentangles yourself from his grasp.

Tom follows you out of the bedroom and watches you with a look of exasperated amusement as you search your kitchen. Your cupboards are sinfully bare when you go to inspect them, the rush of the last two weeks has meant that you’ve neglected a lot of your more basic chores. “And you accuse me of neglecting my needs. You hardly set a good example, my dear.” He murmurs from where he’s lounging against the stove. You roll your eyes as you shove your feet back into your heels and head for the door.

“Veeraswamy?” You ask and have to hide your smile when Tom’s eyes light up. It’s not often that the two of you treat yourselves to restaurant-quality food as neither of your jobs’ salaries really allow the indulgence, however, tonight, you think an exception is called for. “Feel free to look over the files I brought home - maybe you’ll notice something I missed.” You don’t even finish your sentence before Tom is digging through your work bag and pulling out the offending files. Typical, you think fondly. Tom is as curious as a cat and one of the easiest ways of making him feel better about anything is to introduce him to a puzzle.

Fifteen minutes later you apparate home with a brown paper bag of Veeraswamy’s finest selection of curries and sweet treats. As a rule, they’re dine-in only, as many of the restaurants in muggle London are, however, you’re not above a confundus charm to get what you want and you always make sure to tip splendidly to offset any guilt you feel for taking advantage. When you get in, Tom has the case files splayed out on the small kitchen table and you spare yourself a moment to admire the elegant curve of his neck and the way his curls fall in graceful arcs across his brow. Without looking up, he makes a space for you to drop the bag of goodies on the table and you collect plates and the bottle of wine that is the only thing you already had in your flat.

You discuss the Very Important Case over dinner and he indulges in your complaints about Montague’s refusal to even consider your line of defence. “Vickers says that he went to a Seer and was told that these women would die by his hand. I want to make the case that he can’t be fully held accountable for the murders if it’s already foretold.” Never mind that that isn’t how prophecies or fortune work, no one in the Wizengamot understands the intricacies of Divination well enough to know that just because something is said, doesn’t mean it will come to pass. “Montague is convinced that we can prove his innocence without resorting to asking for lesser charges.”

“And he’ll lose the case because of it.” He hums, sets his fork down and reaches for your hand, his long fingers looping around your wrist. “Have you considered the fact that Vickers may have been compromised? The file says that when he was found, Vickers was abnormally placid and made no attempts to hide the evidence that would have been easily disposed of? Maybe hire a mind-healer and see if he’s been the victim of an imperius curse,” He says nonchalantly as though he hasn’t just dropped the biggest break in the case in your lap.

“Tom. Tom, you are a genius. How did you even begin to come to that conclusion?” He must hear the wonder in your voice because a small, self-satisfied smile curves his upper lip and he leans over the table to press a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips.

“These things are obvious if you know what you’re looking for.” The knowing in his voice hints at something darker and your eyes narrow slightly. Tom’s proclivity for the dark arts is no secret, neither is his cunning and ruthlessness. You don’t ask and he doesn’t tell, but you suppose it’s probably a good thing that you’re training to become a defence lawyer. Maybe one day he’ll need one.

Tonight is not the night for those kinds of thoughts though. You doubt any night will be - if ever there comes a day when you have to reckon with Tom’s less savoury pursuits, you already know where your allegiances lie. With a soft hum of acknowledgement, you stand and lead him to the bedroom. “Enough maudlin talk for tonight, I think,” You say as you settle against the headboard and motion for him to join you. “You must be tired after today.”

Even though he tries to hide it, you can see that the day has worn on him. Shadows form like ink stains underneath his eyes, and he holds himself with a kind of forlorn regret that fills you with a feeling of sympathetic sorrow. He crawls up the bed and raises an eyebrow when you don’t move to make room for him. Instead, you simply lift an arm and smile, sleepiness and tenderness mingling into something soft in your eyes. After a few second of internal debate where Tom looks from you to the spot you’ve made for him, he gingerly lowers himself against you, his head resting in the hollow where your shoulder meets your neck. He lies unnaturally still and tense in the way a feral kitten might react to the kindness of a stranger.

Honestly, it’s more than a little heartbreaking. Slowly - carefully - you rest one hand over his heart and begin to card your other through his hair. You’re not entirely sure how he manages it - you’ve never seen a haircare potion in his vicinity - but Tom has the softest hair of anyone you’ve met. It’s dreadfully unfair, really. You rub gentle circles against his scalp and smile softly in the dim light as you feel him relax against you, the long hard lines of his body soften as you continue your gentle ministrations. Gradually, you sense him ease into a contented state as he seeks clemency from the day in your touch.

That you can do this for him, that you can be this for him is not something you would have ever thought possible. You remember vividly the uptight rigidity with which he had held himself throughout your time at school. The fervent dedication he had channelled to reach the top of the pecking order, never allowing himself a moment of softness or reprieve. You’re certain that if he’s not careful he will burn himself out before he’s had a chance to truly shine, and you know just how brightly he could if given the chance.

You brush his hair from his eyes and lazily draw abstract patterns against his chest, feeling the way his breathing deepens as sleep overtakes him. In this moment of calm, sleepy repose, you feel your heart expand with all love and care you think you might ever feel, and you brush a soft kiss to the crown of his head, revelling in the almost breathy sigh that escapes him. “You’re far too good to me,” He mumbles, half asleep and entirely too sincere.

“Agree to disagree, my love. I am exactly as good to you as you deserve.” He chuckles at this, nestling deeper into your side and flinging an arm across your waist. “Now, sleep - we have so much time for everything else.”

AN: Also before anyone accuses me of anachronisms, Veeraswamy is London’s oldest Indian restaurant. It was opened in 1926 and I’ve been there once before - the food was so so so good and it was disgustingly expensive. I’m assuming that it wasn’t that pricey in the 40’s

[marauderundercover]

This Side of Normal Ch. 7

AO3

Prev

Marinette Dupain Cheng didn’t have a normal life. On the contrary, some would call her life Miraculous. Well, one would. And she would whack him every time. As much as she loved her brother (in all but blood) Adrien, she couldn’t stand his puns most of the time. After he first lost his arm a year ago at the final battle against Hawkmoth, she let him get away with a lot of puns and awful jokes. Because she blamed herself for his injury. She should’ve been able to fix him. But she wasn’t. She still blamed herself some days, but she no longer laughed at every single one of his puns. He knew she hated them, and it was better for her mental health to let him know how awful they were. She’s stirred from her thoughts by Adrien nudging her, obviously trying to get her attention.

“Where are we going for our spring break trip? You helped Mme. Bustier plan that, right?” Adrien asks. She frowns, not sure what brought that topic up.

“We’re going to spend a week in New York and then a week in London. Why?” She asks, confused at his worried expression.

“Okay well, maybe you should tell Mme. Bustier that. Because she just said that we’re spending two weeks in New Jersey.” Adrien says with a grimace.

“WHAT!?” She yells, jumping out of her seat.

“Marinette! I was trying to go over the details of the trip. I’m very disappointed in you. You know better than to interrupt like that.” Mme. Bustier says, shaking her head with a small frown. Marinette’s face turns red and she drops back into her seat, muttering an apology.

“What do you mean we’re going to New Jersey? What’s even in New Jersey?” She asks Adrien in a hushed whisper, conscious of the glares from Lila at the front of the room but determined to ignore them any way she can.

“Gotham, apparently. And the Wayne family. According to Lila, she can get us in for a tour at Wayne Enterprises and Gotham Academy and every other thing the Waynes do. Because she’s dating Damian Wayne, didn’t you know?” Adrien explains, lip quirking in amusement. Marinette groans, dropping her head onto their table.

“Do you realize now I’m going to have to arrange at least part of that? Or we won’t have anything to do and we’ll be stuck in some random city for two whole weeks.” Marinette says, a headache already forming.

“Or, or, hear me out. You could just let her fail. And the trip will flop and everyone will see that she’s awful.” Adrien says. It was a much different response than what he would’ve had a year ago. But the defeat of Hawkmoth and the revelation that his father was a supervillain was enough to alter Adrien’s world view. He wasn’t hopelessly optimistic anymore. He was more cynical. He was still insanely kind, but he didn’t give out his kindness to people who didn’t deserve it. Like the lying bitch in their class.

“I don’t wanna be stuck in a hotel with her for two weeks.” Marinette points out with a grimace. “Wait a minute, why does Gotham sound familiar?”

“Probably from when you were friends with Alya. Batman and his whole team is from Gotham.” He says, slumping down in his seat so that he can continue to whisper to her.

“Oh goody. Crime capital of the US and Lila decides to lie her way into the city. But it wasn’t enough for just her to be targeted. Oh no, she had to get our entire class involved. Yippee.” Marinette snarks, shoving her face back into her folded arms on the desk. It was too much for this early. Time for a nap.

---

After submitting a five thousand word essay on how beneficial a tour of Wayne Enterprises would be and an additional three thousand word essay to Gotham Academy on the benefits of having an exchange class for a week, Marinette was pleased to say that their trip to Gotham wouldn’t be completely boring.

In fact, it would be similar enough to what Lila had lied that hopefully, she wouldn’t be blamed for messing anything up. Sure, they wouldn’t have personal tours from the Wayne family or an invitation to the Spring Gala that the Waynes were hosting, but at least they’d have something to do in Crime City. Hopefully with the amount of security at both Gotham Academy and WE, they wouldn’t run into too many villains. After three years under Hawkmoth, she never wanted to deal with a villain again. Unless she could punch him or her in the face. Then yeah, she’d happily meet a villain. But seeing as it’s highly frowned upon to piss off a Gotham villain like that, she’d prefer to just not see one at all. Would certainly make things easier.

Marinette huffs, glaring at the mess of clothes falling out of her suitcase. She’d started packing two days ago, and then yesterday discovered that she packed the outfit she wanted to wear on the plane. So then she had to take everything out, but then she couldn’t find the outfit and after throwing everything around she found the outfit. Still in her dresser. And now she had a huge mess falling out of her suitcase and not enough time left to pack neatly. Not if she wanted to get any sleep.

“Hey Adrien, can you give me a hand?” She asks, beginning to fold the mess of clothes back up. He’s silent for a minute, and then she hears a click. She sighs and looks up just in time to catch the arm he threw at her.

“There you go!” He says cheekily, a wide grin on his face as he hangs upside down from her bed. She narrows her eyes.

“You know what I meant, you absolute menace.” She deadpans. He snorts before dropping down, landing gracefully and catching the arm she throws back at him.

“You know you love me, Bug.” He says, helping her fold her clothes.

“Unfortunately.” She says with a dramatic sigh. “You hear from Jay yet this week?”

“Yeah. Told me, and I quote ‘stop annoying Pixie Pop with your lameass jokes kid. I can’t protect you from her fury from across the ocean’.” He says with a laugh.

“At least he knows I’d best you in a fight.” She says with a hum. Adrien sputters, an offended look on his face as he slams her last shirt into her suitcase.

“That is not what that meant!” He argues with a pout.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Kitty.” She says, zipping the suitcase shut and trying hard to ignore the bad feeling settling deep into her stomach. Something was going to happen in Gotham, and she wasn’t sure if it would be good or bad.

---

Of course the class would leave them on their first full day in Gotham. It made sense. They’d hated Mari before Hawkmoth’s reveal. And after Hawkmoth’s reveal, they were hesitant around Adrien. Even with the whole ‘my dad cut off my arm’ thing. So honestly, leaving the two of them stranded at the hotel was just par for the course.

“At least we’re together.” Marinette says bitterly, thinking of the fact that the class would be getting to tour Wayne Enterprises. A place that she had worked hard to allow them to tour.

“Come on Mari, look on the bright side.” Adrien says, grabbing her hand and tugging her along.

“What bright side? We were left behind, in Gotham, of all places. What could possibly be good about this situation?” She asks, slightly dragging her feet as he tugged her along behind him.

“Mmmm, the fact that Wayne Enterprises is only a block away.” He says with a grin. She straightens immediately, actually keeping up with his pace now instead of allowing herself to be dragged behind him.

“Why didn’t you lead with that?” She asks, shaking her head in faux disappointment. He shrugs.

“I like a little chaos.” He says. Marinette opens her mouth to snark back at him, but is instead silenced by the building in front of her. Wayne Enterprises was slightly intimidating, but she was still amazed by its design. It was modern and sleek and her hand twitched towards the sketchbook in her purse. She could just imagine skirts with the same sleek shapes and dark colors, suits whose build was used to make the wearer look taller. Just as she’s about to pull out her sketchbook, she sees a familiar head of hair walking into the building. Dark hair with a white streak. But-

“Was that Jason?” She asks, suddenly far more interested in the man who just walked in. Adrien’s gaze snaps to where hers is, frowning at the closed door.

“I don’t know, but let’s go see.” He says, and this time, she’s the one tugging him. Their class completely forgotten. Until they walk through the doors and hear the incessant chatter and noise that comes with being around Lila Rossi. But not enough that is enough to deter the two from their goal. Especially when the man they’d followed turns around, a familiar face set into a scowl.

“Jay!” Marinette calls, waving at him. The man’s scowl instantly drops into a wide smile and he rushes past the class, sweeping the two up into a huge hug.

“Pixie! Kid! What are you two doing here?” He asks, holding them close.

“Jay-Jay, can’t breathe.” Mari says, letting out a puff of air as he sets them down gently.

“Hey Jay!” Adrien says, a wide smile on his face, one of the most sincere smiles Mari had seen in a while. She felt her own face fall into an easy smile. After a year apart, they were together again.

“Uh. Jason? Job, remember?” A voice asks, pulling the three out of their reunion. Jason looks at the man and rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, Dick, thanks. I’d completely forgotten why I came all the way here.” He snarks, no venom in his tone.

“Did you just-” Marinette starts to ask, uncertain if he was calling the man a name or?

“Shit, I forget that even though you speak it just fine, English isn’t your first language. His name is Richard, but ‘Dick’ is a nickname for Richard. It’s what he usually goes by.” Jason explains, snorting at the look on her face. She huffs and rolls her eyes.

“Well excuse me, Mr. To be fair, you calling someone that wouldn’t be out of the question. You have shitty language a lot of the time.” She teases with a smirk.

“That’s it. You’re disowned. I no longer claim you as my little sister.” He says, turning around dramatically and walking away. Marinette’s jaw drops at him. She looks at Adrien who just smirks, and then at Dick who just looks confused with the entire situation.

“What the hell was that? I thought I was the dramatic one.” She pouts.

“Looks like you’ve lost your touch Bug.” Adrien says, crossing his arms. Her eyes narrow.

“Is that a challenge?” She asks. He shrugs.

“Do with it what you will. Just don’t get him in trouble, I think he actually works here.” He says, glancing around the packed lobby. Marinette looks around and sighs. She didn’t want to make a scene with the class, and she definitely didn’t want Jason to get in trouble.

“I’ll get him later.” She mumbles, falling into place on Adrien’s right side naturally. The two walk in sync to the rest of the class, oblivious to the bewildered look given to them by Dick Grayson.

Next

Master list

Tag list (open): @toodaloo-kangaroo @laurcad123 @kittenmywaythrulife @lost-in-the-world-of-maribat

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

Affection

Word count: 1251

Genre: Fluff Pairing: Natasha x gn!reader

Warnings: Mentions of sex but nothing sexual (let me know if I need to add more)

Request: Hii! I'm loving all your fics about Nat, and I wanted to request something. Nat x fem reader and she's touch starved since she never really had any kind of affection in her life, and when she starts dating reader she realises she really needs physical affection! I just need some fluff with Nat

Summary: Reader and Natasha watch a movie and Natasha realizes how much she likes affection.

A/n: This request was for @stephanieromanoff, so I hope you like it because I had a lot of fun writing this one. So I feel kinda bad because I have a ton of requests to get to and I only got this request today (I did warn you guys I was’t going to do them in exact order) but I figured writing this was better than writing nothing. This request really inspired me because I love writing soft Nat fics and it got me back into a writing mood after hitting writers block on my series. Because of that I may not get part two of Feel out tomorrow like I hoped but I am trying to catch up on requests and will get part two out soon. Anyways I hope everyone enjoys and as always my requests are open, especially since I’m in a writing mood and I want to put something out every single day. 

You flick through the titles, not particularly wanting to see any of them. It’s interesting that before when you had to pay for movies you seemed to want to see so many but now that you lived in the tower and you had pretty much every streaming service for free (thanks to Tony), every movie and show looked a little more boring.

“Tasha do you have any suggestions?” You ask, looking over at your girlfriend. You still were in shock you could even consider Natasha your girlfriend and although it had only been a week since your first date you would do anything not to mess this relationship up. 

“I haven’t been paying attention to the choices.” She admits and you laugh a little.

“Why don’t you look through some of the options while I get some popcorn and drinks ready?” You suggest.

She nods. “Sounds good, can you please pass over the remote?” You smile and stand making your way over to her with the remote in your hand. Handing it to her you lean over and kiss her forehead and nose lightly while touching the sides of her face before you pull back and walk to the kitchen, satisfied with the blush that spread all over her face at your actions.

The popcorn doesn’t take too long to make and you pour some ice water with lemon slices while it pops so you make it back to the living room in under five minutes. The sight that you are greeted with might just be the cutest thing ever in your opinion. Natasha has the top of the blanket over her head and it wrapped around her entire body except for her eyes and she looks tiny while buried in the blankets because she has her knees pulled up to her chest. 

“Did you pick a movie?” You ask her. 

She jumps a barely noticeable amount in surprise, having not heard you coming. “Yeah, I thought we could watch Little Women.”

“That sounds good,” you tell her, “and by the way you look absolutely adorable wrapped in the blanket like that.” 

She blushes. “I was going to take it off before you got back but it’s too comfy.”

“Well I’m very glad that you didn’t.” You tell her honestly, openly admiring her. She blushes again and starts the movie instead of answering. Even before it truly starts you know you’ll spend a good portion of the movie watching her because it was hard to take your eyes off of her and you had read the book so you knew the plot anyways. 

As you originally suspected you spent almost the entire time watching her watch the movie. You love the way the emotions flit freely over her face, her giggling along with the happy parts and biting her lip when things get sad. You were just watching the scene where you (and probably everyone else) cried while reading the book when she pauses the movie. 

“What was that for?” You ask, turning to her. She faces you, her eyes teary but none of them falling. 

“I just need a minute to gather my bearings,” She says and you know the movie must truly be affecting her because usually she doesn’t like to reveal her emotions. “I chose this movie because you said you really liked the book, I didn’t realize it was sad!” 

“You do know it’s okay to cry while watching this, pretty much everyone does.” You tell her.

Your permission seems to be the thing she needs and she breaks down into sobs. “I just can’t believe that happens, it’s so sad, none of them deserved that.”

You move over to her end of the couch, hesitantly putting your arms around her, ready to remove them when she seems to stiffen but then tightening her grip when she seems to relax into your arms. You pick up the remote and press play again, putting your arm back around her. Almost the entire rest of the movie you can feel her silently shake because she is crying and even though you already knew exactly what was going to happen you can’t help but let a few tears spill out. By the time it ends she is even further curled into you and manages to let out a small watery smile at the happy ending. You move to release her and stand up but she pulls you back down.

“No.”

“No what, Tasha?” You ask, amusement lining your voice. “No getting up.”

“No getting up.” She repeats before resting her head on your shoulder, her breath tickling your neck. You are happy to oblige her, keeping your arms around her and absentmindedly running your hand up and down your back. She hums in contentment and you can feel the vibrations in your shoulder. 

“You know if someone had told me two weeks ago that I’d be dating you, I’d say they were optimistic, but if they told me you liked cuddles I’d get them tested in a mental institution!” You tease her.

She takes her head off her shoulder and looks up at you. “I didn’t even know I liked this until now, nobody has ever done this for me before.” 

You feel your heart simultaneously break and fill with affection for her. “I’m sorry about that, but I’m honored to be your first.”

She giggles. “You make it sound like you mean it in the first to have sex with me.” Her expression turns to a frown. “You will be far from first with that.”

“I know and I don’t care about that.” You look into her eyes so she knows you’re telling the truth. “This is more important to me. Sex doesn’t always mean love, this, this means love.” 

“Did you just say you love me?” She asks incredulously, her eyes wide.

You think about denying it, worried that it’s too soon because your relationship is so new but you’ve been in love with her for years and you can’t keep hiding it. “Yes, I did.” She continues looking up at you and as much as you try to, you can’t begin to read what she’s thinking. 

“I think I love you too.” She whispers after what feels like an eternity and you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. 

“Thank god, it would have been pretty awkward otherwise.” Placing a small peck on her mouth and then going back for a peck on her forehead. “However as much as I’d love to stay here, it’s getting late and we should probably get ready for bed. She pouts but untangles herself from you and brings your empty dishes to the kitchen while you exit out of the movie. 

“Will you sleep with me tonight?” She blurts out when she returns to the living room and you start to splutter. “No, no, no, I didn’t mean for that to come out like that. I meant will you sleep with me literally, like more cuddles.”

She hides her face in her hands embarrassed and you laugh loudly at her mistake. “Of course Tasha, I’d love to.”

She practically beams. “Thank you!”

“You really enjoy being held, huh?” You teasingly ask her, enjoying her flustered expression. “But seriously,” you add on, taking pity on her, “I love to hold you as well, so ask anytime.” She smiles again and takes the hand you hold out for her as you lead her through the halls to her room. 

---

Taglist: @fayhar @stephanieromanoff @acertainredhead @stop-drop-and-drumroll​ (if you want to be added, comment, send an ask or message me)

[starter-library]

Dear Evan Hansen Lyric Starters || act one || act two ||

FEEL FREE TO CHANGE PRONOUNS/NAMES/PHRASING AS YOU SEE FIT

Anybody Have a Map?

“Have you been writing those letters to yourself?”

“Can we try to have an optimistic outlook, huh?”

“Can we buck up just enough to see the world won't fall apart?”

“Maybe this year, we decide we're not giving up before we've tried. This year, we make a new start”

“I'm proud of you already”

“I'm kinda coming up empty, can't find my way to you”

“Anybody maybe happen to know how the hell to do this?”

“I'm flying blind and I'm making this up as I go”

“He doesn't listen. Look at him, he's probably high”

“Another masterful attempt ends with disaster”

Waving Through A Window

“I've learned to slam on the brake before I even turn the key”

“No slippin' up if you slip away”

“Will I ever be more than I've always been?”

“I try to speak, but nobody can hear”

“We start with stars in our eyes, We start believing that we belong”

“When you're falling in a forest and there's nobody around do you ever really crash, or even make a sound?”

For Forever

“End of May or early June, This picture-perfect afternoon we shared”

“All we see is sky for forever”

“Feels like we could go on for forever this way”

“There's nothing that we can't discuss”

“There's nowhere else I'd rather be”

“From far across the yellow field I hear him calling, "Follow me””

“And I suddenly feel the branch give way. I’m on the ground, My arm goes numb”

“He's come to get me and everything's okay”

Sincerely, Me

“We've been way too out of touch”

“Things have been crazy and it sucks that we don't talk that much”

“Why would you write that?”

“I've gotta tell you, life without you has been hard”

“I miss talking about life and other stuff”

“I love my parents but each day's another fight”

“I'll take your advice, I’ll try to be more nice”

“All that it takes is a little reinvention”

“All you gotta do is just believe you can be who you want to be”

“You'll be obsessed with all my forest expertise”

“Just keep pushing through! You're turning around, I can see”

“Thanks for every note you send”

“I'm just glad to be your friend”

Requiem

“Why should I play this game of pretend? Remembering through a secondhand sorrow?”

“I could give in to all of the gloom, But tell me, tell me what for”

“Why should I have a heavy heart? Why should I start to break in pieces? Why should I go and fall apart for you?”

“Why should I play the grieving girl and lie saying that I miss you”

“You can't stand to be in this room for five minutes?”

“You know, [name], at some point you're going to have to start dealing—“

“I gave you the world, you threw it away, Leaving these broken pieces behind you”

“I hear your voice, I feel you near”

“Within these words, I finally find you”

“Why should I say I'll keep you with me?”

“When the villains fall, the kingdoms never weep, no one lights a candle to remember”

“Don't tell me that I didn't have it right! Don't tell me that it wasn't black and white”

“After all you put me through, don't say it wasn't true! That you were not the monster that I knew”

If I Could Tell Her

“He thought you were awesome”

“There's nothing like your smile sort of subtle and perfect and real”

“What he saw he left unsaid”

“Though he wanted to, he couldn't talk to you. He couldn't find the way”

“If I could tell her how she's everything to me-“

“You looked really pretty, er— It looked pretty cool when you put indigo streaks in your hair”

“But what do you do when there's this great divide?”

“It's like I don't know anything”

Disappear

“Guys like you and me, we're just the losers who keep waiting to be seen”

“No one seems to care or stops to notice that we're there”

“If you can somehow keep them thinking of me and make me more than an abandoned memory, Well that means we matter too”

“No one deserves to be forgotten, No one deserves to fade away”

“No one should come and go and have no one know he was ever even here”

“Even if you've always been that barely-in-the-background kind of guy, you still matter”

“Even if you're somebody who can't escape the feeling that the world's passed you by, you still matter”

“If you never get around to doing some remarkable thing, that doesn't mean that you're not worth remembering”

“No one should flicker out or have any doubt that it matters that they are here”

“When you're falling in a forest and there's nobody around, all you want is for somebody to find you”

You Will Be Found

“Have you ever felt like nobody was there?”

“Have you ever felt forgotten in the middle of nowhere?”

“Have you ever felt like you could disappear? Like you could fall, and no one would hear?”

“That was the gift he gave me, to show me that I wasn't alone to show me that I mattered”

“Maybe there’s a reason to believe you’ll be okay”

“When you don’t feel strong enough to stand you can reach out your hand”

“Have you seen this? Someone put a video of your speech online.”

“There’s a place where we don’t have to feel unknown”

“You are not alone"

[angelicmichael]

renegade

Andy Dolan x reader

Summary: After another night where Hedwig abandons Andy; reader is left with no other choice but to try and help console him the best she can.

Words: 3.6k+

Warnings: vague mentions of drugs and being intoxicated, some jealous! reader, lotsss of angst, brief fluff, mainly hurt/comfort fic tbh hehe, major Hedwig slander oops, maybe a bit of unhealthy relationships (??), slowburn, some conflict/arguing 

A\N: hey y’all, hope u enjoy this hehe. I was mostly going for a angst and fluff vibe when I wrote this but it just turned into hurt/comfort so.. hopefully it’s still enjoyable !! :) this takes place sometime in episode three probably lol. ALSO fic is named after the song Taylor swift has recently been featured in 👉🏻👈🏻

The town, Eden; regardless of its beauty was a force to be reckoned with.

Being practically forced to live in a town that was so.. particular was never something you envisioned for your future in the past, but now you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else; even given the choice.

After all how could you exactly complain?

If you were to ask any person- (or any sane person that didn’t know of Eden that well) they would say that living here would sound like complete fucking heaven. A small coastal town, a tight knit community that was overly abundant with beautiful people and drugs seemed beyond euphoric.. and it was. Atleast for the first week or two.

Looking back; you were purely fucking naïve, and far too much of a optimist to assume shit wouldn’t crash or burn eventually.

Your first red flag was Hedwig.

She was one of the first people you met, and you two quickly hit it off and became close but.. things never exactly felt right with her, per say. Maybe it was because of how guarded she was, or because of the drugs she dealt.. it was hard to tell. However; Hedwig was completely fucking harmless compared to the man she introduced you too.

Andy Dolan.

Just like everyone in Eden; he was drop dead gorgeous but.. oddly hostile. At first you only saw him at parties, ones that you tried your best to avoid him at since you knew he had a notorious temper but, Hedwig being the great friend she is introduced you to him.. and that’s all it took.

You two quickly hit it off after that night (mostly because you were tired of Hedwig being your only friend and branching out never hurt anyone.. right?). Your attraction towards each other at first was strictly platonic, that was clear in how he treated you and how careful you were around him. It was almost stupid to try and not think about how pretty he was but letting your gaze linger on him for even more than two seconds felt erroneous.

You saw almost daily (or atleast every other day) how quick he was to anger and how cold he was to nearly everyone he met.. The only exception at this point was you and Hedwig but your sure if you were to even show a sign that you had romantic interest in him, he would drop you without a second thought. That thought alone was beyond fucking torturous but it wasn’t enough to stop you from daydreaming about how soft his hair or lips probably were. Ones that you doubt you would ever get the pleasure of touching but- atleast it was a nice distraction from how fucking weird Eden truly was.

Sure, it was beyond beautiful and the weather was fairly nice most days but that didn’t make up for peoples attitudes; and you weren’t referring to Andy’s. It wasn’t hard to tell that people were strangely secretive and cliquey, which only really left you with Hedwig and Andy for your friends. No matter how pretty she was, Hedwig was really only surface level friendly so you never particularly trusted her. That only left Andy (which wasn’t exactly any better when it came to being friendly but you knew he cherished your company, which was way more you could say about Hedwig).

However; it didn’t take too long for you and Andy to form a routine. Every weekend he would throw a party and you would stay with him after. The first time it happened, it was purely because you were far too fucked up to go anywhere else (which perhaps is also why Andy finally started being nice to you..) but after that, it was a question you never had the heart to say no too.

How could you? It’s not like he exactly had anyone else which made the possibility of saying no, close to impossible. Just because everyone else who lived in Eden were assholes didn’t mean you were going to be one, which is what lead you to your current predicament.

Five calls you had made that had all been unanswered is what currently lit up your phone screen, as well as your room. It was far past midnight and instead of sleeping like any other sane person would be doing - you were calling Andy or trying too anyway but he wasn’t fucking answering.. naturally.

You weren’t calling for any particular reason, but that wasn’t the point anymore. The fact that Andy wasn’t answering was a huge warning that something was wrong, after all it was a weekday and you knew he wasn’t sleeping or exactly busy.

Unless.. He was with Hedwig?

The thought automatically made your blood run hot under your skin. The feeling seething and utterly consuming until you quickly found yourself going out to your car. Doing the only thing that you knew would make your sudden paranoia go away.

As you drove through the roads that were completely vacant of any other cars and drove past houses and neighborhoods that also looked vacant of any life - you couldn’t help but to think why you even cared.

Andy never really showed interest in you, so what if Hedwig and Andy were actually doing anything?? Unless you caught them in the act, it’s not like either of them would admit to doing shit anyway but that didn’t stop you from still feeling irrationally angry and a bit betrayed.

You didn’t realize how tight you were gripping the steering wheel until you stopped the car and had to let go of it. Your fingers unnecessarily clenched and stiff to the point where they physically ached. Not to mention, you were shaking with the possibility that you could really find them here together, but now that you were actually here- you quickly realized that there was no other car here.

Odd.

You quickly (and quietly) stepped out of the car and paced up to Andy’s house. Not bothering to knock as you let yourself in, knowing that Andy wouldn’t necessarily mind that you did so.. well, you knew if he wasn’t with Hedwig anyway.

The only thing you heard were your footsteps as you took a few steps into the house. Looking cautiously for any signs of life.. any sounds or anything that could indicate anyone was in the house at all but you found nothing.

It took your eyes a minute to adjust to the near pitch darkness that omitted from the large windows that sat on the vast majority of the living room walls. The only light came dimly from the kitchen but even that was too sparse to truly allow you to see anything.

You slid your shoes off and left them by the door, not wanting your steps to allude to your presence before you could see him first and say something. Your steps far more quiet and easier to control now that you only had socks covering your feet.

You made it about halfway up the stairs, originally trying to make a beeline to Andy’s room but quickly freezing once you heard something.

It was shallow and soft but, with the contrast of pure stark silence it was nearly fucking deafening. It was a whimper at first, and it was coming from downstairs on the couch.

Your heart sank once you realized what exactly you were listening too. The first sniffle you heard nearly making you jump from how off guard you suddenly felt; that was the last thing you were expecting to hear..

You looked down from the staircase at the couch; making out a very dim outline of someone slumped over and sitting on the edge with their head in their hands. Their chest and back heaving from how deep they were crying..

You stood idle for a moment, not knowing whether to continue standing or to leave silently but you felt as if you didn’t exactly have a option. Even without asking or being able to necessarily see; you knew who it was but even knowing this- you knew getting him to talk was a good first step.

“Andy?”

Your voice automatically cut off his sobs - almost stopping instantaneously.

You saw his hands move down from his face and drop down to his lap, his head turning up to look at you. Your eyes finally adjusting to the near pitch black atmosphere.

The silence only permeated the room for about three seconds but that was nearly far too long to withstand. Knowing how unpredictable Andy was, you didn’t know if the words that were going to come out of his mouth were going to be kind or purely vile.

You started to speak fast without a second thought, the silence driving you to immediately apologize and try to fix the damage before Andy completely went off on you.

“I’m really sorry. I just got worried because you weren’t answering my calls and I wanted to make sure you were okay, but.. obviously your not,” You said. Swallowing harshly after realizing that Andy was still diligently listening and not cutting you off or telling you to leave.. That had to be a good sign, right? “What happened?” You pressed on.

“What do you think happened?” Andy answered quickly. His voice rough and rugged from sobbing, as well as probably from previously yelling.

You slowly walked down the stairs, choosing to not shy away from his sudden outburst of anger. You weren’t exactly certain which direction you would go in once you were finished descending.. but atleast you knew Andy wasn’t fucking Hedwig. Not right now at the very least.

“Was it Hedwig?” you blindly guessed. Wanting to affirm what you were so desperately hoping wasn’t true and that you could finally relax a bit. That’s if Andy wasn’t mad that you practically broke into his house.. but he didn’t seem to be. Not right now anyway.

You heard him softly laugh in response which made you smile for a second. You could tell by how he was previously crying and in the tone of his voice that he was still hurt. His laugh wasn’t genuine in the slightest; but it showed that he was done crying for the moment which was worth a smile.

“Why does it matter to you if it was her?”

“So it was,” you affirmed.

Your feet stepped off of the final step, and you found yourself approaching Andy. The choice came naturally. The closer you got to him the more apparent it was how broken he truly looked. He stopped crying but his eyes and cheeks were still glossy and wet with tears. His lips red and trembling; among looking entirely and utterly broken there was a hint of agitation present as well. You started to wonder if Hedwig truly did something or if Andy once again was blowing things out of proportion.

“Will you tell me what happened?” You asked cautiously. Your voice was soft, not wanting to unintentionally come off as too strong or hostile.

He studied you hesitantly and with a gleam of uncertainty in his eye - but nonetheless he patted the seat next to him on the couch he was sitting on. Silently urging you to sit next to him and letting you know that he would probably tell you what happened.

At first he remained quiet. Awkwardly avoiding what he knew you wanted to talk about but he still remained silent.. but his voice suddenly broke through. Making you jump at the unexpected sound that suddenly sounded so loud, even though in reality his voice was still low in tone.

“She left me.”

You stared at him numbly for a second, not feeling necessarily surprised at his words (After all, since when was Hedwig not a flight risk?) but instead feeling weirdly a bit frustrated and sad for Andy.

You knew exactly how he felt; it wasn’t like this was the first time this ever happened but hopefully it would be the last. Seeing Andy this sad and broken over someone who in reality, didn’t give two fucks about him was beyond heartbreaking. It hurt even worse for you to keep witnessing him coming back to her though.

Just when you finally opened your mouth to speak he cut you off.

“You don’t have to say anything. I know it’s my fault and I’m such a fucking idiot-“

“Andy, stop!” You said a bit too loudly. You tried your best to hold eye contact with him when he finally turned to meet your gaze as he reluctantly looked at you. You fought the impulse to apologize for raising your voice but there was no need because you didn’t truly feel sorry. He needed to hear you out. “You need to stop blaming yourself. Hedwig’s actions aren’t your fault.. she’s like that with everyone, Andy. She’s always been-“

“I don’t give a fuck what she’s like with other people y/n! She should’ve acted differently with me, she was supposed to care about me and stay..” his words cut off with a deep inhale.

He was trying not to sob and failing miserably.

Andy quickly left the couch, taking a few steps away from you with his back turned. Trying to compose himself as you sat and.. felt entirely guilty.

Even though he had practically blown up at you; you weren’t leaving but you knew approaching him wasn’t the answer either, so you stayed seated at the couch. Hoping he would atleast sit back down next to you.

“I can’t control Hedwig or what she does, Andy but I know solely saying that I’m sorry isn’t enough either,” you started and then paused. The words you wanted to say next.. words that you knew were true but barely had the courage to say were heavy on your tongue. You knew this wasn’t exactly the time to even be thinking about how you truly felt for Andy but you couldn’t help it.

You wanted nothing more than for it to stop. His tears, his words and pleading with Hedwig, your feelings.. it wasn’t enough to just submit to it anymore and to be a witness to how you truly felt. If anything, it was slowly but surely driving you mad and you knew unless you atleast hinted at the fact that it was making you upset; Andy wouldn’t change his behavior.

You knew he payed for sex from Hedwig, it was the one thing that always kept her coming back no matter how he acted and well.. Even if his time was being bought, he liked the attention. He craved it.

It felt weird to admit to yourself that he was taking you for granted.. because he wasn’t really but, compared to how he treated Hedwig - you were definitely on the back burner. You didn’t blame him; why would he ever notice you when he could have someone like Hedwig?

You slowly looked back at Andy, noticing he was staring at you once again with glossy blue eyes which appeared dark in the lighting. A dark, almost midnight blue that would surely match the ocean waves that you could faintly hear from inside the house since the back door was open. He looked a bit annoyed but mostly intrigued. He was waiting for you to continue.

“But you deserve better, Andrew. You shouldn’t allow her to repeatedly do this to you because I know she knows how upset it makes you. She doesn’t care-“

“How do you know how Hedwig feels about me y/n?! You need to keep her name out of your fucking mouth. You don’t know her like I do,” Andy spoke roughly.

You stared at him blankly for a moment. Purely appalled that he was saying this to you in total seriousness; but you knew in reality that it was foolish to be surprised.. to not expect that he would talk to you like this eventually. After all; he blew up at everyone else, why wouldn’t he do the same to you?

You knew nothing made you inherently different and well.. this was just proving that assumption. Andy never viewed you differently from anyone else; that was now crystal clear.

Your hands started to gently tremble in your lap; and it didn’t take long for the rest of your body to follow suit. The sadness and self pity quickly washed away in what was quicker and more rapid than waves. Anger surged through your veins, forcing you to stand up suddenly. You could barely stand to make eye contact as you spoke, barely able to bear to witness how your words made him feel.

“Don’t talk to me like that. You don’t get to talk to me like that. If I didn’t randomly decide to come and check on you because I guess I’m the only one who actually gives a fuck about you, then you would’ve been alone again with no one to yell at. And maybe that would’ve been for the best,” You turned around on your heels. Walking fast and headed for the door, trying to quickly slip your shoes on before you heard Andy’s voice solemnly.

“Y/n wait.”

You stood still at first, weirdly feeling numb and waiting for the metaphorical shoe to drop. Andy’s voice was soft this time as he spoke, the roughness that was present earlier was long gone but.. you didn’t trust it.

You waited for him to catch his breath and to raise his voice and just say more words he would apologize for later; your throat tightened as you felt your body react almost instinctively. You slipped the other shoe you previously put on back off. Turning around just enough so that you could make eye contact, or attempt too with the horribly dim lighting.

“Yeah? Wait for what?”

Andy swallowed in response to your words. Almost bashfully looking down briefly to avoid saying anything or having to look at you any longer. You could see tears staining his cheeks, continuing to run down and nearly slid down his neck. He looked pathetic; and it would’ve almost been funny to see a grown man fully sob in front of you with no shame if it wasn’t your best friend and well.. the person you loved.

“Never mind. You were right; it’s probably best if you just go,” Andy’s voice cracked.

You wanted to believe that the best option for you was to turn around and leave but your judgment felt entirely skewed. Was it really the right thing to turn around and leave when he needed you? Probably not.

You knew if the roles were changed and you were the one who was upset that Andy would probably stay.. but that also depended on other circumstances as well, of course.

Stepping away from your shoes and the entrance of Andy’s house; you approached him. You tried to do so as quickly as possible before he could try to stop you or protest, but by the time he looked up you were barely a foot away.

You reached up, and with a shaky hand (that you hoped desperately he didn’t notice or wouldn’t swat away) you gently placed your fingertips on his cheek. Your thumb softly pressing against his skin, dragging your finger up as to wipe away his tears as the rest of your fingers lie under his jaw.

You tried to ignore how unsettled he looked at you doing this, and how he almost looked uncomfortable or as if he was on the brink of telling you off.. but he didn’t. He watched you diligently as you continued to brush away his tears.

“I’m sorry.. But I couldn’t stand to see you like that,” you said. Trying to give some rational explanation for your behavior even though, Andy didn’t look like he particularly cared why you were doing it. It was the fact you were doing it at all that seemed to have his interest piqued.

You tried to pull your hand back since his cheeks were dry, but he stopped you. His hand softly grabbed your wrist before his hand slid into yours.. your fingers slowly lacing together before you turned your gaze from your laced hands up to his eyes.

“Will you stay?” He asked. His voice was still rough and gravelly but this time, it was starting to sound a bit genuine.

You studied him for a second longer - your mouth dry but you knew the answer before you even spoke.

“Yeah. I’m not going to leave you Andy. I’m not Hedwig,” you spoke as if it were more of a promise rather than a statement.

You felt your stomach churn for a split second as you remembered how he scolded you earlier for talking down on Hedwig, but you smiled instead. The laughter you heard quickly subsiding your previous emotions.

“Okay,” He spoke almost uncertainly.

You could see the outline of him walking away before you felt him gently pull on your hand; making you follow him into the dark hallway which would eventually lead too, you could only guess, what would be his room.

Holding his hand like this almost felt weird but you couldn’t deny how almost.. right it felt too. Even perfect, you would dare say.

There was no way to guess what the rest of the night would entail but you didn’t exactly mind guessing; after all, how could you complain if you were to spend it with Andy?

You couldn’t. There was no way you could.

Whether it was platonic or not, spending the rest of the night right next to Andy, most likely in his clothes since you didn’t bother to bring any more of your own, sounded like heaven.

And since when did you ever complain about spending a night with someone that you had craved so bad?

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[subterfugespecialist]

Led to You

As a child, everyone finds their "soulmate guide," an animal meant to lead your soulmate to you. And one morning, Janus and Remus wake up to see a stranger's guide in their homes.

Written for Day 3 of @dukeceitweek​ : snakes/bugs

AO3 link

Pairings: Dukeceit, Familial Creativitwins, Platonic Loceit, Moceit, and Dukexiety

Warnings: Some Remus-typical violent thoughts, scorpions/tarantulas/snakes

Word count: 4228

Janus woke up to something brushing against his hand. He groaned and batted Dusa away while muttering "Five more minutes"

But when it brushed against his hand again, he noticed it was definitely not the headbutt from a snake. His eyes snapped open and he glanced down to see a fucking scorpion on his bed holy shit-

If his roommate asked if that was him that made the high pitched squeal that morning, no it wasn't.

He scrambled out of bed to look around for something to try and trap the scorpion under, but he didn't want to get near it what the fuck-

Janus paused. The scorpion was staring at him. At least, it looked like the scorpion was staring at him. It at least didn't look like it was trying to attack him.

Did... did it wave?

Now that Janus had calmed down, he noticed the scorpion was a deep, emerald green. Janus didn't know much about bugs, never had a reason to, but he never heard of a green scorpion before.

Could it be...?

"Hey, Logan?"

Footsteps came from the kitchen down the hallway.

"I was wondering when you were going to call me in," Logan said as he opened the door, his deep blue raven perched on top of his head, "What happened?"

"Can scorpions be green?"

"Why would I know that, Janus?"

"Because you know everything."

"Why are you asking?"

Janus pointed to his bed, and when Logan looked down he jumped back with a startled shout, disturbing the raven on his head.

The scorpion turned towards Logan and, yeah, the scorpion definitely waved.

After calming himself (and his bird), Logan slowly approached Janus' bed.

"...While I have heard of scorpions glowing green under ultraviolet light-"

"Oh, so you did know, you asshole-"

"I haven't seen a scorpion that looks like this, no," Logan said, crouching down next to the bed, "Is Dusa here? She was not under her heat lamp."

"Dusa? Come here, darling."

Dusa didn't crawl out of hiding, and Janus' room and the living room under her heat lamp were the only places she liked to be first thing in the morning.

"I guess she isn't."

Logan's raven, Minerva, hopped off his head onto the bed to examine the scorpion. She leaned down and the scorpion gently bumped heads. Minerva let out a happy chirp.

"My soulmate guide is a scorpion."

"Fascinating," Logan muttered as the scorpion and Minerva playfully chased each other around the bed, "I haven't heard of a bug guide before."

Janus glanced at the clock and put his hand down on the bed. The scorpion immediately ran onto his palm.

"I have class in an hour," he said as he cupped his hands and lifted the scorpion, "So how do you feel about business, corporate, and commercial law?"

 ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Remus woke up to Roman screaming. After a moment of debating whether to go back to sleep or not, he decided that, yeah, he probably should go check on the well being of his brother. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Remus trudged towards the living room to see a snake curled up on the couch, with Roman's robin perched on its head.

"Peter, please come here!" Roman pleaded. But the little bird seemed perfectly content on top of the snake. The snake started to slither off the couch, making roman shout again. The robin flew onto Roman's hand and he relaxed a bit as he held the bird to his chest.

Roman took his gaze off his brother back to the snake and- oh look at that it. It was headed towards him.

"Remus stop standing there what is wrong with you-"

The snake was around four feet long with yellow-and-black stripes. Quite gorgeous, really.

Remus decided he wanted to pick it up.

He knelt down and outstretched his arm (as Roman continued to shout at him), letting the snake crawl up and around his shoulders. The snake nuzzled its head against Remus' cheek.

Roman stared at him, eyes wide and mouth opened.

"What?"

"You're insane."

"And you're a chickenshit. You've lived with a scorpion as a roommate your whole life and you're gonna freak out over a snake guide?"

"How was I supposed to know it was a guide!?"

Remus stepped over and placed a hand on Roman's shoulder. "...You're a moron."

Roman shoved him.

"Peter was fine. And we should be expecting to find strange animals in our apartment at this age."

"Oh, piss off to find your soulmate and stop bothering me for a while."

"Gladly."

Remus turned to go back to his bedroom.

"...I'm really happy for you, you know."

Remus stopped and groaned. "Roman, no sentimental bullshit before nine."

"But I mean it. You deserve this."

"...Thanks, you idiotic bastard."

Roman gave him a gentle smile as Peter hopped onto Remus' head and nestled into his wild mess of bedhead.

"Also you screamed like a little girl."

"Fuck off-"

Remus cackled as Roman shoved him again. Peter gave Remus a petulant little peck on the top of his head.

Peter flew back over to Roman while Remus held out his arms go guide the snake in front of his face.

"Are you gonna lead me to my soulmate?" Remus asked with a large grin, which only grew wider when the snake nodded.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Janus was very much enjoying having a scorpion on his shoulder. People instinctively stepped away from him, even more so than with Dusa, meaning he didn't have to fight his way through the crowded sidewalks.

The scorpion had been upset that Janus didn't follow its directions. It scuttled frantically from one shoulder to the other. It calmed only when Janus explained he had to go to class, but would follow its directions immediately after.

Janus was stopped in his tracks, though, by a corgi running up to him and jumping on his knees.

"Hi, Peachy," Janus said as he scratched behind her ears. The scorpion crawled down his arm in curiosity.

if someone's guide was a common house pet like a dog or cat, they were issued a special white collar to show they were a soulmate guide to be allowed in public places along with service animals.

But this dog didn't have such a collar. She was just a dog.

"Hey, Janus!" someone called out. Janus looked up to see Patton jogging down the sidewalk, his guide right beside him.

"Hello, Patton. Hello, Cookie," Janus said to his friend and the capybara standing next to him.

Patton had been Logan's friend first, and Janus hadn't been too keen on his... optimistic personality at first. But dammit, the guy's too sweet.

"Miss Peachy! What have I told you about running off?" Patton said with a light scowl as he reattached her leash. But of course, unlike a guide, she couldn't actually understand. She jumped off Janus' legs to go lick the capybara's face.

Janus didn't understand the appeal of keeping animals that weren't your guide, but to each their own, he supposed.

Patton's eyes fell to Janus' shoulder, and after the instinctive fear vanished a large smile took over his face.

"Oh! You've got your soulmate guide!!"

"Yep," Janus said as he resumed walking down the sidewalk. Patton followed.

"Ohmygosh, this is so exciting!" Patton exclaimed, practically bouncing as he walked, "How long have you been out trying to find them? Do you think you're close?"

"I'm going to class, actually."

"Really? Gosh, you've got more self control than me," Patton laughed, "I don't think I'd be able to wait."

"I've got exams soon, Patton. I can't risk missing anything."

"Oh, I'm not trying to change your mind! You do what you think is best. But aren't you excited?"

Janus was convinced Patton was smiling so hard his face was going to get stuck like that. But when Janus didn't answer immediately, his frown dampened.

"Hey, are you okay, Jan?"

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, honey. You're nervous, aren't you?" Patton asked as his smile turned empathetic, which Janus thought was almost worse than excited.

The scorpion nuzzled against his neck, which was an odd sensation for sure, but Janus appreciated the sentiment.

"Of course I'm not nervous. I have no reason to be."

Patton tilted his head down slightly and gave him that look. The soft-smile dad-friend look that meant you were about to be comforted, whether you like it or not. Janus sighed.

"Okay, fine. A little," he conceded. He probably should be worried about how close that scorpion and its stinger was against his neck as it cuddled closer. But he'd never heard of a soulmate guide killing anyone, so he chose not to.

"Oh, sweetie," Patton said in that annoyingly soft tone. He wrapped an arm around Janus' and led him over to a bench. Peachy promptly hopped up to sit on Patton's lap while Cookie plopped against Patton's legs, giving Janus a soft nudge with her nose.

"It's not a big deal," Janus huffed, "I just think its reasonable to be nervous about meeting some stranger I am now expected to spend my life with."

"You have every right to feel what you're feeling. Such a big life change can be scary. But I'm certain your soulmate will understand your reservations and will go at any pace you're comfortable with."

While yes, the idea of a soulmate was a pleasant one, it was also a bit... concerning, to say the least. Janus was quite happy with where he was in life, and he wasn't too keen on the idea of something changing it all completely.

He was a bit surprised Logan wasn't his soulmate. He was the perfect roommate: neat, consistent, punctual. And Janus felt enough fondness for Logan that he was sort of expecting to wake up one day and have their guides just push them into each others' arms.

Alas, apparently not.

Janus bit his lip, debating. It would be good to talk about his worries. And as much as Janus pretended, he was actually quite fond of Patton.

"Patton, what if we don't work?"

"What do you mean, hon?"

"This person is supposedly meant to complete me. To make me better. But I'm perfectly fine the way I am now. I don't feel like I'm missing anything. What if I meet them and they just want to... to fix me? Because I'm expected to change for them?"

"Janus, your soulmate is meant to compliment you. Not complete you. You aren't missing any parts of yourself, because you're already your own complete person. And you certainly don't need to be 'fixed.'"

The scorpion crawled down to Janus' hands, and Janus ran his thumb over its back to pet it.

"But what if... what if we meet and nothing happens? Everyone always talks about their 'immediate romantic connections' but I don't buy it. What if we're doomed to always be strangers? After all, I'm not particularly good with people, Pat. What did I call you when we first met? A-"

"An annoying, self-righteous, dependent puppy with no boundaries?"

Janus winced. "Yeah. That."

A gentle smile grew on Patton's face as he held his arms out for a hug. Janus hesitated for only a moment before accepting.

"You don't need to worry about anything. Soulmates don't always mean romantic. Even if you don't feel romance at first, even if you never do, you two are going to share a tight bond and a special relationship different from anyone else you know. Nothing gets to take that from you."

"...Thank you, Patton. For taking the time to talk to me."

"Of course! What are friends for?"

Patton gave him a soft smile, and Janus gave him a rare, genuine one in return.

"Oh! I hope I didn't make you late for class!"

Janus looked at his watch. "I'll be fine if I hurry. Thank you. Again. Goodbye, Cookie. Bye, Peachy."

Peachy didn't react. Cookie gave him one last gentle nudge.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The snake in Remus' arms couldn't guide in front of him like Roman's bird would or any sort of animal with wings or legs. While he could let it slither on the ground, it would be dangerous with how busy the sidewalk was. And Remus really didn't need to return the snake to his soulmate all squished.

So it was wrapped around his shoulders, reaching down his arms, and rested in his hands, guiding him down the street like a compass.

The snake turned back to look at Remus.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked as he kept walking, the snake shaking its head urgently. Only for someone to grab the back of his jacket and yank him back, pulling him off the street and narrowly missing oncoming traffic.

"Watch where you're going, asshole," the person muttered. Remus turned, ready to start shit, but instead broke into a goofy grin when he saw Virgil.

"Hey, emo!"

Besides Roman, Virgil was Remus' only friend. Most people were too put off by Remus', well, everything.

And Virgil had been too, at first. But the two bonded over their soulmate's guides being creatures most of the public feared and the stigma that came with that. And now he was used to Remus' bullshit.

"And hey, Helena," he said to the tarantula sitting on Virgil's shoulder.

"So. You found your soulmate guide," Virgil said. The snake reached over to inspect Virgil and he scratched under its chin, the snake then nuzzling against Virgil's cheek.

"On your way to find your soulmate?" he asked as the snake and tarantula started inspecting each other.

"Yep!"

"Are you nervous?"

"Nope!"

Virgil squinted at him, searching for any sign of dishonesty, but all he saw was the normal, excitable Remus.

"Shit, you're lucky, man. I've been psyching myself out over meeting mine."

"But aren't they, like, made for you?"

"Supposedly. But you know me. I can't stop thinking about all the bad things. Like what if they don't like me?"

"Well, that would be a them problem."

Virgil let out an amused huff. "Really? You wouldn't be bothered?"

"Well, yeah," Remus said as he watched the snake and Helena play peekaboo behind Virgil's neck. "But like, it's not like I'm not used to people not liking me. And if I don't know this person, what would I lose, really? So actually, this can only go up for me."

Virgil cast him a sad smile. Remus hated it.

"It'll be good for you," Virgil said as the two crossed the street. "You are a strange fucking creature, but you're a good dude. Mostly. Partially? Mostly."

"It'll be good for you, too, then. Cause you're better than me."

Virgil nudged him with his shoulder.

"Ultimately, I know it will be. My brain just hates me."

"You and me both, emo."

The snake curled back against Remus after booping Helena and resumed its role as soulmate compass.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Remus ended up on his old school campus.

Ew.

He had dropped out, and he had hoped he would never have to step foot back here again. Oh, well, C'est la vie, or whatever the fuck.

Though you needed to swipe a student ID to unlock the doors, Remus knew if he yanked hard enough the doors would give. He had managed to make it through a whole semester without his ID after he lost it.

A grimace grew on Remus' face as he walked back into the Taylor Building for the first time in over a year. It was named after his least favorite professor, and he had a lot of bad memories in this building.

Time to find his soulmate and get the fuck out.

He was just about to head upstairs when someone shouted at him.

"Excuse me! Only students and faculty are allowed in this building."

Yeah, Remus supposed he didn't look like the typical law majors that took up a majority of the classes here. Not with his spiked leather jacket and ripped jeans. He turned to see who had yelled at him.

And speak of the devil.

"Hey, you're Taylor!"

The man straightened his shoulders.

"Yes, I am. Were you a student of mine?"

"Yeah! I hated your fuckin' guts."

The man looked like he had been slapped before a sneering look of recognition appeared on his face.

"Remus Kingsley."

"Aw, I'm flattered you remember me. Especially since I dropped out. You encouraged me to, remember? Right after you called me a, what was it, 'moronic good-for-nothing- imbecile that would never amount to anything?'"

"You need to leave immediately."

Taylor had reached out to grab Remus but he bolted up the stairs, making sure he had a tight grip on the snake.

He wasn't about to give up on his soulmate that easy.

As they ran down the upstairs hallway, Taylor continued to shout at him. But Remus wasn't worried. He was clearly much faster.

He turned to see the disheveled man chasing behind him and laughed. This was kinda fun!

Then he had to turn around and run face first into the chest of a campus officer.

Well, bitchtits.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Janus' class was nothing out of the ordinary, except that his surrounding classmates had inched as far away from this as they could, and Janus was enjoying the extra space.

The scorpion had been still on his shoulder for the most part, settling in where Janus' neck and shoulder met. But now it stood, rushing down Janus' arm to the desk and running around in circles.

"What is it?" he whispered.

Right after he asked that, shouting was heard down the hallway. The professor and students all turned their heads in time to see someone running past the door, laughing, with Professor Taylor chasing after them.

"...Okay, then," The professor said, "Now back to your review material."

Janus hardly listened as the professor spoke. He was more focused on the scorpion that kept switching between running in circles and scuttling onto Janus' hand.

When the professor dismissed the class, Janus hung back. He preferred to let the crowd of students leave before him instead of trying to fight his way through.

By the time he walked into the hallway, it was mostly empty. Janus was holding the scorpion in the palm of his hands and it jumped to get his attention. It gestured with its body to go down the hallway.

"Alright, let's go."

The scorpion led him down a couple of hallways, and Janus heard shouting and the sound of running footsteps against the tile.

A man ran around the corner, his neon green combat boots skidding on the floor as he tried to stop. He had a mustache above a wild grin, with a streak of white through his hair.

He also had Dusa wrapped around his neck.

Janus stared. The man stopped in front of him.

"Fluffy!" he said to the scorpion in Janus' hands, who was alternating between running in circles again and hopping in excitement.

He looked up at Janus with a manic grin. "Hey! I'm Remus. I'd love to stop and chat but I'm afraid I've found myself wrapped up with something."

Two campus officers rounded the corner.

What the fuck.

Janus took the scorpion - Fluffy - in one hand and held it against his chest, grabbing Remus' wrist with the other and bolting.

Remus let out a delighted laugh as he let Janus pull him down the hallway and down a set of stairs.

Jesus, what did Janus get himself into?

He was heading towards one of the student parking lots, cutting through the Union. There would be lots of students and he hoped they could get lost in the crowd. But with two idiots running across the yard with a snake and a scorpion, people were parting a path for them. Which made them more obvious but at least let them through.

When Janus looked behind him, he couldn't see the officers, but he didn't want to risk it. It wasn't exactly hard to identify them: one with a large scar on the left side of his face and the other, with, well, a lot of fucking identifiable traits.

Logan would probably get mad at him for this, but Janus was sure he would be forgiven that same day if he made Logan thumbprint cookies. So Janus let go of Remus' hand to dig in his pocket, finding the spare key to Logan's car he gave Janus only for emergencies. Janus would consider this an emergency. Logan probably would not.

Janus unlocked the car and Remus got in without question. Remus hardly stopped laughing.

Great. So his soulmate was a maniac.

Janus pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, gunning it out of there as Remus shouted in excitement.

"Fuck, yeah, dude!" he yelled. His seat-belt was not on, by the way.

"What the hell did you do?"

"Trespass, technically. But it would've been fine if that bitchass Taylor hadn't come along. And then I maybe assaulted an officer, but could it really be assault if I just whacked him when he tried to grab me? Anyways I already have three offenses - I guess four now - and I didn't want to go to jail or anything so I started running-"

"God, I'm going to miss my next class," Janus groaned, "What if they try to find me tomorrow?"

"How's your track record?"

"It's clean. Unlike someone, I don't get caught."

"Psh, then you're probably fine. you're a white law student."

Janus took a deep breath as he tried to collect his thoughts. What was even happening right now?

"...Okay, I may have fucked this up," Remus started, and he at least had the decency to sound sheepish, "I didn't mean to drag you into this mess, even though I was purposefully... searching... for you... Shit, I didn't even think about that. I don't think a lot, actually. I mean, I wasn't even paying attention on the way to find you. I almost got hit by a car. Could you imagine, Fluffy leading you to me only to find your soulmate and guide squashed by a car and our blood and guts everywhere-"

"Remus."

"Sorry, sorry," he groaned as his hands went to grab his hair, "I was really excited to meet you, and even when being chased by police my dumb brain only wanted to focus on finding you because I don't have many friends cause most people get weirded out since I can't control my thoughts or my mouth so, like, all the weird shit that pops int my brain just comes right out and I was really looking forward to meeting someone who wouldn't leave-"

"Remus, it's okay," Janus interrupted, "Deep breaths, okay?"

Remus took a couple deep breaths.

Then Janus let out a short laugh. He felt bad for laughing, but he couldn't help it.

"...What?"

"I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you. The situation just caught up to me: You're my soulmate, we just ran from the police, and we just took my friend's car and wow. Can't say this is how I expected this to go."

Remus grimaced. "Sorry."

"No, actually. This is better than the sappy shit I was thinking about."

Remus perked up a bit. "Yeah?"

"Is it always like this with you? Am I sentenced to spend my life digging you out of trouble, now?"

"Yeah, probably."

Janus laughed again as he pulled into the parking lot of a shopping center. He had no clear idea where he was going, and at least this place had plenty of people and plenty of parking. When he stopped, the scorpion hopped off his shoulder and scuttled to Remus.

"Hey, Fluffy," he said with a smile as he put the scorpion in his lap.

"Hey, actually, let's talk about that," Janus said, "You named your scorpion Fluffy?"

"Yeah. I named him that to trick people. Scared the shit out of my mom when he first showed up. 'Hey, meet Fluffy,' then I pull a scorpion out from behind my back. It never gets old."

Janus couldn't stop smiling, and he was sure his face was disgustingly close to Patton's in terms of fondness, but he couldn't do anything to help that.

"I'm Janus. The lovely lady on your shoulders is Dusa."

"Janus. That's a badass name," Remus said as he scritched Dusa under her chin.

"Thank you for your help today, Dusa," Janus said with a grin as she slithered back over to wrap around Janus, "And you, too, Fluffy."

"Fuck yeah. Thanks guys. Shit, Dusa was awesome. I'm pretty sure that while I was running, she flicked her tail to open a door and it hit one of the officers in the face."

Janus glanced down at her. "You are an enabler."

She stuck her tongue out.

"Well, since we're already here, would you like to go on a date or something? It seems like you have stories to tell," Janus said as he gestured to the mall in front of them.

"Yeah," Remus said with a fond grin, "Are you hungry? I'm starving. Wanna go to the food court. On me. We'll have to be careful, though. I'm pretty sure I'm banned from this mall."

Janus stared at him before bursting out laughing again. This was his life now, and how exciting that thought was.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd love to."

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