#if you want to keep up with such astute thoughts as 'these bitches would have loved dnd'

[nedlittle]

sometimes you hear the bullet scrambled me like an egg

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Eleven

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten

AO3 Link

Translations: hāedus - younger sister Bratsios - bitch lēkȳs - older brother Muñus - mother ñuhus trēsys - my son zēapos - little jadeling

Warnings: Aegon's suicidal ideation

CHAPTER ELEVEN - Whose Side Are You On

A maiden finds her claws. A drowning boy swims for the surface.

Curiosity was an excited animal inside of Lady Abrogail Strong, and it had taken every ounce of self restraint she had honed in her whole life not to immediately launch into the years of questions and ideas that had built inside of her.

She deserved praise for such restraint, and she knew none would come, but it didn’t keep her from wanting to crow about how good she thought she’d done. Abby had barely touched the meal, absently dropping her extra cold meats onto Aegon’s plate if only to get through it faster. Not even her betrothed’s clear hangover and the scent of sweat and cheap perfume clinging to his wrinkled clothing could bother her. She wouldn’t let it.

No, he would not ruin her morning with his terrible decisions and she wouldn’t dwell on it either.

“Lord Ryam will be here in a fortnight and wishes to discuss the amphora shipments,” Uncle Simon said, his brogue rumbling through him thicker than her father’s accent had been, but so heartbreakingly familiar in its ebb and flow. “It might prove a good opportunity to start getting settled, Your Grace.”

Aegon shoved a rolled piece of ham in his mouth, elbows on the table and eyes darkly circled and red rimmed. “Amphoras?” he asked through a mouthful of food. Abby raised an eyebrow at him before blowing gently on her cup of mint tea and taking a sip so she wouldn’t fling it at him.

“I would also like to take the opportunity to reach out to House Buckler. Lady Elinor came with the Baratheon retinue and she shall likely be coming with us,” Abby said quickly before Aegon could further embarrass himself. She smoothed her hands over the table. “While the Arbor is a purveyor of wines, I would like to look at bolstering the competition. I think it could be an interesting opportunity for us.”

Larys slathered cream upon his bread. “You will find my sister has fancied herself the Lady of Harrenhal for as long as she found words,” he said softly, his voice carrying over them in even tones. Abby’s ears pricked with heat. His words may have been encouraging, but there was a tone in his voice that made her feel like a child who had done something clever. Mockingly indulgent. “You will find yourself a very astute student, eager to learn. Isn’t that right, dear sister?”

“I only wanted to be helpful.” True to his word, they had begun having a weekly supper together, going over Uncle Simon’s latest reports on the running of their holding and that of Harrentown. It hadn’t given her much insight into the inner workings of her elder brother’s mind, but she had appreciated the education he was providing.

Now she felt the curl of doubt that Larys was so good at coaxing out of her. Aegon’s eyes were on her and she resolutely didn’t meet his gaze, instead taking another sip of her tea.

“Well that explains the rather detailed letter I received,” Uncle Simon chuckled, and it was fond. “The queries you both had were rather insightful. It is good to see you are also interested in learning to rule, your Grace.”

Aegon paused in chewing, and Abby felt the heat creep into her cheeks. She had stated in her letter that the questions had been from them both, and had framed it as a joint venture, wanting to put the best foot forward for Aegon, for them both.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Uncle,” Aegon said, voice rough from his clearly exciting night prior. She took a sip of her tea, some of the tension in her chest easing at the way he took to her Uncle so familiarly, speaking as if they were family already. “I do not quite remember all that I had asked sweet Abrogail to convey. I do know she wasn’t sure whether or not to put in the thoughts on aqueducts.”

That drew Abby’s gaze to him, but Aegon was cracking open his soft boiled egg and soaking pieces of bread in the sunny yellow yolk. She was hit with the recollection of how excited she’d been finding out about aqueducts in a dusty tome in the library. She’d dragged it all the way outside, trapping Aegon in her sudden lecture of how beneficial such things would be.

He remembered it.

“Th-that’s true! Aqueducts!” She said, finding her voice and her confidence once more. “My more immediate concern was, well… let me just go and show you.” She pushed away from the table and hurried into her bedroom that had now seen more use in the past weeks than it had in years. She came back with a haphazard folio of parchment and two larger rolls, setting them down on a side table. She took one of the large rolls, furrowing her brow. “Uncle Simon, could you hold this end for me, if you please. Ah, thank you. So I’ve been working on this for quite some time. Athair assisted with more logistical questions with the completion of the renovations and rebuilding of the hall. Harrenhal is simply too big for a simple seat. The stables can house two thousand horses, and is unfeasible. So with the sept needing to be rebuilt, and the repairs that…” she paused, the memories catching her off guard and pressing onto her with the weight of them, “that needed to be done after the fire, I thought that perhaps what would be better suited was opening it to the people.”

“The people?” Uncle Simon’s brow raised in curiosity. He didn’t seem quite as surprised as she had initially worried.

“Yes! I thought we could dismantle the right barracks by the godswood, and install the glassworks properly. In addition, the Tower of Dread - I haven’t figured what we should rename some of these towers, they really are awful - can be renovated into apartments or, if we could figure something out, to build shops and homes and places of education for those in Harrentown and truly, in the area around. Maidenpool, High Heart, even places further north. Not only that, but the everyday workings of Harrenhal do not require such expansive forges. We aren’t building an army. We could open them up to something more communal. Those who cannot afford to open their own smithies yet could work here, perhaps renting space. Of course, we need several of these for the reconstruction efforts, but I truly think we should focus on repurposing rather than to bring it up to the hubris-driven monument of cruelty that Harren the Black created. We can turn what was a curse upon our lands to something that gives back.”

Abby was breathless when she was finished, the parchment crinkling in her grip. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, and Larys avoided looking at her to take a furtive bite out of his tansy cake. Uncle Simon’s eyebrows were raised so high, Abby thought they’d merge into his receding hairline.

She did not look at Aegon. She very purposely did not look at him, but from the corner of her eyes, she could see him occupied with his goblet.

“Well.” Uncle Simon broke the silence and picked up some of the parchment she had left on the table. The sheafs of paper were currently in danger of the potential tipped honey jar. “Your father did not exaggerate when he spoke of your insightfulness, niece.” Warmth spread between her ribs at the praise. “The exuberance is all your mother’s. That woman could command an army as easily as a summer ball.”

The comment stunned Abby. It had been years since someone had so easily spoken of her mother. Abby’s own memories were hazy. The smudged images she still held were of a frail woman with a warm smile and gentle voice. She could remember cold hands smoothing over her hot brow when she was ill. Visions of her mother sitting beside Queen Alicent, soothing her in those early days of bloody, picked fingers, flitted through her mind. The early days of seeing how sad the adults were, how angry they could be. The blissful ignorance in not understanding why.

“I shall look these over, Abrogail. Whatever ideas you and Prince Aegon would like to implement, I am at your command and will provide my counsel, just as I counsel Larys, and have your dear father.” Uncle SImon gave a hearty laugh and plucked up some of his cold meat. “How strange it shall be to have family in residence once more.”

The rest of the morning meal was uneventful, and Abby was caught in the strange current of nerves and excitement and the lingering uncertainty of how she felt about the mention of her mother.

“Celeste Strong could command an army as easily as a summer ball.”

Abby could not recall a time hearing her mother raise her voice the way the queen did, or Uncle Otto. Never did she recollect her mother raising a hand either. No, her few memories were warm and gentle comforts, but she could remember quiet conversations between her mother and the queen, when her mother’s blue eyes had been narrowed, and mouth pinched in displeasure. Abby remembered wondering why the queen was being scolded as a child once, how fierce her mother’s face had been.

Her father had been capable of yelling, and that was incredibly rare. The last time she’d heard him raise his voice was at Harwin after everything that had happened at Driftmark. They hadn’t realized she’d been there. The Strong household had never been a yelling household. It had never been a place she’d ever feared.

“We have dinner with the Tullys in the small hall,” Aegon said, his snappish tone pulling Abby from her thoughts. She looked over her shoulder to see that he’d followed her from the apartments. “Try not to throw yourself at Elmo Tully as you did with Vance at the feast.”

Abby’s eyes widened, mouth dropping open at the sheer audacity of what dared come from his mouth. “I beg your pardon, Prince Aegon. I seemed to have been distracted and therefore could not have possibly heard the accusation against my honor.”

He rolled his bloodshot eyes, and Abby’s firsts clenched in her pale blue skirts. Heat flamed in her cheeks, and there was a mad moment where she ached to push him over the railing into the court below.

“You do beg so prettily-”

She stepped towards him, pushing her finger into his chest. “And you’ll never hear me beg for you again, especially if you dare continue to speak to me this way,” Abby hissed. She would not cry, she refused to show him how he hurt her. “Your loss, clearly, since you are threatened so by their mere proximity, and my daring to smile and harmlessly flirt.” She scoffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder, her curls wild to keep the chill from off the back of her neck. “I’m not the embarrassing one who showed their face this morning drunk and smelling like a brothel.” She cursed the way her voice cracked at the end, and turned on her heel to go find Wylla, to distract herself with those who would support her, and not be the target of their self-loathing.

There was a time not so long ago, where she might have taken full responsibility for Aegon’s foul mood, but she was no longer that little girl, a somewhat steelier young woman taking her place, one who understood that she was not responsible for the entire weight of other’s emotions, including Aegon’s. Abby was sorry for the cruel words she had said, the words that she knew would hurt. She was truly sorry for it, but Aegon had no right in how he continued to behave toward her in his own river of whatever self-loathing he was trying to drown himself in.

He didn’t get to use her to weigh himself down into the depths.

Abby only made it a few steps before Aegon’s large hand wrapped around her bicep in a firm grip. Her hand came up immediately, nails digging into the skin, and there was an almost pleased look on his face, a darkening of his gaze, that sent a tumult of conflicted feelings in her. Anger at not being taken seriously. Curiosity at why he seemed to find it pleasurable. The desire to scratch and claw at him until she drew red.

Her spine went rigid, a swooping sensation rolling through her belly. A rush of anger was expected, the strange thrill that accompanied it was less so. "Let go of me, Aegon."

He leaned in closer, his lip curling and his white teeth flashing in his snarl. His eyes, however, lilac and blood red from his previous night, seemed rounded, panicked somehow. "No." Aegon's gaze fell to her mouth, and she swallowed, feeling heat along her throat. She couldn't figure out if it was from anger or embarrassment and it only served to incense her further.

They were so close and she wanted to kiss him, to feel the slide of his warm mouth against hers, taste the lingering watered wine on his tongue. She wanted to bite him until he bled, to taste the crimson that would well up, and let it make her dizzy and forget everything else.

She would have kicked him if the angle was right. She would have scratched at his wrist had they been alone. If the thought hadn’t been so abhorrent, she might have slapped him.

Try as the queen might to make it true, Abby was not Alicent Hightower.

“Aegon,” she whispered, steely eyed and spine stiff. “You’re hurting me.”

His grip immediately released as if he’d been scalded, and she was sent stumbling back from the abruptness of it. Aegon’s mouth opened, shut, clenched with whatever conflict was going through him.

“Touch me like that in anger again, and it won’t be the ghost of my dearest brother you’d need to fear. I’ll geld you myself.” Wylla would gladly help her and hide the evidence. The murderous eyes that she held for the prince since the feast would have incinerated Aegon on the spot if Wylla had the power.

“Since when have you become so violent? Was your sweet and forgiving nature also a deception? A game to make me-“

Aegon fell silent, soft cheeks flushed and the silence was full and rolling with the years between them, all of the weight that brought them here. Abby was flushed with hurt that had her snapping and spitting in a way she never knew she was capable of, in a way she’d never allowed herself to feel, let alone show.

It felt good. It felt good in the way sobbing in Helaena and Wylla’s arms had done. She felt… brave.

Her mother had shown it. Celeste Strong had been more than the smiling wraith of her childhood memories, even though she had never witnessed it.

‘My mother was a lioness of Castamere. Do I not share that legacy as well?’

“I play no games, Prince Aegon.” He was not my prince right now. Her prince, her Aegon, would not treat her so. Yet, here Aegon was, doing exactly that. Behavior she had seen extended towards others had finally reached her. She thought of the list of qualities the queen found wanting in her son and her own immediate defense and her vow that she was not blind.

She had hurt Aegon, it was true, but he’d taken it and run, wielding his pain like a warhammer. It was a wound he had not expected from her. Had she truly expected him to act differently? Had she expected him to look past her words to see the pain she was in? ‘Yes,’ she thought, and he should have, but why had she chosen to hurt him instead of asking for comfort? Why had she not confided in him?

‘Am I truly so stupid and naive? Is the Queen right?’

In turn, he had expected perfection. Pretty and pliant. To comfort him as she always had. Her head ached with the confusion of all the questions.

“Did you know he got a child on one of my maids? I gave her moon tea and gold and sent her away.”

“Do not take my sweet and forgiving nature for weakness,” she hissed. Abby was the type to cry when angry, but her eyes remained mercifully clear. “I care for you, but you do not get to treat me as a toy - as a plaything that only exists for you.”

That had Aegon stepping forward and back into her space. “You’re mine, Abrogail Strong. You’ve always been mine.” The words stole the breath from her and her mouth went dry at his vow, his lilac gaze black and bloodshot, edged with a possessive desperation that was unlike what she’d seen from him before. So confusing were the warring sensations inside of her as he spoke them into being.

Abby wanted to bite him when he said those words, and the strength of the feeling frightened her with its intensity. She wanted to bite him and leave an imprint of her mouth on his skin. Where, she did not know. She wanted to tear into him with an unrecognizable drive that confused her.

Abby swallowed as the tip of his tongue touched his lower lip in that way of his.

“Let me be the only one you touch this way.”

She thought of his face wet against the crook of her neck, her fingers stroking through his hair, the curls she’d cut gathered at their feet. She thought of the way she rested her head on his shoulder, and he promised she would never go away, that he would keep her safe as she lit mourning candles in the wake of the fire.

“You’re mine, Abby,” he repeated into existence. “You’re my betrothed and you fawn all over that Vance welp one moment, and tell me you care for me the next. What is it to be?”

“I was being polite!” She only half-lied.

“You did it to make me jealous!”

“And? How do you think I feel when you show up this morning smelling like a brothel and still half drunk? How do you think I feel seeing you dance with Lady Cassandra, let alone ogling her so openly.” How desperately she wanted him to look at her that way. “If I’m so unequivocally yours, then why does it only go one way, you selfish, cruel man? Do I not get to call you mine?” Aegon drew back at her words and Abby did as well, gulping in air that didn’t taste of him. Enough distance created between them that Abby could not feel him. “I wish I could say how sorry I am to disabuse you and your mother of this notion that I am the Maiden. I’m not, and…” Her voice halted, and the flushed heat beneath her skin was suffocating and prickling, robbing her of words.

“And I’m full of vice as they come,” Aegon said as if finishing her sentence, his voice hollow and glimmering eyes that did not meet hers. “No amount of tender touch and soft words can change that.”

A fleeting twist of guilt coiled through her at his tone and she thought of Alicent Hightower’s insistence that she was meant to cure whatever was broken and wrong with Aegon. She was not the Maiden or some holy miracle, but neither was Aegon broken and irredeemable either.

“I suppose that makes us…that makes us ourselves then.” It felt strange to say, it felt strange to feel those words and to even hear them.

“Yes,” Aegon rasped. Abby’s eyes were hot, and Aegon’s were wet.

The moment stretched between them, a gulf rushing with water, soaking into her skirts and threatening to drag her under.

Abby took a deep breath as if preparing to dive into the Blackwater itself, to dive into the rush between them. Instead she turned, gathering her skirts in hand and walked away, forcing herself to look ahead to shore when half of her wanted to be pulled under with him.

The clash of steel on steel echoed through the training yard and Aegon spun his left sword, the right one connected and sliding against Harrion Karstark’s greatsword. Sweat dripped into Aegon’s eyes and Harrion himself was flush with exertion. Not even the gathered crowd around them nor the gaggle of ladies above could draw his attention.

They didn’t matter. He already had thrown up his breakfast after the first bout so whatever humiliation left for him was negligible.

Aegon sprang back and brought his dual swords down and across himself, trapping Harrion’s blade between them. He met the man’s eyes, and the northerner gave him a twitch of a grin and an approving nod of his head.

“Watch me. Ignore the distractions,” Harrion had said when Aegon stormed into the training yard half an hour earlier. Aemond was the one who took his anger out on the squires and Cole and whomever else unfortunate enough to get in his way. Normally, Aegon would have fled to Sunfyre and the sky above, but it would take too long to reach him and the space between Aegon’s ribs craved blood.

Preferably his own.

If he flew in that moment, Aegon could not promise he’d come back. Whatever that would look like.

Aegon wondered if Harrion’s blade had some strange northern magic that could carve the rot out of him that flame could not burn and cleanse away. Mayhaps he was more Hightower than Targaryen. Mayhaps that’s why he was like this.

Harrion’s swing knocked Aegon’s right blade from his grip, sending it skittering across the gravel. The larger man was on him, pressing Aegon back with great swings and the force of blocking him vibrated painfully in his arms.

"You are a million miles away, Your Grace," Harrion said, still circling him, his blue eyes discerning far more than Aegon appreciated. "That's how you end up with a blade through your shoulder. Trust me, I know."

Aegon ignored him, grinding his teeth.

"You could tell me what was bothering you, perhaps. At the least it would provide me with more of a challenge that… whatever it is we're doing now."

“We’re not talking about her,” Aegon grunted, swinging his blade out and moving around the larger man. “It. We’re not talking about it.”

“I’ve heard say that a good swordsman doesn’t let himself get distracted by such things, so that answers that.” Harrion’s mouth twitched up as he winked and Aegon felt a surge rumble through him. With a shout, he darted behind the training dummy and kicked it violently towards Harrion, buying himself enough time to go for his thrown blade.

“Begone!” Aegon commanded with thunderous force in his voice at the crowd, sending several bystanders stumbling back in surprise.

Aegon’s blades met Harrion’s with his teeth gritted and forced him back.

“Well, now we’re getting somewhere. Red hair? One breath away from dissolving into tears.” Aegon swore he saw judgement on Karstark’s face but the elder man simply rotated his greatsword in hand. “Don’t tell me you stepped on her feet while you were making a spectacle of yourselves.” He didn’t see the shoulder check coming and Aegon went stumbling back, nearly falling on his ass had he not come up against the weapons rack. “See? Better than a blade in the shoulder.”

A growl tore from Aegon’s throat and he swung his blades, causing the taller man to jump back out of the way. “You stick a blade in my shoulder, it’s treason.”

Harrion looked unsuitably unimpressed. If anything, Aegon swore he saw another twitch on his mouth and the greatsword was coming at him again, sliding along his left arm and leaving a white hot sting that had Aegon hissing and looking at the cut of his padded tunic and the bright slash of red along his bicep.

"Well," Harrion said with a shake of his head. "Shame. So what happened?"

Aegon looked incredulously from his arm to Harrion’s face, a weird sense of satisfaction emanating from the sharp sting of the slice on his arm. It lacked the brute force of a punch to the face and with the pain, he felt an unknotting sensation in his chest.

“I... don’t fucking know,” he said with feeling, swinging his left blade to meet Harrion’s with a clang. “I don’t fucking know what she wants from me when she never asked for anything different!”

The blades slid against each other, coming back again and again with the bright sound of steel clanging and Aegon wondered if Valyrian steel would sing differently in his hands.

“The thing about women is that they expect you to pay attention,” Harrion said, turning so Aegon’s swing missed and he turned the greatsword over his head and brought it down again in a move reminiscent of Harwin Strong and came down and would’ve taken Aegon’s head off had he not managed to black it in time. “You’re not great at that, are you?”

“How in the seven hells am I supposed to pay attention when she doesn’t fucking say anything!” he yelled, frustration tearing out of him with the force of dragon flame. “She’s always accepted me, she’s always been there for me, stood by me, she knows who the fuck I am and never said or asked for me to change. And now she thinks that since we’re going to be married I’m not what? Going to flirt and fuck and drink and be whatever…” He was choking on spit and something tangy and metallic in his mouth. “Whatever the fuck is wrong with me.”

There was a slap of metal against his chest and he looked down at the flat of Harrion’s blade pressed against his chest. “You missed,” Aegon said, tilting his chin up with a long look. “Neck’s here.”

“You’re pathetic, Your Grace.”

Aegon blinked. “What did you just say?”

Harrion lowered his blade and drew it along the end of his tunic, not looking at him, completely unbothered that Aegon could have lost his temper again and swung his blades at him. “I said, you’re pathetic. What kind of man are you, what kind of prince of the realm are you? You’re to be married and become lord to one of the largest keeps in the realm, and yet here you stand, a soft bellied boy, fretting over the idea that the lady you’re engaged to might not like your behavior.”

There was a rushing in his ears and Aegon opened his mouth to retort, to snap that Harrion Karstark, heir to a little backwater hovel, couldn’t speak to him like that, just as his sister didn’t have a right to do so.

“She’s been twisting herself in nervous circles preparing for this outing,” Wylla had hissed at him, the most courteous smile on her face but her fists clenched at her sides like she was about to fight him herself. He had stood beside his horse, resolutely ignoring the confused hurt on Abby’s face when he’d directed her to the carriage before they headed out into the city to attend the guild festival all those weeks ago. “So you are going to stop being a petulant, mercurial child and act like you are the luckiest man in the seven kingdoms to have her waiting for you.”

“She said we were lucky to like one another,” he finally rasped out, his palms sweaty around the grips of his blades. “That it’s more than what most can say.”

“She’s right, you are lucky, and revelations abound for you, Your Grace, because you’re so lucky and you do like one another, she expects you to afford, oh, I don’t know what it’s called, mayhaps respect?” Harrion’s gaze had lost the amusement and was now flat and cold as ice. “That girl is a prize that you’ve been given. I’ve seen that in the short time I’ve known her. And it seems you can’t grow up and be the man that she deserves. How would you feel if she went and fucked one of those other lords fawning over her, and then said ‘well, you didn’t ask me to change’.”

It must have been the hangover. Aegon was sure of it. The longer he stared at Harrion Karstark, the more he swore he saw Harwin Strong standing there, speaking conversationally to him after catching Aegon hacking one of the training dummies to death with his new blade.

He blinked again and it was Harrion once more, far closer now than he’d been on the other side of the training ring. Aegon hated how much taller the man was, how small he felt beneath his cold, stormy eyed gaze. Harrion gripped his shoulder in his large hand and Aegon swayed beneath it.

This would normally have been the point where his mother would snarl at him, “Do you have nothing to say for yourself?”, but Harrion? He said nothing except look down at him, waiting.

"I'm marrying a woman I've never laid eyes on when I head back north. Never met her, never heard the sound of her voice. I've written to her, tried to learn what I could of her through her own words. You though? You should probably pull your head out of the dragon shit and stop treating your situation as I would wager you treat everything else." He paused, then added, “Your Grace.”

“It’s growing late, my prince,” Erryk said with a disapproving look that Aegon didn’t give two shits about as he rubbed his hand over Kostōba’s golden cream neck, scratching his fingers along the line of his mane. “Are you sure you want to go out now?”

“Cargyll, when have I ever decided against going out this late?” It wasn’t as if it was late. The sun was a molten line on the horizon, the stars beginning to show along the eastern horizon. Night was better for him.

How ironic that he rode the sun. How ironic that the one he…

His thoughts were interrupted by another horse whickering, a dappled grey stallion with a braided white mane. Helaena sat astride him, her silver hair braided back, her riding leathers blue scaled leather with silver edging. Arryk Cargyll was coming up on his own horse, his Kingsguard armor gleaming in the evening light.

“Well, come on then. Aren’t we going flying?” she asked, eyes languid, voice expectant.

“No!” Aegon started, glaring at Arryk who was allowing his sister to think she could just ride out. “It’s not safe for you out there this late.”

“Oh, but it is for you when you avoid Ser Erryk every night?”

“Ser Erryk doesn’t make for good fucking company,” Aegon snapped. “Go back inside, Helaena.”

Helaena looked at him and then softly commanded her stallion to head out towards the gate. Kostōba snorted and whinnied softly, pawing at the ground and bumped his head into Aegon’s shoulder. He pet the horse’s neck gently, murmuring soft words to him before he gripped the saddle and hauled himself up. “Fine. Come on. If you’re lucky, you won’t even have to wait for us.”

They just wouldn’t come back. Maybe he’d talk Helaena into it.

The ride through the city was mercifully uneventful. Aegon kept beside his sister, glaring down at any lurking in the shadows that might come towards her. Helaena didn’t seem bothered by it, smiling at those who waved, their cries of ‘Princess Helaena!’ endearing in a way Aegon would not admit he was jealous of. He could see the tension in her shoulders at being noticed, and the way they relaxed once they went through the outer gates of the dragon pit.

Sunfyre was already out, chirping and chortling in his concerned way where he kept dipping his head trying to get closer, ruffled and annoyed at the dragonkeepers who kept him from rushing forward.

Aegon and Sunfyre set off first, and he looked down below as Dreamfyre’s great, blue bulk was led out into the yard. She was at least twice the size of Sunfyre, all pale blue scales and silver markings that twinkled like starlight. They circled languidly, and Aegon felt the chill of the air caress his cheeks and leech the heat from him, and for a moment, he swore he could feel Abby’s fingers cool across his brow, asking him if he was alright.

To watch Dreamfyre launch herself into the sky was a sight to behold. She wasn’t whip fast the way Sunfyre was, she didn’t lumber like Vhaegar. She took off, smooth as silk, flowing through the air like a fish swam through the sea. Her wings were great things, pale blue membranes veined with more of the silver markings that covered her great form. Aegon would never admit it, but Dreamfyre might have been more beautiful than Sunfyre when she took off into the twilight gleam, melting into the streaks of the swiftly darkening sky.

Helaena’s laughter echoed across King’s Landing, louder and brighter, Aegon swore, than the bells of the city itself. There was no need to give command to Sunfyre. He looked towards the south and Sunfyre let out his low call and took off, racing ahead towards the looming dark of the Kingswood.

Riding with Sunfyre was like flying through the sky himself. He leaned over the horn of the saddle, gloved hands outreached to press against his neck and together they moved, one being and one thought. No command passed Aegon’s lips. He simply felt his desire to run, to fly and flee until they could outrun all that plagued him. Away from old River Lords, and the storms of the North embodied in wolves with blades and teeth, away from the brokenhearted look in a pair of eyes as blue and endless as the ocean.

It wasn’t long before the pair of them circled the cliffs at the edge of the Kingswood, Sunfyre fluttering down as light as a leaf on a pond. Dreamfyre landed not long after and Helaena waited for him, perched like a little blue beetle on the rocks and looking out over the great gorge.

His sister watched him in her inscrutable way and Aegon stood some distance from her, unsure if he wanted to go to her, for he didn’t know what it was he wanted. Aegon’s gaze drifted over his shoulder to the cliff edge, the breeze tugging his hair across his face. He could simply just-

“Aegon.”

Lilac eyes snapped back to look at his sister and he kicked his foot against the ground, pawing at it like his horse before he came over and settled beside her. She said nothing, only reached over to take his left hand in both of hers to hold in her lap. His shoulders sagged beneath the leather of his jacket, his fingers twitching in hers.

“Sunfyre would be upset if you did,” she said and Aegon rolled his eyes.

“Sunfyre would get over it.”

“You’ve always been a terrible liar.” Helaena’s voice remained soft and calm and he scoffed lightly, a half hearted smirk playing on his face.

“I’m quite a good liar. You should play me at cards.” Levity amidst the depths that he was sinking in. Water and dirt or fire and blood flooding his mouth and ears and weeds and rock weighing him down.

The sounds of the forest were alive around them, the gentle song of crickets, the distant rustles of night time animals coming out of their daytime slumber. Aegon fiddled with a stone and chucked it out over the cliff edge and imagined it spinning out into the night sky to knock one of the lofty stars from their perch. Would Abby want him if he brought her back a fallen star?

“I told Aemond I wasn’t going to marry him.”

Aegon raised his eyebrows at her. “Huh.” An elegant response but there was a headache pulsing behind his eyes and he was at a loss for anything substantial. “How long has… how long have you been sitting on that revelation?”

A soft shrug, her fingers sliding across the rock towards a little lizard that had previously been sunning itself. “Some days I thought I could. Some days I wanted to marry him. I liked the way he looked at me, kissed me, desired me. Other times, I missed him. Who he was before Vhaegar.”

“Who he was before those bastards attacked him,” Aegon snarled, tossing another rock over the edge of the cliff. Helaena’s hand still held his and she squeezed his fingers, a gesture he instinctively returned back. His stomach lurched with nausea thinking about Ser Harrold carrying his bleeding, screaming brother into the throne room of Driftmark. They held his mouth open to pour milk of the poppy down his gullet to ease the pain.

‘Where was Ser Criston’, Aegon remembered thinking. Where had the guards been to find that Aemond had never gone to bed? Where had the guards been to see a loud, squabbling bunch of children on their way to what? Dragons couldn’t be stolen. Jace and Baela knew that, should have known that.

“We should have been better,” Helaena whispered and Aegon looked over at her. She was watching the little lizard crawl over her hand, the thing curling beneath her sleeve with the little head poking out as it sought out her warmth. “You should not have teased him so.”

A hot flush of shame and anger washed through him and he jerked his hand out of his sister’s hold. “Īlon kydȳbagon. Beqes? Iā valonqār īlvrot idīnnoso pirtrirzi zoklākore?.” Let us measure. A pig? Or falsely enticing our brother with marriage?

“Se qringaomnot dijāvē qrimbughere, marta issa?” Helaena countered. And is that the same as drowning in your vice and lust? The words clawed at the meat of him. Her eyes bore into him as hot as dragonfire and Aegon pushed away from the rocks and scuffed his feet in the dirt, putting distance between them so she could not see him so easily, perceiving his rot and ruin.

“She didn’t even care, so why should he?” Aegon snarled. Rhaenyra hadn’t cared about her brother, her blood, just an insult as if the whole fight had been Aemond calling them bastards, not the whole of them attacking Aemond and he needing to defend himself.

“Would you like to go riding?” his sister asked him softly, a gentle smile on her face. Her belly was starting to round with her own child, and mother was in her room, pacing with her own child to come. Aegon clutched his dragon to his chest, looking up at her uncertainty. He wasn’t meant to be alone with Rhaera, his little mouth struggling with the syllables of her name. The idea of riding up in the sky, on a real dragon rather than a toy in the nursery, excited him and he nodded, reaching and taking her hand and giggling with surprise when she scooped him up, the way mama said he was too big for.

“She didn’t even care,” Aegon repeated, his harsh voice a rasp in his throat, betrayal and hurt that he hadn’t felt in some time coursing through him.

The cliff edge was so utterly appealing.

“Dragons of flesh weave dragons of thread,” Helaena’s voice drifted softly on the evening breeze. He chewed on his lip and looked over his shoulder back at her. She was fixated on the lizard along her hand and lowered it, allowing the little thing to flee into the cracks among the rocks.

Aegon pushed the hair out of his eyes and turned then. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” It was simple, matter of fact, and she palmed her knees, the leather creaking with the movement. “He’s not, but…” Aegon was quiet, ignoring the call of the void, and focused on the way his sister’s hair gleamed in the fading light. In another life, they would be married, in the way their Valyrian blood demanded and every day, Aegon was grateful that they had both escaped the fate. He loved his sister, but couldn’t imagine doing what would have been required. He couldn’t imagine touching her, instinctively recoiling at the thought. Helaena was beautiful, Aegon would readily agree on that. Buxom and beautiful, with eyes that could stare into your soul and a smile that was warm as firelight.

“But?” he asked when her gaze grew distant. She shook her head.

“I think he felt as confused as I did. But you know Aemond. Once he has his mind set on something…” She tucked a loose strand of hair back from her face and drew her legs up to rest her feet against the rocks. “I told Mother. I suppose this means Aemond will go to Storm’s End.”

The sight of Cassandra’s mouth on his cock flashed across his vision and he thought of what that woman would do if she got her hands on his brother. Aemond was intimidating, Aegon was loath to admit it unless it was to his advantage, and women either were drawn to it or repelled. But he was still a green boy, inexperienced despite Aegon’s attempts to get him with the best the Street of Silk had to offer. Cassandra could very well tear him apart if Aemond wasn’t careful.

“Well he can have his pick out of the four, although I think that little hyperactive deer would be the best choice.” It would be several years until the child would be old enough to wed, which might appeal to his disinterested brother.

“Floris is going to fell a stag next Storm Festival. She shot a bullseye and everything.” Helaena’s tone was fond and lighter than it had been before. “I’ve claimed her, by the way. You’ll be taking Cassandra Baratheon with you. Hope her tits fit in the carriage.”

Aegon snorted, laughter bursting from him in surprise. “My my, hāedus, are you jealous of her fantastic tits. If you need reassurance, you do have some of the better breasts I’ve only passively looked over.”

“You called her tits fantastic, and mine ‘some of the better’,” Helaena said airily, and Aegon let out another snort of laughter. “It’s fine. I’ll forgive you. You have been a bit messier than usual. Ever since the feast.”

His laughter trailed off, and while his sister had elevated his mood, it wasn’t enough to erase away the tangle of vines that had woven their way through his ribs, constricting like the venomous snakes of Yi Ti. “Mmmm, have you been sending your many creatures to spy on me?”

“No,” Helaena replied. “But I spent the whole night comforting a hysterical Abrogail Strong in my chambers afterwards. I’ve never seen her cry so hard, let alone cry in general. Dear girl doesn’t like to show that side of herself.” She shook her head. “Not to mention you looked like Mother had forbidden you from riding Sunfyre before the feast started and I heard Ser Erryk talking about pulling you from a brothel and dragging you back to the keep slung over the ass of his horse.

“Well, when you put it that way.” Aegon shook his head and kicked at a stone, sending it dancing across the ground. He felt sick to his stomach at the idea that he’d sent Abby into hysterics after the feast, and there was little convincing himself that it was everything else that had upset her, when she had upset him so much.

When it was more than just her that had upset him, and he’d taken it out on her.

“She wants to geld you. Well, no. She said were her dearest departed brother still alive, he’d gift her your balls on a platter.”

“Oh, no, she threatened to geld me herself this morning.” Helaena giggled and Aegon flushed. “I showed up to break our fast hungover and smelling of perfume. That was embarrassing for her. Apparently.”

“I would be embarrassed if my betrothed showed up to eat with kin smelling of other women.” Helaena’s voice was in that easy way of hers, no judgement and matter of fact. When he met her eyes though, they flashed in the dark, a fire burning in her lavender gaze. “Aegon, you’re an idiot.”

“Thank you,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “You’ll be pleased to know this isn’t the first time today I’ve been called as such. Lucky for me, you don’t have a sword.”

“Yes, but I do have a dragon.” As if on cue, Dreamfyre rumbled from where she was sitting nearby, an antler hooked on her mouth from her meal she’d just finished. Aegon made a face. “Harrion Karstark is handsome though. I wouldn’t mind it if-”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” Aegon cut in sharply. “Besides, he’s rather devout to the bride he hasn’t met yet. Riverlands girl.”

“Right. Riverlands girl. Not dissimilar to your own, I’d wager.”

“And what, pray tell, are you getting at? If you wish to lecture me, then do so.”

“I don’t need to lecture you, Aegon, but I do have a question.” Aegon gave her a blank look, stealing himself for whatever it was that Helaena was about to throw in his face. “Why do you think Abby hasn’t come asking to have the betrothal broken after all of this?” He opened his mouth, and shut it with a click, a shake of his head. “You’re an idiot,” she repeated.

“She’s nice! She does whatever Mother fucking tells her to do. She’s such a proud little member of her household, doing everything she can to fucking be her.” Helaena made a little face in response, but didn’t argue and Aegon tugged at the clasps on his riding jacket, shrugging out of the leather and letting the breeze cool his too hot skin.

“Do you like it when she’s like Mother?” Helaena asked curiously and Aegon flushed.

“I like it when she’s bossy. Not my fault it sounds like-” He snapped his mouth shut as his sister let out an indelicate snort, snickering from her spot. “Bratsios,” he swore at her, which only caused Helaena to let out another snort. “Fine! Fine I’m a fucking idiot. Happy?” He threw out his arms and gave a little spin for dramatic effect. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, She went into this whole thing about why the tables only go one way, and that at the end of the day, we’re just ourselves and she walked away and I think she wants to break this whole thing off-”

“She’s not,” Helaena cut in with another soft chuckle and leaned back against the rocks, tilting her head back to gaze up at the sky. “And she may sound like Mother sometimes, but she’s not. She’s not Mother.”

“She’s not the Maiden,” Aegon finished, the memory of Abby’s eyes, large and wet and flashing with anger and hurt seared on the back of his own eyelids. “She’s not… She’s just… Abby.” He felt his shoulders droop, the tension that had knotted through him for the past few days released, albeit slowly. “She’s just Abby with her needlework and her cat and her drawings and all her books.” He felt his mouth twitch. “She had a whole presentation this morning, did she tell you? I’ve never seen her handle so many scrolls, going in about all the changes she wants to make to Harrenhal for the people and she had pages of sums and she was talking about fucking trade agreements with some house and her whole face was lit up and she was talking too fast and I swear I thought she’d faint from forgetting to breathe.”

He looked down at his hands and from beneath the edge of his cuff, three half healed lines from where she’d scratched him bloody were still visible. Aegon instinctively brought his wrist to his mouth, sucking on the healing skin that still held the faint tang of copper. “When she lets herself, she’s full of fire and passion. She’s biting and vicious.” His hunītsos so sweet and soft but teeth that would bite when a hand threatened. “What did I do that made her so angry with me to begin with?”

His sister shrugged. “Maybe you should ask her before it’s too late.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was sharp and focused on Helaena’s impenetrable gaze. “Helaena.”

“She was rather pleased on a walk with Ser Edmund the other day in the garden,” his sister finally said. “She’d left the picnic and ran into him. They were quite close together when Floris and I found them, all blushing and shy.”

Aegon’s stomach plummeted and his hands tingled, cold dread and hot fury rushing through him. Whatever look was on his face had his sister jumping up and closing the distance to grab at his arms.

Sunfyre growled nearby, Dreamfyre answering with a short, sharp huff of annoyance.

“You’re an idiot, but do you understand why she hasn’t gone to break this off yet? Because she cares for you. You’ve been pulling her away from the rest of us for years. Mittys iksā, Aegon.” You are a fool. He tried to jerk his arms from her, but Helaena held fast to him. “You are, and I resent you for it often. Aemond resents you for it, hoarding her as you try to do, but what you don’t see, lēkȳs, is that she allows you to do it. Had she not wanted you in return, Abby would not allow you to get away with it as you do.”

Had she not wanted him in return.

‘I never wanted you.’

Abby had never spoken those words though. Even the memory of it in his head didn’t sound like her. It sounded suspiciously like his mother, like his excuse for a sire, even Cole but… but never Abby.

In his grandfather’s office, Abby’s hand had been trembling in her lap before she reached for him, the smile tremulous and panic in her eyes. Not fear. Not disgust. She had reached for him, and he had reached for her when the world felt like it was breaking apart beneath their feet.

“And yet she flirts with that pompous cunt,” Aegon snarled and Sunfyre responded in kind with another growl that had Dreamfyre reaching out a clawed foot to push at his snout.

“So what? You flirt all the time and don’t you dare say it’s any different. The only difference that lays between you two is that you often go to paw and prod and fuck those you flirt with. She doesn’t.”

The idea of Abby doing more with one of her rare flirtations had the coil of anger firing inside of him once more as he thought of what he’d done with Cassandra Baratheon, with Marla Lefford after the feast.

“And? How do you think I feel when you show up this morning smelling like a brothel and still half drunk? How do you think I feel seeing you dance with Lady Cassandra, let alone ogling her so openly? If I’m so unequivocally yours, then why does it only go one way, you selfish, cruel boy?”

Protests died on Aegon’s tongue and he staggered back, feeling sick and dizzy, feeling angry and brokenhearted. Confused and uncertain, and yet entirely certain all at the same time. Helaena’s hands drifted back but she didn’t move away from him, didn’t tear at him, and certainly didn’t take advantage of the moment to push him over the cliff’s edge.

“I tried to be good for her,” he rasped.

“Did you truly? Or were you simply doing what it is you always do, and thinking it would work this time?” Helaena asked.

Aegon gave her a wary look. “When did you become such an insightful one, heltusītsos?” It had been years since he’d called her little beetle, the nickname coined by Aemond. Helaena startled at the words, her head ducking down and averting her gaze.

“You all try to baby me and I’m sick of it,” Helaena muttered, pushing him without any real force behind it. The wind kicked up, whipping at her moonlit braid and tugging tendrils of hair across her round features. Sometimes it was like staring into a mirror, the pair of them with the same round features and their mother’s large eyes. “So I’m endeavoring to speak my mind and tell you how I feel and when I think you’re all being foolish, which is quite often, you know.”

Jealousy and anger continued to roil in the pit of Aegon’s gut in the silence that followed his sister’s declaration. The idea of another man’s hands on Abby, his fingers in her hair, on her skin, of someone else making her laugh - that was Aegon’s laughter that was stolen. He always did what he could to make her laugh, to draw the bright sound from her so she would forget how sad she was, how lonely. How she giggled in his arms when she kissed him, when he kissed her. Her shrieks of laughter when he’d defend her in children’s games, their hands grabbing each other as he tugged her to the safety of his camp away from Jacaerys and Lucerys in the gardens and in the woods.

The soft sound of pain when he grabbed her cut through the memory. ‘Had she learned to quiet them as he had?’

Her eyes, so endlessly blue as the ocean itself, shining with tears that he’d caused.

Aegon just wanted to make her laugh and smile, instead of shutting down as she had after her father and Harwin’s death, when it looked as if she would simply blow away as dust. The memory of a small girl, eyes perpetually red and cheeks chapped with endless, silent tears looking so small in the sept before the Stranger. The way she’d looked at him when he approached and how her hands had fisted into his sleeves and she sobbed into his shoulder.

He remembered telling her the story of Ser Harwin slipping in the mud when they were in the stables and swearing Aegon to silence with a laugh. He told her of the time Mother had lost her wits at a giant Dornish spider getting loose in the cloisters and how Lord Lyonel had come, speaking calmly and rattling off all these interesting facts about it with a box in hand and how Mother lost her mind to just kill the cursed thing!

‘I could never hate you, Aegon.’

Did she truly mean it?

“What if I’ve just fucked it up beyond repair? What if we’re just doomed to be fucking miserable?” Aegon’s voice was small, his eyes wide and frightened in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time, not since he was young and the first time the Tower had kicked him and nearly crashed his head in, lashing him with such cruel words that had Aegon stunned and spinning.

Helaena shrugged. “What if you haven’t?”

Hope unfurled, a frightened animal in his chest that wasn’t sure if it was safe, long boxed away and his breath hitched, an uncertain smile crossing his face.

Jace leaned against the carved stone of the shallow balcony outside his room. The sun had set and the moon was rising, the deepening blue of the sky beginning to glitter and twinkle with so many stars.

His thumb rubbed over the ridges of the long dead little sea creature embedded in the stone he held, lavender eyes hooded in thought. His room felt bare this night, his belongings loaded into trunks and taken down to the ship earlier in the day. Shelves that had been bursting with books and maps, with trinkets and baubles now gone and packed carefully away. Jace suspected that Luke had made off with some of the more coveted items he’d been sneaking off with, like the history of the Vale of Arryn that he’d been particularly interested in as of late.

A knock on the door drew his attention and for a moment, Jace thought about not answering, pretending he was tucked in bed and fast asleep. The heavy door creaked open and he let out an exasperated sigh. “Mother-”

“I know, you’d like me to wait before barging in,” his mother said. She was dressed for an evening of relaxation - a loose, scarlet robe with woven and knotted clasps over her nightgown, her hair braided back from her face and slung over her shoulder. The Princess rubbed her hands together and her gaze flitted over the bare spots across the room. “Well, you are six and ten. The gods know there are things I do not want to walk in on.”

Jace felt his cheeks flush, a sputter escaping him. “Muñus-” He would not think about the last time that had nearly happened, rolling off the side of the bed and being convinced he’d broken… things.

“I know.” She looked beautiful in the candlelight, her pale skin flushed golden in the flickering candlelight around his room. “Indulge me, zēapos. I only have a few hours left to tease you.” She stood beside him, gazing out at the Narrow Sea. Her warm hand reached up to stroke through his hair, dark brown curls wild and tugging free along his face and shoulders. Jace was struck by how strange it was to finally be taller than his mother, who loomed large over him for as long as he could remember, a beacon of home and warmth. He slung his arm around her shoulder and ducked his head at the kiss she pressed against his cheek.

The Valyrian flowed from him as it did his mother. Since he began his lessons in earnest, most conversations took place in their ancestral tongue. “I promise to keep Baela out of trouble.” His sister was coming with him, having raged for near a fortnight at being sent away when she had only just returned from Driftmark with Rhaena. Daemon had raged back, their voices echoing off the stone of the citadel whenever they were in the same room until Luke had declared he was moving into the caves with Arrax until they stopped.

His mother chuckled. “Oh, neither of us will hold you to that. Baela is like her parents, clever and wily. But you two will have one another to rely on, as well as your grandfather. You are second in line for the throne, ñuhus trēsys.” Jace turned and she took his face in her hands, tilting his head down to rest his forehead against hers. “No matter what anyone says, or insinuates, you are my son, my heir. You will sit the Iron Throne, you are not just a prince of the realm, se dārilaros iksan.”

“Nyke dārilaros iksan,” he repeated.

I am the prince.

Her smile was gentle and soft, her eyes crinkling at the corners and she pushed up on her toes to press a kiss between his brows. “I’m so proud of you for doing this. Do not let them forget that you are a dragon. You ride Vermax, and only a dragon can bond with a dragon.”

“I miss him,” Jace whispered before he could draw the words back. His mother’s hands trembled against his face. As he knew she would, she drew back and her hands dropped to his shoulders, smoothing his loose shirt.

“Laenor was a good man and he would be proud of you.” There was honesty in her words, but Jace could not say that Laenor wasn’t who he had meant. It had been another man, who had been unwavering by his mother’s side, who had been there for everything, that Jace referred to.

But that was treason and not even he could speak it.

Jace sucked it up and he gave a short nod. “He would.” His father had been good to him and his brothers, even if he wasn’t always there, often with Ser Qarl and other men at Driftmark. He was never cruel, always kind and encouraging upon his visits, even with the distance between them that never felt lonely, not with his mother there, not with Ser Harwin.

How lucky he was, to be loved as he was. To have so many who cared for him.

How frightening it was, to go to a place that had once been his home, and now full of those who loathed him.

Jace rubbed his thumb against the stone he held and he watched his mother’s hand join his. “What’s this?”

“I found it a few days ago, when Vermax and I went to the other side of the island.” The curled seashell had long turned to rock, broken in half over time so the inside ridges were visible. “Don’t know what it is. It just…” Another shrug. “Called to me, I suppose.”

“It must mean good fortune on your journey, then,” his mother said and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Now, my brooding boy, get some rest. You have a long journey ahead of you, and your men will be looking to you to not be half asleep slumped over a pile of rope.”

Right. He needed to be alert and present. He needed to be seen, he needed to participate, and work side by side with the sailors on their journey. Prove himself to be one of them. Prove himself more than the rumors that chased them from King’s Landing. Rumors that flashed bright as dragonfire in his step-grandmother’s gaze in the flickering great hall of Driftmark.

[Chapter Twelve]

[bowiebond]

I’m so glad Argilly is picking up traction, we are one step closer to the big mlm polycule with Argyle, Billy, Eddie, Jon, and Steve + I’ve seen almost all ten of the possible individual pairings in the group being delved upon so far (Argilly, Edgyle (idk the name), Jargyle, Mungrove, Harringrove, Byergrove, Stonathan, Eddithan/Jeddie (idk either), Steddie)

All we need now is to think about how Argyle and Steve’s dynamic (Stargyle) would work and HERE is how I think it could:

Everyone trying to pit two bad bitches against each other for best hair, but they actually just know they are simply the masters of their own domain and respect each other; Steve reigns over the tall, poofy, and curled hair, Argyle reigns over the long, luscious, and silky

Argyle will try to expand Steve’s food palate

Steve playing with/braiding his hair, Argyle affectionately ruffling Steve’s

Out of the other guys, even Jonathan when stoned, I feel like Argyle and Steve are able to just naturally be on the same wavelength at any given point; like if Argyle was making astute observations (simple or deep), Steve can easily pick up his train of thought, casually all “oh yeaaah, yeah I totally get what you mean” and vice versa (Argyle picking up what Steve’s puttin down)

Sweet, goofy, playful bfs and also party kings when the energy is high

When they vibe to music together, they put their whole bodies into it; popcorn karaoke riding in each other’s cars, belting their hearts out

Casual homie kisses goodbye; “see you later brochacho” and then Argyle pecks Steve on the cheek

Like, after they have a friendly game, they do a bro handshake, and then Steve’s like “good game” before he goes in for a kiss

Stargyle is the ultimate 'bros to lovers' vibe. Also I just love the name??? Stargyle, ahhh.

Like they call each other 'dude, bro, man' but then you'll catch them asleep cuddling on the couch waiting for their other boyfriends to come home.

Argyle definitely digs movie dates with Steve, because all of the guys have different tastes; Billy and Eddie are more horror/slasher/gruesome action fans, Jonathan forces them to watch indie films or romcoms, Argyle prefers comedies, but he'll watch anything. So Steve usually watches his newest picks with Argyle when he wants to wind down from the week.

The whole polycule is very into playing with each others hair, but Argyle and Steve are the two who will be in the bathroom the longest if paired together (though Steve and Billy also take forever), Argyle helping Steve keep his hair in place while he styles and sprays, Steve brushing out Argyle's hair just cause it's pretty long and can be a hassle to do alone. Steve usually braids Argyle's hair before bed if Billy doesn't beat him to it first (or if Eddie and Jonathan haven't gotten their hands in Billy's hair first, because boy does that man become putty if you touch it).

Steve, Jonathan and Argyle will talk circles around each other when high and Eddie and Billy will just watch while draped over each other or playing cards because they're lazy stoners. Argyle joins them in cards sometimes, really depends on if Steve and Jonathan have moved from rambling to wrestling or not (it's playful, really, they just end up in a tangle of limbs and giggling afterwards because Jonathan is still somehow able to beat Steve every time).

Argyle and Steve have the most similar music taste, and when surrounded by their metal/rock n roll boyfriends, they have to fight for the radio. Thankfully, Argyle's vans is constant vibes and they rule over the selection of tapes.

The broshake and then kiss is so them, I love that. They'll do that before heading off the work and the other three are just bewildered by it in the beginning because

Billy: 'how did our boyfriends steal each other???'

Jonathan: 'When did this even happen??'

Eddie: 'Not hating it, but can you guys not act like platonic bros before maKING OUT IN FRONT OF THE DOOR?!'

[nightingaelic]

FO4 bots meeting FNV bots. Nick, Codsworth, DiMA, Ada, maybe the gen3 synths but they're pretty much just humans so idk... Yes Man, Victor, Muggy, ED-E, FISTO, etc. This is kind of a vague request so just do whatever you want with it *shrugs*

The AI's voice echoed warmly through the large conference room at the Tops Casino, hushing the assembled crowd. "I'm Mr. New Vegas, and I want to welcome you all, dear listeners, to the 41st National Robotics Expo. Vegas has been hosting this convention since 2037, and even though we skipped a few years, we're so happy to welcome it again. Let's get back to business."

A smattering of applause with a distinct metallic edge followed, which the automated DJ paused for before continuing in a tone as warm as the desert outside. "As most exhibitions do, let's begin by introducing our various delegations. We'll start with the home team, Securitrons by RobCo: RobCo Industries, automation designed and built for the private sector."

The Securitron in the back of the room with a cowboy on its screen waved. "Present!" he piped up in a southern drawl.

The robot next to him, identical in every way except for the woman's face on its screen, patted his arm. "Thank you, Victor."

"Yeah, thanks Victor!" added the Securitron with a permanent happy face on its screen. "It's not often I'm let out of my room, but it sure is nice to see another part of the hotel!"

Nick Valentine, who was sitting in the front with his arms crossed, looked down at the miniature Securitron that was pacing next to his seat. "Shouldn't you be back there with them?"

"With the House Industries bunch?" The cartoon-faced coffee mug on its screen looked up at him with an unchanging smile, but every word dripped with contempt. "Don't lump me in with them, gumshoe."

Nick frowned. "What's your name again?"

The robot gestured at its screen. "I'll give you three guesses."

"Cheeky little-"

"Ssshh." DiMA looked over from Nick's other side. "We're guests here, Nick."

"Next up we have the RobCo eyebots, both classic design and Duraframe-upgraded models," Mr. New Vegas continued, completely oblivious to the chatter in the room. A pair of eyebots on the left side of the room, one in bright Atom Cats paint and the other with haphazard shielding including a car license plate, began bobbing up and down and beeping ecstatically. A third model, outfitted with some kind of modification that crackled with blue energy, let loose a sonic blast that shook dust off the ceiling. The crowd tittered, but the courier accompanying the license-plated eyebot just laughed.

"I know folks, I know, it's a day full of excitement, but let's get through our list," Mr. New Vegas said smoothly, evidently worried that the eyebot was going to shake the room's speakers loose. "Moving on to the assaultrons, something you don't see often out here in the Mojave. Welcome, ladies."

"The pleasure's all mine," replied KL-E-0 from her seat behind Nick. The Goodneighbor trader was reclining precariously on the conference room chair, with her frame's considerable weight straining the piece of furniture's limits. She didn't appear particularly concerned though, given the way she was examining her claws the way an uninterested woman examines her nails.

"Preliminary adjustments to statistical models complete," added PAM, who was seated next to KL-E-0 in a much more attentive position. "Commencing introduction. I was, am, and will most likely be an assaultron."

"An astute calculation," agreed Ada. She was standing next to PAM and KL-E-0, as her own modified frame would not let her sit down.

"Objection." A mechanical voice rang out from the back. "Petition to acquire the modified assaultron model into the protectron class. Model clearly uses more protectron parts than assaultron."

"Stand down, Mr. First Mate," ordered the exasperated sentry bot parked next to the protectron that had spoken up. "We must show a certain measure of decorum, in these waters."

Ada rotated her head all the way around to face the first mate. "Acknowledged. I am willing to re-categorize myself if requested."

"Baby, don't let him talk you into anything you're not comfortable with," KL-E-0 replied, uncrossing her metal legs.

"Next we have the workhorses of the robotic world, the protectrons," Mr. New Vegas cut in, once again oblivious.

"Sound off!" the first mate ordered.

"Howdy pardner! Primm Slim at your service!"

"ナンニシマスカ?"

"I'm NIRA, your friendly Nuka-World Informational Robotic Assistant. Is this your first visit to Nuka-World?"

"Fully Integrated Security Technetronic Officer active and reporting for duty."

Nick made a face after the last one. "Fisto? What kind of-"

"And rounding out the RobCo set, our sentry bot representative, who I understand is responsible for our Commonwealth friends' safe arrival."

"A fine voyage for a fine vessel!" Captain Ironsides said jovially. "Our mission was a glorious success, the first of many for the pride of our navy!"

"Thank you, Captain," Mr. New Vegas replied, with a hint of amusement in his announcer's voice. "Now for RobCo's greatest partner and competitor, General Atomics International: The finest industrial robots in the world!"

The collection of Mister Handy and Miss Nanny robots on the right side of the room perked up and began applauding. "Spot on!" Codsworth said, at the front of the crowd.

"Let's start where General Atomics started, with the classic Mister Handy model. I see we have a few who made the trip with the USS Constitution."

"Present!" Codsworth answered.

"Fresh lemonade here!" cried Deezer at the same time, attempting to distribute dented cans to everyone within reach of him.

"Don't burden this lot wiv your swill, Deezer," said Whitechapel Charlie, collecting the cans as quickly as they were handed out.

"Wonderful, wonderful. Now let's hear it for the ladies again, our elegant Miss Nanny robots!"

"Hello!" said Pearl and Miss Edna, bobbing in place and prettily snapping their little claws.

"Merci beaucoup," added Curie, who was seated with the group, despite having shed her Miss Nanny frame in favor of a synth body months ago. Nick grinned.

"Objection." The first mate, despite not having a face, appeared absolutely scandalized by this development. Captain Ironsides was having none of it, however, and bopped the protectron on the head with his minigun arm.

"Maybe I should look into getting a synth upgrade," Mr. New Vegas mused. "Finishing out General Atomics are the robobrains, once human like any wastelander, now showcasing the best in technology that pre-war America can offer."

"Thank you, thank you so much," said Gilda Broscoe, who breezed up to the room's stage. She had decorated her shiny brain dome for the occasion with an enormous hat sprouting peacock feathers, and she grabbed the stage's microphone with practiced ease. It wasn't on, but that didn't appear to be enough to stop her. "Thank you all so much for this opportunity. I'd like to thank my studio, Starlight Cinemas, and of course my beloved Keith McKinney-"

"Get off the stage!" yelled the other present robobrain, Jezebel. "My orders from the Mechanist didn't include listening to you drone on about your fantastic former life!"

"-of course, I feel I have to thank my dear Santiago, Santiago, you were such an inspiration even if you couldn't bear the thought of us parting-"

Curie shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Mademoiselle, might it not be better to wait and see-"

"Get off the stage, you old bat!" yelled Muggy, who appeared to share Jezebel's feelings.

"-and I'd like to thank that bitch Vera Keyes for passing on the role so that I could give it my own, personal touch. Thank you everyone, and good night!" Gilda let go of the microphone and curtseyed as best she could with treads. A few robots clapped, while the courier in the back stiffened and looked at the robobrain actress with wide eyes.

"Only one category left, folks, and then we can start the planned festivities," Mr. New Vegas went on. "Now for a Commonwealth Institute of Technology original, the prototype synth model. Only two in the world, and we're lucky enough to have both of them with us today."

DiMA turned around to wave to the other bots, while Nick sank deeper into his chair and pulled his hat down. "Christ."

"Objec-" The first mate didn't even get the full word out before Captain Ironsides bonked him again.

"And that concludes the introductory portion of the expo!" Mr. New Vegas paused. "Unless there's anyone I've inadvertently left out."

"Me!"

The curtain on the stage behind Gilda flew open, revealing a toaster placed on top of a stool. Gilda let out a theatrical gasp and rolled backwards, giving way to the appliance's maniacal laughter.

"Ahahaha! I am online once again!" the toaster cried. "Tremble, world, before my electric heating coil of doom! You thought you could silence me by drowning me in a bathtub, but I swore you would rue the day you had bread and no way to toast it!"

The courier in the back jumped out of their chair. "Oh shit."

"That's right, buddy, the day of bread has come!" With a ding, two slices of C-4 plastic explosive popped up from the toaster's slots. "Cower before my nuclear fire!"

Mild panic swept the room of robots. Gilda fainted dead away on the stage. Nick eased up off his chair. "Talk about delusions of grandeur. I've seen more intimidating appliances in a scrap heap."

"How dare you!" the toaster screamed. "I am the scourge of all small appliances and the bogeyman that keeps lesser toasters awake at night!"

"You're the scourge of breakfast, I'll give you that," Nick answered with a smirk. He tried not to draw attention to the courier that was inching their way to the stage. "But you're low on the ladder of bogeymen, compared to the ones I've dealt with."

"NAME THE ONES MORE FEARSOME THAN I!" the toaster demanded.

"An interesting development here at the Tops, folks," Mr. New Vegas commented. "The crowd appears to have been taken hostage by a rogue toaster."

Nick started counting off adversaries on his metal hand. "Well, there's the Rust Devils, the Gunners a few times, the Pack and all of their angry critters, the Disciples and the Operators, can't forget the Triggermen and Skinny Malone, plus his doll Darla..."

The toaster let out another frenzied laugh. "Nothing but bags of meat, easily toasted in-"

Its speech died mid-sentence, and the courier emerged from behind the curtain holding its electrical cord. "That takes care of that."

Nick winked at them. "Good on you, kid. Should we get on with the shindig?"

[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter One - Disclosure

A/N: This was supposed to be a Jax x Fem!OC fanfic, but it took a little turn as I started to write more of it. So, it’ll be Tig x Fem!OC, but Jax does play a very important role in this.

SUMMARY: A sick turn of events sees Isla Telford thrown in at the deep end, battling to govern the sudden pressures of all that her father's club decidedly bestow upon her.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNINGS: Brief mentions of murder, the guy that got his ass shit is in this one. Jax and Tig get their own warnings, too, for obvious reasons.

The older I get, the more I realize that age doesn't bring wisdom. It only brings weary.

John Teller was always so astute.

His judicious character befell his son, too. Jax had that same perceptive nature as his old man--everyone would comment on that.

To Isla, it was admirable. For Jackson Teller to be a man of such stature--to hold such a reputation--and to remain somewhat level-headed through it all, was only something she could commend.

She'd seen many of her father's friends crumble under the pressure of Samcro, unable to balance the weight of living with the responsibility and commitment to the club, and meet their unfortunate demise--in some not-so extreme cases.

But Jax was different. He'd always been different.

Maybe that wasn't so great, however.

"You're fucking insane, Isla."

"Not insane." She mumbled, sifting through the box of shitty medical supplies that Gemma had left atop the pool table last night.

"Just trying to patch this shit up so Hayes doesn't kick the fucking bucket before Jax gets back here."

Tig snarled. "But it might be infected, and the bullet is still in this dude's ass--"

Isla whipped her head to glare at the man, her eyes wide, forehead slick with sweat--and a little blood, too.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Isla--"

"Tig, with all due respect, unless you're gonna help, please get the fuck outta here."

"That's not gonna suffice," he pointed out, referring to the medical tape, ignoring her scolding.

She wanted to throttle him. Truly, Isla was willing to wrap her crimson-coated fingertips around Tig's neck and squeeze the absolute life out of that man.

"I know." Her lips kneaded together in frustration, watching her father dab an alcohol-infused pad on the wound. "But unless you've got any better ideas, then we're just gonna have to keep reapplying this shit."

"But the infection, Isla."

"But the lack of medical equipment, Tig."

He slapped his palm against the table and glared at her, pointedly. "Why've you gotta be such a bitch all the time, huh?"

"Watch it, Trager." Piqued, Chibs growled.

"I'm not a bitch all the time," she dismissed her father, wiping at her palm with a wet rag. "I'm actually able to control the way I act around other people."

"Oh, fuck you--"

"Christ!"

The Scot's yell was muffled by the cap of his whiskey bottle, his hand pressing against Cameron's skin as the man screamed into the cloth Isla had placed underneath his head.

"God, for fucks sake, both of you just pack it in."

"Chibs--"

"Shut the fuck up. You're a fucking geriatric and you're spending your morning bickering with an almost thirty-year-old. Grow up, Tig."

Despite laughing at his comment, and enjoying the irritation wash over the other man's face, she felt bad.

For riling her father up--who was simply trying to help the innocent Irishman caught in the literal crossfire--she felt fucking awful. Especially because he never seemed to get mad at her all too often.

Tig, though...That was a different story entirely.

"I'm gonna go see if Clay has any more shit lying 'round here." She declared, throwing a damp towel onto the table, backing out of the room.

Her heart was in her throat, stomach in damn knots. Isla wasn't confident that Cameron was going to make it--not with such a deep wound.

And in his ass, too? Jesus. She wasn't confident at all.

Of course, she'd seen men get shot. Her own father, for one. But she hadn't seen somebody have to go so long without actual medical attention.

Chibs was ex-army med, but there was only so much a man could've done with a bottle of liquor, gauze, and a towel.

She was relieved that the bullet hit Cameron and not Clay, though. As sick as it sounded, she was so fucking glad that he'd managed to dodge the line of fire--initially intended for his own skull--and come out completely unscathed.

But for every ounce of relief she'd felt, an even more fervid sense of anger prevailed at the thought of Jax taking so damn long with those medical supplies he'd sought to get last night.

Gemma mentioned something about heading to the hospital--or a friend's house, or something--but Isla wasn't paying any mind to the woman as she, and Chibs, were trying all ways to stop the bleeding coming from Cameron's ass cheek.

It was the most bizarre turn of events she'd ever experienced.

One minute, Isla was sipping on a glass of wine while she eagerly awaited the spirited ping of her tiny microwave oven, ready to spend a rare--though well fucking deserved--night alone.

However, things took a drastic turn when she received a call from Tig--on behalf of a very busy Chibs--casually requesting her assistance because the Mayans had tried to assassinate Clay.

But Tig failed to mention that the man was completely fine.

She'd spent fifteen minutes on the way over mentally preparing herself, wondering what hell she'd walk into when she set foot into the clubhouse. But it was normal--strangely so.

Isla wasn't a professional, she didn't exactly know how to handle such a trauma, but she trusted her father and she just wanted to make sure he had a helping hand.

God knows that Tig wouldn't have been very much use, and Juice was a little nervous--though, he was doing incredibly well throughout the ordeal regardless of his internal apprehension.

"How's it looking?" Gemma threw at Isla, getting to her feet.

"Bloody."

She quickly scanned the room, taking in the uncomfortably sparse bar. It wasn't usually so empty, so quiet.

Clay, Gemma, and Juice. That was it. Not even Piney--not even Epps.

"Is he doing okay?"

It was still early in the day, though. She guessed that they'd pop in once they properly came around.

"He's better than he was last night." The brunette nodded. "Dad is certain the laceration is gonna get infected if we leave it any longer without trying to get the bullet out--"

"You've gotta wait 'til Jax gets back here, Isla, we can't risk Hayes dying on us."

"I know, Clay. He's just fucking tired--he's been up all night. We need a real medic on the scene before something bad happens. It's only a matter of time."

He mumbled something to himself that only Gemma seemed to catch, but Isla didn't particularly give a damn at that point. Like Chibs, she was exhausted.

The tattered and torn plaid shirt she had thrown over a random tank top--now smeared with another man's blood--was wrenched between her fingers as she pulled it off, folding it not-so-neatly.

She hadn't dealt with such a bloody wound in a while. Not since her mother's palm, decorated with shards of glass, was in dire need of stitches and her father was across the country, unable to offer his medical assistance.

"I'll grab one of Jax's shirts for you--"

"No, Gemma, it's okay," she smiled, taking a seat on one of the couches opposite her.

The older woman pinched her eyebrows together skeptically, watching Isla shift. "I insist."

"It's fine." Isla was adamant. "I'm gonna head home as soon as Jax gets back here--if he gets back here--so, really, it's fine."

A minimal amount of already dried blood was spread over her wrists and fingers, and the excess had been rubbed off on her crimson flannel, so she didn't particularly feel bad about making any mess.

Though, she shouldn't have felt bad. Not after she'd been coerced into helping and eventually receiving that shitty reception from Tig.

"Aren't you cold?" She questioned, waiting for Isla to capitulate, but she never did.

The thought of wearing one of Jax's shirts--after it being given to her by his fucking mother--didn't sit right with her for some reason. Plus, she didn't particularly feel like walking out of that building wearing the damn reaper on her back.

She didn't want to flaunt their patch. Not any more than she already had been for the last ten years.

"Where the fuck is he?"

Clay glared at the clock on the wall, realizing they'd been without the Vice President for hours. In an attempt to put him at ease, Gemma ran a hand along his shoulder.

Isla could only watch them--admire, perhaps.

"He told us he was gonna swing by Tara's place for the equipment. But that was last night, man." Juice shrugged, circling the lip of his beer bottle with his thumb.

She felt her throat thicken with a sick sense of trepidation. She hadn't heard that name in years.

"Tara?" She stuttered, feeling Gemma's piercing glare.

The woman hated Jax's first love, though she never said it aloud. Isla knew her perception of her, however, and she'd started to feel the exact same as the years went on.

Bitch.

"Yeah, y'know, Tara Knowles--"

Her heart sank--fuck that, it dove straight to the deep caverns of her chest, throbbing away into nothing. Until she felt completely void of all emotion. Completely fucking numb.

"I know her, Juice." Her response came hastily, snappy. "I'm sorry. I just didn't expect you to say that."

He shrugged it off. "It's alright. I wasn't expecting her to be back in town, either. I thought you already knew."

Suddenly uncomfortable, Isla's head shook.

The crow situated at the bottom of her spine began to smolder, blistering away at her skin until she physically flinched.

It was a brilliant idea at the time, getting a matching tattoo with Jax's old lady--the one woman she truly adored and trusted, never once feeling an ounce of malice toward.

Because that was a rare thing for Isla, and she wanted their friendship--and relation to Samcro--to prevail for eternity, she supposed.

But as time went on and Tara decided to distance, and eventually alienate, herself from the club, an ample sense of regret persisted for fucking months.

Isla loathed her ink. She hated the negative connotation of the crow she once lauded, and the mere idea of that thing being slapped above her ass forever churned her stomach.

It wasn't one of her finest moments, she had to admit. But she was young and extremely fucking dumb. She'd bet top dollar that Tara felt the same--if she hadn't gotten the crow covered up already.

"Jesus, Jax, where were you?!"

Her eyes flicked upward, attention on the blonde as he sauntered across the wooden floor of the bar.

She hadn't even noticed his presence until Clay spoke, but she soon started to heed how Jax was trembling a bit with every step that he took.

It wasn't obvious. To most people, the slight shake of his wrist would've gone completely unnoticed. But to Isla--to the most observant woman in Charming--his discomfort was striking.

Jax ignored him, stomping his way toward the back room. His line of sight never satisfied Isla's. It didn't even come close to it, either.

Something had happened. It was obvious that, in the time he had been with Tara, he'd encountered something grizzly enough to chill him to the bone.

Which was saying something, what with the horrific shit that he'd already seen in his time.

"Jax!" Clay yelled, following closely behind him. "Hey, asshole, where the fuck did you put the bag--"

"I've got it."

If she had the option, Isla would've allowed the floor to swallow her fucking whole.

"Tara." Pissed, Gemma acknowledged. "You're here because?"

"I asked her to help, mom."

"But Chibs had it covered. He just needed some actual instruments--"

"Gemma, quit it."

She simply nodded at her son, not wanting to cause another problem that she'd have to fix later--which, honestly, Isla was shocked to see.

"He's in there--"

"I know." Jax cut her short, ushering Tara to the back of the clubhouse--striving to get her into the room before she heeded Isla.

But she did.

The first person she clocked--aside from Clay--was Isla Telford, the woman she had purposely alienated herself from ten fucking years ago.

It wasn't anything that she'd particularly done to Tara, more like the crowd she ran with--and the way her loyalties never seemed to lay very closely to her friends, or anything outside of the club.

Isla wasn't a part of Samcro--she didn't want to be a part of Samcro--but her coalition was strong enough to convince anybody that she was more than merely a daughter of a Sgt. at Arms.

She had been brought up around the Sons--her father's choice, of course--and when her mother passed, she had no choice but to dive a little bit deeper into that world. But, as expected, it was constantly under the watchful eye of her old man.

She was dedicated to them. They were, essentially, family, and she was an honorary member.

"Isla." Jax mumbled, nodding his head toward the entrance of the clubhouse as he closed the back-door. "Outside."

He pulled a carton of cigarettes out of his leather vest, shaking the box as he strived to seem a little less suspicious to Clay and his mother.

The blonde wobbled to her feet--knees weak after hours of standing--while simultaneously pulling her bloodied flannel back onto svelte, freckled arms, recognizing that the chill was to hit her the second she stepped onto the gravel.

Jax was casual while he strutted ahead, taking long strides that Isla found fucking impossible to keep up with.

He pushed the door to close behind her, offering a cigarette that she hastily declined.

"What's she doing here?" Was how she decided to break the silence, her eyes searching for a hint of something written on his face.

But there was nothing. Not an ounce of emotion--scarily so.

"She's fixing Cameron up--"

"Not at the clubhouse, Jax. I meant back in Charming."

He ran a thumb across his lower lip, trying to soften his gaze on Isla, but it was futile. He looked discomposed--unsettled.

"She's uh--she's workin' at the hospital now." She started to nod, waiting for his elaboration. It never came, however.

"Oh, that's nice. I wonder what happened in Chicago...Do you know why she's back here? Or how long she's gonna be staying in town--"

"You sound like my fucking mother--give it a break with the thirty-seven questions about Tara, damnit."

He snarled, heeding the distaste of his words the second she glowered at him.

"Excuse you?"

"I didn't call you out here for a sweet little conversation, Isla, I called you 'cause I need your help--"

"With what?"

Jax's hand hooked onto the back of his neck while he tilted his head to look upward, thinking of a way--any fucking way--to explain just what damn mess he'd found himself entwined with over the course of the last twenty-four hours.

He didn't know what to say or how to say it--if he should've fucking said it. He trusted Isla with his life--always had--but sometimes he appreciated that she mightn't have appreciated finding herself tangled within Jax's boisterous, at times frightening, life.

But it was too late for that. She'd been dragged through the deepest shit and wasn't crumbling that easily.

"Jax--"

"Kohn." He stated simply, waiting for the cogs of her brain to begin turning.

"What about him? You got in trouble with the ATF or something? Because we can handle that--"

"I already did." Jax laughed humorlessly, finally meeting Isla's line of sight.

The skin underneath his eyes was red raw, blotchy and irritated after he had used the sleeve of his hoodie to scrub away the tears he'd shed.

The tears he hadn't wanted to shed, but had fallen freely--uncontrollably--from those cerulean hues Isla never tired of looking at.

"What do you mean by that?" Nervously, she quizzed.

He didn't even have to say anything. She fucking knew. She knew exactly what he meant by that, but there was a tiny morsel of something within her that hoped and prayed that he'd declare that her gut feeling was wrong.

But he couldn't. Because it was right. Like always, Isla's intuition didn't fail her.

"Jax, honey, what did you do--"

"I killed Kohn."

[ichor-and-symbiosis]

Breakfast Blues. (Shigaraki x f!Reader, NSFWish)

Tomura could tell something was off as soon as he entered the kitchen. Your smile felt a little too forced, your eyes a little too hopeful as you plated a bowl of rice and eggs for him, hesitating for a moment to speak. It put him in a sour mood. He didn't like having to pry answers from you.

He usually managed to swipe his breakfast away and go back to his room for privacy, but you were making this increasingly difficult for him lately. It started with inane attempts to get him into conversations with you, which really was a stupid idea, given the fact that he never mustered more than a few grunts in the morning. His growling stomach initially helped fighting you off, but you seemed to have a backbone today.

Gripping the dishes in hand, you offered him a meek smile and asked, "Would you like to eat together?"

His eyes narrowed as he frowned. "Why?" his voice croaked out, scratchy and unpleasant from disuse.

"I just thought it would be nice. You're busy a lot, so ... "

"So?" Your confidence faltered under his scrutinizing stare. Something about your dying smile made him even more irritated, or perhaps confused. And he did not like feeling confused. "I'm hungry, woman."

Sensing his displeasure, you wordlessly handed over the breakfast and looked away. Under different circumstances, Tomura liked teasing you in this state. So secretive and cute, your lips set in a stubborn pout and your chin cast downwards for him to inevitably grip and force your attention back to him.

But he was so damn hungry and he had a game loaded on his computer for his return.

Tomura turned to leave, having decided he waited enough for your comeback. It was only the glaring absence of your shuffling feet and the tinkering of cookware that made him pause for a split second at the threshold. Just a quick glance to satiate his curiosity.

You stood exactly where he left you, still looking away, hands wringing together without anything else to hold. Defeated and hurt. The sting of negative emotions welled up inside him so suddenly that he immediately took off, wishing he had a free hand to scratch his neck.

-

No amount of homecooked breakfast or countless wins could erase his lingering discontent. Tomura tried to ignore that strange encounter with you, burying his thoughts in strategies and shit-talking as he let the time slip away. But try as he might, he just couldn't shake it off. Throwing aside his game console, Tomura leered at the clock and slumped in his chair, annoyed at the realization that you hadn't visited him this whole time.

You were nowhere to be found in the apartment. A cursory glance at his phone showed him a single text from you. I'm going out with Toga. Be back later.

You didn't even send him a heart emoji.

It was a stupid thing to set him off. Everything about today was stupid. You were stupid, he was stupid, his damn neediness was stupid, even the breakfast bowls he brought to the sink were stupid. What kind of world was this, where he, Shigaraki Tomura, successor of Japan's most dangerous criminal, brought his dishes to the kitchen and moped about a goddamn heart emoji.

He needed a drink.

-

It was a testament to his bad mood that Tomura chose to walk all the way to the bar instead of asking Kurogiri to warp him there. His eyes scanned the streets in a vain attempt to track you down among the crowd, but you were nowhere to be found and he was growing anxious by the minute.

Tomura kicked the door open and hopped the counter to pilfer the expensive liquor stash. His taste gravitated towards the most expensive rum in the collection. He could certainly chase his sorrows away with cheap swill or rubbing alcohol, but if he was going to torture his body tonight, then he would do so with style. It was all worthless in the end, anyway.

He sat by himself for who knows how long. It was utterly pathetic and he knew he had better things to do, yet every time he tried to pull himself away from the counter, his head spun uncomfortably and the amber liquid beckoned him towards a numbing buzz. His phone lay abandoned on the counter, having been checked several times for a text or a phone call from you.

You hadn't even called to find out where he was. He had half a mind to wonder if you would walk through the door to surprise him, but there were only so many times he could glance at the door before the urge to disintegrate it took hold. He grabbed the rum bottle instead, messily pouring more liquor into his glass as he ignored the distortion of the air in front of him. He was in no state of mind to stare straight into Kurogiri's spinning portal. The very thought of it made him slam the bottle down and hold onto it for dear life to compose himself.

Kurogiri appeared behind the bar, quietly assessing the state of his charge. He pulled out a rag to mop up spilled liquor and eyed Tomura's heavy movements as he let go of the rum and took the glass in a white-knuckled grip.

"You are alone."

Tomura grunted, taking a swig to avoid conversation. His guardian was smart enough to immediately pick up his mood. It was both annoying and reassuring to see those golden eyes narrow in astute observation.

"It is rare for your lover to be absent."

"..."

A moment of silence. "Forgive me for being presumptuous, but you seem to be more upset than usual."

Tomura snorted. "Yeah, no shit." He stared at the rum glass in frustration, glaring at the alcohol as though it had personally offended him. His fingertips curled around the rim as he lifted the glass and swirled the liquid around, irate at the stretching silence. It was bad enough he had to deal with your petulant absence. Now he had to endure Kurogiri's calm patience, too.

His fingers gripped the glass tighter as he contemplated satisfying his urge to decay, to give him some form of release from the frustration currently plaguing him. The blaring noise of his video games would be a welcome respite from this silence. Instead, he was forced to nurse a headache while Kurogiri made him feel like a child.

All because of you. You had a hold on him even when you were gone. Perhaps even more poignant because you were gone.

"It's fucking dumb," Tomura grumbled. And it was. The situation was so unbelievably ridiculous that he clammed up again, unable to voice his problems lest he fly into a rage over the mental image of your sorrowful eyes and quivering bottom lip.

"What happened?"

"I don't even know. She's been acting weird the past week and it all blew over this morning." His leg jittered restlessly against the footrest. He crossed his leg over his thigh to regain some semblance of control, letting out a sharp sigh as he scratched his neck. "I just wanted some damn breakfast. That's all. And that woman stood there looking like I broke up with her just because I didn't want to eat with her."

"Were you doing something important?"

Oh, he did not like that question. He did not like it one bit.

"I was in the middle of gaming," Tomura growled through clenched teeth. "Don't even try to bitch at me about it."

"That was not my intention. I know how important your lifestyle is to you." Tomura stared at him, feeling his anger somehow slip through the cracks and fizzle away. Kurogiri took the whiskey bottle beside him and poured more into the emptying glass. "Has this happened before?"

"No. Sometimes she tried to keep me there longer with dumb small-talk, but she's never flat out asked. And the damn look on her face when I - " Tomura cut himself off with a frustrated growl. Your defeated expression haunted him once more. He downed the liquor in one go and reveled in the horrible burn tearing his throat apart. "What the hell does she want from me?" he forced out, staring hard into the distance as a sudden sense of shame stabbed him like a knife.

"If I may speculate ... " Kurogiri paused, waiting for his rebuke. When none came, an answer followed. "You are often preoccupied throughout the day. Perhaps she simply misses you and craves your attention."

Tomura opened his mouth and promptly closed it. A bout of dizziness hit him. Was it the alcohol or the crashing realization of how obvious the answer had been?

The logic of Kurogiri's statement was so absurdly simple that it had to be true. Because you really were just so simple. Uncomplicated in your motives, always wearing your heart on your sleeve, and always so flagrantly loving and patient with him. Tomura looked away from Kurogiri, hating how well his guardian knew not only him, but you, too.

A little flame of happiness kindled deep inside him, threatening to chase away the darkness of his bitter emotions. You hadn't been difficult on purpose this morning. You just wanted to spend time with him.

His bleary gaze settled on the monitor resting at the other end of the bar. How would his mentor react to this situation?

The silence coming from the monitor felt altogether different from what he experienced so far. It was uncomfortable and imposing, filling his ears with white noise and clouding his thoughts. Tomura stared at his reflection in the black screen and frowned, hyper-aware of the way his eyes had softened while he thought about you, the way he looked so boyish and tired.

Look at what she is turning you into, the screen seemed to say.

"Shigaraki Tomura." He tore his gaze away from his reflection and met Kurogiri's expressionless face. "Is it a weakness to enjoy feeling wanted?"

His brows furrowed in thought.

-

Tomura made up with you in the most typical fashion. That is to say, he cornered you at home and snuffed out any further talk by devouring your lips with incessant kisses, taking you right on the living room couch and stalking after you to your bedroom for more. It was a love language he knew best, letting you feel his feverish desire with every deep thrust, the firm iron grip of his hands on your soft hips and thighs, his groans and whispered demands for more of you, more of your tight heat and your gentle fingers outlining his scars, touching his rough lips, nails digging into his back as you mewl for more of him.

You were hellfire. There was no liquor strong enough in the world to burn him half as much as his need to tell you he loved you. The words clawed and tore at his chest, inflamed his throat until he choked on them, forcing him to spit out twisted versions of the truth. Cowardly, pathetic half-truths about how you belonged to him, how you were his and his alone.

And you still smiled at him for it. You took all that he gave you and asked for so little in return.

Is it a weakness to enjoy feeling wanted?

The question plagued him throughout the night as your arms held him close, his head pillowed on your chest while he listened to your soft breathing and felt the beat of your heart whispering an answer he could not decipher.

-

Tomura awoke to your absence. It was not a rare occurrence. The split-second paranoia washing over him was not rare, either. He ran from that feeling many times before, immediately sick at the thought of how lonely he felt without you. It was pathetic. He should not feel this way about anyone. He should feel empty, as though you were just a moment of entertainment, an experience to be had and a level to beat in the game of life.

But you were well past that point now. Whether or not he could say it aloud, Tomura was in love. So if you wanted to have breakfast together, then you had better prepare yourself for his morning attitude.

He caught you a little early this time. You were in the middle of stirring an omelette when he crept up behind you, jolting in surprise as he pressed himself to your back and wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Good morning," you greeted him, giving him a peck on the cheek. A light smile played on your lips. "I'm almost done."

Tomura purred a noncommittal response and curled his fingers around your jaw, angling your head back to capture your mouth in a lazy kiss. Your pleased sigh broke off into a stilted noise as he dipped his tongue inside and made sure you felt every slow lick and suck to your lips. His arm tightened in response to you melting against him, mentally debating whether he should let you finish cooking or to find the nearest surface to defile.

A sizzling pop from the frying pan caught your attention. You kissed him hard and returned to your duty, using your spatula to roll the omelette into shape. Your tongue peaked out from your reddened lips as you made a face of mild disgust. "You didn't brush, nasty."

"Didn't stop you though," Tomura countered, grinning at your wry expression.

You spooned the cooked food onto a nearby plate and cracked another egg into the pan. He waited for your invitation, good mood dampening by the second as you settled into your routine without another word. It was an expected reaction, to be fair. He hurt you yesterday and now he was paying for it.

Your questioning glance put him on alert. "Do you need something else?"

He wracked his brain for a response. Something that could keep him here longer without raising further suspicion. "Orange juice."

"It's in the fridge. Can you pour me some, too?"

Tomura forced himself to detach from you, taking his time to complete the task as he watched your progress from the corner of his eye. Cups placed on the table. Orange juice poured at a strategically slow rate. By the time he finished, your breakfast had been plated and you left it unattended to hurriedly put the forgotten box of eggs back into the fridge. Tomura used this distraction to take both plates to the table, setting yours across from him as he plopped down onto the chair and began to eat.

You caught on as soon as the fridge door closed. Tomura could feel your stare on him while he downed the orange juice. He glanced at you nonchalantly, eyebrow raised as though you were the one behaving abnormally.

"You're joining me?" you asked, a hint of hope coloring your voice as you sat down.

"Clearly."

You smiled so sweetly that he felt his heart stammer and restart. "Wow. Can I get you to eat some fruits while we're at it?"

"Don't push your luck," he grumbled, and that was the end of that.

Tomura silently listened to your happy chatter and the clanging of silverware on plates, wondering how the hell he found himself in domestic bliss. Sunlight streamed through the nearby window and illuminated your entire being, heightening your inner glow. You looked beautiful and peaceful. It calmed him far more than you could ever know.

Did he feel weak as he basked in your attention? Did he feel weak, knowing that you wanted him beside you even for the most mundane things?

The answer was undeniable.

He felt strong.

Different from the power trip he thrived on when he succeeded in yet another level.

Different from the sadistic glee he felt when the nomu followed his command.

Different from the sense of duty plaguing his mind when his teammates looked to him for direction.

This inner sense of peace steadied his mind and cleared his thoughts. How could it be weakness when he would tear the world apart for you?

The soft tap of your foot on his knee drew his attention to you. "This was nice," you softly said. "Next time I'll leave a trail of takoyaki outside your room so you can join me for lunch."

He huffed a dry laugh. "Make me botamochis and you got yourself a deal."

"You'll eat sweets made from red beans but not a single fruit ... " You innocently popped another strawberry into your mouth. "Not even these strawberries ... "

"Get over here and give me a taste then," he growled, settling back in his chair with a clear invitation of his own.

You accepted without delay.

[thelostpocket]

if anyone needs a new historical figure to obsess over

might i humbly suggest Lord John fucking Cheney 

Lord John was kicking about in England during the time of the Wars of the Roses. He was a nobleman, solider, political figure, and all-round savvy customer. 

oh. and he was 7ft tall. (that’s about 213.34 cm for you metric-lovers). 

so let’s get into a little more detail. after several years’ of hoo-ha and fighting, Edward IV (of the House of York) is crowned King of England and you bet your stockings that our John was sitting in the front pew (presumably blocking the view for everyone else). And John was so Tight with the new king that Edward knighted him on the same day. nice one, John! 

fast forward 20 years. Edward is dead (teary emoji) and Richard, his brother, (you know, Richard III, of “a horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse”, ‘oops i’m supposed to be caring for my young nephews, the heirs to the throne that i may or may not desire for myself, better lock them up in a tower and oops they’re lost oh well’, skeleton-recently-found-under-some-random-parking-lot fame) is King. now at some point Richard also knighted John, presumably to sweeten him up, because if you have a 7ft warrior on hand You Do Everything You Can To Keep Him. either way, it didn’t work. John, supported by the Duke of Buckingham, led a rebellion from Salisbury (where his remains are now interred in the cathedral). 

the rebellion flopped. 

But was John deterred? Nooooo! After brushing himself off a bit, he promptly hopped on a boat to Brittany, where he becomes rapid bffs with the exiled Henry Tudor (Lancastrian, later to be Henry VII). presumably, henry also looked John up and down and thought to himself ‘if you have a 7ft warrior on hand You Do Everything You Can To Keep Him’. John was made Henry’s personal bodyguard, where i imagine he mostly scared the shit out of anyone who looked at his new pal the wrong way. 

AND IT WORKED. 

this bitch, once again, picked the right side. Henry, along with his new bodyguard-and-portable-windbreaker, returns to England and, after some in-the-middle stuff, engages with Richard III’s army in the Battle of Bosworth. during the battle, John is knocked from his horse by the Crookback King himself - and, incidentally, the oNLY reason John was anywhere near his ex’s slimy brother was because the lancastrian standard bearer had fallen and John, in a characteristically balls-out move, had gone to retrieve it to maintain morale in the army (tremendously important). seriously, this guy had no chill whatsoever. he was nicknamed “the Vigorous Knight” (whatever that means...)

so Henry wins the Battle (and the throne of england) and our 7ft hunk of prime British beefcake gets his third knighthood from his third monarch. From here his life is basically set on an upward trajectory, and when he dies (at the extremely respectable age of 57 - it is the 15th C after all) he’s a Privy Councillor (aka One of the King’s Lads). 

so to recap, Lord John Cheney is: 

politically astute 

cunning 

probably pretty charming when he wanted to be, since didn’t you have to be to get by in those days? 

a skilled warrior, reported to be of “redoubtable strength” by his contemporaries 

brave/heroic to boot, even though he presented a bigger target because of his ridiculous height (he was 7ft tall)

in possession of some epic swagger 

more titled than the trinity college library 

has had two (2) kings on his speeddial 

was once a designated hostage of King Louis XI of France after the signing of a treaty between Louis and Edward (the treaty basically said you will fuck off and leave us alone, and i will take your friend here hostage until you do just that) (and you better bet our john and the Big L had some great chits and/or chats during that time like i’m shocked he didn’t come away with another knighthood)

could often be found moseying around head and shoulders above everyone else and probably bumping his head on stuff because he was 7FT FUCKING TALL at a time when most people were more than a foot shorter than that. i mean, have you ever seen a medieval doorway? This guy would have had some bruises. 

absolutely 100% would be peak fodder for a gay af knightcore fanfic. i mean, he was the king’s personal bodyguard. come on. 

in conclusion: i think we all know who the real king is here. John. Fucking. Cheney. 

[colorseeingchick]

Onigiri and Second Chances

Pairing: Osamu Miya x Reader

Summary: The Black Jackals are hosting a Christmas party, and Osamu agrees to come. But there’s some details Atsumu forgot to tell him- 1, he’s supposed to mass-make Onigiri for the party, and 2, a figure from his past is making a reappearance. 

Warnings: Mostly Fluff, some Angst, suggestive content, swearing 

Word Count: 3.7k 

A/N: Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays everyone! This is far from my best work but I hope its fun regardless !

Osamu swears he can see his breath crystalize before him in his kitchen as he plots the murder of his damned brother. 

Well, plotting his brother’s demise is currently secondary to the molding of the  onigiri in his hand. It feels odd, the contrast between the soft, squishy rice warming his palms as he meticulously works at it and the prickly cold that bites his forearms, bare and at the mercy of the cold air of his kitchen, unprotected by his rolled up sleeves. 

Now, you probably have a lot of questions! 

Why’s Osamu Miya making some lip-smacking onigiri at 4 pm on Christmas Eve? 

Because his bitch of a brother tricked him.

Why’s he making 70? 

Ask Atsumu smh (if it’s not abundantly clear, my boy Osamu is VERY salty).

Has he been here for like, 3 hours already? 

Yeah, he sure as hell has. 

Will he be here for a good few more?

Uh huh. 

Why? 

Well, Osamu doesn’t take onigiri lightly. 1. If he’s gonna make em for Atsumu’s party, he was gonna do em right. Even though Atsumu forgot to mention that onigiri was gonna be the special dish to Osamu- the one making the onigiri- until 10 am the day of, (I’m sure y’all get why Osamu is mad now) there wasn’t a chance in hell he was gonna let his dishes fall flat, especially for a party this big. He has a bunch of specialty flavors he’s been wanting to showcase anyways, and in the process of making so many for such a large number, he knows it’s easy to get lost in a ‘quantity over quality’ mindset. No matter the amount, Onigiri Miya’s quality never wavers (A/N: period king as you should). 

But the AC being broken? That’s not a part of his plan. And it was just kinda, icing on his metaphorical cake of reasons why he’s pissed as hell right now. It makes him question if all this effort is really worth it, at least for tonight. 

Osamu’s initially thought that, because his brother’s the host for this party, that maybe he should try to spruce up a bit, come in lookin like an acceptable counterpart to his charismatic, showy brother. But now? He’ll realistically be here in this kitchen till the time of the party, so he’ll show up lookin a lil rough. Effort that should’ve gone into his looks is not being put into his food.  If Atsumu complains, Osamu will not hesitate to shove an onigiri up his-

It’s whatever. It’s not like he has anyone he needs to impress there anyways. He’s just the onigiri twin tonight. 

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The party is in full swing when Osamu arrives. But unlike Atsumu’s usual parties, the music wasn’t blaring- it’s festive and moderate. And despite being ‘party’ attire, everyone seems a little less scandalous. I guess that’s natural when some business representatives and officials from the volleyball world are also present. Unfortunately, this does mean that Osamu is the most underdressed, but he’s come to terms with it. 

But knowing his brother, there’s no way a Miya party would be fully professional. There has to be some element of childishness or stupidity somewhere in this party-

And Osamu gets his answer when he looks up. 

Mistletoe. And lots of it. It’s not everywhere everywhere. But there’s more than one, and they are seemingly strategically placed. 

Osamu chuckles. Leave it to his brother to try and start shit. All this means is that he has to be careful to not end up in the wrong spot with some random person. He’ll be fine. 

Giant container filled with onigiri in hand, he maneuvers his way to the kitchen, nodding and smiling at his acquaintances as he goes. As he’s about to step onto the cold tile of the kitchen, he stops dead in his tracks. 

Fuck his brother. 

He didn’t say anything about you being here. Somebody’ll have to stop him from slugging his asshat of a twin across the face. 

“SAMMMMUUUU!!!!!” Speak of the devil. 

Atsumu slings his arm over his twin’s shoulder,  a cup in his other hand.

“Are ya drunk?” 

“Huh? No. Gotta keep it together! I’m the host after all.” Atsumu smiles wide, rather stupidly. 

“Great. If yer sober, that means I can beat the ever livin’ shit outta ya and yer gonna remember.” 

“Oi, oi, what did I do!? Ya just got here!” Fear shined Atsumu’s bright eyes. 

“If you could like, not beat my boyfriend up, I’d appreciate it a bit, Samu-kun,” a female voice gently chimes in. 

“Homura-chan, hello.” Osamu’s shoulders relax as his brother’s level-headed girlfriend pops up in between the two, giving Osamu a side hug only to watch Atsumu pout. 

“Homura…” Atsumu’s whine is enough for her to placate him with a tight hug, but she continues to face Osamu. 

“Why do you wanna kill him this time? Not that you’re wrong for wanting to. I’m just curious.”

“Hey!”

“He didn’t tell me they were gon be here.” Osamu’s eyes shift to you, laughing in the kitchen, talking to Hinata and Bokuto, while filling cups with hot chocolate. 

“Oh I thought you were gonna yell at him for not telling you about the onigiris till this morning.”

“That too.”

“HEY!” 

“But I guess it’s my fault they’re here. I invited them, they are my best friend after all. But I should have told you. I’m sorry, Samu.”

“No, no. Its fine Homura-chan. I just…” 

Osamu doesn’t know how to verbalize it. He’s had a crush on you since 2nd year, and it didn’t go anywhere even through college. You two knew each other pretty well, and he almost asked you out. Emphasis on almost. Being honest, he abandoned ship when he saw some guy kissing you after class one day- he figured he had waited for too long. He cut off communication with you soon after, despite your attempts to reach out. Homura had time and time again reminded Osamu that you didn’t hate him, and he did trust her. But that didn’t help him shake off the feeling you did, and always would, resent him. 

It also did not help that his stomach jumped the moment he heard your beautiful laugh resonate in the kitchen, or that his face heated up when he saw you warmly hug your cup of hot chocolate, sipping it so gently. So cute. 

He’s still whipped. Fuck. 

Homura nudges his shoulder, one hand intertwined with Atsumu’s. “We’re not gonna make you talk to them-”

“maybe...” adds in Atsumu.

“-But if they come up to ya, maybe it won’t be the worst thing.”

Osamu looks down, tightly gripping the strap attached to his container. “Okay,” he quietly agrees.

Atsumu slaps his brother’s shoulder with a smile and comments, “ya know where my clothes are, grab em if ya need em” before taking his leave to go entertain other guests.

“I’m assuming you have more containers?” Homura asks, standing by Osamu’s side.

“70 onigiris definitely do not fit in here.” Osamu smiles with his quip, and she smiles back. 

“Figured. I’ll help ya grab the rest. Go and put that down first.” She heads towards the front door, leaving him in the doorway. 

He takes a deep breath before recomposing himself, restoring his classic blank n’ bored expression. He strides into the kitchen, placing the black container down softly and attracts eyes in the process, including yours. He feels your soft gaze somehow dig into the back of his head once he swiftly turns around, walking away back to the front door. As he steps back into the winter breeze, he’s met with Homura’s knowing gaze. 

“They’re single, ya know.” 

Osamu huffs out cold hair, eyes closing at the sting of the wind. And somehow, the cold sting filling his lungs eased the fear in his stomach. 

“I look like shit.”

“Atsu said you could take his clothes. Let’s go pick somethin’ nice out for ya.” 

This is gonna be a long night. 

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Osamu sits himself on the couch, a glass of champagne in one hand. Atsumu’s maroon button-up faintly smells like his signature cologne, and although he usually hates it, something about it helps Osamu channel his brother’s cockiness confidence, which feels very helpful right about now. 

But the confidence he’s tryna channel can only do so much. Suna and Akaashi are both worried as they watch Osamu space out mid conversation. Its far from normal. Suna knows exactly what’s on his best friend’s mind, while Akaashi is astute enough to make a guess. 

“Myaa-sam.” Akaashi gently calls to Osamu. No response. 

So Suna gives him a nice kick. 

“Oi!” Osamu rubs his shin. 

“Talk to them, before ya go crazy and take us all down with ya,” Suna’s tone is flat and bored, but the intensity of the statement is clear. 

“I dunno…” 

“Myaa-sam, don’t you think it's worth a try?” Akaashi’s approach is different, soft and coaxing. 

“Ya know how awkward it’s gonna be?” His leg is bouncing now.

He wants to. Very badly. But he can’t. It might only make things worse. 

“It’s only awkward if ya make it awkward. And that’s comin’ from me. Ya know, from both of our personal experiences, waiting too long is the worst mistake you can make.” Suna turns his gaze back to the kitchen, wistfulness is his voice. 

“We fucked up. But yer gettin’ a second chance. Don’t do it again.” 

Osamu knows Suna’s pain. He knows he’s right. 

“How the hell do I even start?” 

Suna’s gaze shifts to something, or someone, else before quickly locking eyes with Akaashi. 

“Don’t run.” He then gets up wordlessly and walks away. 

Akaashi brushes his pants off before standing, a small smile resting on his face. 

“Just remember Myaa-sam, you’ll only regret the things you don’t do. It’s best to be honest,” and with that, Akaashi also walks away. 

As Osamu’s eyes trace Akaashi’s path of escape, his eyes are caught by you, happily bounding towards him- a smile on your face and onigiri in hand. 

Yeah, that’s you for sure. Osamu is caught between the nerves in his stomach and the fuzziness in his mind as you come up to him. 

“Osamu, hello! Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, L/N.”

“Can, can I sit here?”

Don’t run. 

“Yeah.”

As you sit down, he notes the distance, he notes how your arms are in front of you, he notes your smile, and he notes how your eyes shine. He notes how cute you look with the onigiri tightly held in your hands. 

“Your onigiri’s are amazing! I always knew you were a great cook, but I’m so sad I never got to try them before!”

“Thank you, L/N. These definitely aren’t my best, Tsumu didn’t tell me I needed to make em till this mornin’ so… I was worried they weren’t as good.”

A lie. He knows they’re not bad. But he wants you to think they can be much better. 

“If this is bad then I’ll definitely have to come by and try more! Because this is the best onigiri I’ve ever had. But maybe that’s because you’re the one who made em.” You quickly move on from your comment by taking a giant bite out of your onigiri, and Osamu hopes that you don’t see how intensely his face heats up. 

Are ya, flirting? With him? Nah, yer just being you, all nice and all. But that doesn’t do anything to mitigate how much you’ve just stroked his ego. 

“Sounds like classic Atsumu, to forget to tell ya something important. What was your day like? Having to prep all this so fast.” You look up at him, expectantly, eagerly ready to listen to him.

Your undivided attention does illegal things to his heart, ya know. 

But just like that, you two fall into your usual pace, as if y’all had never stopped talking in the first place. He tells you stories, you add in charismatic quips, you both share laughs, and slowly the gap between you two closes. Osamu’s hand is now empty of any glasses and lounges against the back of the chair right by your head. You, on the other hand, have your legs pulled up under you, your knees gently pushing against his thigh. 

“Oh my gosh I should be at more Black Jackals games from now on, this sounds amazing,” you say as you wipe a tear from your eye after laughing too hard. 

“If yer goin, lemme know, I can keep ya company,” Osamu lets the words fall from his mouth before he processes what he’s saying. 

You pause, soaking in his words. “Really?”

Now it’s his turn to process his offer. “Uh.. only… if yer interested-”

“I’d love that.” You smile at him, excitement clear in your voice. 

As Osamu indulges himself in the sight of your smile, he realizes that some rice clung to the corner of your face. Out of instinct and enabled by proximity, his hand resting in his lap reaches out to you. His hand caresses your jaw while his thumb drags against the corner of your mouth, down over your bottom lip. Out of shock, you could do nothing but stare at him as his eyes meet yours. 

In this moment, in this place, time has stopped. Osamu has one thought on his mind as he thumbs at your lips. 

I need to kiss them. Now.

But then he didn’t. 

Osamu sharply retracts his hand, a “ah, sorry,” running off his tongue. 

“You’re, you’re fine.” You look down, flustered. “I’ll, be right back.” Osamu sighs and feels his heart start to sting as you walk away, head lowered. 

Fuck me. I fucked up again, didn’t I? I just didn’t want to do anything they didn’t want. 

 Osamu snaps back to reality as he feels a hard slap against the back of his head. 

He’s ready to fight when he turns around, only to see Homura and Atsumu behind the couch. 

“The fuck was that, Samu?” Atsumu aggressively yell whispers. 

“What doya mean!” He knows what Atsumu means. He hates admitting Tsumu is right, but he can’t admit that. 

Homura’s disappointed glare quiets him down. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to, Osamu. But if you want it, you can’t keep running away. And don’t lead them on either, that ain’t fair.” 

“I didn’t know if they wanted to…” Hasn’t that always been the problem? Osamu is a confident guy. He pulls a lotta people, pretty consistently too. But you were different, always had been. Osamu never wanted to hurt you, never wanted to make you uncomfortable. Never wanted to ruin your friendship. But in trying to do that, once it was too late, he knew that’s exactly what he did. And he couldn’t find it in himself to do that again. 

“They want it. I know my best friend. They want you as much as you want them, headass. So if you’re not gonna make a move, I will.” With that, Homura turns on her heels and walks away, Atsumu glaring at his brother while his girlfriend pulls him along. 

That’s definitely a threat. What does it mean? Who knows! But better to not find out.

Osamu’s eyes scan the room and he finds Suna leaning up against a wall, Akaashi standing next to him. Suna’s lazy gaze makes contact with Osamu’s for a moment before closing while sipping at his hot chocolate. Akaashi’s squint also feels more piercing in this moment. 

My boys are talkin’ shit about me? Incorrect, Samu. In case you have not realized, your boys are not the type to talk in the first place. 

I deserve it this time though. He rubs the back of his neck as he stands up to stretch. 

You do regret the things you don’t do. Dammit Akaashi. Time to talk it out. 

Osamu strides through the house tryna find you. He finds you stepping down the stairs, wiping at your face. His heart shatters and he really wants nothing but to hug you. But he resists, mind determined. 

“L/N.”

“Osamu! Hi um… I’m so sorry if I’ve been bothering you.” 

“L/N.”

“I’ll just let you go, I don’t wanna make you anymore uncomfortable.”

“Y/N.” Osamu grabs your arm as you try and walk away and gently tugs you to face him. “Please. Can we talk?” 

You pause, take a deep breath, and then turn to him, eyes still ensuring him that he has your undivided attention. 

With butterflies fluttering in his stomach, he calmly speaks. “I like you.”

Your eyes widen.

“I like you a lot. Since 2nd year-”

“In college?”

“High school.” 

You shudder and tears pool in the corners of your eyes. Instinct takes over Osamu as he pulls you forward with all his weight, throwing you against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. 

“I’m sorry I never told ya,” he whispers to you as he rocks you side to side, your face buried in his chest and your arms tight around his back. 

“I’ve always been so scared of, hurtin ya. You were one of my close friends, and I didn’t wanna mess it up over feelings. I didn’t wanna lose ya.” 

You nuzzle against his chest as he feels you start to shake.

“But when I saw that guy kissin ya one day, I thought… I thought I lost you anyways. I realized I waited too long and that I made a mistake. And then I proceeded to do everythin’ I never wanted to do, I hurt ya and I fucked up our friendship.”

“Osamu, I never wanted him to kiss me.” Your voice cracks. 

“...What?” His eyes go wide with concern and confusion. 

“He kissed me outta the blue. I thought we were just friends but he didn’t see it that way. I was just being myself, though. But right after that I told him there was someone else I liked.” 

Osamu internally hits himself. Maybe he should just ask Atsumu to punch him. How could he be so fuckin’ stupid? 

“I was gonna confess to you after that, but that’s when you dipped on me. I didn’t know what I did, and Homura told me to talk to you and find out for myself- she said it’d be fine if I talked to you, and that I should learn to communicate with you but I… I didn’t reach out. That’s my fault.”

Osamu pulls you closer to him, crushing you as much as he could. It’s his turn to shed a few tears, in frustration and pain. He coulda been with you all this time, but he was being a headass. Maybe Homura should punch him instead. 

“I’m...I’m so so sorry Y/N. I missed ya so much.” He cradles you in his arms, a calming (self-calming) sigh falling through his lips. 

“I’ve missed you too, Samu.”

You two look at each other for a good, long moment before small smiles crawl onto your faces. Osamu pulls you against him once more. 

“Let’s try this again. I wanna get it right this time.”

“Sounds good to me.” You say, sniffles stopping and giggles rising out of your chest. 

He buries his nose into the top of your head drawing in the sweet smell of your shampoo while his hands grab onto your fluffy sweater. 

“So cute! NOW KISS.” You and Osamu jolt out of your hug when Atsumu barks. All Osamu’s (and your) friends had now come to look at you two, smiles all around. 

Akaashi smiles fondly. Suna smiles lazily, and your favorite dumb Black Jackals (Bokuto and Hinata), who were unaware of any history between you two, are now in shock while also smiling like crazy. 

“Get it, Mya-samm!” Bokuto cheers out, causing everyone to erupt into laughter. 

“Wait, wait!” Atsumu runs down the hall, jumps, and then runs right up to his twin. He then proceeds to hold a mistletoe right above yours and Osamu’s head. 

“ I’ve been waitin’ for this shit to happen for Ion even know how many years. No chickenin’ out of it this time.” 

“Wasn’t planning on it, jackass.” 

Osamu’s hands find their way to your cheeks, gently caressing it with his fingers running up and down your jaw. His eyes take their time inspecting every inch of your face, mentally mapping every beautiful feature that adorns you. With the fire hot in his stomach and his lips aching, he pulls your face to meet his, lips gently massaging yours, telling you everything he had said earlier all over again, but this time with his actions. 

He likes you. A lot. For years. And he’s missed you so much. 

He slows the kiss down, taking his time to let you feel his lips against yours. When your hands reach up to hold his face he can’t help but try and pull you closer. 

As he pulls away after a mere 30 seconds, which did indeed feel like forever, his adrenaline is pumping and his smile is uncontrollable. The whooping and hollering slowly starts to die down, not that either of you heard it while so focused on the other. 

Osamu’s eyes find Suna’s. Suna has his camera out, as per usual, but his face has a small smile on it, and he nods to his best friend. With that, he nudges Akaashi and they walk back to to the family room. 

“Alright alright let’s get going boys. We have games that need to be played.” Homura grabs Bokuto and Hinata by the arm and collar (respectively) after giving a look to you. 

In that moment, Atsumu winked at Osamu while doing the ‘okay’ sign with his hands before walking to the room with everyone else. 

It was a signal the two had established way back in high school, when he and Homura started dating. It was their nonverbal sign of permission to the other twin for guaranteed privacy- which was important in a household of shared rooms and shared, well, everything. 

“What now Samu?” You look up at him, tugging him closer now that everyone else was gone. 

“I’m not done with ya just yet.” He smiles down at you, his eyes mischievous. 

You tilt your head in confusion. 

“I’m throwin ya over my shoulder, okay?” 

“Yes but why-” 

With that, Osamu sweeps you off the floor and throws you over his right shoulder easily.

“I messed up for years of my life, and now I have to make up for lost time. I told ya I’m not done with ya just yet.” 

Osamu proceeds to carry you up the stairs, giggles falling from your mouth. 

He’s gonna make sure you know much he really likes you. He’ll shower you in so much love, there won’t be a doubt left in your mind. 

He promises.

Epilogue- the next day

As the Black Jackals all slept like logs in their rooms, the smell of pancakes and coffee filled the air, attracting some of the other guests.

Some of the other boys, Suna, Akaashi, and Osamu, had all slept over, and were the among the first to find their way to the kitchen. 

“Samu, did Y/N get home ok?” Homura asks him while flipping some pancakes at the stove. 

Rubbing his eyes as he approaches her with a cup of coffee in hand, he nods. “Happy n’ safe.” 

“I’m very glad.”

“Homura-chan, I have a question for ya.” 

“Yes?”

“You knew both of our sides of the story from a long time ago. Why did ya never say anythin’? I’m not mad but I’m tryna figure it out.”

She smiles before saying, “It didn’t feel right. I love you both. A lot, obviously. But I think we both know intervening can... make things worse. A lot worse.”

A shared memory flashes through their minds. 

“And on top of that, I don’t think it would’ve solved the real issue both of you had. I wanted y’all to be happy in a relationship, but that meant y’all would have some barriers to cross. Y’all needed to grow before you could work as a couple. So I figured time would do its work.” 

“Although!!” Atsumu’s bright voice cuts in as he marches into the kitchen, wrapping his girlfriend in his arms, “us not telling you they were coming yesterday was 100% planned.” 

“And not telling me about onigiris?”

“Yeah that was intentional. Had to keep ya away from the house long enough.” 

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill ya, Tsumu.” 

A/N: I hope y’all enjoyed! The ambiguity with Suna, Osamu, and Homura was intentional, so stay tuned!!!

[backalley-requests]

The Proposal | Chapter Six

The Proposal Masterlist

Summary: Proposal™ au, where Ivar gets swept away in a lie about a fake engagement to stay in the country and needs to convince everyone (including his family) that he’s genuinely engaged to a woman he works with

Warnings: mild swearing, mentions of alcohol, use of the word cripple

Word Count: 2,989

The sun shined in and illuminated your face. You slept through it until the heat got too much to handle and you were suddenly blindingly aware of your headache. You should’ve drank more water the night before. You hadn’t changed out of your clothes from the night before, but that was the least of your concern.

You did your best to roll over but it didn’t protect you and eventually you had to realize sleeping wasn’t an option. You got up to take a shower before the realization hit you that you just slept in the same bed as your boss. It felt more personal than having kissed him at the party to prove a point. No one forced you two to share the bed, there had been no wandering eyes.

Ivar looked so peaceful in his sleep. You stood by the bed, staring at his face for entirely too long. It was one of the rare opportunities you had to just appreciate how beautiful he was. It didn’t hurt that he had softened up some the night before. Not enough to be considered a soft person, but in comparison to his usual antics he was. He had apologized too. But that was the alcohol talking.

At some point you realized it was all too creepy to stand by the bed and watch Ivar sleep. You wanted to take a shower but another thought crossed your mind: Ivar. He drank more than you had and you didn’t feel particularly good. You shuffled through a medicine cabinet for the next few minutes and grabbed a glass of water.

It was second nature to do things for him anyways. Besides, all he would do is complain if you didn’t. You were doing it for yourself. Mostly… you also had the quiet hope that maybe he’d stay nicer if you helped. You placed the stuff on the counter next to the bed and picked up the cane, you paused at his braces. You didn’t know much about it but you had the feeling he probably shouldn’t have slept in that. The issue was that touching it was a big no go.

You undressed and entered the shower. What you needed was the warm water to distract you from your hangover, but what you ended up doing was thinking. Ivar probably put up a lot more walls and fronts than most people. They struggled to remain up when he was drinking and thinking was hard. Maybe that was cruel on your end to encourage but he seems so much calmer. There’s no way he enjoys being high strung and an asshole. He was always so angry and annoyed.

But now you had a small taste for something else he could be. It was poor taste on your part, but you liked it. It felt different. A part of you wanted to chase after that. Your life would be so much easier if you succeeded. It would make marrying him so much more tolerable.

Your shower was cut short— and by short, it lasted one hour instead of the three hours you could’ve easily spent pruning in there. The sound of Ivar groaning loudly distracting you from your thoughts. “Ivar?”

“I—,” he stopped talking for a moment and you turned off the shower. “I need help.” His voice was pained and you realized everything had hit him at once.

“Coming!” You hadn’t heard him ask for help before and it made you want to drop everything you were doing without any hesitation. It was one thing to demand stuff and another for him to admit he needed things. You dried off and threw a robe on. “I put a bunch of stuff by the bed. I don’t know what you usually take.”

Ivar rolled his torso over, grabbing at things and opening a bottle of painkillers. “Did you put these here?” His breath was labored and his eyes narrowed, but there was no anger behind it, just intent.

You nodded your head. “I woke up with a headache, I figured you’d feel worse.” His face softened up for a moment and he took a gulp of water along with some pills. “They usually take about thirty minutes to kick in—“

“I know how long they take,” his voice was stained but the pain he was in didn’t stop him from snapping at you.

You bit down on your bottom lip, holding back from snapping back. “I’m just trying to make conversation.” You chose your words carefully. You understood, on some level, the type of pain he was going through. You understood the short fuse it came with and the eagerness to find release. “I’m being nice. Don't antagonize me.”

Ivar tried to sit up and undo the braces but struggled. You sat down on the edge of the bed and wordlessly started to undo them when his hand quickly reached down and went over yours. You paused, your eyes quickly finding his. “What are you doing?” He asked. There was a panic behind his voice.

“I’m— you wanted them off, right?” You weren’t going to push a touchy subject but it wasn’t good to keep them in forever.

He stared at you, conflicted. “I don’t want you to— well I—“ the conversation was constantly at a stop and go. Neither of you were good at navigating even normal conversations together, let alone one about this. “Fine.” He took a deep breath and tilted his head.

You undid the braces easily, being gentle about it. You didn’t know his level of pain or which areas were sensitive and if any weren’t. “Does it hurt,” your voice was quiet as you watched him. He didn’t seem capable of looking at you.

“Not anymore than they already did.”

“You just look stressed.” You sat and stared at his face. Ivar didn’t seem capable of movement. Maybe it was just pain.

Ivar took a deep breath and then sighed. “People don't usually react well to it. I guess I just don’t want to know what you look like when you do.”

Your face fell and your mouth parted as you tried to figure out what to say. You guessed that he’d been told everything you wanted to say already. If he heard them a hundred times and still felt this way it wouldn’t change. “You told me you don’t care what other people think. In the bathroom, the day you proposed.”

“You already know I do.”

“You’re not good at hiding it, Ivar. It’s why I told you the office sided with you. I never judged you for stuff like this, it seems pointless. I do judge you when you go around asking like an asshole,” you teased. “So why would I start now?”

Ivar chuckled quietly in response. “I don’t know. I can’t fire you anymore? You had a lot of things you wanted to say about me but never did until now.”

Fair enough, you shrugged. “And it’s always a direct result of you being a jerk. But I care about you regardless in some capacity. If I didn’t I would’ve stayed in the shower.”

“Did you just get out of the shower?”

“I— yes.”

Ivar winced as he sat up in the bed. His back against the headboard. He just noticed you were wearing a robe. “Are you naked under there,” a smirk cracked on his face.

“N—No,” your face was immediately flushed at the mention of it. Your hand went back to the robe. You should’ve just let him struggle.

Ivar raised an eyebrow. “So you shower with your clothes on?” He laughed at the idea of it.

“Fine! I am. But it’s rude to ask a lady if she’s secretly naked,” you were flustered as you laughed. “I got worried! What was I supposed to do, leave you?”

“I would’ve,” he shrugged.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” you gave him a pointed look. There was no way he meant that. Please. The thought echoed in your mind.

But you didn’t get an answer as he glanced down at his slack covered legs. No braces. “How’d you do that so easily? Don't tell me your stalker work extended to stuff like this.”

It never felt relevant to mention why until now, since he asked. “I used to play on my college soccer team until I completely fucked my ACL, and my meniscus, and shattered my left knee. I think the poor girl I collided with got it worse, but I don’t really knkw that. It was a gnarly collision,” you reflected. “But the point is that my left leg was completely broken until graduation. I used to wear a brace like that until it started getting better.”

At the time it sucked but Ivar made you realize you were lucky it was a temporary thing. “I have scars but I doubt they compare much to whatever you’ve got,” you laughed. “So I wasn’t about to start bitching back when you got rude. Cause I get it, it hurts.”

Your leg bounced nervously as you watched him. Ivar didn’t say much, his blue eyes locked on your face. “It’s a little rude of you to heal,” he decided to say. Your face scrunched up in confusion. “We could’ve been crippled buddies, but you had to go be some loser who can walk,” he laughed.

Your body relaxed at his laugh and you found yourself laughing too. “You’re totally right. I’m so sorry, Ivar. I’ll do better next time.”

It was a dumb thing to joke about but it felt nice. “Can I see your scar? I’d like to make fun of it,” he nodded his head to your bouncing leg.

You stopped bouncing it and swallowed. “Well. As you astutely pointed out earlier— I’m naked, Ivar.” Your eyes were wide. There was no real reason to feel nervous about that.

“If that was your way of convincing me it was a bad idea, rest assured it had the opposite effect,” he immediately closed his mouth. You stared at each other for a moment longer until there was a knock at the door.

“I’m gonna go get dressed,” you smiled faintly as you got up. His mother entered the room and started to talk to Ivar. You couldn’t hear much of the conversation behind a closed door. Not that you could think much about it either. That cheeky bastard.

—

“I’m an absolute God at Mario Kart. You’re going to have to be a hacker if you want to beat me,” you smiled as kindly as you could manage. But your anger and determination was real.

Ivar was bed ridden, fair enough. You kinda liked the idea of just staying in bed the whole day. The honesty from earlier couldn’t be brought back due to an intruder, Hvitserk. Honestly, you liked him a lot more before learning he thought you were a gold digger. But it made more sense than reality.

Hivtserk was sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the foot of the bed. Everyone had a controller in hand as he set up Mario Kart. “I’m still amazed Ivar let you in his bed at all,” he admitted.

“I’m his fiancée. He ought to,” you teased. You glanced at Ivar who rolled his eyes. You remember his earlier comment ‘you can stay on the floor’. “Besides, it’s utterly massive.”

You were quick to select Waluigi and found that Ivar got annoyed at the selection. “Ivar always picks Waluigi,” Hivtserk laughed.

“Aww, is that why he’s pouting?” You could be nasty when it comes to competition. “Learn to share or pick a new character. Because if you’re marrying me then I get Waluigi.” Your face was so serious about the topic.

“How is that fair!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips. “You have such youngest-sibling energy! You’re a baby!” You cooed as you reached over, knowing that Ivar had to tolerate it.

But if you could play at that game then he could join. Your hand tried to touch his face and he used it as an excuse to pull you over and kissed you for a brief moment. It was your fault for establishing it was okay by doing it last night, but it didn’t stop your face from heating up as you pulled back. “I thought that’d shut you up.”

You glanced back to the screen, staying quiet for a moment. Why did that make your heart race when you knew he did it for show and prove you two were dating. This was especially true because his brother was here and already didn’t trust you. Hivtserk laughed at your response, “if only Ivar was so easy to silence.”

It threw you off. You got 5th place the first race and kicked yourself for it. “I thought you were supposed to be a God,” Ivar mocked.

Your eyes narrowed, “we have 4 more races. You won’t win another.” It brought back your competitive spirit as you focused on how annoyed you were. Anger was a good driving force and the game was a beautiful distraction.

Four games later and you smirked in self satisfaction at the top of the podium. “I told you, Ivar. You wouldn’t win another.” Hvitserk was just lucky to place considering how often he crashed. “I went easy on you since you already lost your character.”

“Oh shut up. Race me again.”

“I could still win!” Hvitserk insisted.

“You couldn’t even beat the simulation,” you snorted. “How can you beat me, let alone Ivar?”

—

The three of you played games, straying away from conversations. Others occasionally stopped by to try and talk but most left Ivar alone. They knew what he was usually like on his bad days but he was handling it better than usual. They blamed you but you knew better.

“They seem to really care about you,” you noted the moment you were alone with him.

“They’re family,” Ivar rolled his eyes, “they have to care.”

You nodded your head. “Still. You have people who do.” You were used to being alone by now. Seeing people in mass care like that was nice. You had friends but it was hard to hang out, you worked too much.

Ivar glanced at you, “well. They’ll care about you too.”

“For three years,” she snorted, “meanwhile Hvitserk thinks I’m a gold digger.” You weren’t sure why you cared as much as you did. But it felt personal to talk about. It wasn’t fun. Ivar looked away after your comment and ran his fingers through his hair. “We should set some ground rules,” you spoke up after a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t expect you to kiss me earlier— I mean it’s fine. I kissed you last night. But I didn’t realize we’d just… do that now,” you bit your bottom lip. “It was smart. It makes us look real.”

He nodded his head slowly, “yeah well. I figured that was the goal.” It didn’t feel honest but you didn’t dare press it. Or maybe you were just wanting him to be lying.

“So, do we just dive deep into it? Hand holding, an occasional kiss, that kind of stuff? Just while they’re around,” you were quick to reassure. All of this felt like things that should’ve been addressed a long time ago.

Ivar shrugged and nodded his head again. “If my family is going to be interviewed I want them to believe it.”

“Then stop being a jerk then. To me at least,” you rushed. “Because you’ve been fine today but by now we both know I won’t back down. It just makes us look suspicious to be fighting and arguing all the time.”

To some extent you just liked him better like this. It was fun when his insults were over a dumb video game and not aimed at you not having a family. “Fair enough,” he agreed. “But— I want Waluigi next time.” A dumb trade, and one you didn’t want to make. You hesitated to agree to it and his eyebrow raised with great interest. “Does he matter that much to you?”

“I just hate conceding.”

Ivar snorted. “Maybe you’re more like me than you’d like to admit.”

“No I’m not!” You put your hand over your mouth after you said it.

“And you’re stubborn too,” Ivar tsked, shaking his head in shame at you. “If you were the boss I bet they’d call you a tyrant too.”

“You know about that?” You had assumed he didn’t. It just seemed like a thing he would’ve called out.

“Of course I know,” he rolled his eyes from where he sat on the bed. “I just ignore it. I’m used to people not liking me.”

“I like you,” you said instantly. It was the first time you vocalized the idea but it came natural in the moment. “When you aren’t trying to make me not like you, I like you.”

Ivar’s face got red and he scowled and looked away. “Well don’t.” It lacked the bite he usually had. It was hard to take seriously.

“Because you don’t care, right? Oh wait— you admitted that was a lie this morning. Why lie now?”

Ivar didn’t have anywhere to go after that. “It’s easier. This feeling is temporary. You’ll change your mind. I’d rather not feel worse about it later. You just think you like me.”

Your face softened and you sighed gently. “I’ve had more than enough time to develop a hatred of you. I think I’d know if me liking you as fake. We could be friends if you didn’t try so hard not to be.”

“Friends,” Ivar repeated and nodded his head. “You’re right. That’s what we could be.” His reply seemed off.

“Well then…” you trailed off. “Can we?”

“Can we what,” he asked, tired already.

“Be friends. I want to be your friend.”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowed at your face. “Fine. Maybe— it’s worth a shot at least.”

—

Taglist** @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @momowhoo

[b1ksh88p]

Be Mine Chapter 3

Plot: A storm is brewing in Valentine, and you’re in the middle of it. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen Harry and there’s already been a horrendous murder. With tensions high and everyone finger pointing your ex, Edmund, makes everything worse by spreading gossip. With the sting of rejection still weighing heavy on your heart you attempt to clear everything up only to make things worse.

Describing your mood as sour would be a understatement. You were numb. A grey cloud loomed over your usual cheery exterior as you went through day to day activities. Whenever someone asked if you were alright you’d chalk it up to trivial excuses. When in actuality you were torn that you’d been stupid enough to try and have a picnic with a killer. If you were sane maybe you’d tell the Sheriff and get some of his boys in uniform to smoke Harry out somehow but you had no taste for revenge. All you wanted was to move on.

But it seemed your ex had other plans. You worked in the diner, usually taking up the night shifts to rid yourself of boredom. As you were cleaning a table you overheard a couple chatting away about you of all topics. Why your name was in their mouths you didn’t know but from what you got out of it made you want to raise hellfire.

“I heard she goes down there every night to see that killer.”

“Edmund said that the sherif saw her go in with food and came out empty handed.”

“No way, maybe she’s a killer.”

There’s no way you could allow these two peons spread such outlandish babble. You’ve never killed anyone nor would you ever. The thought of murdering another made you sick to your stomach. “Edmund is a long-nosed good for nothing asshole who spends his time making up calumniations and dumping his girlfriend on Valentine’s Day for a dumb blonde with a baby voice. You two and the rest of your bubble headed friends would be fools to believe anything that comes out his mouth.” You finish with a astute turn into the back for a extensive smoke break.

If you saw Edmund or that sleazy sheriff you’d be sure to give them a piece of your mind. And speak of the devil, there he was. Your blood was replaced with boiling water as you stomped your way towards him. He was with the sherif and some other random cop you didn’t know. Both of them saw you coming and started to drift apart before you whistle and jogged towards the two snakes.

“Where we going boys? Running away from the new killer of the town?”

“Now listen Y/N I didn’t mean to start anything.” The sheriff assured.

You weren’t impressed. “You’re just the last one seen in the mines so...it makes sense.” Edmund shrugged.

“And you were the last one fucking the blonde bimbo you cheated on me with and she has crabs....so it makes sense right?” You snap back garnering a chortle from the other cop.

“It’s not my fault you’re a boring bitch who can’t get anyone to date you except for some psycho?!” He growled.

“I’m not dating anyone and I’m not a killer. Instead of gossiping like little girls how about you three go investigate and find the real killer.” You throw down the cigarette and stomp it out beneath your heel.

“We apologize if we’ve caused you any trouble Miss, we’re doing the best we can.” The Sheriff whispered.

“Keep my name out your ass licking mouths and out the fucking paper.” You demand before walking back inside the diner.

After your shift you began to walk home. The ominous glow of streetlights did little to scare you. On your way to you lovely home you stopped by the liquor store. A bit tipsy you ventured the winding fucked up roads. The quiet sounds of the night were ruined by the sounds of sirens. It had been what? 72 hours and some change since the last murder what the hell could the coppers be speeding for? Even in your mildly drunken stupor you noticed where they were heading. The mines. Sober you would’ve kept walking like any sane person but you were running on anger, worry, and rum. A mix that didn’t bode well when making good decisions.

You knew a shortcut through the trees and made haste. By the time you fought through flora and fauna two cars were already there. The sheriff and Edmund were there holding lanterns and guns. You step out from behind the trees, face bathed in red and blue lights. Softly stepping towards the shit show. “What the fuck are you two asswipes doing?!” You call out as you make your way to the entrance of the mine. Before they can stop you you’re in front of the cold entrance.

“You protecting your boyfriend again?” Edmund spat as he loaded his gun.

“You don’t have a gotdamn clue who killed those two. It takes you dumb mother fuckers months to even get close to closing a case!”

“We know he’s down there Y/N and he’s gonna fucking burn for what he did. And if you gotta burn with him so fucking be it!” He aimed the gun at you which almost made you piss yourself. You stumble back as he aims it at you. The thumping of your heart beat in your ears.

“I’m not you enemy! And neither is he!” Your words were bold but hoarse.

“That son of a bitch killed family. I don’t care what you think he’s going to die, and if I have to shoot you to get to him I fucking will!” The sheriffs attempts to calm down Edmund were futile. He had his eyes on you. They were large and red and full of rage. He looked like a rabid animal and you his prey.

“...You’re angry I get that but this is a mob attack not a lawful pick up. You have no evidence-“

“DONT GIVE ME A FUCKING LESSON IN LAW BITCH I AM THE FUCKING LAW!” He shot at the ground beneath your feet sending dirt into your eyes. The muffled scolding from the sheriff did nothing to stop your beating heart. In fact there were bigger problems.

Another shot cracked through the night sending you to the ground covering your head. The grotesque sound of choking made you gag. The Sheriff was on the ground, clambering hands grabbing at the gaping hole in his chest as he bled out. Edmund was in shock. He held the man’s dead hand with wide eyes. Perfect time to get away. You book it into the mines. It was dark and cold, even chillier with a fresh murderer on your heels. At first you didn’t hear him but a shot echoed through the caves followed by some demands for you and Harry to reveal yourselves. That wasn’t happening so you keep running, ducking into random corridors to try and throw him off your trail.

Apart of you was afraid of running into Harry. What if he was angry at you? Running into one killer to escape the other was a chance you really didn’t want to take. You’d rather wait it out and hide. Hopefully Harry would take care of Edmund and you could run away without interacting with either of them. You stop running to hide in a old mining cart that was turned over. Covering your mouth with shaking hands you listen. A heavy set of footsteps past you, Edmund more than likely. It wasn’t like Harry to be so loud. He taunted what you assumed were the shadows to face him like a real man. He didn’t really see him right? You wish you could peek but you were far to afraid you’d get your head blown off.

“So that’s what you look like. Y’know it’s crazy. You don’t look like a monster.” He cocked the gun. “Tell me how you did it. How you killed my dad you fucking monster.” He demanded.

There was no response on Harry’s end. You hear something fall to the ground and then Edmund’s smug laughter. What the hell was going on? You quietly peak from out your hiding space. The minimal lighting made the scene hard to make out but by the looks of it Harry had...given up. He had thrown his pick axe ahead of him, taken off the mask, and dropped to his knees. A gloved hand on the barrel of the gun pointing it to his head. You couldn’t believe your eyes. Was he insane? Edmund goes into a end game spill about how long he’s waited to do this. How he’d pin the Sheriff’s and I’s murder on Harry and walk out the mines a hero. During this you start to crawl towards them, ready to rush him or throw a rock, anything to buy Harry time. Your chest is tight as you hold your breath. Nearing the both of them as quietly as you possibly can. Edmund cocks the gun and says something to the effect of “everyone dies, somebody should’ve take your sorry ass out long ago.” Before you hear a shot.

It hits the ceiling once you use all your might to swing Harry’s pickaxe into Edmund’s head, through his cheek. The blast was so close to Harry he fell back in pain. Edmund leans on the wall holding the left side of his face, still turned away from you. When he does look at you all the blood drains from your body. His tongue hung from the broken jaw like a salivating dog, torn flesh dangled around missing teeth, with so much flesh exposed blood spritzed out every time he moved closer to you. He couldn’t move his jaw so when he spoke it was a gurgled cacophony of rage and disbelief. You lift the pick axe once more but see him lift the shotgun and take aim. This makes you freeze like a deer in headlights. You close your eyes, bracing for impact. But to your surprise it never comes. Instead Harry had gotten up and tackled him, only problem was that he got shot.

The two men fell to the ground. Edmund kicking him off and frantically reaching into his pocket for two more shells. Without thinking you kick the gun from his hands. He tried to get up but you stomp on his chest with all the rage bottled up inside. He looks up at you with that mangled face and large eyes but mercy was the last thing on your mind. You look over him, raise the crude weapon, and allow the cold metal to pierce through his chest. You let out a exasperated scream as you continue your onslaught. Hammering down years of neglect, wasted time, slander, and abuse into what’s left of his broken body. When you’re done he’s left torn apart. Rib cage broken and organs exposed. In all the madness you vomit from the stress and overall exertion of energy you used up. The groans from Harry snap you back to reality and you go to aid him.

“Oh god oh shit hold on hold on.” You ramble. Your hands try their best to cover the wound. He was shot in the side. Luckily it wasn’t a direct hit but without medical attention it was gonna get nasty. You use Edmund’s jacket to help stop the bleeding. He was just staring at you. “What? What the hell are you gonna yell at me for now???” You yell trying not to cry. He lifts a bloody hand to your face.

FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON DRAGON BALL Z

[shadowturtlesstuff]

you belong with me- thomas

this is thomas’s pov. i like doing both pov (i dont know if you can tell) but there are a few things im working on but enjoy!

“How could-? Are you even hearing yourself speak you fool? No- no. God, you know what I'm done.” I throw my phone on the bed, scaring Sir Issac in the process. I cringe even as I begin pacing back and forth. It was truly absurd, utterly crazy, that William lived in such a world where he would ever consider me being with anyone but Audrey Rose. Whilst we weren’t together per say, it was clear there would be no one else for me. The fact that he had already caused trouble for us once makes this even more irritating. I turn and find Audrey Rose already watching me. Her hair disheveled in a messy bun which tells me she is studying or researching something. I give her what I hope classifies as a smile and watches as she pulls out a familiar notebook, searches for her pen and then writes: Are you okay?

Of course she would ask if I'm okay and not what happened; using our absurd way of talking to each other instead of using the window or even messaging me. I shake my head but smile and make my way towards my window. The wind hits me, sending my hair flying but I embrace the fresh air as I watch her move herself off her bed, cursing at her stiff legs. She has been there most of the day, not moving and lost in her work and music. She curses once more as she hits her elbow on the window sill and she looks truly adorable. “You have a wicked mouth Wadsworth. Did you not learn cursing is unlady-like?” I try to ignore the other thoughts I have of her mouth.

“Fuck you,” she scowls at me. It always makes me smile hearing her curse, she always sounds confident in them somehow, making them seem so real. The first time she swore was the time she failed a science test. Well, not exactly a fail, but she was marked wrong by a substitute teacher who didn't like her so she decided to berate him in front of the whole class, starting with her shouting ‘bullshit!’ as soon as she saw her results.

“I assume dear wadsworth, you want to ask what has made me so irate?” As much as I would rather climb across the gap and make her watch another one of my romance films again instead of talk about it, I know that I should. Otherwise it'll eat at my mind when I go to sleep. As well as it being used against wadsworth in some way too.

“Perhaps,” she says, eyes sparkling with mischief as she rests her head on the wall and brings her knees to her chest, “perhaps I merely wanted to ask if Sir Issac was okay.” I nearly burst out laughing at her. She has a love hate relationship with my cat. She pretends to hate the ‘beast’ but will often let him sit on her lap or pet him whenever she is over here. When I first got him, she stayed round mine for the night and we settled him. Even then she had tried to pretend not to like him but she doesn’t remember that she fell asleep with him curled up next to her. I had to sleep on my chair because they were sprawled out, surrounded by her work.

“Really? You always refer to him as a little pest, whereas as with me, I am your dearest person, of course you want to know how I am feeling. My son is good though, very energetic today.” Said cat brushes against me and I look at him, the memory still clear in my mind. Yet I know I need to stop avoiding the problem, Audrey Rose is too kind to push me into telling her, and will let me avoid it for as long as I need. It is not the worst thing we’ve faced yet I still hate it.  

“I assume you saw the call, well that was William,” she nods, her face already falling at the mention of his name, “Yes, awful. Apparently though, there is a rumor that I'm with Miss whitehall. I don't even remember her first name, but he was convinced of our relation despite my protests. Madness.” I scoff at the sheer audacity of him and his friends. Sir Issac nuzzles into me, knowing that I'm upset and wanting to change that. As well get attention.

“Is this the same William that had convinced everyone I was dating him?”

“Yes.” Anger rolls through me at the memory of that disaster. What hurt Audrey Rose the most is that she truly thought he was a friend. She’d explained that with me she didn't try, but everyone else she had too, so when they'd fallen into easy conversations during lessons she really enjoyed having someone other than me and lize and her uncle to talk to.

“Bitch. Why on earth is he such a problem? Where on earth does he even make this assumptions about us?'' She begins pacing, her mind working faster than her steps as she no doubt recalls everything that happened. I am inclined to do the same. I can still remember her walking into her room, looking at me and falling apart. I climbed into her room and held her letting her calm before she spoke to me. I cried as well, slightly, knowing how much that friendship had meant to her. I'd made us watch a really cheesy film and she'd fallen asleep in my arms.

“I have never once,”I say to drag her back to the present “shown interest in her, nor will I ever.” I drag a hand through my hair. “She's just- a lot.” the first time id met her she was just very loud and demanding, I couldn't stand her. I'd watched her insult so many people for being themselves, for liking childish things, or in Audrey Rose's case, morbid things.

“That is the understatement of the year Cresswell. Besides, you wouldn’t work, she's too- your,” she falls silent, either lost in thought or not wanting to tell me those thoughts. Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink and I smile. She doesn't meet my eye as she sits herself down and I raise my brows as she asks what? As though she didn’t just show me that she has many inappropriate thoughts about me. She curls herself into a ball, hiding in her oversized hoodie, which is mine that I'm not sure she realizes is.

“I’m what? I'd be delighted to know your innermost thoughts of me, Wadsworth.”

“You're absurd but fine I'll elaborate,” she rolls her eyes though, even as the pink deepens slightly. Her eyes focused on my own. So I face her fully, like an astute student in class dying to seek knowledge, “you're too kind, too witty and clever and Whitehall wouldn’t appreciate you enough. You-” she stops talking immediately, as though whatever is in her mind she cant voice. Her face twists into something unreadable and I get the sense that she would rather not ever speak about me being with someone other than her.

“You forgot to mention how handsome I look, or how charming I am, but I'll take it,” she suppresses an eye roll and her smile and ignores the way my voice deepens ever so slightly. I pat Sir Issac off me and earn a whine but he jumps off me. I reach out to her and she leans, her hair ripping free of her bun with little effort from the wind. Her dark curls cling to her face, framing her perfectly too. It makes me want to hold her face in her hands and kiss her deeply.

“I don’t need to inflate your ego further Thomas.”

She inflates my ego every time she smiles at me, whether that be because of my joke or simply smiling at me because I am her friend. “I know but it would've been nice. I did say the inner most thoughts but we’ll get there. Audrey rose-I don’t belong with her, you’re right, my heart would never belong to her especially since it already belongs to someone else.”

She blinks at me, her face falling flat. Silence falls over us and I realize she thinks I'm talking about someone else. And idea forms, one that she may hate me for but one I'm going to do anyway.

“I-” she begins, no doubt going to tell me she wants me to be happy without whomever I'm with. I stand before she can say anything and she stares at me for a second so I motion for her to move. I want to be able to hold her and be next to her. I climb over and set myself on her window sill, leaving enough space for her on the other side. “I hope you are happy with whomever has your heart Cresswell.” I try to hide my smirk at her. Preparing myself for the worst. Preparing myself for her calling me an idiot and that she doesn't like me that way. I wouldn’t blame her.

“Of course I'll be happy. She's amazing. Let me tell you all about her. I met her many years back and was instantly smitten with her emerald eyes and her quick witted mind. How she sings to herself every morning and how her dark curls fall across her face whenever she sits on her bed and reads. I adore her curiosity for the dead and how wicked her mouth is and how delightful it is to watch your mind at work. I love when she shows me a note through the window to see if I'm doing okay and-”

“Wait,” she blurts out, her cheeks red now and eyes bright with shock, “Thomas, are you talking about me?”

I can’t help but laugh. She is one of the smartest people I have ever met yet she, just like I do, struggles with social cues sometimes. Albeit it she is better than I will ever be. “Yes, finally! I thought I'd have to keep speaking forever till you realized it was you.” Not that that would be a problem. As of right now I'd happily list the way her eyes are filled with both relief and shock and happiness and it's a look I want to capture whenever I need a reminder of something good in life.

She scowls at me, ignoring her blush. I take a risk and reach out my hand, moving closer so that her back is straightened on the wall, her attention fixed on me completely. No fake scowl or bright smile, just an intent gaze I can't quite pick apart. I rest my hand on her leg, now free of her (my) hoodie. “Wadsworth, darling, I have been in love with you for some time now.”

I stare at my best friend, my love, as she tries to convince herself this is real. It's truly adorable. Then her eyes widen slightly as she whispers: “I have something to show you.”

She jumps from my grip, running the short distance to her bed and then shuffling through the mountain of books and papers sprawled there until she pulls out a notebook and shakes it, letting a piece of paper drop. It's folded and creased a lot, as though it has been opened often. I watch as she faces me and slowly, her face fixed on the sheet as she opens and holds it out to me.

I read the words: I love you.

I love you.

I read them over and over and over, trying to imprint it on my brain. Her delicate handwriting and her confession reaches out to me and I desperately want to reach out to her, hold her against me and press kisses and make her laugh.

Audrey rose takes her seat across from me and I instantly reach out, holding her leg again. Anything to reassure me this is real. “I wrote that the night after you came here the second time.” her voice is soft, her curls once again framing her face as she looks at me, “Something in me clicked that no matter what you'd find a way to comfort me. Not save me, but work alongside me. I wanted to tell you I just couldn't face it. But I needed to acknowledge it. So I wrote it down, and I look at it every time we use the note system; I try to convince myself to show you.” Audrey Rose would never need saving, never want it, yet her words save my own dark heart that she has felt this way for so long, and we have somehow lived alongside each other and been so blinded by our love entwined with fears that it has taken so long to finally acknowledge them.

I debate pinching myself. Only minutes ago was I miserable and upset, yet Audrey Rose has taken her time to cheer me up. Yet even if I had left it as I am fine, even though she knows me better than that, she wouldn't have pressed for answers; would have waited for me to open up. So i lean in and the world stops as we both wait until our lips are pressed together It's a light kiss, one full of promise and wonder. When I lean back we are both smiling so freely my heart feels as though it too is reaching out to hold Audrey rose. We trade kisses, never wanting to leave this loop but I do lean back away from her. I’m already too drunk on her kisses, I need to breathe, to process this so I can remember it. Once my back is against the wall I pull her, twisting so her back is against mine, leaning into my warmth and I rest my head atop hers. Trying to contain my smiles but to no avail. My hand covers hers and as i look down at her i notice she doesn't bother controlling her smile. It is a magnificent sight.  

“Now would be a perfect time to tell me how handsome I am, my love.”

let me know if you want to be added to my tag list: 

@fangirling-again​ @kittycat2187 @goatahoan @city-of-fae @the-hoofflepooff @padfoot-sirius-black-blog @purplecreatorhorsewagon @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing-wars @lovecakeandmore ​ @yikesitsmaddie @loveyatopluto​ @throneofsc @bookscressworth​  @ ink-insomnia

[mihorapendeja]

happier than ever | tsukishima x you

the one shot in which tsukishima basically falls for a female version of everyone's favorite sunny tangerine.

genre: fluff/soft core smut lmao i haven't done this in years i feel silly but here you go

pairing(s): kei tsukishima x you (referred to as "ria kihira" in part 1 bc this was originally going to be an OC thing but nvm a/n's: show this some love and interaction pls.

PART 1: THE PAST

❝Again?❞ Even though Tsukishima complained again, this time he made it easier for her as he even stood completely still. Such a good boy.

❝Let her beat your face!❞ Shoyo exclaimed as she smiled in delight, then moving on to pat the powder puff on his stupid face. Of course she only took a few seconds for him, but all the time in the world for Hinata.

While the two chirped about the new reboot trailer for Dexter, Kuroo's sleazy self slid beside his lanky child with an extra smug look on his face. That man was a menace.

❝Say, don't you think they look related?❞

Tsukishima was a difficult man to catch off guard, but right then and there, a mini existential crisis kicked in. His eyes darted back and forth between Shoyo and Ria Kihira, the makeup artist on set for the commercial filming day.

Kei knew Kuroo was a slut for all the pretty things in life — he constantly had a trope of hot women surrounding him.

But this time, he'd really outdone himself.

Not a stupid man entirely, a huge shit-eating grin formed on Tetsuro's face. He followed Kei's eyes who desperately wandered back and forth their matching hair, skin tone, lack of height... "please let it be a mere coincidence because it's bad enough that—" Kei shut his own intrusive mind from further thinking as he slapped his hand over Kuroo's mouth shut. Tight.

That hyena laugh was not being unleashed today.

THE STORY OF HOW YOU MET:

ca. 2019, on set of a commercial for one of Kuroo's production companies. After Tetsuro had defeated Kei in a game of beer pong, he had to comply with the loser's bet -- be part of the damn commercial along with Shoyo, for a viewership boost. So he said. Ria was the makeup artist on set that day, and it pretty much went from Tsuki acting like a feral cat who didn't want to be touched by any makeup tools, to blissfully passing out in a chair while she gently stroked his face with a soft powder brush.

Near the end of the day when he'd no longer back away from her with animosity, it was Kuroo's stupidly astute observation that left him rattled. The boy was put into a choke hold because he refused to like someone with the same orange hair and milky skin tone as Hinata. Someone equally bright, bubbly, and stupid ... yeah that refusal didn't last long. Ria spoke her mind so freely, being direct but never pleading because she respected herself in that regard. He liked that and before Kei knew it, he found himself admitting to her that he was, "actually quite fond of you." She understood it was his way of saying those pesky 3 words, 8 letters.

PART 2: THE PRESENT, 3 YEARS LATER.

THE ALARM CLOCK rang it’s deathly siren like tone, nearly sending you into cardiac arrest. Although he defensively stretched an arm out over your chest as if ready to protect, Kei did not get up.

Of course he wouldn't.

Like every morning at 4am, it was you who suffered the most when getting out of bed to grab the phone to silence that torture down. As you had deeply sighed and turned to face the bed, Tssuki was now face up with the covers all the way up to his nose.

Even in your groggy state, you could tell he was smirking. That smug bastard stared at you intently, dead still. While Kei typically minded his own business and was at times thought of as quiet, the boy was definitely not shy. You wouldn't call him a total flirt, but he could so hold onto a gaze without so little as batting a long eyelash.

Kei was, extremely competitive. Lightning would have to strike his literal eyes to keep them from staring at you, specifically at your curvy thighs.

The way your soft cotton shorts rode up them was always a very pleasant sight, so he just kept staring, happily.

He loved that little penguin walk you busted into every morning when shutting the alarm off.

It’s like you couldn’t balance properly, and he swore that you were always shorter looking in the early hours of the day. He didn’t know how you could lack more height than you already did at barely 5 feet 2, but it always seemed that way.

It was especially cute, like he could just grab you and keep you in the palm of his hand.

Tired, you sat back down on the bed. You scooted until meeting the headboard, and then just let her head dip back.

It was so incredibly peaceful until you could no longer ignore his obvious glaring. “If you’re awake already, why don’t you get up?”

“It’s barely 4:05,

we don’t go in till 5am.”

He said so factually that you just deeply exhaled. Tssuki was definitely not a morning person, and neither were you.

Even though you were much more energetic, it was a Friday and you could not wait for the end of the workday already.

While Tssuki could be late to practice because let's be honest, few would even confront him, you could not pull off the same irresponsibility.

You cared way too much, and in general, hated the feeling of being late to anything. "Come on." You murmured, nudging Kei as he completely ignored you and kept on sleeping.

You waited for another minute before climbing out of bed, grabbing his attention once again. This time, your black shorts were scrunched further up. So far up that your ample ass cheeks were out in all their glory.

“Arigato, thank you god.”

Nishinoya would say.

“Well I’m not as naturally good looking as you so I’m gonna go shower and start getting ready.”

You huffed, truly riling Kei up inside. Hearing you say that genuinely made something inside of his stomach stir, so he instinctively reached out towards your wrist.

Even in the dark room, he could see your face clearly and tell you weren’t joking. "The fuck is wrong with her?" He thought, not angry, but extremely concerned because you weren't fishing for a compliment.

The two of you had been together for over 3 years now, and so he more than knew that you were not that kind of girl.

Yes, you lacked height at 5’2, but you were physically strong. Literally, you could carry all the grocery bags in one go with no issues. Lifting abilities? Check.

Even though Tssuki cruelly chose the apartment with extra high kitchen shelves, you would never ask for help to reach for stuff. "Help I can't reach" was not a phrase that existed in your world.

Literally, he’d sometimes walk in for some juice and find you on top of a chair reaching for something, if not on the literal counter tops to store items.

Independent? Check.

Resourceful? Check.

On top of all that, you had a voluptuous body he thought was fucking scrumptious. He understood that the norms for women in Japan could be vicious, especially if you weren’t a slender door like he was, but despite your insecurities, you still wore it all so well. You didn’t let it stop you from wearing whatever you wanted (as you should).

At times he did think you were a little bit stupid for fretting over such body image issues, but Tssuki was okay with that.

He didn’t want a know it all like himself, that be beyond insufferable.

Before he knew it, you were teaching him a thing or two as well. So Tssuki then knew you were not a vapid pick me girl, and that was honestly a pretty big turn on for him.

SPEAKING OF TURN ons, Kei found it incredibly hot to have you pinned beneath him, like you currently were.

It wasn’t an ingenue kink, to have you below him so submissively and weak, no. It was the way you fought to assert yourself, and the way you writhed. The way you tried to break free was no half assed attempt either.

Sometimes you'd even throw in a few knees into it, and Tssuki didn't mind it one bit. Two dominate personalities, things were always bound to be feisty in bed.

This time however, he sensed some a defeat in your soul.

Convinced to rekindle your spirits, his brows furrowed as he lowered himself closer to your pretty face.

“Take that back.” Tssuki growled in a low, oh so sexy deepened morning voice.

“I can’t, It’s true.” You protested, sighing as he pulled himself away only to then wrap his arms around your waist and throw you over his shoulders.

Misreading the situation, you first protested before breaking into full on laughter as he stormed into the shower with you still dangling, kicking your short legs in the air.

You had thought this was playful Tssuki, the version no one was too familiar with.

Except you … and Yamaguchi. You and Yams lived to exchange Tssuki-isms.

You were mistaken when trying to approach him as he had stripped entirely. God, you so badly wanted to touch his defined chest and close the space between —and that’s when your favorite salt mine smirked as he instinctively reached back to swivel the shower handle on.

Grabbing the detachable shower heard, Tssuki sprayed you down.

"That son of a bitch." You thought, having jumped back in shock, literally. The water was so fucking cold.

Tssuki raised a brow, testing you. On one hand, he thought you looked like a helpless kitten that was abandoned on some random parking lot on a rainy day.

He was an asshole, but if he ever came across a lonely stray cat, he'd so scoop it up and take home for some warm milk.

On the other hand, he thought you looked even more hot with the way your baggy shirt now clung onto every part of your curvaceous body.

Tssuki had to exhale as he saw your nipples peaking through your smaller but perfect chest. He just wanted to cup your perky tits, squeeze them and hear you moan in delight—your hot breath on his ear as you rested a side of your face on his.

“Can’t touch me till you take that back.”

He warned as you tried to take a step forward.

“Tssu— you whined, sighing as you crossed your arms, cold.

“Admit it, you’re beautiful. Say it.” He insisted as you tossed your head back. "I’m beautiful … kinda, I mean” you trailed off, too distracted by your own cruel thoughts to notice when he raised the shower head again to spray you down.

“Ouch!” You gasped this time, burned by the super hot water. Tssuki turned, realizing that instead of increasing the water’s pressure, he had turned it to the hot side.

Steaming hot.

He rubbed them back of his neck, sheepishly trying to play off. That stupidly cool bathroom is literally what had sold him into choosing that apartment.

After a long day of training, having a large bathtub to soak in, or large walk in shower that doubled as a sauna to rest in was a treat. Not only that, but curative. You swore that this man's epsom salt baths were the reason his long limbs were always good to go, pain free.

Tssuki rushed to place the shower head back on, pushing a few buttons on the digital control panel to get some therapeutic steam going.

On a good morning, he'd already have you pinned to the wall. Your face buried into his neck as Tssuki spread your ass apart, drilling his every inch into you.

But sadly, this wasn't a good morning ... yet. When you waved a hand out in defeat, eyes swelling with tears, Kei grabbed you right before you could step away.

You slammed into his chest with a light thump as he then grabbed your shoulders to keep you balanced. "My clumsy pumpkin." He thought as you raised your head to meet his warm eyes.

Tssuki lowered his face, gently planting a kiss on your forehead. Pulling away, he grabbed your arm & extended it out as he begin to plant a trail of kisses over the burned-pink area. His kisses deepened the closer he got to your neck, stopping only when at your jawline.

Now, the two of you were staring directly at each other, his eyes radiating all the comfort you wanted to see: love, adoration, lust. It was so quiet, but your heartbeat was so damn loud.

His actions were doing all the talking. Now completely soaked, you looked down at the hem of your shirt as Tssuki grabbed both ends and begin to lift the blouse up and away from you.

Left in nothing but shorts, he kept his eyes locked on you as you nodded while he lowered himself to help you out of them.

Now, completely naked, he just stared at you in awe.

You were his goddess, and he was going to happily worship, service, respect, love.

ARIGATO GOD.

“I don’t know why you hesitate” he softly whispered as you took in a deep breath, suddenly feeling overly emotional. Near tears kind of overwhelmed.

To keep yourself from actually sobbing, you cleared your throat to speak up, “I love my job, but I guess sometimes working with so many beautiful models, I can’t help but to compare my—

Tssuki had heard enough about your delusions. His hands flew the sides of your face, pulling you in for a deep kiss. You felt such a thrill surging through your body as he so easily hoisted you up.

It was your favorite thing in the world, to wrap your legs around his long torso, and it was Tssuki’s favorite thing to dig his hands into your firm ass, your soft thighs.

Pulling away, he takes slow steps forward so your back gently meets the wall. With one hand, he caressed your face , thumb gliding over your cheek before connecting his forehead with yours.

“As I was saying, - I don’t know why you hesitate to say it, but I think you’re the most beautiful person in this whole goddamn world.”

A pesky tear escaped onto your cheek, and Tssuki blotted it away with a kiss, burying his face closer to yours. So close your noses are now touching.

When he wanted to, Tssuki could be so completely soft.

“You don’t know every single person in this world.”

You laughed, still touched by his bold declaration.

“I mean it. Waking up to you every morning I think wow, I’m so lucky.”

He admits as you then break into another chuckle. “You’re so full of shit, that’s not the first thing you think of.”

Tssuki pulls on your lower lip down with his thumb, chuckling back. “You idiot sandwich I didn’t say it was the first thing, but it’s a close second.”

You find yourself laughing out loud, his frisky smile fully plastered on his face as your nose scrunches in that way he finds so fucking adorable.

“Begone negativity.” He both teases and shudders at the thought of how Suga burned that in the back of his mind.

“Do I have to sing that stupid One Direction song to you?” Tssuki then jokingly added as your eyes widened.

“You wouldn’t!”

“You’re right that’s disgusting.” He scoffed, hoisting you further up as he took your breath away with another kiss, this time, his hands running through your hair.

It was always a mystery with him, never knowing if he was going to pull on your hair, or caress it.

This time however, as his tongue slipped into your mouth, eager, you couldn’t help but to squeal. You had to give it to him, the man was great at multitasking. While he deepened the kiss, Tssuki tapped the melody of that dumb song on your thighs as if drumming.

"You're insecure, don't know what for, you're turning heads when you walk through the door / don't need makeup to cover up, being the way that you are is enough --

Everyone else in the room can see it

Everyone else but you

Baby, you light up my world like nobody else

The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed

But when you smile at the ground, it ain't hard to tell

You don't know, oh, oh, you don't know you're beautiful."

Tssuki had really taken SMACK MY ASS LIKE A DRUM to a whole other level, and you couldn't even be mad about it.

"Having fun, ya happy doing that?" You teased as he now gave himself a quick rub, fully erect. Your man was so well endowed and that was both exciting and terrifying at times. While you loved dominant Tssuki, today he was a bit more mellow and less gimp man.

"Fuck, Kei-" You moaned as he slowly entered you, rubbing your clit with his thumb, the pressure just right. "I'm definitely having fun, in fact" he smirked as you moved down to slam yourself further into him, begging for more, "I'm happier than ever."

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH.9

TW Purposeful misgendering of MC, and overall skeevy first POV.

MC is agender and here I started this chapter with the POV of someone out right misgendering them.

Capital He/Him pronouns are associated with Slender.

He was angry, but then again when wasn't He. You've wasted too much time on “laying low”. And now He's getting impatient, you're starting to hear whispers about potential replacements and incompetency. First you fuck up your mission then you gave Him the subpar sacrifice of that dumb hippie. He didn't want her, He wanted her. Her being your current and original target.

The girl who moved to town in the middle of March, YN. Didn't wait for the month to end or come the first week of the new one. Such a strange time to move...almost as if she was running away from something. He had taken an interest in her immediately. You didn't see what was so special about her, just another mousy girl in a small town, very obedient from what you saw.

Maybe that's what caught His attention. A new little puppet to add to His collection...but His urgency with this task didn't really fit. You knew for a fact He wasn't human but...could He have desires of the flesh? Was this a twisted perversion of your god's? The fuzzy feeling in your head gets painful at the thought.

'Ok, you aren't after some ass.' you think trying to appease Him.

It doesn't work, your apology is almost as worthless as you are to Him in this moment. You've really been testing Him lately, understandably this is your last chance so to speak. Bring Him YN or you won't be His problem much longer.

A chill runs down your spine at the ill intent you feel through your contract.

You're working on it, really you are. But she's so stupid and air headed it will take a while to break her for Him to be able to properly mold her. Not to mention she seems to have acquired a new guard dog. One that seems to have problems staying still, yet will spend hours watching her.

You'd seen him around town a few times in the past week or two, he has two other companions who aren't as bad about keeping low profiles. Yeah, you'd seen each of them at her house at one point or another. The short one seemed to have a nasty habit of slinking into her home in the dead of night as she slept. He didn't seem to go in during her drives, only when she'd be there. The tall one would come in the early morning or middle of the day, either to retrieve his partner or to snoop around inside for a bit before leaving. Aside from his partner he never seemed to leave with anything, never went in with anything either. They weren't leaving traces so they couldn't be your replacements.

Even if they had been they didn't seem too tough, you could over take them easy. Show Him you were still good for something.

But worst of all was her fucking mutt. He'd just circle the outside of the house, inspecting it. For what you have no clue, but he kept at it like he had a keen eye and could detect the slightest change of the home. One day he started looking off into the tree line and you'd almost swear he knew where you were. And while his nearly all black eyes made you think he was your replacement, intimidating you, your god suggested otherwise.

Reminding you that they weren't breaking her down for Him. That was your job.

Not only was the twink annoyingly thorough when at her home but he seems to have followed her to work today. You hope this isn't a new habit for him, you'll need to catch YN off guard at some point and you can't do that with that stupid twitching bastard around.

He bought two books and YN had seemed surprised when he came up to chat with her after finishing the first one. She's not your normal type but you can't deny she is cute talking so excitedly, you really wish that fucking mask was off her face so you could see her plump lips move. Come to think of it, twitchy was also wearing a mask. Is that why she talks so freely with him? Was all you had to do to get close to her was wear a mask? Or did she have a little crush on this guy?

No, she's speaking the same way she would with one of the Hornets. He however has a certain look in his eye while they talk. Maybe someone does have a crush...Or maybe he's just a disgusting stalker like you are. Were, like you were that is before your god saw the potential in you. And blessed you as one of his followers.

If he is a creepy little stalker tailing her you could let him do the breaking, and then you'd swoop in for the kill. Would that take too long? Better yet would your god even be happy with the idea. He can get very touchy about plans, down to the tiniest details too. You've witnessed first hand what He does to those who leave gaps for targets to get through.

Reprogramming doesn't seem pleasant. But that'll be the least of your worries if you don't get a move on with delivering Him His choice of offering. In the years you've been of service to your god...you don't recall Him ever choosing his offering. A target yes of course plenty, but His next puppet or a special meal. No this was big, testing your worth probably, very big.

'And you're failing.' that voice isn't yours.

'How, astute.' He's chatty today. That's always a bad thing. For you anyway.

You turn your attention to the bookshop across the street, coffee shops make such great covers especially when you add a laptop and act as though you're writing a novel, no one spares you a glance. It's five and that means quitting time, maybe YN wouldn't go home right away. You could run into her and plant some seeds of paranoia in her.

Mess with her head, have her freak out and cause a scene in town to discredit her further in the future. Your typical MO. After all she is just the simple new girl in town, and small town residents don't trust easy.

'This should be fun.' you think as you pack up your computer and notebook.

Heading to your car you wait in the parking lot for a moment, making it look as though you were busy with your phone while you waited to see that ugly yellow car drive in one direction or another. It doesn't take long before you catch sight of the brightly colored Kia taking the road towards the general store.

Wonderful, one humiliating panic attack in public coming up. This was something you could manage perfectly on your own. Though maybe once your god was more pleased with you, you'd ask for His assistance in giving her a few more hallucinations. After all the faster she's broken down the faster He gets what He wants.

Once at the small store you park one space away from her Kia. Normally for targets you prefer if they don't notice your car but it's not like there's room to go else where in this parking lot. Just as you're about to make your way inside, you hear more murmuring.

How the hell are you supposed to do His bidding when all He seems to want to do is keep interfering? It's getting so frustrating that you're starting to question your god's intelligence.

For your insolence you are hit hard with the worst migraine you've ever gotten since taking up a contract with Him.

'You are not the only one following them.' is the biting retort.

Moving your head despite the pain, you scan the store through squinted eyelids as you stand just out of your car. And you catch sight of him, that twitching guard dog from before. He hasn't noticed you but he seems to be sharing a cart with YN.

Did she get a boyfriend? Were you just unaware of that detail this entire time? She seems too relaxed with him for that to be anything else. They look too domestic together, you'll have fun ripping them apart. She'll probably cry like the bitch she is when you do, that's a very nice picture.

'Leave.' what now?

'Leave before he catches on to you.' The twitchy twink? You could take him in a fight, kid is practically all bones, why should you leave?

Instead of an answer your migraine intensifies. For the first time in years you are racked with so much pain that you would've collapsed on the ground if your car hadn't been near to steady yourself.

A chime of a bell sounds, “Hey pal you alright there?”, it's just Leo. Luckily you've never shopped at his store so likely hood of him knowing who you are or mentioning this to anyone isn't high.

“Ah...yeah,” you say through the wincing, “real bad migraine.”

“I got some Excedrin-”

“I'll just come back later.” you cut him off and get back into your car. Movement isn't easy for you under all this pain but you can feel His presence in your mind gaining control. You'll either wake up back in your bed or on the forest floor covered in blood and ticks. You really hope it isn't the last one as you black out just as you turn onto 3rd Avenue.

Leo comes back into the store almost as soon as he ran out.

“Everything ok?” you ask. You'd seen the man run out when you turned around to ask if he had gluten free vegetable stock.

“Yea, some tourist must'a got car sick or somethin'.” you nod at his gruff reply.

“Oh, do you have any gluten free vegetable stock?”

The old man eyes you warily.

“Kid don' tell me ya got on one a those fad diets.”

“No it's for the Picnic next week. I wanted to make an all diet friendly foragers pie.” you said shaking your head, which snaps right twice. Behind you you hear a muffled clucking coming from Toby.

Toby had hung out at the shop with you today. After he read through The Son of Neptune the two of you had discussed the series for a bit before you almost let some spoiler slip through. Toby couldn't help but laugh when you pushed him into a reading nook to finish reading the series before you ruined it for him. He got two thirds of The Mark of Athena done before you clocked out for the day.

While leaving he mentioned he needed to go shopping and asked where the grocery store in town was because he hadn't seen one in the area. You offered to take him to Leo's shop because it had everything you could need and was a small local business. Like most things in Kepler but there was a Trader Joe's that opened up in town, and they don't have much to offer when you cook from scratch. So here you were shopping together.

“I think we have organic no clue if it's vegan though.”

“Gluten free.” Leo rolls his eyes in dismissal and goes off to find the organic broth for you.

“Was there anything else you needed to grab?” you asked turning to look at Toby.

He had a list with him and had been ripping small tears to cross off what he'd gotten. He nods once then twice as his eyes find items he had yet to find, until they stop near the bottom of the list. Toby's dark brown eyes roll so hard you're pretty sure they rolled to the back of his skull. He lets out a dramatic 'agh' sound at whatever was on the list. Before crumbling it and tossing it into the cart.

“Atomic Fireballs and eggs. Can you grab the candy? Some people get pissy about their eggs.” he says cutting his eyes to the cooler containing eggs. This is probably a regular argument with the group.

With a small nod and an “mmhmm” you run off to the candy isle. You smell the cinnamon candy before you even see the container on the shelf. Before running off back to Toby and the cart, you pause debating if you should grab some M&Ms or chocolate chips to make cookies for tomorrow's movie night. You had stress eaten the snacks you bought last week only having the Surge left for Kirby, like hell you would drink it yourself.

After the week you've had baking sounded really nice. The mind numbing activity would probably be therapeutic since you haven't baked in so long. You grab two of the bigger bottles of mini M&Ms they always taste better to you, plus mini cookies tend to be a bigger hit than their regular sized counter parts. On your way to the front of the store you pass an end cap for chips. Seeing the white cheddar popcorn you like you grab a bag to replace the one you ate earlier in the week.

You should be set now, as long as Leo had the broth. If he didn't gluten free broth seems like something the Trader Joe's would have.

Toby's already at the counter with Leo, who had a box of broth off to the side. Noice. You place the Atomic candy on the counter with the rest of Toby's items. Leo looks between the two of you but brushes off whatever thought or comment he had.

“This it for you kid?”Leo has already begun ringing him out.

You see the movement of Toby's mouth open while he double checks the cart, he closes it when he sees the wad of paper. He must have forgotten something. Going over your own list you double check to make sure you have everything before it's your turn.

“N-n-n-no, can I-I-I get two boxes of condoms? St-s-st-standard and Large.” Toby's popping his knuckles a little more aggressively than normal, well what you've equated to normal for Toby.

'Oh.' the add ons sort of surprise you, but his exaggerated sigh from earlier makes more sense. Why did you even think that eggs caused that sort of reaction? It was probably because he was gonna have to ask for condoms in front of you. His new friend, nearly a stranger. Toby's agitated tics and stuttering are very valid right now.

You miss the look Leo gives you but Toby doesn't and when Leo looks back at him his tics get more frequent.

Looking to Toby when his 'mrrow' tic keeps repeating, you see the tips of his ears are a soft pink. A stark contrast to their normally grayish white complexion. Wanting to help but knowing he's most likely just embarrassed you decide to say nothing and ignore the situation. Thankfully Leo doesn't make any type of comment either as he finishes ringing out Toby and hands him his receipt.

“This it kid?” He says as he starts checking out your items.

“Um...ah, what's the pizza today?” this week isn't your normal pizza week but with the Picnic being next weekend you probably won't do pizza next week. And you have to have a slice ready for Chonk, least he decides to see what human taste like.

“Spinach and mushroom, a white pizza.”

“Yea I'll take one of those then please.”

“Garlic crust?” How very dare this man. What kind of question is that.

“Of course.”

He leaves to the back of the store yet again to retrieve your pizza. There's a silence that falls over the store as he leaves, leaving only you and Toby out front. Not an awkward type of silence but you definitely aren't going to risk a glance at Toby right now.

“I threw in an extra for that stray you've been feeding.” He says as he returns. Toby having calmed down a bit scoffs at the stray comment.

“That isn't a-a-a stray it's a fucking dem-mon.”

“Ok like that's fair, but he is kinda cute.”

“I don't care what it is, just keep it away from my store.” Leo finishes ringing you up. “Bad for business to have a wild animal rooting through the garbage.” Leo doesn't care about that stuff he also fears Chonk, and all his trash panda glory.

Once you settled your tab with Leo you and Toby go out to your car. You place his items in the backseat while you take the trunk, so no one goes home with the wrong item. Stars forbid you end up with the condom bag and have to awkwardly give that to Toby or even worse Brian or Tim. You've had four interactions with the man but already you can hear Brian's teasing banter.

Getting situated in the car you hand your phone to Toby to pick the music. You'd left your entire library open this time and not just the home page, you wanted to see if he'd pick something different or just go with the last thing played. He did scroll a bit before just clicking the last played playlist. Well at least he looked, maybe you'd make a playlist and see what he liked. He could just enjoy the songs.

While you're stuck at the light waiting to turn you remember consciously that Saturday Night Dead is tomorrow. You wonder if the trio would be joining you all. Wouldn't hurt to ask.

“Hey so are you guys coming over to the Cryptonomica tomorrow night?”

“Tim and Brian are.” Toby's eyes glance at the window as he picks at the skin around his nails.

“Oh. Why aren't you coming?” you hope you don't sound too pushy.

“Hi, I'm Toby I have Tourette's.” He says in a deadpan.

“Nice to meet you, I'm YN I have Autism.” you sass back cutting your eyes to him, “and I have tics too remember.”

“You can sit beside me. The gang never mentions my ticcing or stimming during a movie and I sit in the corner to be less of a distraction.”

From the corner of your eye you can see he peeled off a bit of skin and is now bleeding. When you slow down at the light you reach over him to the glove box and pull out a box of band-aids. Tossing the box in his lap you focus back on the road. There's a cracking sound when Toby's shoulder pop from a tic but other than that you two fall into a lull in the conversation.

From the corner of your eye you see Toby put the box in the cup holders between you. This little shit, just because he doesn't feel pain doesn't mean picking his skin is a healthy fidget.

“...I..I'll think about it.” he's still picking at his skin but maybe reassurance will help him calm down.

“Well, I hope I see you tomorrow then,” you can't help the grin on your face, you're just a touch giddy at the fact you've made a friend this fast. “No pressure though.” can't be too pushy you might scare him off.

You hear a huff as he turns more of his body to look out the window. He isn't upset his energy feels calm almost excited, it's nice to meet someone who isn't so confusing with their actions. Though you'd wish he wouldn't try to hide them. Maybe you both have the same idea of not wanting to overwhelm the other right away. You get the feeling this situation...your blooming friendship with Toby, it isn't something he's use to.

Getting to the RV you help Toby carry in the groceries, despite his protests that he can do it. It was just machismo of course, because once inside the RV you noticed how clean it was for three bachelors and their huge dog living in it. Sure there were dishes in the sink but dishes are a care chore that never ended. There was very little clutter that you saw but you also weren't paying close attention since you were just helping bring in groceries and not here for a visit. It would be rude to look, you think.

Once all of the boys' bags were brought in and either on the counter or table you saw a majority of them had blood smears all on the handles. Fucking Toby, you gave him band-aids for a reason.

“Tobais you're bleeding.”

“Thanks Captain obvious.” you want to smack him.

“Do you guys have a first aid kit?”

“Nope.” he sounds so smug when he pops the 'p' sound.

“Ok, then I'll go get the band-aids out of my car and you wash your hands.”

“Don'-uwu- Don't worry about it.”

You have to bite your lip so you don't laugh but the small stream of air coming from your nose let Toby know you were laughing. Despite his mask you can see his pout clearly when he turns to you.

“I...I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't...but it's too,” your giggling is breaking down your ability to speak, “cute.”

The grumpy face sort of melts off of the boy in front of you, but you can tell by the vibes he's still touchy. You try to calm yourself but quickly realize you aren't giggling anymore because of his tic.

“C'mon it isn't even that funny.” he says gruffly, before looking off to the side.

“No...it's,” you keep shaking your head as the movement doesn't stop. The loop won't stop and you're starting to tear up from the muscles in your abdomen seizing up then relaxing in repetition.

Toby seems to realize what's happened.

“No fucking way.” is all he says as he comes closer to your still giggling form. “A giggling tic?” You can only nod, you're starting to get light headed. Toby noticing you starting to crouch down, helps ease you to sit. He stays by your side as you both wait for the tic to cease.

He even tries rubbing a hand on your back to soothe you into calming down. You'll need to tell him physical comfort doesn't really help you. It's still sweet of him to try.

Unlike a laughing fit that will have a gradual die down of the action, your laughing tic has an abrupt stop. But you feel just as tired and even more sick than someone who just got out of a laughing fit. Breath coming out hitched though you try to gasp in more air to soothe your impending headache. Your face is red and covered in tear stains, once again you are thankful for your mask. This isn't a tic you get often but you probably hate this one the most, just from how drained it leaves you.

Toby continues to rub circles into your back as your breathing starts to even. Eventually he gets up to grab you some water. You notice it's quiet in the RV, not even Connor is around Brian must have him today.

“That was probably karma.” he says as he hands you the glass. Looking up to him confused he continues, ���For teasing me about my tic.”

“But I w-wa-,” you take a large gulp of water for the raspiness of your voice, “I wasn't teasing. I just thought 'uwu' was a cute vocal tic.” you say indignantly.

Really you had only thought the verbal tic was cute. Also it'd been a while since you heard 'uwu' said aloud so it caught you off guard.

“Not as cute as a giggling tic.” who's teasing who now.

“Haha, don't get used to it doesn't happen often.”

After settling down from you tic it's time to head home. You really don't want to over stay your welcome. The fatigue is also starting to set in and you want to get home before it really hits.

Toby is nothing if not a gentleman you've noticed. And he continues to be on brand as he walks you back to your car.

“So thanks for that.” vaguely motioning as if to say 'y'know' with your hands rather than your words. Toby knows, you can tell from that boyish glint in his eyes.

“Hope to see you tomorrow night.” you say getting back into your car.

“It's sounding better now.” there's a pause, “Get home safe.” he slaps the interior of your window before backing away from your car altogether.

With a final wave you back out back onto the old dirt road and drive on home. When you get home you realize you never patched up Toby's hand, now you have a small bloodstain on your door.

[fancifulwhump]

i’m a simple bitch who likes seeing jaskier get kidnapped and geralt having to rescue him lmao

AN:   as you ask, so shall you recieve.   protective geralt going from beast-mode to soft??  that’s my jam, dude

In Geralt’s complete defense, the risks of leaving Jaskier unattended — of which past experience had proven were many — really paled in comparison to a Devourer attack.

Rather, an attack by multiple Devourers, at the same bloody time, with the tenacity of a pack of wild wolves. The flesh-craving beasts showed little interest in a Witcher’s mutated blood. They wanted human flesh, and human alone. A reign of terror stretching on for weeks before Geralt happened upon the poor mining village in the mountains made that clear enough. People could no longer venture from their homes without risk of being torn to bits by a sulking monster. Geralt’s arrival was a blessing to them. Jaskier’s presence — for, having hit a creative dry spell, he'd been following Geralt for the last few weeks, to “fan the flames of inspiration” — was just convenient. 

Geralt never liked using the bard as bait. This had nothing to do with any moral qualms; any time Jaskier involved himself in a kill, things got complicated. He simple had a talent for getting in the way. Trouble was drawn to him like a magnet; rather than avoid it, the idiot almost seemed to invite it. Geralt tried to keep Jaskier out of the way during jobs because bailing him out of danger was more trouble than any amount of coin was worth.

That, and he’d rather not see his companion be mauled or swallowed whole by a monster. 

Sometimes, however, Jaskier’s presence during a job could actually be useful. Like it or not, Geralt had to put him to work.

“This isn’t my first time playing irresistibly seductive meat-sack, you know,” huffed the meat-sack in question, carefully fastening his lute to a pack strung along Roach’s side. When Jaskier looked up at Geralt, his eyes glittered. Whatever thrill he got from being in mortal peril, it was probably worrying. “Practically used to it by now. Could make it a profession. Thank the gods I’m here, too, or what else would you have done? Picked up a nice, juicy steak from the market, and dressed it up like a toddler?”

Geralt snorted, unsheathing a dagger from his belt. It was a small, silver-bladed thing — better for throwing than stabbing, though it could be useful at close range. The hilt was almost too small for his hands. In Jaskier’s, it fit perfectly.

“Only if you need it,” he said. Jaskier gripped the blade, eyes wide with fascination, before nodding and tucking it into his own belt. “Quick slashes. If you have to stab, stab deep.”

Of course, Jaskier couldn’t fight, and he certainly didn’t stand a chance against a monster… but at least he wouldn’t be completely helpless.

So, Jaskier was sent on ahead, and did what he did best — played the oblivious fool. Only when he’d blustered along the mountainside for about ten minutes, leading Roach along as the Witcher silently trailed them both, did their plan show signs of success. In the distance, a few rocks shifted. Pebbles rolled down the mountainside. The faint trill of birdsong went quiet.

Jaskier had been humming to himself, but his voice cut off abruptly. His head raised; he glanced around. That was all he had time to do before a blur suddenly shot out of the cave, launching itself at him.

And another, and another — more than Geralt expected.

In a few swift bounds, he was in the middle of the fray, cutting Devourers down in midair. This was just enough time for the bait to make his escape. With the battle begun, Jaskier leapt on top of Roach and sped off — “somewhere safe”, Geralt had told him.

So maybe Geralt was the fool, for assuming the hapless bard could look after himself. At any rate, he trusted Roach to keep Jaskier out of trouble; the horse always had more sense than he did, anyhow. 

An hour, maybe, or less — that’s how long it took for Geralt, covered in Devourer blood and a few new scratches, to follow the trail his horse and companion left, only to come up empty handed. Not being able to hear Jaskier’s annoying caterwaul was the first sign of trouble. Coming across a lute in the bushes, smashed and abandoned, was the second.

Picking up the remnants of the familiar instrument, Geralt’s hands tightened around the wood; he sighed through his nose, barely able to restrain his own frustration.

Served him right for letting Jaskier near his bloody horse... and letting them both out of his sight.

Witcher senses were better honed for tracking than even the most astute hunter. It also helped that the bandits didn’t bother to cover their tracks well. The left a trail of broken twigs, snapped branches, and footprints behind them. However much of a head start the group — Geralt counted five sets of footprints, maybe six — had on him, it didn’t take long to track them down.

Even so, it took long enough. Too long.

He could smell the blood before the noises reached his ears. Perhaps the senses hit at the same time, and he just didn’t register; as soon as that metallic tang hit his nose, all-too-familiar, Geralt saw red. Blood meant nothing on its own, but this blood held a familiar scent — he’d recognize it anywhere. It was as familiar to him as that annoying voice, or that smirk any time Jaskier said something he thought was particularly funny. Blood could belong to anyone, but Jaskier’s blood was his, and Geralt could smell a lot of it.

Blood, and noise, and shouting — not Jaskier’s voice, but a stranger’s rough tone, spitting venom in a language Geralt faintly recognizes. A horse’s frustrated wail. Sharpening blades. And underneath it all… a strangled whimper.

Geralt found the bandits’ campsite.

As for whatever happened at the campsite… well, he couldn’t be held responsible.

By the time the last of the thieves took off running into the forest, stumbling over himself in horror, the bandits’ camp was utterly quiet. Before his body hit the tree, the big one had been making an awful lot of noise. So was the quick one, when he hissed at Geralt and tried to draw his sword; thankfully, Geralt was quicker. Now, in the silence, with nothing but his heavy breathing as he came back to awareness, Geralt could see everything.

Roach was unharmed, tied to a tree. She stomped her feet as Geralt came closer, as if applauding his quick work… but Geralt’s attention turned in a second, from her to the other side of the clearing. Silence reigned there as well, and it was unnerving. 

Jaskier was never silent. Jaskier didn’t know how to be silent. 

The figure slumped against the base of the tree, chest bound with rope and head bowed, did not make a sound.

The stench of blood grew overwhelming the closer Geralt got. He had to force himself not to focus on it. Instead, he honed in on Jaskier’s heart, beating a steady rhythm in his chest. Not faltering, not stuttering — he was alive, then. Unconsciously, a sigh of relief escaped Geralt, loud in the silent woods.

Then he saw the blood staining a head of dark hair, trailing down Jaskier’s jaw.

“Shit.” Immediately, he dropped to one knee, hand finding his companion’s shoulder. The battered captive’s face scrunched you in pain when Geralt gripped it. “Jaskier. Hey! Jaskier.” Unwilling to hurt him any further, Geralt shook his companion lightly. “Wake up.”

It was just enough — or maybe the pain from Geralt’s touch pulled him back into wakefulness. Jaskier stirred, head sluggishly rolling on his shoulders. For a moment, he struggled to lift it, as though his skull were filled with lead rather than gray matter. When he finally managed, he blinked sluggishly up at Geralt, pupils blown wide. Concussion, then, Geralt thought, and had to bite back another curse.

“Ah hah — the mighty Witcher!” Jaskier’s head fell back like a doll’s; still, he offered Geralt a wide grin. His teeth were stained with blood, from the busted corner of his lip. “Knew you’d come for me. It was only a matter of time. Caught about half that fight, I think. Just half. Til you threw that one lad down the hill.”

Was it any surprise that even half-senseless, Jaskier still didn’t know how to shut up? Geralt just took it as a good sign that he was talking. While the bard blathered on, he busied himself checking Jaskier over for further injuries. His shoulder was probably dislocated; he’d have some colorful bruises in the morning; there were a few deep scratches along his face and bare forearms, like he’d been dragged through brush…

“Mmm. Geralt. Hey.” Jaskier’s movement was sudden — like a marionette unable to control his own limbs, his arm raised, landing heavily on Geralt’s shoulder. When Geralt looked up, Jaskier’s head was lolling to the side. He seemed to be putting in a valiant effort to stay awake. Half opened eyes remained trained on Geralt, warm with an emotion Geralt could not name, but left him feeling immensely guilty. He should have gotten here sooner. He shouldn’t have let Jaskier out of his sight in the first place.

“Look,” said Jaskier — and, very deliberately, nodded towards the thug still crumpled at the base of a nearby tree. The tree’s trunk had a dent in it. Geralt wished he’d thrown him harder. “In the pockets,” insisted Jaskier, giving Geralt a weak push of encouragement.

Bemused, Geralt made his way over; hoisting the thug’s body up by the back of his jacket, he shook him out for any spare bits. A shower of gold pieces greeted him, along with a pair of rings… and a silver-bladed dagger, stained with blood. Geralt lifted the familiar blade, frowning at it. When his gaze turned to Jaskier again, a grin, bleary but proud, greeted him.

“Jus’ like you said,” Jaskier slurred, then let out a dry crackle of laughter. “I stabbed ‘im deep. And they did not appreciate that, let me tell you —“

“Damn it, Jaskier,” Geralt muttered, hand tightening around the blade.

Yet another mistake to tally for the day. Giving Jaskier a weapon was supposed to keep him out of trouble, not damn him deeper.

Without bothering to clean it off, Geralt rounded on Jaskier, blade clutched in his hands. Jaskier’s unfocused gaze tracked his approach with obvious effort. However hard he was trying to stay awake, he was fighting a losing battle. Even so, not a flicker of fear crossed Jaskier’s face at the sight of a hulking Witcher, advancing with a blade in hand.

Geralt cut Jaskier’s bonds in a few quick strokes. As soon as he was no longer bound to the tree, Jaskier slumped forward. It took Geralt’s quickest reflexes to lurch sideways, catching him before he could hit the ground. A dead weight in his arms, Jaskier let out a small moan.

“What is it?” Geralt demanded. As he shifted the injured man into an easier position, Jaskier inhaled sharply, face twisting up in pain. Another groan sounded through clenched teeth, but a second later Jaskier forced a strained smile.

“Kicked me in the chest — more than once.”

Geralt didn’t need to test the statement any further. As gently as he was capable of being, he eased Jaskier back against the tree. Broken ribs would be more of a headache than all of Jaskier’s other injuries combined, but hopefully he didn’t shatter so easily. Human bodies were so fragile; Geralt saw it every day, of course, in the remains of men torn apart by monsters. Seeing it firsthand was different. Seeing Jaskier, of all people, wounded and in pain… something in Geralt’s chest was drawn tight, like a clenched fist, and the more his companion swallowed back sounds of pain, the tighter it got.

“Better get you up, then,” he muttered. Jaskier nodded, face still screwed up. A long moment passed before his hand tightened on Geralt’s shoulder, and it took yet another moment before he managed to hoist himself upright.

Finding his feet was another challenge. Geralt did his best to offer support without brutalizing Jaskier’s injuries further. No sooner did he pull himself up, however, than Jaskier began to teeter. When his gaze slipped out of focus, Geralt’s arm twined around him. He caught him just as Jaskier’s knees began to buckle.

A yell shattered the illusion of quiet around them, ripping through Jaskier’s body like a physical attack. As fresh pain rippled through his chest, he shoved away from Geralt, who released him without protest. For a moment, it seemed certain that Jaskier would topple. His breathing heavy, each gasp an effort that nearly knocked him sideways, he finally managed to find his feet. Wide eyed, he gazed at Geralt, twisting a protective arm around his chest.

“I’m — I’m okay.” Jaskier put a hand up. “I’m fine. But next time — next time I fall, Geralt, don’t bother catching me.”

Geralt arched an eyebrow. In response, Jaskier shook his head. “I can manage on my own.”

And to his credit, he did. He managed to get on Roach, at least, and the horse carried him back the rest of the way. Jaskier didn’t lose consciousness once, no matter how his head lolled or his senses drifted. Geralt didn’t mind the slurred ramblings, weaving their way through utter nonsense. Only when Jaskier went silent did he worry. Each time, he looked up to find his friend fading, blue eyes half-shut, head falling against his shoulder. Geralt gave a bruising pinch to the flesh of his arm, and Jaskier awoke again.

The nearest inn was a night’s ride from their campsite, and it was getting dark already. By the time they made it back, there seemed little sense going any further, especially with Jaskier in his state. He fell into his bed as soon as Geralt had it laid out on the ground, and did not have the energy to raise his head, even when Geralt offered him a sip of much-needed water.

“‘M fine,” Jaskier muttered. His muted tone suggested he was anything but; Geralt wouldn’t argue, though, if rest was really what Jaskier needed. 

“We need to set your shoulder,” he remarked, keeping his voice low for Jaskier’s benefit. “And clean the blood from your head. That wound ought to be bandaged.”

Jaskier nodded along slowly, as thought everything Geralt was saying made perfect sense. His eyes were closed, expression unchanging, so however much he really understood was anyone’s guess. Frowning, Geralt took the liberty of wetting a cloth himself. Hesitating for just long enough to wonder which decisions in his life brought him to this point — to caring so deeply for someone so easily breakable, so human — he set the cloth against Jaskier’s bloodied face. As the grime was sponged away, Jaskier could not help but sigh in relief.

“That’s the stuff,” he muttered. “All I need. Just… rest, Geralt? Can we? Is that okay?”

Geralt considered him for a moment. “Yes, Jaskier. We can rest awhile.”

This was all he needed to hear. Jaskier smiled, setting his head back down on his pack once more; as his eyes drifted shut, Geralt fought off an instinctive flash of worry. Hand tightening around the damp cloth, he brought it back to Jaskier’s face, and continued cleaning the remnants of that bloody encounter.

Next time they faced down monsters, he might think twice about letting Jaskier out of his sight… but no matter what trouble he fell into, Geralt would always be there to pull him out.

[fairfaxleasee]

For DADWC: "You fell victim to one of the classic blunders!" for anyone you like!

For @dadrunkwriting

Sorry, had to change the quote again for the story I wanted to go with:

CW: Body horror references, cannibalism references, Hawke is generally over shit

If she were being entirely honest, this ‘Morrigan’ person was by far Lyta Adaar’s least favorite temporary resident of Skyhold (or at least the woman had better be a temporary resident, her constant negging was starting to strain even Lyta’s patience).  Unfortunately, the Orlesians insisted she come and ‘help’ (although Lyta was starting to suspect that might have just been a way to get rid of her) so Lyta didn’t feel like she could kick her out of the castle.  At least yet.  She was just trying to ignore the woman as best she could.  Unfortunately, Morrigan had caught her while she was picking some herbs in the Skyhold garden and was currently talking at her.

“As I was saying, Inquisitor, if you’re ever interested in learning some more... uncommon uses for plants, I would happily assist.  I know some people in Skyhold,” Morrigan turned her head to glare at Cassia Hawke, who was minding her own business across the courtyard and appeared to be going over some maps with Cullen and Loghain Mac Tir, “fancy themselves ‘experts’ in it, however I can guarantee you no woefully mundane ex-Viscount knows as much as a properly trained mage.”

Lyta caught some movement out of the corner of her eye.  She looked up and saw that Hawke, Cullen, and Loghain had stopped looking at the maps.  Loghain was leaning away from the table slightly looking at Hawke, who was bent over it with enough tension in her frame that Lyta could see her shoulder blades pressed together through her leather armor.  For his part, Cullen was waiving frantically at Lyta, which was the movement she saw.  Once their eyes met, Cullen swiped one hand in front of his throat then pointed to an area across the garden where Lyta could just see Varric peaking over the wall that separated it from the walkway.

Morrigan didn’t seem to care that Lyta’s attention was elsewhere as she continued as though nothing had happened (although Lyta had a suspicion that even if Morrigan had noticed something happened, she wouldn’t care).  “I can guarantee you, Inquisitor, I am a very good friend to have.  Unlike some, I'm not going to be abandoned at Skyhold.  I have the talents to help you do great things, if you let me.”

“Lyta, get out of there!”  Lyta doubted anyone else heard Cullen’s whispered warning over the sound of Hawke slamming her palms on the table in front of her.

Lyta decided Cullen probably knew what he was talking about so as soon as Morrigan’s back was turned she got up and went to watch whatever bloodbath this was going to be with Varric.  Being a Qunari, she wouldn’t be able to hide as easily as he could, but it was better than being totally out in the open.

She made it to cover just in time to see Hawke round on Morrigan and stalk over with her head twisted slightly as she let out an eerily chipper chuckle and started in on the apostate, “Listen bitch, you may be talented at toadying up but it's kinda like widespread slaughter, one of those things that it's fundamentally impossible to be good at.”

Morrigan leaned away from Hawke in cool distain, “Well, you would be one to speak of widespread slaughter.” 

Hawke snorted and shook her head, “Nice to see your perspective is actually as narrow as it seems.” 

“To speak of narrow perspectives so.  You were so overwhelmed by the office of Viscount you and your elven bedwarmer wouldn't have to flee the Marches.”

Lyta wasn’t sure how, particularly given that Hawke wasn’t a mage, but she was positive the temperature in the courtyard dropped about twenty degrees to be a better match for Hawke’s icy tone and frozen eyes.  “First thing, if you want your fucking tongue to stay in one piece and where it is I'd better not hear you talking about Fenris that way again.  People really underestimate what a versatile cut of meat the tongue is and as you so astutely point out I am on the run.  Second thing, the rodents may be of unusual size in the fire swamp, but they're nowhere near as big as they are in Orlais.  Nor do they pretend to be anything else.”

Morrigan either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the force of Hawke’s ire, “Do make up your mind, am I a toad or a rodent?”

"And here I thought you needed to be witty to survive in the Game.  You're a fucking shape-shifter bitch!  You're every lowly parasitic pest anyone is ever forced to endure.  And seriously, any time you want to play one of my games, let me know.”  She ran her eyes over Morrigan appraisingly.  “Lots of other cuts of meat I can use.”

“I certainly hope you don’t think you’re impressing anyone with this display.”

“Aww, not all of us need to turn tricks to get permission to stay.”

“Well, maybe if you had you wouldn’t have been run out of every home you’ve ever known!”

“Given that you’re here, I don’t see that as being a recipe for success.”

“I hope you’re paying attention, Reaper.”  Lyta turned towards Varric at his whisper, “You just watched someone fall prey to one of the classic blunders.  The most well known of which is, of course, ‘Never get involved in a sea war against Qunari,’ but only slightly less well-known is ‘Never insult Elf if Jigsaw’s around to hear it.’  Actually, she just fell into two classic blunders, ‘Never poke at Jigsaw when she’s twitchy’ is I think fourth on the list.”

“I’ll... keep that in mind.”  

Lyta glanced back at the verbal grudge match taking place in the courtyard.  Leliana had come down at some point and was, for some incomprehensible reason, trying to intervene.

“I think you should calm down, Champion,” Varric, Loghain, Cullen, and Lyta all winced at Leliana’s choice of words.  For her part Lyta had thought Leliana was smarter than that.  “Take some time, try to understand what Morrigan is saying.  There is no reason why we cannot all be friends.”

Hawke threw her head back and her hollow, empty laughter cut through the courtyard.  Lyta looked down to make sure it hadn’t somehow cut her.

“Oh, but there is every reason we can’t all be friends.  I don’t want to be her friend.”  Hawke snapped her gaze to Leliana.  “Or yours.  But neither of you have friends, do you?  It’s all tools, followers, worshippers, stepping-stones, accessories on your bloody path to power and glory.  Oh, but I forget; it’s okay for you to do it, because the maker wants you to, and with your perfect sense of right and wrong, you know exactly what the maker wants.”

Leliana straightened a bit, “You think you see so much, don’t you, Champion?  Well do you ever look at yourself?  See what you’ve done?  The suffering you’ve caused?  What do you see when you look at yourself?”

“So much more than you do.  But that’s a bit of a truism, isn’t it?  That light of righteousness you’re just smart enough to be terrified to step even a bit away from is just so blinding, isn’t it?”

Lyta turned to whisper to Varric, “Same classic blunder?”

“Same classic blunder, Reaper.”

Lyta pursed her lips, she wasn’t sure why, possibly because it was something to focus on that wasn’t what was going on in the courtyard, but she decided to finally ask Varric, “Why do you call me that anyway?  It doesn’t really fit you know.”

“Reaper, you’re a giant Qunari woman with a huge scythe, you look like a Reaper.  And maybe you should take a page from Jigsaw’s book and consider leaning into it more, you have to be just a bit intimidating, you’re the Inquisitor.  If I went around calling you something cute like ‘fawn’ nobody would take you seriously.  ‘Course maybe don’t lean into it quite as far as Jigsaw did.”

“If you want her to stop, why don’t you start calling her something cute like fawn?”

“Well, ‘fawn’ would never work for Jigsaw, but maybe...”  Varric stood and shouted at Hawke, “Say, Jigsaw?  What would you think about me calling you ‘Kitty’ instead?”

“...what?”  Hawke didn’t look enthusiastic about the idea.

“I... uh, never mind.  And I just remembered I’m on a deadline so I’ll see you later Jigsaw.”

“And that, Inquisitor,” Loghain had gathered up the maps and walked over to Lyta while she was distracted, “Would be an example of the third most famous classic blunder - do not draw attention to yourself if you’re around Cassia and she’s on-edge.”

Lyta looked up at the Warden in confusion, “She’s what, thirty five?  How are so many of these ‘classic’ blunders about her?”

“I’d suggest asking your advisors, but people who end up on the wrong end of Cassia don’t tend to enjoy re-living the experience.”

“Well then how many of the classic blunders are about her?” Lyta asked.

“Both more and fewer than you’d imagine.”

Cullen entered the conversation, “Here’s a question for you, Loghain - You couldn't have just left her in Gwaren?” 

Loghain shook his head and muttered, “What is it with out-of-their-depths ex-Templars and that question...”  He continued at full volume, “I didn’t leave her in Gwaren for the same reason you didn’t want to leave her wherever she was.  There are a lot of people who are good, and she’s very good, but when it comes to ripping opponents to shreds there’s no one better.”

[peterbishop]

someone like you

Mark opens his mouth, as if to answer, and snaps his fingers. “She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she? I saw you kissing some chick before I got brought into here. I thought it might have been her, but I couldn’t believe someone like you would end up with someone like her.”

(or, a suspect uses jake and amy's relationship against jake)

read on ao3

-

Sometimes, they hold hands walking into work. And sometimes, she presses a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth before leaving to brief her beat cops on the day. Her fingers may linger on his wrist for a moment too long and Charles breaks into the widest grin, but they wouldn’t have it any other way. They never fully shied away from PDA while they were dating—being married, however, makes it all that more enticing. “Sorry,” Jake will say to the role of Rosa’s eyes, “I just love my wife.”

It’s never been a problem; not even when Gina made mention of their “bang me eyes” being on full display the week following their honeymoon, much to their horror (resulting in a secret tryst to the third floor supply closet to get it out of their systems). They are simply in love, endlessly enamored by one another, and no one can imagine it another way. Parts of a whole: Jake and Amy. With one comes the other.

Even more so with their wanting to get pregnant. Jake whispers how beautiful she looks when she surprises with him a cup of coffee, and her lips ghost the shell of his ear when she tells him how much she loves him in that dark green shirt. It’s shared smiles and glances that say more than any string of words. Everything feels more alive, more infused with attention and care, since they decided to start trying for kids. It’s precarious and tangible and real. Love is that, Jake decides after one particularly mind-blowing night: it’s him and Amy and knowing that they’ll create a being out of their own adoration.

So, sue him if he cups her cheek when she gives him a goodbye kiss before heading for the elevators. And for whispering, “Oh, the things I would do if we weren’t here…” with a wink to follow. She goes in for one more kiss—cue faux-gagging from Rosa—and tells him she’ll see him in a few hours. His eyes continue to follow her, watching and falling in love all over again, before she disappears downstairs.

Terry walks over to Jake’s desk and drops down a file. “I need you to question Mark Robinson.” His eyes flick towards a man, appearing mid-forties and fairly fit, standing in the nearby holding cell. “He’s our lead suspect in the 87th street robbery case.”

Jake looks through the file. “Didn’t Amy arrest this guy?”

“Yeah, but she’s busy with a seminar this morning. It’s a pretty open and shut case—read the file and you’ll be fine,” Terry says.

Jake nods, “Sounds good,” and starts reading.

-

“Who are you?”

Jake slides into the cool metal seat, flicking open the manilla folder before him, and cooly smirks. “Jake Peralta, detective extraordinaire.”

Mark Robinson cocks his head, almost with disappointment. “You didn’t arrest me.”

“Quite the astute observation there, Mr. Robinson,” Jake says, probably too sarcastically. “Maybe you should be a detective.”

“What happened to that Latina chick?” Mark asks bluntly.

Jake’s jaw twitches, slightly caught off-guard. “I’m taking over the case. Now, Mr. Robinson—“

“That’s a shame,” Mark laments. “I wanted to see her again. She’s pretty sexy.”

“Sir,” Jake says, curt.

“Like, so hot. I would let myself get arrested again if she was on the other end of it.”

“Sir, you’re here to answer my questions. I don’t need the commentary.”

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t find her attractive?”

Jake’s teeth start to grind. “You’re talking about a highly decorated sergeant. I would suggest not saying another word about her.”

“C’mon, it’s all in good fun. Just some locker room talk, man.” Mark gives him a smarmy grin.

“No,” Jake levels, words sharp and slight. “It’s not. Now again, Mr. Robinson, we have eyewitnesses who place you on 87th street at the time of the robbery. Would you like to explain why you were there?”

Mark opens his mouth, as if to answer, and snaps his fingers. “She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she? I saw you kissing some chick before I got brought into here. I thought it might have been her, but I couldn’t believe someone like you would end up with someone like her.”

Jake takes a deep breath and curls his hand into a fist, trying to restrain himself from hitting the table. Mark’s eyes flicker down to Jake’s left hand, his silver wedding band shining in the light, and breaks into a laugh. “She’s your wife? This keeps getting better.”

Jake thinks back to the Keri Brennan case, one of he said, she said, which proved to be harder on Jake than he anticipated. Amy opening up to him in the break room, about her old captain and expectations and how this is normal, for her and for women as a whole. She looked at him with wet eyes and spoke in sullen words, and he almost couldn’t meet her gaze, feeling helpless and hopeless. She never needed him to protect her, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to do so. He held her hand tightly on the yellow couch that day and continued to hold it tighter when they left work.

He watched feminist documentaries and thought he got it. But this, looking Mark Robinson in his sleazy eyes and listening to sordid words drip from his mouth without care—Jake feels like he’s back in the break room, realizing and understanding all over again.

“Shut up,” Jake says lowly.

“Did I get to you, detective extraordinaire?” Mark disparages, positively gleeful.

“No—I just don’t have time for dicks.”

“Oh, I definitely did.”

Jake slams the folder shut. “Clearly, you don’t want to be here. Neither do I. I could be doing so many other things right now. So, just admit that you broke into that woman’s apartment, and we can move on.”

“Nah,” Mark says, casual and nonchalant. “I’m having fun.”

“You stole tens of thousands of dollars of jewelry off her dresser. Felt good, didn’t it?” Jake prods, sinking to the man’s level. “To just take advantage of her?”

Mark laughs. “You think you’re going to coax it out of me?”

“She’s quite the beautiful woman, but she didn’t want you, did she? You must have met her at a bar, maybe followed her home, but she said no.”

The suspect wrings his hands together. “Nice theory there, but no.”

“So, why were you on 87th street?”

“Just taking a walk. Is that a crime now, too?”

“No, but having no alibi definitely points toward you being guilty.”

Mark falls quiet.

“C’mon, Mark. Just say you did it. We’re sending cops to your apartment soon, anyways. You really think they won't find anything?”

Again, no response.

“If you admit to me that you did it, maybe we’ll lessen your sentence.”

A beat. The man’s forehead wrinkles, thinking.

“Fine,” Mark spits, laughing. “I did it. I robbed that bitch—she just made it too easy not to.”

Jake stands up from his seat. “See Mark, how hard was that?”

Mark breaks into a grin, still laughing. “And I know I could rob your wife’s heart too.”

“Oh, you fucking wish,” Jake sneers, and leaves with the slam of the door.

-

Jake tosses the file onto Terry’s desk and says, “He confessed,” before quickly turning to leave the office.

“Hold up there, Peralta. Where are you going?” Terry asks, and Jake spins on his heels.

“I gotta go see my wife.” Terry gives him a dubious look, and Jake sighs. “If you see the tape from the interrogation room, you’ll understand.”

-

Amy is doing paperwork when Jake brings her face into his hands, kissing her softly, slowly. When he breaks away, she looks at him warmly, trying to fight off the smile that tugs at her lips. “What was that for, babe?” she asks.

“I just wanted to let you know I love you,” he says simply.

He thinks he’s hiding it, but he knows she can sense the slight change in his demeanor. She’s his wife after all. “I love you too, but seriously, Jake,” she says, “what is it?”

He pulls over the chair that resides next to her desk, his voice low: “I questioned the man you arrested, Mark Robinson.”

“Did he confess?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“That’s great.” She pauses as his head drops down, their eyes no longer meeting. “It’s not great?”

“He said… things that I can’t get out of my head.”

“Like what?”

Jake lets out a heavy sigh. “He saw you kiss me before I went to interrogate him and basically used it against me. He couldn’t believe I was with someone like you.”

“Oh,” she breathes.

“And he was just saying awful stuff about you, calling you a chick and—god, I wanted to punch him, Ames. I really did.”

Her hand falls to his, giving it a squeeze. “Babe—“

“You’re my wife,” he says so surely. “And I love you, and I know you love me but—“

“But nothing,” Amy cuts in. “The guy was just being an asshole. He doesn’t know you nor understands the millions of reasons that I’m in love with you.”

Jake softly smiles at that, almost blushing.

“You’re kind and brilliant and everything. My everything,” she says, and Jake thinks his heart could burst the way it batters against his ribcage with all-consuming love.

“I married the cheesiest person in the world.”

“Yes, you did,” she smiles back. “And no one can change that.”

-

When Jake heads back to his desk, Mark is getting taken out of the holding cell in handcuffs.

They make eye contact and maybe, Jake waves goodbye with his left hand, purposely showing off his wedding band. And maybe, he proudly grins and mouths ‘she’s my wife’ as Mark scowls. And maybe, he holds up his ring finger as if he were flipping the bird.

But when the workday ends and he brings his arm around Amy’s waist just as they exit the precinct and she leans into his side, sweetly whispering his name? That’s a definite.