#made this in a delirious haze late one night (& i think you can tell)

[radio-4-is-static]

You glance a ricochet from every alpha male behind me Eyes like marbles on a washing machine Oh and do you ever wonder How the boy feels?

- Katherine Kiss Me by Franz Ferdinand ⤷ Week One of FranzFeb: appreciation for your favorite song or lyric

[paleontaxi]

Usually, Jarod does not mind going to the hospital.  He does not fear it in the way some people might expect him to, especially given his activities.  But in this case, he is at least distantly glad that Ink didn’t.  He doesn’t believe doctors can report information to the police unless they file a subpoena, which is why they have never made him exceptionally nervous.  But even with that knowledge, the fewer questions he gets asked about murdering a teenager, the better.  He knows the more he talks about what happened, the less he will be able to play himself off as the victim in the situation.

Jarod does not like being pushed back down on the couch because he wants to get up and about again, but he lets it happen anyway.  It doesn’t appear that he’s going anywhere anytime soon, and he just has to accept that fact.  And of all the places he could be stuck, above a bar is one of the better ones.

“Sorry I scared you,” Jarod murmurs, and he at least mostly is.  It had not been his intention to frighten Ink because he hadn’t meant to come here at all.  It was just convenient and made sense to his delirious mind at the time, he supposes.  He is used to people being afraid of him, but it’s usually because of something he does on purpose, not on accident.  Even the threatening aura he exudes that keeps people away from him is largely intentional.  He did not previously put out that energy until he set out to do it deliberately.  Now, it’s second nature to him, just part of who he is.

“Your apartment,” Jarod echoes, taking another look around the place.  It’s quaint, certainly nothing like his house, but he supposes it works for one person.  Actually, thinking about it, maybe he should consider downsizing himself—although that thought quickly goes out the window when he realizes he won’t have Lola’s room anymore, which he has not changed since the day she left home.  He would have to get rid of so many memories if he moved, and he just can’t do that.

Then, he hears 1:15PM.  He does not have a time that he starts work, so he technically isn’t late, although he has missed the entire morning rush, people trying to get to work.  He could still make the evening one and then work the night, transporting all of the people going out for drinks after work and whatnot—or at least, he could if he was in the condition to do so.

His head is pounding, and he becomes aware of Ink’s fingers in his hair, soft and gentle.  It feels strange having another man do that to him, and through the haze, he thinks to protest it, to tell Ink not to touch him in such a… queer way.  Mostly, it feels good, though, and there is part of him that doesn’t want it to stop, as his eyes slip closed and his muscles relax again.  Even if he was going to say something, Ink pulls his hand away shortly, perhaps realizing himself how it must seem.

“Thanks…” he says, reaching for the water on the table.  He forces himself more upright so he can take a sip, and while it takes considerable effort, the cool liquid on his tongue is well worth it.  “Don’t worry about the pain, I’ll be all right.  I’ll take you up on the coffee, though, when it’s done.”  He’ll definitely have to find a way to sit up for that one because he can’t risk spilling hot coffee all over himself, but that’s a bridge he will cross when he comes to it.

He pauses and then says, “You didn’t have to do this, you know.  You could have slammed the door in my face.”

Ink has been up for a while at this point--or, rather, he never slept in the first place. He really meant to this time, but his plans quickly changed when, late last night, Jarod quite literally fell onto him, covered in blood and nearly unconscious. For the most part, Ink feels that he's been handling this situation well--at the very least, the sight and smell of the blood all over him didn't make Ink pass out.

Right now, the two are in Ink's small, cramped apartment, located just above the Morning Glory. At a loss for what to do, Ink had carefully maneuvered the barely conscious taxi driver upstairs, allowing him to rest on Ink's couch while Ink patched him up and cleaned him. It's just after one in the afternoon, and Ink is brewing a pot of coffee.

Ink's studio apartment is far from the worst he's had, but it's also far from the ritziest place in the world. In the three years he's lived here, he's learned to make the most out of the space, using every inch as efficiently as possible. It's why he doesn't have a bed, instead opting to just have the one couch.

(Another reason Ink didn't sleep--Jarod is currently unconscious on his "bed" and Ink wasn't about to make things weird on that front by trying to join him.)

It's at that point when Ink hears a groan coming from his couch, and he turns his head to look. Jarod is stirring, starting to sit up (and quickly regretting it, if the way he grimaces is any indication). Immediately, Ink grabs a glass and fills it with water from the sink as he walks over.

"Hey, hey," he says gently, "it's alright, you're alright." He carefully sets the glass down on the coffee table and eases Jarod back down, resting a hand on his forehead. As he does, he makes sure not to put too much pressure on the bandages around Jarod's head or otherwise jostle him. Even if the head wound, once it was cleaned up, didn't look too serious, Ink isn't interested in taking chances on that front.

When Jarod looks up at him deliriously, Ink offers him a gentle smile. Clearly, Jarod at least recognizes him. "Good to see you're awake," he says with a relieved sigh. "You gave me quite the heart attack there."

Unconsciously, Ink threads his fingers through Jarod's hair, more to make sure he didn't miss any additional injuries than anything. As far as he can tell, he seems to have taken care of the worst of them while he was patching Jarod up earlier. That's a relief, if nothing else. Absently, he starts stroking his hair a bit, trying to offer what comfort he can after the guy clearly had an awful night.

"You're in my apartment," Ink tells him. "I, ah, live just above the bar--figured it'd be better to bring you somewhere you can have privacy rather than try to patch you up in my workplace." He pauses. "And as for the time, it's-" Ink pauses to look at the clock on the wall "-just after 1:15 PM." Jarod is clearly struggling to keep his eyes open, and Ink feels a bit bad as he stills his hand.

"I don't think you're in much shape to work today," he replies. "You need to rest--at least for now. I got you some water, and I've got coffee brewing right now." Can someone who might have a concussion have coffee? Ink should look that up. "I'm afraid I don't keep anything up here for pain, but I talked to my coworker Andie when she came in, and she had some, so if you need anything..." Ink trails off, realizing with some embarrassment that he's probably overwhelming the poor man.

Ink doesn't know Jarod, and that's fine. Jarod certainly doesn't know him either. They get along well enough, but Ink isn't going to assume that a few polite conversations between bartender and drunk mean anything now. Was it in appropriate to bring him here? Fuck.

[ickle-ronniekins]

it takes two

desc: when you make a stupid mistake, you can feel a shift in your friendships with your two best mates. so what better way to take care of things than to not mention anything to either of them at all? that is, until you’re bursting at the seams and need to get the story out, one way or another.

word count: 5.6k

warning(s): mentions and consumption of alcoholic beverages

A/N: something a little different. i still hope you all enjoy :) took me freaking forever to write this oi veigh. notes: my requests are still currently closed, i am merely working through the ones in my inbox. i do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any platforms.

taglist: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darlingdetails @laneygthememequeen @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @feffffffy​@acciotwinz @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @shadowsinger11 @sleep-i-ness @shadychaoticcollection​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff​ @kageyama-i-want-tobiors​ @letsfightsomeorcs​ @theweasleysredhair​ @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs​ @wand3ringr0s3​ @finecole​ @angelinathebook​ @highly-acidic​ @purplefragile @90shermione​ @zreads​ @susceptible-but-siriusexual​ @hollands-weasley​ @andromedaa-tonks​ @bbystrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle​ @mytreec​ @imseeinggred​ @idont-knowrn​ @auroraboringalis57​ @godricsswords​ @jejegu​ @annasofiaearlobe​ @starlightweasley​ @alwaysasadaesthetic​ @thisismysketchbook​ @izzytheninja​ @imboredandneedalife​ @hemmoporro​ @valwritesx​ @heavenlymidnight​ @hannolannno​ @msmimimerton​ @oh-for-merlins-sake​ @hufflepuff5972​ @pigwidgexn​ @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breadqueen95​ | message me if you’d like to be added or removed!

“Fred! Bloody hell, can’t you let me win just once?”

The common room was vibrating with chattering students. Across the table from you sat Fred with a rather smug look painted onto his face as if to say, Won again! You huffed dramatically; you’d been trying this entire term to beat him in a game of exploding snap and had yet to do so. You sulkily sank back into the couch and folded your arms across your chest, all while Fred just sat across from you and laughed. Just then, George plopped down next to you and thrust a goblet that was filled to the brim into your hands.

“Are you giving me this because I’ve lost to your git of a brother for the millionth time this year and need some reconciling?” You lowered your voice and your eyes to the goblet, the insides of it swirling with Gryffindor-deep crimson reds and oranges, the liquid that would course through your veins like a rapid fire.

“What’re you on about?” George asked, a sly smile creeping onto his face, “that’s butterbeer.”

You knew by the colour alone and the sheer burn in the back of your throat when you swallowed that it was definitely not butterbeer. Your eyes began to water at the sting. “Mhmm,”

“To answer your question, Y/N,” Fred dragged your name out a little bit longer than you would have liked, but he just adored teasing you, didn’t he? You narrowed your eyes at him as he relaxed back into the armchair, bringing the goblet of firewhisky to his lips, “no, I can’t let you win just once, I reckon. That wouldn’t be fair.” He then took a too-big-to-handle gulp, and began to cough from the burn of the alcohol.

“Fred, I swear to Merlin, could you be any less subtle, you idiot?” George sneered at his twin, grabbing for the goblet which Fred held above his head. George just sighed. “Can’t let the prefects see I’ve snuck this in.”

You giggled and shoved him. “Oh, you mean, your brother?”

The three of you peered across the common room to see Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny chatting away, Ron and Hermione’s shiny Prefects badges glistening on their robes. You shoved George playfully when he began to laugh.

“What? Ron wouldn’t tell. He’s too scared of us. It’s Hermione I’m worried about.”

You clinked your goblet with his and then with Fred’s and wiggled your eyebrows at the both of them. “Well then, boys, best make sure she doesn’t see, yeah?”

The three of you threw back more gulps and you reckoned it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but the buzz of the party was making you abandon all logical thoughts.

You jumped up in surprise to find yourself still in your uniform from yesterday, but somehow tucked comfortably underneath the covers in your four poster. There were two perfect seconds where everything was fine and wonderful and lovely, until the haze above you lifted and you felt the very obnoxious thumping in your head when you turned toward your window and the sunlight nearly blinded you. Groaning, you pulled the covers back over your eyes and stayed in the dark until one of your mates began to yell that you were going to be late for breakfast.

You changed into new robes and tried to tame the wild animal that was your hair, but it was really no use, so you settled for pulling it back without accentuating your migraine. Sullenly, you dragged yourself away from bed, through the portrait hole, and down the steps toward the Great Hall.

It was all coming back in fuzzy little increments, wasn’t it? Last night. You grimaced when you remembered dancing and singing and playing exploding snap and giggling like mad all evening, like a little schoolgirl. The room had been buzzing with excited students and everyone was thoroughly enjoying their Sunday evening, despite the fact that Monday morning lessons loomed in the distance. Everything seemed to be better after some firewhisky, right? Blimey. The firewhisky. No wonder you had such an awful headache! That’s the last time you’d ever listen to Fred and George and -- oi. Bloody hell. Fred and George.

You were hit not only with another sharp pain through your skill, but with the overwhelming sensation of what exactly had happened. The truth. The painful, blinding, can’t-even-pretend-it-didn’t-happen truth.

And the truth was, of course, that you’d been so overpowered by your own giddiness mixed with the alcohol that you’d promptly danced the evening straight away and fell asleep uncomfortably in the armchair next to the fire quite early in the evening. One of them, one of the twins -- and which one, you didn’t know -- had taken it upon themselves to carry you from the common room and up to your dormitory before placing you safely in bed, all before you’d been too delirious to realize that you’d pulled him forward and kissed him. KISSED him.

But who was him exactly?

Your heart jumped into your throat, eager to escape, and you stopped short right in front of the Great Hall. How could you face them now? You didn’t even bloody know which one you’d embarrassed yourself in front of! Though, surely the one had told the other, so you reckoned you’d embarrassed yourself in front of them both at this point.

And then you saw him -- he had half of his body slung over the Gryffindor table, trying desperately to grab for the last bit of bacon Ron seemed to have snatched up. He flicked his red hair out of his eyes and took the final piece of toast off of Ron’s plate in an attempt to get his brother back for stealing the bacon from under his nose. And then a bright smile split his face as he sat back down, clearly satisfied with himself, and you knew right then and there that it had been him.

You’d kissed Fred, in a drunken, delirious state.

Your stomach grumbled. You knew that you desperately needed to eat, but you turned swiftly on your heel, away from the Great Hall, away from him, away from the mess that awaited you as you ignored it all and made way for the kitchens instead.

-- -

You felt as though you were walking on eggshells. You were conscious of every grin, every flutter of your eyelashes, every wave, every movement of your own so as not to come off a certain way.

There was no way you’d be able to avoid the two of them without rising suspicion, so you told yourself you’d go on as normal and only think or speak on the entire ordeal if one of them brought it up. It was proving rather difficult though, to not think on it at least. But it had been a week and thankfully, neither of them had brought it up to you. Fred and George continuously sent you winks across classrooms and teased you mercilessly, but this was nothing new; however, each and every time they said your name with an upward inflection, a question perched on their lips, you felt your heart constrict a little.

Why was this having such an effect on you? It’s not like you fancied Fred, or either one of them, for that matter.

But the butterflies that danced around in your stomach each and every time you saw him made you question everything you thought you knew about your heart. Were you only feeling this wave of nervousness because of the kiss-that-shouldn’t-have-been, or because you were actually developing feelings for him? And if you were developing feelings for him, were they genuine, or were they only because you’d kissed him? Or perhaps, maybe the kiss meant nothing in that it was simply just a kiss, a drunken, silly mistake. OI VEIGH. You internally scolded yourself for thinking in circles.

One particularly bad day, you’d been gawking. There was no other way of describing what you’d been doing. You were straight up staring, but not in an “I love you, let’s get married” type of way, but rather, “I need to look at you for a moment to see if these feelings I’m feeling are real or I’m just kidding myself” way. Of course, Fred couldn’t tell the difference, so when he caught you watching him attempt to cut bits of gurdyroot into five equal pieces, he smirked at you and asked, “Like what you see?”

You coughed in surprise on the air you were breathing and sat up a bit straighter. “Just watching your technique,” you blurted out, which didn’t sound any less pathetic, you reckoned. You just couldn’t wait to get out of the dungeons and back to the common room to stick your nose in a book and escape to someone else’s world for a bit.

But blimey, this was driving you mad. You hadn’t told anyone of this little adventure, had you? You thought about possibly consulting Ginny, though discussing the idea of you snogging one of her brothers probably wouldn’t be high on her priority list. Then you thought perhaps Hermione, who was always of a sound mind, but then you’d have to admit to the firewhisky and that wouldn’t benefit anyone. Then the possibility of Harry caught your attention, because he was always getting himself into conundrums, wasn’t he? He was probably an expert on damage control about now. Though when it came to romance, he was kind of awkward, so perhaps he wasn’t the best person to consult either.

You were nearly bursting at the seams with this story -- you just needed to get it off of your chest, you needed to be told that you weren’t crazy and that it was totally okay to be questioning these things you were feeling. But you hadn’t had enough time to find an appropriate confidant, which resulted in you spilling your guts to the absolute worst.

“I kissed him!”

In a moment of horror, your eyes widened and you brought your hands to your mouth in surprise, because you couldn’t believe you’d just said the words out loud. All it had been this whole time was a thought, right? Perhaps even a dream. Maybe you’d been imagining it the entire time. But now, saying it out loud, you realized that what had happened that evening was as real as the befuddled boy standing across from you.

Poor George arched an eyebrow and pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, you could tell. You began to shake your head and lift a finger, but he just took a step forward, his eyes softened now, as if to say, It’ll be alright, you know.  “Wait, Y/N --”

“Erm --” you were finding it really difficult to string together coherent sentences, because you weren’t exactly sure what you’d like to say. I may or may not be mad for your brother? I kissed him that one time when I was delirious and he hasn’t said anything and now I’m confused? So instead, you opted for, “Can we just -- go ahead and forget I’ve ever said anything?”

The grounds were absolutely bloody freezing -- the snow was coming down quite heavily now, everything already covered in a blanket of white, and you watched George shiver as he pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. Yet you felt as if your entire soul was on fire.

You noticed though, that he didn’t look surprised; Fred must’ve told him. You felt crimson red flush your cheeks and you so very much wanted to bury yourself underneath the covers of your bed in your dorm. Unfortunately for you, though, you had lessons soon. “Fred’s told you already, hasn’t he?”

“No, no, he didn’t,” George replied, eager to make sure you knew the truth.

“Reckon you think I’m out of my bloody mind, don’t you?”

“I thought that long before this whole debacle.”

You punched him square in the arm and he recoiled jokingly. “Ha haaaa,” you told him before dropping your head into your hands and groaning. When you finally had the courage to lift your head, you met George’s gaze and watched as the wind rustled his hair and snowflakes landed all over his robes. He peered at you sympathetically. “Can we just... please don’t tell Fred you know anything. If he hasn’t told you, I reckon he’s trying to repress it -- you know, kind of like a nightmare you don’t wish to remember!” George snorted at your attempt at making fun of yourself. “Or -- I dunno, maybe you could help me figure out how to broach the subject with him -- or maybe --”

George placed gentle hands onto your shoulders. “Oi, you really haven’t a clue what you’d like to do about this, d’you?”

You shook your head embarrassingly and started to groan again.

“Tell you what,” George said, gesturing for you two to head back inside the castle, “you think on it, and if you need any help, let me know. Once you come to a decision, I’ll help you execute a plan, and for the time being, this stays between us. Deal?”

For the first time in nearly a week, you felt somewhat better. You took a rather deep breath and let the cold, winter air fill your lungs before exhaling and letting your muscles de-tense. Your heart fluttered at his kindness, and the tenderness in his eyes as he watched you. “Thanks, George, I appreciate it.”

Then you picked up a huge wad of snow and threw it straight at him until he was pummeling you, too.

-- -

He winked at you just as you rolled your eyes and walked across the classroom and plopped yourself in the seat beside his. He smirked a bit, as if to say, Fancy meeting you here.

You glanced up toward the ceiling for no reason other than to not look directly at him for a moment. With your heart thundering dramatically in your chest, you internally sent out a plea to the universe, who apparently found it rather funny to pair you and Fred together in nearly every single lesson. What’ve I done to deserve this type of internal agony?

“Wow, together again,” Fred teased as he pulled out his spellbook from his bag. Then he threaded his brows together and thought for a moment, as if he was concentrating his hardest on a scientific discovery, “Don’t you find it kind of odd that we’ve been paired together in nearly every class? I mean, blimey, it’s as if our professors are trying to get the two of us to date or something.”

A lump appeared in your throat at the word date, and you swallowed to try and dislodge it. “Yeah,” you replied breathlessly, a nervous laugh escaping you, “odd.”

A few weeks ago, you would’ve been delighted to have been paired with Fred. Not because you were in love with him or anything, but because he was one of your best mates, wasn’t he? And now, as you inched as far away as you possibly could from him without looking suspicious, you felt a shift in your friendship -- a crack, if you will, that, as the days went on and you became more and more uncomfortable around him because of the secret you held close to you, seemed to be growing larger and the distance between you both bigger.

You had to admit, though, the two of you were pretty great together. Not in that way, but just as partners, as equals. As friends. Which is what you’d always been. Fred had this way about him that made even the most dreadful of lessons seem lighter, and you reckoned you could do far worse than having him as your partner. You wouldn’t want to be paired with a dreadful Slytherin in Potions now, would you? You made a mental note to thank the universe later and take back what you said about the agony thing.

“Right,” Fred began one afternoon as the two of you swiftly made your way up from the dungeons to the common room, “so I reckon we should probably meet sometime soon so we can get started on this dreadful assignment for Snape, so I’ll just cancel with Lee and George. What d’you say? This weekend?”

Your breath got caught in your throat when you realized that Fred wanted to cancel plans with his best mates to spend time with you, albeit, working on assignment for Snape. But it wasn’t due for a week! “Fred, you don’t have to do that --”

George appeared around the corner and waved at the two of you before making his way through the seat of students. Meanwhile, Fred just waved you off. “Nonsense. It’s no big deal. Not trying to get away from me, are you?” He smirked at you.

“Of course not,” you replied. George appeared in front of you both, immediately engaging Fred in some conversation that you were sure was centered around some type of mischief they were looking to get into, but the blood pounding in your ears seemed to drown everything out around you.

You hated this. There was no getting around it. Why had you stupidly kissed Fred? Why was your subconscious trying to make you fall in love when you had other pressing matters, like exams and things? And why had the universe caused this wedge between you and your two best friends in the entire world?

Fingers snapped in front of your eyes and everything came back into focus. George laughed breathlessly, “You alright? Zoned out there for a moment,”

“Not dreaming about working on that assignment with me, are you? Have got a few more days until then, I’m afraid.” Fred teased. You swallowed and watched as George’s eyes shifted from his brother’s to yours.

You were able to produce somewhat of a laugh and punched Fred in the arm, a little two hard, because the boys just peered from one another to you, with confused types of grins on their faces. “Hilarious, Freddie. I’ve -- I’ve just remembered that I’ve got another assignment to finish up, so I’m going to head to the library -- but I’ll see you both later!”

And before either of the twins could convince you to come with them back to the common room to take a break, you sped off toward the library, trying with all of your might to catch your breath that seemed to have been stolen away.

-- -

You vowed after that night in the library that you were not going to let Fred get to you, no matter what. You told yourself to stay calm and grounded and to push aside whatever happened. To focus on what was in front of you. There was absolutely no point in getting worked up when it had obviously meant nothing to him, for he still hadn’t mentioned it. Who knows? Perhaps you’d also apologized in your delirious state, and he played it off. You just needed to move forward. And if your feelings were true, and it was meant to be, it would happen, wouldn’t it? The two of you.

You’d done a surprisingly good job of keeping your promise to yourself.

You found yourself falling back into your old routine. Each and every time Fred teased you or sent a wink your way, you merely rolled your eyes, reminding yourself that this was his normal behaviour and that there was absolutely no reason for you to read into it. He didn’t act overly flirty, he didn’t try and hold your hand or hug you or anything -- in fact, now that you were less focused on the entire ordeal, you came to realize that he was showing no signs that anything had happened at all.

You were busy in the common room, flipping furiously through a copy of the Daily Prophet, when the twins dropped their belongings and fell onto the couch across from you.

Without looking up, you could feel them both smirking at you. “I am not engaging in any type of firewhisky-related activity with you two again,” you told them straightforwardly.

“Why,” Fred teased, “because you’re worried about doing something you’ll regret again?”

Your heart nearly stopped beating at those few words. You froze and lifted your head; Fred was peering at you as though nothing was out of the ordinary, and George was looking back and forth between the two of you, looking as though he was ready to jump in with something if you needed him too.

“W-what d’you mean?” you asked tentatively, though you weren’t sure you wanted him to answer.

This was it, you reckoned. He was going to bring it up and then it’ll be out there in the open for the three of you to mull over; you’ll become awkward and uncomfortable around them both and that’ll be the new normal. Absolutely bloody fabulous.

Fred shrugged, as if it were obvious. “Your one woman show was quite the entertainment, you know.”

Oh. That you remembered. You breathed a deep sigh of relief, but then realized as the twins began to laugh that you weren’t exactly off the hook. It wasn’t the kiss they’d been discussing, but you reckoned that singing obnoxiously in the common room was probably just as embarrassing.

“No matter,” Fred said, “We haven’t even got any on us. Now if you’d both excuse me, I’ve got to go and ask that lovely lady out on a date. She’s been rejecting me for weeks, but I know she’ll come round.” He straightened his tie as if he were off to a business meeting and stood up, sending you and George bright grins before he went off to the other end of the common room to where Angelina was sitting reading a book. “Wish me luck.”

You watched with furrowed brows as Fred waltzed over to her, looking positively chuffed and confident, his aura of confidence engulfing the room entirely. He sat down next to her and you felt your heart begin to thunder against your ribcage; you realized now that you wanted to know the answer to Fred’s proposal probably more so than he did. And when, inevitably, Angelina rolled her eyes in a teasing sort of way but nodded her head in agreement as her eyes sparkled, you were surprised at the feelings swirling in your stomach.

It wasn’t sadness, or heartbreak, or confusion at all.

What you felt, in actuality, was relief.

You knew deep down that you didn’t love him, and thank Merlin he didn’t love you, too.

When he pulled Angelina to her feet and guided her toward the portrait hole, he looked over toward you and George and sent a wink as he bit down on his bottom lip, and for the first time in weeks, the eye roll you sent him back was genuine, and you finally felt as though you had your best mate back.

Once Fred was gone and completely out of earshot, you jumped up excitedly and began to shake George by the shoulders. “Blimey, woman, what has gotten into you?” he asked through a laugh.

“George, don’t you see?” you pleaded with him. “Clearly, whatever the bloody hell came over me doesn’t matter to Fred, because he’s sought out Ange instead! And it doesn’t matter to me either -- all those feelings I thought I had were merely because I was a nervous wreck due to the mistake I’d made. It was all in my head, wasn’t it? The feelings, I mean,” you rushed to continue when you noticed George’s confused features, “or whatever they were. Reckon I can just forget about that kiss now.” You sank comfortably into the couch, feeling as though a huge weight had finally been lifted off of your shoulders after having carried it around for bloody months, and you picked up your copy of the Daily Prophet again, reading giddily.

George leaned forward in the armchair, pressing his elbows into his knees. “You’re just going to forget about the entire thing?”

“Well, I don’t see why I’ve got to harp on it anymore, you know? Besides, I’ve got so many other things to focus on,” you told him before folding up your news clipping and setting it down on the table. “Speaking of all those things I need to do, I’d like to avoid them for the evening. What d’you say we break curfew and head down to the Quidditch pitch? I’d really like to give you a run for your money, Weasley.”

You noticed the mischievous glint in his eyes, and he was up and back from the boys dormitory with his broomstick before you could second guess yourself. You felt yourself blush when he said, “Whatever makes you happy. But I’ve got to warn you, I’m absolutely going to crush you out there.”

You pulled a thick scarf around your neck and scoffed before hopping through the portrait hole. “In your dreams, mate.”

-- -

You both landed dramatically on the couch after spending far too much time out in the cold. You wondered if your nose and ears were going to turn permanently red, and you rubbed your hands together as you inched closer toward the fire.

“You may have gotten me that time,” you told George, who was slowly sipping his steaming hot tea, “but it’s only because I’ve had an off few weeks. Now that everything’s back to normal though, I’ll be able to kick your arse just like you deserve.”

“Easy there,” he replied, and though his voice was soft, it echoed throughout the desolate common room, “don’t go getting any ideas. Haven’t you heard that Fred and I are the greatest beaters Gryffindor has ever seen?”

You actually snorted. “Right, okay, sure -- whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You realized then just how tired you actually were. You sank back into the couch and closed your eyes for just a moment; if you gave yourself a few minutes, you knew that you’d be absolutely out cold and probably snoring. You giggled a bit at the thought -- it’s no wonder Fred didn’t fall in love with you!

You heard George laugh a little too, and his voice was quiet in your ears. “Come on, Y/N, it’s nearly one -- let’s get to bed.”

And then you bolted forward, just like you had the morning after drinking all of that firewhisky. Realization hit you like a ton of bricks; next to you, George froze, a bit confused by your jolt, and you just peered at him, reliving it all over again.

Come on then, let’s get you to bed, Y/N.

It was the way he said your name, both that evening and tonight, filled with such tenderness and care that you’d be able to recognize it anywhere, easily pick it out of a lineup. You wouldn’t forget it for as long as you lived.

George threaded his brows together and shook his head slightly, as if to say, Are you alright?

And before you could let yourself figure out a better way of doing this, you breathed out, “It was you.”

His features twisted from confusion to nervousness, and then to relief. His face was flushed red, but you couldn’t tell if it was from the cold air or the fact that he was remembering, and reliving it all with you.

It was George that you’d kissed that night, not Fred.

It was evident that he didn’t know what to say. He parted his lips, as if he were going to open his mouth and speak, but nothing happened. You laughed a bit at how bloody stupid you’d been, and then grinned sympathetically at him. “It was you, the whole time.”

You wondered how you’d missed it, how you’d assumed it was Fred. And then, as George tentatively inched forward and placed his hand on top of yours, that all those feelings of butterflies and nervousness and heart-stopping moments hadn’t been because of Fred at all.

Whenever Fred had said something cheeky and your heart began to race, it was only because you’d caught George peering at you first.

When you stumbled over your words that time in a lesson, when Fred had jokingly told you that he thought your professors were trying to get you two to date, it was only because your head and heart subconsciously yearned for his twin instead.

And when your heart had started to race that day on the snow-covered grounds, at the idea of telling Fred anything at all, it was actually because of the tenderness in George’s eyes as he promised to not say a word to anyone.

“Why -- why didn’t you say anything?” you asked him.

It was so odd to see him so nervous; he and Fred were the most confident people in the bloody world, weren’t they? George sucked in a breath and you felt yourself tighten the grip around his hands as he spoke his own truth. “I dunno... you were so tired that night and so I figured it was just a mistake. But then you got all weird around us and so I figured perhaps not. Then you went and thought it was Fred and confided in me that one day... I just didn’t want to scare you away. You were so upset and confused and I didn’t want to worsen it. I figured you’d come to the realization on your own -- or, I hoped you would.”

You bit down on your lip and continued to laugh; you had felt so embarrassed by the idea of telling Fred when you thought it was him, but with George, it felt okay.

“Look,” he continued, squeezing your hands, “I’m not really sure where you’re at right now -- I mean, blimey, we’ve been best mates for years, haven’t we? If you’d like to forget the entire thing and go back to normal, then I -- I can do that.” He paused for a moment to consider the look in your eyes. He sucked in another breath, as if more oxygen in his lungs would give him the courage to continue. “I just... I don’t know if I want to.”

He was lucky then, because you didn’t know if you wanted to either. Perhaps it wasn’t the firewhisky that made you abandon all rational -- perhaps it was George and the way he made you feel -- because you pushed aside all what if’s and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you before gently brushing your lips over his. His surprise lasted about two seconds before he melted into you completely, and it was as if the feeling of his lips moving slowly against yours brought back all recognition from that night. Of course it had been him -- the faint taste of cinnamon and vanilla transported you right back.

When you broke apart, you both hovered close to one another for a moment before looking at one another and beginning to laugh at the ridiculousness of the entire ordeal. You pressed your lips together and said, “Normal’s overrated anyway, isn’t it?” He nodded and brought your hands to his lips. “Go to Hogsmeade with me.”

“What?”

“Tomorrow,” you told him straightforwardly, “I’ve been dying to head into Zonko’s. Then let’s grab lunch and a drink at the pub. No firewhisky, though." You both laughed.

He smirked at you and you watched as the fire reflected in his eyes burned brighter. “Did you just ask me out on a date?”

“That depends,” you replied, somehow feeling even more confident than before, “are you going to say yes?”

“Of course I’m going to say yes.”

You pulled him to his feet and he pulled you into an embrace; you wondered again how you’d gone on so bloody long not realizing it had been him who you’d kissed. You thought about apologizing for it, though you just squeezed your eyes shut and leaned your head against his chest, and you realized that he’d somehow be able to hear all of the unspoken words inside of you. Thank you for being so kind about all of this, you’d say. He pulled you tighter toward him and he pressed a kiss to your hair. I care about you too much not to be anything but that.

You both stepped apart. Awkwardly, you began to fumble with the strings on your sweater and George ran a hand nervously through his hair. This was going to be so strange, wasn’t it? Dating your best friend. Though as odd as the prospect seemed, you thought for a moment why you two hadn’t been doing this the entire time.

“Erm, so, tomorrow,” George stumbled a bit, walking with you toward the steps up to the girls’ dormitory. “Lunch, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, feeling overly giddy as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Tomorrow.”

Just as you were both headed up to your respective dormitories, George turned and said your name and stopped you. “Yeah?” you asked.

He shook his head slightly and furrowed his brows. “You know I’m only joking, right? It was Fred that night.”

Hot, bubbly panic took you over at those words, but then the git began to laugh hysterically and so you tossed a throw pillow directly at him and it hit him square in the head. For Merlin’s sake, these two you were going to drive you bloody mad.

“In that case, I won’t be seeing you for lunch tomorrow,” you called in a sing-song type of voice before heading up the steps.

You were right at the door of your dormitory when you heard George laughing still. “Aw, come on Y/N, I know that’s not true. You find me far too irresistible. I’ll see you tomorrow, love.”

You bit down on your lip to suppress a giggle. You’d have been really bloody angry had he not been so right about the irresistible thing.

“I’ll be sure to bring Fred along, too.”

“Weasley!”

[singingcroissants]

Patch Me Up

Hello, I’m back friends!! Things have been so busy lately, but I couldn’t stay away for too long! Of course I wrote this at 11 pm instead of translating Homer like I was supposed to be lmao. This is probably terrible but I figured I’d post it bc why not ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Enjoy!

Warnings: language, blood/injury, cheesy a$$ fluff

Note: This fic is aged up, as always!

Eyes heavy and muscles aching, you turn your key in the door.

The routine after a big fight was always the same: kick your shoes off, fumble through your dark apartment, and try not to think about whatever shitshow you just survived. But tonight, your side stung a little too much, and the blood seeping through your white t-shirt sent a shiver down your spine. Once you locked your door, you shuffled over to the bathroom sink to take inventory of your wounds. Lifting your shirt with a wince, your suspicions were confirmed. It was a shallow cut, you wouldn’t need stitches...but it was a pretty long gash, and it was definitely aggravated from rubbing against your shirt. In addition to the knife wound, you had a large bruise on your cheek, and your arms were peppered with little bruises from where the attacker grabbed you. Suddenly you froze, bile rising in your throat at the reminder of his pockmarked face and sadistic grin. Refusing to linger on the memory for too long, you splashed some water on your face, but grimaced when the action sent a searing pain into the laceration across your rib. Your vision turned white for a moment as you swayed, briefly losing your balance. Leaning your back against the bathroom wall for stability, you slid down to sit on the cold linoleum floor, head back, as you rubbed your knees in an effort to busy your shaking hands. Suddenly aware of hushed breathing coming from the doorway, you looked up, startled. To your surprise, Five Hargreeves stood in the doorway, watching you coolly. You two had a complicated relationship, constantly competing to be savior of the city. Over the 5 years you had known each other, you had never seen him smile; he was all business, all the time. What he was doing in your house on a Tuesday night, however, you couldn’t say. You were pulled from your thoughts as you felt his eyes on you.

“What happened?” He asks after a pause.

“On my way home from work I saw the Baxter Street gang following a young woman down 5th avenue, and I tried to take them on my own.” You hesitated, your pride wounded. “...It didn’t go so well.”

Five rolled his eyes, and muttered, “Yeah, I can see that.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched as his gaze slid over you. You watched him back intensely, surprised to catch a momentary glimpse of alarm in his eyes as he took in your bloody shirt and bruised cheek.

“Stand up,” he commanded.

Confused but too tired to argue, you began to rise to your feet, but not without muttering an indignant “What are you even doing here?”

To your embarrassment, the moment you stepped away from the wall you faltered, and he blinked across the room to catch you before you hit the ground. With his left hand resting on your back, and his right gripping your hip beneath your shirt, he guided you to an upright position wordlessly.

Through your haze of pain, you noted deliriously that he was making a suspiciously low number of snide remarks about your current position.

He lifted you up effortlessly and sat you on the countertop.

“Can I take this off?” he motioned to your shirt. Trying very hard to ignore the blush spreading to his ears, you whispered a faint, “Yes.”

The electricity skyrocketed when your eyes met, the tension of the moment visible in the slope of your shoulders, and Five’s bobbing adam's apple.

In a swift motion, he lifted the shirt up and stoically began cleaning your wound. You searched for any sign of concern in his face, but he showed none. Silently he worked, your heavy breathing and the buzzing electric lights the only sounds in the bathroom. Once he had disinfected the gash and carefully wrapped bandages around your waist, he quickly straightened and removed his sweater. Clearing his throat, he looked away and said casually, “Put this on.”

However grateful you were for his first aid skills, you began to grow shy at Five’s unceremonious kindness towards you. Fidgeting with the hem of your bloodstained shirt, you stubbornly said, “Oh thanks, but I’m actually perfectly comfortable in this. It’s actually designer-”

“Put it on,” he interrupted, his tone rising. A voice crack betrayed his attempt at austerity as he reigned himself in once more: “I’m not going to ask again.”

He left you staring, sweater in hand, as he turned to face away from you.

“Fine, fine... Thank you,” you conceded. You slipped off your soiled shirt with a wince, and put on Five’s sweater. It was soft -really soft- and smelled like leather and pine. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Echoing off the wall came a muffled and surprisingly gentle “You’re welcome.”

“You can turn around now, Robin Hood,” you called, in a half-hearted attempt at sarcasm. You had hoped that in using your usual nickname for him it would ease the tension in the room, but it did the opposite if anything. But maybe, you thought to yourself, the tension wasn’t necessarily unpleasant.

The two of you made your way to the couch in your living room, and within minutes Five had helped himself to your kitchen and returned with steaming mugs of tea.

Now you sat, side by side, staring into the swirling vapor rising from your cups.

Five broke the awkward silence: “You shouldn’t have tried to take on that gang by yourself, especially when you’re not prepared. That stab wound was worse than it looked, y/n. You could have been seriously hurt.” He hesitated,” Or worse.”

“Since when do you tell me what to do, Five?” you responded, heat rising to your cheeks. “You’re not my partner, you’re my competition. And what do you care, anyway? If I died, you’d have everything you ever wanted! They’d hand you the fucking key to the city!” Your emotions overtook you, exhaustion having decimated any boundaries you might have clung to otherwise. “So why the hell are you on my couch, and why am I wearing your sweater, and why does it smell so good?”

Shit.

To your surprise, Five Hargreeves laughed. He sat in front of you, mug of peppermint tea in hand, laughing. Miracles do happen, you joked to yourself, awestruck.

His laughter slowed, and your face burned bright red in the soft glow of your table lamp.

“Do you really not know why I’m here?” he asked in a low voice, suddenly more serious.

You shivered.

Closing the distance of the couch, he reached out and caressed the bruise on your cheek after a brief moment of hesitation. The uncharacteristic warmth in his eyes made yours shimmer with tears, and you weren’t quite sure why. It had been a long time since anyone looked at you like that.

“I’m here because not only would I care if you fell into harm’s way, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. It’s impossible not to notice you when we’re both out there, trying to keep everyone safe. You’re brave, and strong, and kind. To be honest, you’re the reason I keep fighting for this city, your selfless desire to protect and care for others...I just never knew how to tell you. It didn’t seem right. But when I heard you had gotten hurt, I imagined the worst, and I just... well, I just had to tell you.”

Your heart swelled, and suddenly he was kissing your lips, his eyelashes fluttering against your cheek. One hand rested on your thigh, and his other was combing through your hair. The moment was tender and new and so very fragile, the opposite of everything you had known about Five Hargreeves. He shifted his position and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on the bruise on your cheek. You leaned into him, finally allowing yourself to give in to your fatigue from the evening’s events. Five quietly took you into his arms and began rubbing your back, calming you even further.

Normally physical touch made you shrink up, but somehow the man beside you was learning how to break down your barriers at lightning speed. Perhaps you had been closer to each other than you realized for quite some time.

In all the excitement, you felt your eyelids begin to flutter closed as you fought to stay awake.

“Darling,” Five whispered, “You can fall asleep, it’s okay. Let’s just rest.”

That was all that you needed to hear. You drifted off in his arms, his chest rising and falling slowly beneath you. The stinging in your side drifted to a dull ache, and your tight muscles began to slowly unwind themselves as you slept. And it felt good.

Now that you know what it’s like to be taken care of by someone, you don’t think you can ever go back to your old “post-fight” routine.

Five knows you won’t have to.

[alovesongshewrote]

If you’re taking requests, maybe something about Doux finding the reader absolutely delirious from lack of sleep? I may or may not have gotten literally any sleep last night and although I managed to get through my morning routine pretty efficiently I FEEL my body just wiping out. I will be comatose within the hour.

Sleep, Darling | Hisirdoux Casperan x Reader

Plot:  you’ve been awake for too long and it is not doing you any favours.  Thank god for punk wizards who care about your wellbeing, amirite lads?  (Also, the pure Irony that this is getting posted at like, 2:40 am where i am, rip me i guess)

Word Count: 2,292

Warnings:  A bit of blood is mentioned in passing, the reader isn’t human and probably has adhd or smthn.  Also, Friends is mentioned, like, the tv show, so that’s a thing!

A/N:   if you look closely, you can actually see me projecting onto this one.  I hope you got some sleep anon.

Tags:   @furblrwurblr @einahpetsyarcip @sorrels-scribbling @anxious-stitcher @alive-and-afraid @animedweeb333 @douxiesdamsel @saroski05

Time isn’t real.  It’s a social construct made to bring order to the general chaos that is human existence.  That was why you were up at 5 a.m for the second, maybe third, night in a row.  Was it healthy?  Probably not, but you didn’t need sleep, you needed answers.  Answers to what?  Who knows at this point, honestly.

You couldn’t say you were surprised when you finally noticed the late, or early hour.  You just shrugged it off and went “fuck it, all-nighter,” which was fine for the moment.  But time’s a bitch, and that moment was over pretty fast.  By noon, you were ready to collapse.  The three cups of coffee did not help.  Instead, they made you vibrate at a frequency that could quite possibly break glass.  As much as this sucked for you, it was worse for your lovely friend and co-worker, Hisirdoux Casperan.

Now, our boi Douxie was and is madly in love with you, but shhh, it’s a secret.  You also love him, and that’s a secret too.  Neither of these secrets are well kept, and the only reason you aren’t together is general stupidity.  Literally, anyone else who watches the two of you interacting can tell that you're in love.  Hell, half the town assumes you’re together already.  The other half keeps trying to get you together.  It is not working very well.  But that’s all a digression.  What you really need to know is that Douxie loves you and watching you suffer from a lack of sleep was Not A Pleasant Experience.  You were delirious, shaky, and constantly off-balance.  You could work well enough, but it was clear that your health was not in the same zone.

The final straw came when you cut your hand on broken glass.  You’d dropped a cup, and instead of using magic, you’d tried to fix the mess by hand.  That plan did not work, and you received a bloody slash across your palm for your troubles.

“Ah.  Fuck,” you said, thinking you were whispering but instead speaking at a normal volume.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“‘S nothing, I’ve got it,” you did not got it, especially not in this state, and Douxie had the good sense to figure that out.  The blood was a pretty good hint though.

“Oh, fuzzbuckets.”

“I told you, I’m toooootally fine, there is nothing to worry about.”

“Here, (Y/N), let me help you-”

“No, no, this is, this is-” it was then that your sleep-deprived brain decided to cut off your train of thought and replace it with another, more chaotic train.  You stopped talking and just stared at Douxie for a solid minute.  Or at least it felt like a solid minute.  Time isn’t real, remember that.

“(Y-Y/N)?  You alright there, darling?”

“You’re really cute, did you know that?  Like… really cute.  Steve was right, you could be a model.”

“I-”

“Also, just gonna put it out there, I freakin’ love it when you call me darling.  Like, I know you call most people darling, but it makes me feel special.  Don’t ask why, it just does.”

Douxie wasn’t planning on asking why.  He wasn’t really planning on anything.  Your sleep-deprived half-confession had turned him from a capable individual into a blushing mess in less than a second.  You always had that effect on him, but it looked like your exhausted state was giving you a bit of an edge.

“Oh, sorry, I made it weird.  Anyway, do you think if I brewed my next coffee with Monster instead of water it would wake me up?   Because I’m still tired, and it isn’t fun.”

“I- you- I’m-”

“I think I might try it, honestly.”

“Ok, how about you don’t do that,”  Archie said, swooping in, literally and figuratively, to save the day, “Douxie, can you please get (Y/N)’s hand patched up?  It looks quite painful and they’re dripping blood onto the carpet.”

You were, in fact, dripping blood onto the carpet.  That wasn’t good, “Oh, that’s- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t fret, just go do something about that hand,” with that, Archie smacked Douxie upside the head in an attempt to snap him out of his flustered state.  It was super effective!

“Ahh, yeah.   C’mon, (Y/N), let’s,,, go,,, fix,,, that.”

“Ok,”  you stood, too tired to protest, and followed Douxie into the back of the bookstore, which was literally just his apartment.  

It was a nice place.  Very cozy, very him.  It made you want to curl up and take a nap, but to be fair, literally everything made you want to curl up and take a nap at the moment.  Regardless, his home made you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside and you never wanted to leave it.  Maybe it was the interior decorating, but you knew it was because your favourite person lived there.  What you didn’t know, or didn’t realize, was that you’d just spoken your entire thought process out loud and Douxie heard every word of it.  Once again, the boy was a blushing mess.  If you were awake enough to process things, you would have found it cute.  Or you’d be dead from embarrassment, that one is a bit of a toss-up.

Fighting through his flustered state, Douxie pulled you into the bathroom and collected a first aid kit from under the counter.  While he focused on getting things done, you curled into a ball in his bathtub.  For some reason, your exhausted brain decided that sitting on the edge of the bathtub simply did not Vibe™ but sitting inside the tub was better than nothing, and so you just,,, curled up there.  Douxie was only a little surprised to see you there.

“(Y/N)?”

“D’you remember that time on Friends when Winona Ryder played a closeted lesbian?  That was a fuckin’ trip, man.”

“(Y/N), darling-”

“That whole episode is just- it’s just strange.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Hehe, Stranger Things.”

“(Y/N), love, I need to see your hand.”

“Oh, fuck, yeah, I forgot.  Here,” you sat up, extending your hand out to the wizard.  He took it, sitting on the edge of the bathtub which was fine for him to do, I guess.  Not you though, you were stuck in bathtub jail for sleep deprivation crimes.

You squinted up at his face as he tended to the nasty scratch you’d given yourself.  You didn’t have the capacity to focus on what he was doing, so instead you focused on him.  He was pretty, as you’d said before, but that was always true.  At that exact moment, his brows were furrowed in concentration, his eyes concerned and his jaw set.  His hands were steadier than yours could ever hope to be, especially since you hadn’t been sleeping.  Overall, he looked kind of mad, so you sunk down into your bath-prison, silent and waiting for him to finish so you could get back to work.

Douxie was not mad at you.  He was upset that you hadn’t been sleeping, but he wasn’t mad.  He was just worried for your health.  Your wizard did not appreciate seeing you shaking and sleep-deprived.  He didn’t appreciate it when your current state led you to injure yourself, either.

He wrapped up your hand and gave it a small pat, “Done.  Now, come on, you’re taking a nap.”

His voice surprised you.  It was gentle, calm, not at all angry like you’d suspected.  You found yourself so lost in it that you didn’t realize what he’d said until he said your name, trying to snap you out of whatever haze you were in.

“Oh, wait, what?  No, shit, I have to get back to work-”

“No, you need sleep.”

“Sleep is for the weak, I need to go-” you stood and almost fell over.  You probably would have broken something if Douxie didn’t catch you.  You hadn’t exactly expected to end up in his arms today, and despite the heat rising in your face and neck, you were not complaining.

“(Y/N)-”

“I’m sorry, Douxie, I-”

“You need to sleep.  Please, (Y/N), don’t make me use a spell on you.”

You froze for a second before a smirk crept onto your face, “You wouldn’t.”

“I-”

“You wouldn’t use a spell on meeeeee-” the smirk grew into a full smile as you let yourself go limp, forcing him to move his hands to support you better and pull you closer to him.  Was that your plan?  Maybe.  Was it part of a second, bigger plan?  Also yes.

“You wanna bet?”

“Sure.”

“I-” and then he went silent.  There was a moment of tension where you just stared into each other’s eyes, holding your breath to see what the other person would do.  Your gaze fell to his lips as his fell to yours.  For that moment, your thoughts began to wander far out of your control.  Douxie’s mind was also running rampant but in a different direction.  You were right, he thought.  He couldn't use magic on you.  As far as he knew, you were a human.  Just a mortal being who crawled their way into his life and stayed there, improving the quality of it greatly.  If there was even the slightest chance that a spell may have negative side effects, which most sleep spells did, he wouldn’t dare risk it, especially not on you.  He sighed, tightening his grip on your waist, “You’re right.”

“What?”  Oop, plan going sideways, PLAN GOING SIDEWAYS!

“I’m- not going to use magic on you,” he helped you to stand, and moved to take a step back before you grabbed his hoodie and pulled him back to you, ignoring the sharp sting in your hand.

“Ok, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, hang on there wizard boy-” you took a moment to pull yourself out of the bathtub entirely, “You can’t give up that easily.”

“Wha-”

“Come onnnnnn, make it fun, make it exciting.  Put a spell on me or whatever, just-” you went quiet for a second, but for once you weren’t distracted.  Just quiet.  You had to face facts.  Your plan had failed, and now you had nothing but the truth.

“(Y/N)?”

“Just make my brain stop.  For just two seconds.”

“What?”

“Please.  I’m running on a motor and I can’t stop myself.  I haven’t slept and I have no choice in the matter.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Look, just, take away my free-will if you have to.  Knock me out, magic or otherwise, I just want five seconds where I’m not on hyperdrive,” you were standing on your own now, though Douxie’s arms were still wrapped around you and you hadn’t let go of his hoodie, “Please.”

The bathroom was silent for a minute.  It took that long for Douxie to process what you’d just said.  You feared, for that moment, that you’d said too much.  You hadn't.  Not to him, anyway.

“Come on.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he said, picking you up, effortlessly sweeping you off your feet.

“Wait, what!?” your voice was slightly more frantic, surprise lacing through your words.

“There’s more than one way to get a person to sleep.”

“Oh-?”

He didn’t respond to your question, instead, he carried you out the door and into what you could only assume was his room.  You had no choice but to wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him for dear life until he set you down on the bed.

“Stay here, okay?  I’m going to make you some tea-”

“Wait!” you stopped him, grabbing his wrist as he turned to leave, “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, my darling,” he sat in front of you on the bed, “You just need to get some sleep, okay?”

“But what about-”

“I’ll cover your shift, you don’t need to worry.”

“I-”

“Just rest, for now, love.  Please.”

“Ok,” your words were a whisper, something that Douxie could only just hear.  The next thing though, he didn’t have to strain to hear at all, “Yeah.  I meant what I said earlier, by the way.  You’re so pretty, it isn’t fair.”

He laughed at this, at you, finally seeing some humour in your shenanigans.  He relaxed now knowing that you may actually get some much-needed rest.  He stood, kissing your forehead and tracing the side of your face with a hand, rough from guitar strings and 900 years of sweeping.

“Worry not, love, you’re pretty too.”

“Hey, wait-”

“Don’t ‘hey, wait,’ me.  You are.  Now lie down, I’ll be back in a second.”

A smile crept onto your face as you followed orders.  Your emo wizard man thought you were pretty.  And he cared enough about you to let you sleep during work hours, in his home, no less.  You let yourself relax into the bed, grinning once again.  It smelled like him, like thyme and peppermint, lemongrass and sleep.  It was nice, comforting.  You could only vaguely think of Douxie as your brain finally took a fuckin breather.  It was everything you needed, honestly.

By the time Douxie came back, you were long gone, lost to your dreams and finally asleep.  He sighed a smile that matched yours on his face.  He placed the cup of tea on the bedside table before grabbing a blanket out of his closet and draping it over you.  You looked so peaceful.  Good.  You deserved some peace every now and then.

He took the cup and left you, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes as he did.  After making his exit, he placed the still-hot tea on the counter, disregarding it for now before returning to the bookshop.

“How are they?”  his familiar asked, tail twisting in concern.

He gave a final fond look at the door before returning to business, “They’re just resting.”  And for once, you were.

[twooneztaylorthecat]

Delirious - Adam Stanheight / Reader

Adam Faulkner sat up frantically, his body rigid and his mind reeling, his hands grasping uselessly at the edge of his confines, his hair plastered to his face, and his mouth filled with grimy water. He spluttered, trying to breath without getting water in his lungs, and his fingers fumbled inconveniently all along the edge of his restraints. Coughing, Adam hauled himself out of the tub. He was weak and fatigued, but most of all he was scared. In a few frightening moments, that seemed entirely too long, he tried pounding on the walls; first slowly then gradually getting faster with every passing second. Through the darkness, Adam could feel the freezing tile on his fingers, and the sharp sting as he slapped his palms against it. When this proved futile, Adam backed away hesitantly, spinning 'round and 'round as if trying to find something that wasn't there, and then resorted to screaming. His attempts at being heard were unavailing, but he kept at it anyway mostly for the sake of his very own sanity; if he remained silent he was sure to lose his goddamn mind.

"No one can hear you," came a sudden voice from the darkness. It sounded so dismissive; in fact it almost pissed Adam off how apathetic it appeared. "Just calm down. Are you hurt?"

Adam's mind struggled to form a single coherent thought. Between his confusion and his fear, thinking was made difficult. He stuttered over his words for a couple short seconds. "I-I-I-I don't- don't know." He looked over himself, even though he couldn't see anything. "Yeah?"

There was a faint sound of stumbling around, and then a high-pitched buzz filled the room. In an abrupt flicker the darkness was replaced with a bright yellow light. The ceiling lights had come on, and Adam groaned, shielding his eyes away from the brightness. "I couldn't find them before..." The man apologized.

When Adam could see clearly again, he glanced over at the object to his right. Immediately upon seeing the results, he wished he had been a little more thoughtful on that prospect, for keeping him grounded was a metal chain connecting him to a metal pipe protruding from the tile walls. What calmness he had left evaporated all together and once again he found himself panicking. Adam yanked and tugged but it didn't matter, he wasn't going anywhere. "Holy shit. You did this, didn't you!?"

His companion pressed himself against the wall in alarm. "I haven't done anything!" He exclaimed defensively. "But we're going to have to trust each other if we want to get out of this. I mean, clearly someone didn't want us going very far."

Adam huffed. "But what the hell did I do?"

"Apparently you did something, or you wouldn't be here. Now, what's your name?"

That's a personal question, Adam thought. Why does he want to know?

Looking the man up and down suspiciously, Faulkner muttered carefully, "My name is very fucking confused... What's YOUR name...?"

"Lawrence Gordon," Gordon answered practically.

Adam laughed. "Sounds like a doctor's name," he whispered wryly.

"I AM a doctor," Doctor Lawrence snapped.

Adam stared at him awkwardly. Neither of them spoke a word to each other for a couple of never-ending minutes, then Lawrence stood up. "Here, let me try the door."

"Why didn't you?" Adam retorted, not expecting a reply. He was aware of the fact that, with the lights off, it was impossible to see your surroundings. Lawrence ignored him, but did cast him an annoyed look, as if echoing Adam's exact thoughts. He got to his feet.

Adam watched Lawrence stretch himself along the wall, reaching for the door. It was locked, but even if wasn't, Lawrence's chain didn't stretch far enough to get him to the handle. "Well fuck," Adam uttered hopelessly.

Lawrence gave him an apologetic look, but didn't say anything to reassure him. It was then that Adam's eyes found the chainsaw resting right next to Lawrence's feet, and that's when everything changed. He started freaking out. In flashbacks he saw THAT moment replaying over and over again in his head, and he reacted violently, twisting his body and lashing out against his restraint.

The pictures burned his eyes, at least it felt like they did. With each passing second the flashbacks became more clear. He could almost feel Lawrence's pain when he cut through his flesh. Adam screamed. Agony ripped through his temples and he doubled over.

Lawrence's longing and flustered exclamations were lost on poor Adam as he writhed miserably on the tile floor in capable of regaining himself, his tormented mind struggling to cope with the memories. "Hey! I think I've found something! Pass me that tape."

Adam kicked, and flailed, but didn't hear Lawrence.

"What's wrong? Will you at least tell me your name?"

Still, Adam couldn't get the vision out of his eyes. It lingered there like a bloodstain on a white dress. It refused to put him at ease.

"Adam!" Lawrence threw his wallet at him. "Adam!" His voice was starting to blend into the buzz of the lights. "Goddamn it, Adam! What's happening?"

Faulkner tossed and turned. His heart was beating so fast in his chest he was sure it would pop at any given moment. His temperature was so high it was like he was in an oven that was set to self-destruct. His shirt and flannel were drenched in so much sweat, he could have easily been rolling around in the wet grass before arriving.

"Adam!" Lawrence threw something else at him. Was it the package of cigarettes? "Sit up! Sit up!"

Adam tried to latch onto what Lawrence was telling him, but he felt fried. His mind was so exhausted...

"Adam!" Gordon's voice was gone completely now, as well as the images that he had been seeing before. Adam was plunged straight back into darkness, and then THAT voice reached his ears. The melodic voice of his significant other.

In a frenzy, hastily and dazedly, Adam Faulkner exploded from the covers, his face burning up with fever. He was hotter than he had ever felt in his entire life. He gasped, paranoia engulfing him. His eyes darted around the room, taking in his surroundings quickly, fearfully. He was not where he expected to find himself. He was not with the person he was expecting to be with. Adrenaline pumped through him, making him fidgety, but finally he brought his attention to his partner. You were leaning over him, terror in your bright eyes.

Adam's breath slowed down audibly, once he realized where he was. You pushed him to the pillow again. You had tears on your cheeks but Adam wasn't in the mental state to be concerned about that right now. He let you adjust him on the bed, as you whispered, "You're so hot, baby. I tried to stop the fever, but... it just kept rising, and... You scared me, I thought for sure... Never mind. You were kicking and sleep talking. I don't what you said, though."

Adam stared ahead, grabbing hold of your hand. He held it so tightly you whimpered. You had to use all your strength to rip your hand out of his grasp. "What time is it?" He choked.

"Twelve AM. It's hasn't even been two hours yet."

"I... I can't go back to sleep. I need a walk." But Adam knew it was a lie. And he knew what you would say.

You stared into his face. His eyes had dark circles under them, they were bloodshot already themselves, and his skin was ghostly white. You frowned at him in dismay. Lately, he had stopped sleeping. His trauma was getting to him again, and you knew that was the only reason for it; his dreams were haunting him too much. "No, Adam," You said firmly this time. You weren't going to allow him to do this again.

Adam shook his head. "Let me. It helps."

"You are going to kill yourself one of these days," You growled, and gently held him down. You didn't want to cause him to feel trapped, that would only make things worse, but you didn't want him to get up. "You need to sleep, baby. You have a fever tonight."

"Maybe that's good?" Adam asked halfheartedly. He hadn't meant to alarm you.

You felt sick. "No." You combed your fingers through his hair. "Relax, Adam. You're going to be just fine. I know it, you know it."

Adam relaxed under his partner's soothing strokes. "I feel so cold..."

You gazed at him sadly. "A hundred and one degrees, Adam."

"Me?"

"No, the cat," You snapped sarcastically.

"Oh..."

Adam could feel himself losing himself to sleep. He was afraid of what would happen next in his dreams, but he trusted you to take care of him. Your careful caress was enough to put him back under. And as he wandered through a blurry haze of darkness, he heard your soft voice one last time. "I love you." A kiss was planted on his lips and when he started dreaming again, it was with you.

You in your favorite attire.

You with your prettiest smile.

You with your pleasant laugh.

And he leaned right into that beloved and charming kiss. All the while you stayed awake in the night, protecting him, keeping him away from his fears, and allowing your precious boyfriend to gather up on his much desired sleep.

[anyzek-a]

“ i hate most people. there are times when i look at them and i see nothing worth liking. ” frm syanna...

MISC MOVIE SENTENCE STARTERS  /  ACCEPTING

   𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝚂𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝚂𝙽𝙾𝚁𝚃 𝙸𝚂 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚄𝙾𝚄𝚂,  and the childish indignity of it makes Regis feel momentarily out of his own body. He is not accustomed to such divisive instinct, nor such closeness of quarters with his own emerging meanness. The bond rises up in his chest when she speaks, hurt and raw, not jealous but deranged with loss. Fiercely bitter over an exchanged pain. Some of these emotions are his, and some are not. With every hour, it becomes only marginally easier to separate them in his mind. Still, it is unpleasant mental work.

   “I am sure your profession affords you little opportunity to meet exemplary specimens of humanity.”  There is a tightness to his voice that exhausts him. Regis is not of a naturally vicious temperament. The continuous application of ill-will grates on him, stretches him, until he feels every year of his five centuries of life—but there is a delirious part of him, too, that is energized by her nearness. A part which wants to crowd her, to put his nose to her neck and inhale, a part that believes that he would find there traces of his bondmate’s scent. Even if it is only a little. Even if it is hardly anything at all, the smallest breath, it will be more than he has had in months. The scent will not be there, of course, though he might find the faded marks of Dettlaff’s teeth, if such was the madness of their affection. Apparently, it was.

   The thought fills him with revulsion, or a dark and potent thrill.

   This, again, exhausts him. Were he to succumb to such impolite impulses, he has no doubt that she would see in him the shadow of the vampire who tormented her, who she has tormented in return. The endless reciprocity of bad love is not unearned. Regis can acknowledge that.

   His stiff exhale, slowly loosening, is not a physiological function, merely a social gesture so long-practiced that it is now nearly engrained. A sigh, though he has no need for breathing.

   “Though it seems circumstance has provided no better for you in your life,”  it’s a concession, but a necessary one. Regis does not think her a liar. Not in this, at least. She is so young, but a woman in the prime of her life. Certainly no one’s child, no one’s ward—but for his, under their current circumstances. It’s not a state of affairs that either of them appreciate, Regis is sure of that. But, of all, there is no practical way for her to escape him, and he is the only person capable of truly protecting her against the Beast they both share.

   Dettlaff will be able to feel that Regis is with her. He is certain of it. Were he anyone else, Dettlaff would surely have come to them already—to whatever end. The revulsion in Regis roils again at the thought, even as it stings him sharply, but the truth is very plain:  his is the only presence in all the world that could keep Dettlaff away.

   The Alfa rolls to a silent stop on the wide street astride the Piazza Della Signoria and Regis kills the engine. As planned, their borrowed vehicle fits neatly into the short line of luxury cars belonging to the wealthy occupants of the buildings all around the square, waiting to be ferried to an underground lot across the city by the hired valet. Modest, but just ostentatious enough not to arouse suspicion. One of the apartments above the piazza has been prescribed for their use by her sister’s network of security. The keys are in his pocket, but Regis sits unmoving in the dark of the silent car a little longer.

   His voice is soft,  “I know what he is, Syanna. The way that he loves. ”

   He would like to tell her that he is sorry for whatever might have transpired between them, but can imagine already the contempt that she would feel for such a useless gesture. His apologies are no good to her, a meaningless expression of ego at best, even if genuine in feeling. They are neither of them responsible for the actions of those they have loved. Instead, Regis seeks out her eyes before he speaks again. It is not difficult. Her gaze is unflinchingly direct.  “It is not my intention nor my desire to make you feel unsafe.”

   The statement sinks into the close quiet of the car, and, having made it, Regis turns and opens his door, climbing out into the street with a feigned stretch of his long legs. Feigned, but pleasant all the same. Of course, Regis might have flown them in a mere handful of minutes—but conventional travel allows their whereabouts to remain more obscure. The night is warm and lit with gold, quiet but for the sounds of late-night diners on the Condotta in the distance. Noise echoes through the narrow streets, amplified in the vastness of the square, spooled around the David there and the water of the fountain always folding at his feet. For a moment, Regis pauses to inhale the smell of that water, and the streets still damp with a summer rain. Overtop it is the smell of humans late at night, of their blood spiked with wine. The young valets race one another to reach the passenger door first, having glimpsed her through the windscreen, and when Syanna’s head rises up above the roof of the car, Regis is struck for a moment by the way her posture fits to their surroundings as though innately familiar with such preformed dignity. The dark ghost of a little duchess, following in the sharp clip of her heeled boots.

   It is with a strangely real regret that he comes around the car, turning his back to the faint, warm evening haze of the piazza. The valet takes the Alfa away smoothly, and they are alone again. Regis watches her with his glossy black eyes,  “I am afraid we cannot linger on the street. We must go up. Your sister was very particular about the quality of your lodgings. Everything has been provided. If you wish, I will make us something to eat.”

   He thinks he sees her brow quirk as she turns towards the building. I’m not sure our tastes are likely to align, he supposes she is saying, and, despite all and despite himself, Regis chuckles and follows her off the square.

[inviouswriting]

Aymeric x Kiya

During the travel to Anyx Trine, they had taken a longer path with Alphinaud. He wanted to take some white lily type flowers to the house that once belonged to Ysayle.

Kiya felt colder than usual as they had braved through a blizzard to get there even on dragon back. She felt a haze in her head and hoped it was nothing.

Thry had landed and soon wandered the outside of the house for dangers. A few monsters easily dealt with by a few flashes of fire from Kiya and Aymeric's sword. Aymeric noticed that Kiya's spells faltered a bit.

When they were inside, the place felt cold as long abandoned from the heretics. Aymeric marveled at the unique sculpture of Shiva and Hraesvelgr faintly touching it in how it now adorns the gate on Falcon's Nest.

"To think that a few girls would change Ishgard for beliefs that were once thought preposterous. I just hope the great wyrm can lend his strength to us." Aymeric murmurs more to himself, he still had alot to come to terms with. Alot to go through.

Alphinaud arranged the flowers he had brought on the altar to pay respects in his way. Kiya leaned against the wall close to the door rubbing her arms and shoulders. Still dancing with her thoughts. Her own memories she felt a little delirious on her feet. She shoved her own feelings aside keeping her ears up for sounds of foes.

Aymeric turns towards Kiya flashing a brief smile and earning one back. They were dancing around their feelings for each other. Aymeric held back because he didnt know how this dragonsong war would end with another dead either him, Estinien or her, someone he has grown to love dearly unadmitted. He rather go with unrequited love than face heartbreak that way.

Kiya kept her feelings to herself due to uncertainty. Once she admitted feelings it meant she had so much to lose in this. They would grave the others hand or stare a bit longer between them.

It is in one of these moments that Aymeric notices her face more pale than usual, with her painted lips it was hard to tell of she was hypothermic but she shivered on her feet.

"Alphinaud, would you fetch some wood for fire? I think we should hold here for a bit till the weather improves. Wont do for us to catch our death in the cold." Aymeric keeps his voice full of amusement and Alphinaud nods going to get the wood.

Aymeric turns to Kiya eyes a bit stern he knew something was off bow that he sees her gaze half there.

"Kiya? You should sit down and rest. It's been a long journey from Ishgard to here." Kiya nods understanding giving him a grin and a pat on her chest to play off how she felt. Perhaps it was a bit too late and the moment she moved the world was fuzzy to her then black.

"Kiya?!" She didnt hit the ground but was caught. Aymeric kneels with her and glances around for something to lay her down on top of. Alphinaud had returned and saw Aymeric holding Kiya looking panicked.

"By the twelve, what happened?" He is quick to set the wood down and get his tome out to use a cure and esuna on her to see if she had been poisoned or hurt somehow.

Aymeric places a hand to her forehead and feels heat but lingers his hand there feeling her press to it for the cool sensation.

"I believe she has a hypothermia. Along with exhaustion." Aymeric lifts her up again finding a makeshift bed to place her in furs.

"What can we do for her then?" Alphinaud asks.

"Let's get that fire lit. More importantly warm her up and let her rest like we've told her to do." Aymeric says as he removes some of his armor for the thick robe he wears to wrap Kiya in it.

Alphinaud sets about his task of lighting the fire half wishing Kiya was awake long enough to throw a flame. He spies Aymeric sitting with Kiya arms winding around her to draw her closer a worried expression gracing his features.

"I shall go see if I can find makings for a soup or stew." Alphinaud informs Aymeric and he nods agreeing.

"I'll stay here then go keep watch over her." Aymeric rubs a hand on Kiya's head feeling heat from her forehead but knew better than to uncover her from a exposure fever.

It was hours with a fire going and food being made. Aymeric leaving the bundled fur to help Alphinaud make something edible.

Kiya felt like she was dreaming but pleasant warmth throughout her. Her sleep was plagued with a nightmare as events came back to her from Azys Lla, Haurchefant, Estinien, Nidhogg, and Ysayle. She felt soothing hands on her head brief fingers on her forehead checking if her fever broke.

Aymeric sighs in relief when it does break. There is a flutter of Kiya's eyes and she is greeted to Aymeric's smile and most of his torso.

"By the fury, thank her that you are awake." His voice is low enough to hear him but quiet as if there were people asleep. Alphinaud had passed out at the foot of the bed strewn over her legs. Aymeric nestled next to Kiya to use his body heat to keep her from the cold settling in her bones.

"What happened.." Kiya half glares feeling stupid that she was caught in such a moment of weakness.

"You got cold again. Worse than the last time you got hypothermia in my arms." Kiya's cheeks pink at the memory. She had woken up to Aymeric after that night too.

Aymeric gets up and presents her a mug of tea and bowl of soup. She accepts both and eats slowly and drinks slower.

Aymeric sits next to her again and still in a hushed voice talks to her.

"Your fever broke a few hours ago, but we will remain here for the night. Conditions outside got bad best to travel during day anyway. Too many monsters and dravanians that are not friendly. Rather not chance itbwith toy out of it." Aymeric puts his concerns into the reality of their situations.

Kiya looks at the bowl in her hands and is reminded of that time she spent with ysayle and Estinien before they spoke to Hraesvelgr.

"I am sorry to stall our progress." This catches Aymeric by surprise.

"Nonsense, it should be mine fault at not realizing it sooner. Should have told us you were not feeling well." Aymeric reaches hisbhands to cup hers around the bowl. How much larger they are to hers. She noticed he isn't wearing his normal attire but an adventuring outfit. She then noticed her draped in his black robe.

"Thank you... I didnt want to burden you or Alphinaud with it." Kiya feels overwhelmed but the squeeze on her wrists reassures her.

"Again nonsense. You cannot help us if you are not feeling well." Aymeric urges her to best more while it was hot still. When she had finished her things. Aymeric takes the bowl and mug away, setting them down and returns to her. He fits into the fur with her and tugs her closer. He felt right with her next to him.

"Try not to worry over it. However rest, we have a long travel tomorrow to get to tailfeather then anyx trine." Kiya nods understanding feeling sheepish as she lays down. Arms wound around her and she feels safe and protected in his arms.

By morning Kiya woke up last. Feeling refreshed. The Lord Commanders clothes not on her anymore and she spies Aymeric fixing the blue cloak on him from a mirror and a few cups of tea steeping.

Kiya smiles knowing how he doesnt go a day without tea, Lucia telling her moons ago. Aymeric feels eyes on him and ice blue sees vivid green watching him.

Alphinaud already had woken up and went about his morning. When he catches up to the two downstairs he beams bright seeing Kiya up and about. He doesnt miss the way Kiya and Aymeric stare at each other. Tataru had said it is plain as day fir the look of love between them.

"Here we were so worried over you. Yet you look ready to tackle five garuda and two leviathans." He teases and Kiya grins wild at the idea.

"Only if Krile accompanies me." Alphinaud makes a face at that. Aymeric had finished his own morning tea.

"You two should drink up before we brave the cold again. Looks like the blizzard stopped. We should get going before ere long." Aymeric says as he heads up and outside to wait for them. Kiya nods and Alphinaud agrees.

When they were alone, Alphinaud looks over to Kiya as they share the moment.

"He worried about you more than I did. He didn't leave your side once." Alphinaud muses aloud, he sees Kiya glance over to him with a dust of pink.

"Really?" Kiya taps her nails on the mug as a fidget.

"Aye, I noticed you stare at him with love. When will you tell him your feelings?" Alphinaud pries.

"Maybe when this war is over.. or at Churning Mists." Kiya looks into the now empty mug she sets it down then goes to greet Aymeric outside. Turning back towards Alphinaud.

"The right time will present itself. But I dont think I am wrong to chase him." Kiya smiles as she speaks.

"No I do not think it wrong either. As long as he makes you happy." Kiya nods, once outside Aymeric ushers her to stand with him in the morning light. He motions for her to look over the cliffside and is greeted to the soft orange and reds that adorn the snow covered land. Kiya's eyes widen at such a sight, how pink, purples and blues dance off ice and yellows gleam on fresh fallen snow.

"Beautiful isn't it?" Aymeric watches her face over the landscape. How bright her expressions are and how she huddles closer to his side for warmth. She is wearing a thicker attire but cold is still cold.

Alphinaud soon joins them and they set off once more towards their objectives. Kiya holding onto Aymeric's hand a little tighter.

[stellar-imagines]

NSFW SCENARIO REQUEST: ❝firsts with you.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Bakugou Katsuki ]

「NSFW Scenario of Bakugou and his S/O first time.」 [ NSFW under the cut! ]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

It has been a few weeks since you started dating. Being in a relationship was unfamiliar to you but with the way, things were progressing, you knew that you’ll be just fine.

The girls of class 1-A were currently sitting in the common area, chatting with one another about random things. As it was a Saturday night, none of you have to turn in early to not wake up late the next day. While you were busy talking with the girls, some of the boys were standing in the kitchen, helping themselves with some snacks.

Looking over your shoulder, you spotted a familiar male standing along with your other classmates. You both exchanged looks before returning to your activities. A small smile played at your lips before turning your attention to the conversation you were having with the girls.

You had long accepted your feelings towards the ash blonde and had made the first move to confess to him. At first, you just thought about getting it off your chest because those bottled feelings were affecting your mood and concentration. You hadn’t expected him to mumble a response which was along the lines of ‘I like you too.’ Of course, didn’t go like that, he had added some derogatory term by calling you an idiot.

The relationship between you and Bakugou was a secret. None of you promised to keep it a secret or whatever but it just became an unspoken rule between the two of you. During the day, you would be busy with your own friends and train but during the night, it was a different story.

“Katsuki....I’m bored.” you looked up at the male who had an arm around your waist as he played with his phone. He let out a hum in response and you narrowed your eyes at the ash blonde.

“At least pretend you’re interested.” you huffed lightly.

Bakugou pulled at your clothing, making you drop your phone. He wrapped both his arms around your waist and turned you over, now hovering above your body with his hands which effectively trapped you in. Your boyfriend leaves a few heated kisses on your neck. A small moan leaves your lips when you feel his teeth puncture your skin.

“K-Katsuki!” you squeaked in embarrassment.

“You wanted something to do, didn’t you? So shut up and just accept this.” he grumbled, pulling away from your neck briefly. You let out a sigh. Despite his personality, Bakugou was quite affectionate in your relationship.

As your relationship was kept a secret, Bakugou strayed from PDA and so did you. However, there were times you would hold hands and sneak in kisses. Underneath the tables, as you sat side by side, your hands will find each others’. In empty hallways, you would sneak in a small kiss on his cheek and he would peck your forehead. Behind closed doors, he was pretty affectionate. He would be very close to you with an arm around your waist, hugging you from behind or laying on each others’ lap.

He could taste the chocolate cake that you ate earlier as he swept his tongue over yours. The sweet scent of your shampoo and body wash made him sigh into the kiss. It was intoxicating, everything about you was. From the way you move to your fresh and succulent scent that always lingered on his clothes. Once the dance between your tongues had ended, Bakugou moved his hand to your chin and connected your lips once again.

You gently brought your hand into his hair. It was soft to the touch despite its appearance. Bakugou relaxed in your hold when your fingers lightly scratched that spot just by his nape where his hair ended. Blissful, rapturous, pleasant. He did not know many words to describe this feeling. Oh, but he knew that he never wanted it to end. It was when your hand left that he was snapped from his reverie.

“Who says you can stop?” he growled at you when your hands leave his hair. He slipped his hands underneath your shirt and palmed your breasts, thumbs pressing against your nipples. He flashes you that shit-eating smirk when you twitched and moaned under his touch.

You craned your head to the side, eyes shutting as he continued to roam his slightly calloused hands over your body, the pads of his rough skin leaving goosebumps on your smooth skin. Bakugou was inexperienced but through all the intimate nights you spend together exploring more about sex and whatnot, you learned that he was impatient and hasty. It was no surprise that his roaming ceased and your shirt came off. After your shirt, your pants and panties were next to be shed. Even though he acted like he was in a hurry, he never missed the small details.

Bakugou briefly gazed at your figure, eyes fixated on your exposed skin and the way a blush crept up to your cheeks. You watched as he slowly took off his pants and shirt. He did it so slowly as if to tease you but you could never tell what he was plotting in his head. However, if it was to irritate you even further, he was doing a great job at it. You could feel yourself drooling at the sight of his toned muscles. Once he finally got rid of his boxers, you gulped at the sight of his length springing free from its confines.

The two of you moved almost simultaneously. Your hand wrapped around his cock while his hand found your clit. A dissatisfied whine escaped your lips when Bakugou moved so slowly. He seemed to enjoy the way you were writhing underneath him, moaning nothing but his name and pleading him to just get on with it.

“Fuck, you're so wet. All I’ve done so far is finger and grope you. If you wanted this from the beginning, you could’ve just said so.” he smirked.

His crimson colored eyes darkened with lust and desire, a look that you were familiar with. Often he got carried away and threaded the area of intimate acts, both of you were already familiar with all these actions and feeling of pleasure. As much as he wanted to just pound into you while you scream his name, he knew that he had to follow the steps. Foreplay was important after all, he didn’t want to hurt you. All while paying close attention to your face, he pushed one finger inside you. You squeaked and shut your eyes like it was some sort of defense mechanism implanted into your brain.

His palm rested just over your clit as he pumped his finger inside you. Another finger was all it took for you to moan his name deliriously. Bakugou was satisfied. Your moans were hazing against his ear and he wanted nothing more but to hear it on repeat. Pride bubbled inside him and he couldn’t help but smirk, knowing that he was the only one who could reduce you into a puddle of whimpering mess. He felt your skin grow hot and your hips bucking.

It was when he added a third finger that you began to lose yourself. His fingers weren’t exactly thin, in fact, it was thick and girthy. If they were enough to make your head spin and mouth dry from crying out his name, you think you can’t survive long with his cock inside you. Bakugou pushed his fingers inside you even further until you felt the base. You turned your head to the side when he curled his fingers inside you.

“O-Oh, Katsuki, please......” your back arched.

“Hm? What are you begging for?” he growled against your skin, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. All he got was a whimper in response when he repeated the motion of curling and uncurling his fingers. The sensation was almost too much and you instinctively buried your face onto his neck, muffling your moans and whimpers. Maybe you thought it was embarrassing to be so vulnerable. You were sinking deeper and deeper into the pool of pleasure that Bakugou had created.

“F-Faster please.....” you eventually pleaded, lost in the deep waves of pleasure. Bakugou did as you said, hoping that increasing his pace would draw out more of those enticing moans from you. He pumped his fingers with newfound vigor now that your pleas were spurring him on.

You were so damn close when he decided to retract his fingers. A dissatisfied groan left your lips and you looked up to scold the male. But all your protests died when you felt the tip of his cock meet your entrance.

“Mmm....Aaah!” you unconsciously bit your bottom lip when you felt his tip push through your entrance. Out of instinct, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

The stretch was indeed foreign and all of a sudden, your senses become heightened. The bed felt so welcoming and the sheets became your anchor to reality. As your breaths ragged, you clenched onto the sheets desperately while uncontrollably whimpering. You both stayed still for a  moment, allowing you to adjust to his girthy and lengthy member. Bakugou’s hands roamed over your body, finally cupping your cheeks.

“Are you ready?”

“Mhm.” you could only nod and hum, bringing him even closer until he was leaning over your body. He hooked his arms around the back of your knees and lifted you up with ease. In a swift movement, Bakugou had you resting your head on a pillow with your legs over his shoulders.

It hurt, it hurt so much more than you anticipated. You can’t really compare this pain with anything else. Bakugou saw how you held onto the sheets tightly, eyes screwed shut with tears forming at the edges of your eyes. There was blood too. He stilled for a second, wiping the tears away.

“Does it hurt?”

“At first it did but.....now it just feels weird with your dick inside me.” you poked the base which made him twitch in response.

“Hey.” Bakugou warned, narrowing his eyes at you.

“It feels funny when I think about it. My first time in your room.” you mumbled.

“But seriously, if it hurts then I’ll stop. I don’t want to pressure you or anything.”

“I’m fine! Honesty, I’m fine! You can move now.”

He started thrusting, hitting off with a relatively normal pace which only aided you with getting used to his size. However, it wasn’t long until his room became echoed with the sound of skin slapping skin, your moans reaching a higher pitch as he pounded into you. Your hair became damp due to the sweat, sticking to your face as the rest fanned out behind you beautifully. Bakugou brushed the hair aside and admired your bare face, cheeks flushed red and eyes hooded with lust and desire. He loved how you only showed him that look.

Bakugou connected your lips again for the umpteenth time that day and you wrapped your arms around his back, nails scraping against his skin. When he pulled away, you let out a soft moan of his name as your breath fanned across his lips. In the beginning, you feared that his neighbors ― Kirishima, would hear the noises that echoed in the room. Speaking of being caught, you came to realize how hard you’ve been scratching at his back.

“So good.....” you praised him as he nipped at your earlobe.

“Does my cock feel that good? Do you like it when I fuck you like this?” he rasped.

“I-I love it.....No one else can make me feel like this....!”

His pounds grew faster to the point you would describe it was inhuman and merciless. You never knew that it took only a few strokes on his ego to get him like this. Bakugou latched his lips on your neck and shoulders, whatever exposed skin he could access with ease at the moment. 

“Katsuki....!”

Soon enough, you felt yourself reach your climax. Your whole body sunk deeper into the bed after you came from your high. The knot inside you had snapped and a trail of juices coated the ash blonde’s length. He reached for your hand, gritting his teeth as he groaned out your name. At this point, he was chasing after his own. He didn’t care how fast he was going, pushing into you over and over until he felt that familiar feeling building up inside of him.

A few moments later, he pulled out, his whole body shuddered as he came. You felt hot liquid spurt at your entrance and stomach, making a mess as it mixed with your own cum. The mixed juices trickled down your thighs, but none got on the bed sheets ― something Bakugou was relieved of. He collapsed right on top of you with his eyes closed, a satisfied look on his face as you run your hands through his hair.

“You’re so clingy after sex.” you cooed.

“Shut up. It’s my first time, dammit.” he grumbled.

“I’m glad that we’re each other’s firsts.” you smiled.

“Heh, no one’s gonna make you feel as good as I am. Fuck, they won’t even think about claiming you with all those marks.” Bakugou smirked.

“You bit all over my shoulder!” you cried out.

BONUS

“Woah, did you fight with a tiger because those marks look nasty.....” Kaminari mumbled, pointing at the scratch marks embed on the ash blonde’s back. Bakugou let out an annoyed grumbled as he tossed his UA uniform into the locker.

“Mind your damn business, Pikachu.” Bakugou snarled. The electric-quirked male backed away, raising his hands to show that he meant no harm before putting on his own hero outfit. Soon after, they all headed out to the ground to start their week Hero Classes.

“Kirishima, have you seen those marks on Bakugou’s back? They’re crazy! It’s like he had a fight with a tiger or something like that!” the blonde exaggerated as he walked side by side with the redhead towards the training field.

“Tigers don’t leave small marks like that. Maybe it was a cat or something.” Kirishima pointed out. 

“He was with [Last Name] yesterday, thought they were doing some of that group work. Maybe she knows something―Oh, look there she is.” he said, motioning at you who were walking by with the girls.

“Kirishima, Kaminari, were you calling me?” you tilted your head innocently.

“Er, well.....” Kaminari wasn’t so sure how to bring up the topic and ended up trying to start another conversation by looking anywhere but your face. 

“Idiot! That was not what we wanted to know. Earlier we saw a few scratch marks on Bakugou’s back and since you were with him last night, we thought you might know something.” Kirishima casually brought up the main question.

“Oh about that.....” you rubbed the back of your neck.

“You have a scarf now? Your costume doesn't usually have one and it’s still summer.....are you sick?” Kaminari switched the topic.

“A-Ah, t-this? J-Just some allergies!” you cursed yourself for stuttering, fiddling with the ends of the garment.

“But those look like bruises.” the redhead pointed.

“Er―”

“What are you shit heads doing loitering around here?” Bakugou suddenly approached the group with his hands shoved int his pockets.

The two clueless males glanced back and forth between you and Bakugou, slowly piecing the information they had just received. It took them quite a while but when they managed to come with an answer, Kaminari’s cheeks grew a bit red while Kirishima gave the ash blonde a thumbs up.

“That’s an interesting allergy you have, [Last Name].” Kaminari mumbled, glancing at Bakugou.

Total: 2624 words Published: 22.06.2019

We need help with our 600+ followers project! Send your vote here now! More details here!

Thank you for requesting! Sometimes its a bit difficult to make all our NSFW scenarios different from one another but we try our best! We finished this in 2 days which is very surprising. In reality, we finish one request in like a week. ― author Hibiki/Lou

Thank you for requesting, anon. Hope you enjoyed it. We’re in need of help with our 600+ followers project, click the link above to submit your help. We have time to start drafts so our ask box is open now! ― author Natsuki

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.

[ms-maj]

Vermilion

So a few days of creeping on here left me terribly inspired. October’s kind of my month so I figured what better way to get back into fandom than diving in, and songfic has always been my jam. Many thanks to @paperlesscrown for inspiring this challenge; I can’t wait to catch up on all the incredible writing this fandom has to offer. 

Hard to say what caught my attention,

Fixed and crazy, aphid attraction

Carve my name in my face to recognize

Such a pheromone cult to terrorize

I won’t let this build up inside of me…

Vermilion-Slipknot

At least it’s here, I’m here, I’m home. Most people didn’t find spaces in their high school that they considered home. Most people also didn’t find the family they would make in high school either but Betty was lucky. At least in that regard.

She didn’t think too hard about it, to be honest. Naturally, they were drawn together— always had been—but in the confines of these four walls, it had been different. Passing glances turned to lingering stares. She’d learned to tolerate the disorder because he needed the chaos to thrive. And they did. Together. In here they’d built a home, seen it come crumbling down around them and pieced it back together.

It wasn’t easy, that wasn’t their nature. If at first, Betty had only tolerated the disorder, she grew not only to embrace it but to find her own power within it. She lived to dissect the madness that swept their slice of archaic Americana, to stitch the unraveling tapestries into something new, follow every last lead to uncover every last piece, no matter the circumstances. 

She’d gotten in her fair share of scrapes before with that attitude. A handful of bruises, a smattering of stitches, a patchwork of scars on her body and mind before she graduated. 

That was three years ago. While they’d made it back to Riverdale a couple of times, they liked being away more. College was just that. College. Term papers and final exams and cliche over-caffeinated nights in the library praying for a snowstorm that shut the city down for a day or two.  Not that they didn’t still dabble in Scooby-ing. Jughead always needed an outlet for his insatiable curiosity and Betty was double majoring in Criminal Justice and Psychology—not that she thinks if she’d known more about her father or the Farm she’d have been able to stop them—but maybe she can stop the next Black Hood or Edgar Evernever before they get their poison into too many hearts and minds. 

Not that any of that education was helping her now. The tape tightly bound her hands in front of her, her legs to those of the chairs, the bandana stuffed in her mouth tasted of sweat and oil and no one knew where she was. She told FP she was going for a run, which was all she set out for, she only went into the school for a dose of nostalgia. She found so much more than that.

The voices were louder, angrier, than an empty school on the first Sunday following a holiday should be. The front doors had been locked, not that that should have been unusual or did it deter her in any way, but she wondered then where the voices could be coming from.

Betty knew she should’ve just gone back home, crawled under the covers with Jughead and enjoy their reprieve from academia, but that deep-seated yearning, that pull toward truth won out and she found her legs carrying her down the hallway. 

They could have been anywhere else; Riverdale High was a big school after all. But they were in her room, their room. It was as close to sacred as she’d ever get. The old computers and printers still sat under dusty covers, the lingering smell of musty paper and old ink still pervaded the air, and from her haven, the cacophony arose.

She tried to stay quiet in the hallway, out of sight, hopeful she’d be able to figure out what was going on before hightailing it back and telling FP. What she hadn’t counted on was her phone ringing, though connected to her headphones, the vibration was enough to startle her into dropping it in an attempt to silence it. Just a few strides down the hall was as far as she got.

She woke on the chair, bound but not gagged—not yet—surrounded by faces she did not know. Two men were impeccably groomed: bespoke suits and thousand dollar watches, the other man looked as though he were an extra in Night of the Living Dead; gaunt, haunted, covered in dirt. 

They didn’t say anything. Just watched her thrash against her bindings. Waited until she’d screamed herself hoarse before the zombie pulled the bandana from his back pocket and shoved it into her mouth. Tear stained and nearly fainted, her eyes managed to catch another figure in the room. 

Dark jeans, too tight and worn came into her line of sight. Betty’s eyes fixated on the waist, a woman’s waist, the belt buckle that looked vaguely familiar and so did the voice coming from her.

“Gentlemen, did you realize that this was the one person who could absolutely not see what was happening here? That she could, and would, bring this entire operation down like that?” The older woman said, snapping her fingers dramatically. 

Obvious mafioso number one scoffed. “This slip of a girl?”

“That ain’t just any girl. She’s connected. To everyone in this wasteland.”

The woman’s boots scuffed against the linoleum as she got closer to Betty. Mafioso number two grabbed Betty’s face between his meticulously manicured hands. “She’ll be easily disposed of.”

“Can’t do that either, chief. Well, not like you like to do.” The man moved when she approached and when Gladys Jones kneeled in front of her, cold, and empty eyes met hers. “We gotta make this special.” Gladys trailed her hand down Betty’s cheek, wiping away the newly formed tears that had begun to fall. 

“Do you know her, boss?” The zombie asked, moving behind her.

Gladys nodded. “Oh yeah.” She stood, shaking her head, nearly black locks barely contained by the cap she was still sporting. “You two go down to the basement and clear out what you can. We’ve got to find a new base of operations. Honey will have to deal with it; we’re burnt. You will be too, Princess. At least you won’t have to be awake for it.”

That was the last she heard before the darkness engulfed her. 

She had woke with a start. Large, mouthfuls of acrid air seeped to her lungs and she knew at least the gag had been removed. A small mercy, she thought, as she fought against the tape that still bound her to the chair. 

There was little hope, she knew, tied to a chair inside of a building set alight. The smoke wasn’t bad, yet, a slight haze in the room and the smell of a campfire burning across the way. Maybe there was a chance after all. She had to have been gone long enough to raise some flags. FP didn’t know her normal route but Jughead did, and her being incommunicado without prior knowledge would surely be enough to at least make him realize something wasn’t explicitly right. 

Swallowing thickly, the smoky air and no small amount of fear, Betty tried to scoot her chair closer to the door. With every inch she’d move, she’d scream, make as much noise as she possibly could, hoping that someone—anyone—would find her. After nearly an hour of scooting her way toward the door, she’d moved maybe ten feet. Out of breath, tired, the fire creeping ever closer, she felt that glimmer of hope extinguish entirely. She went back to work on the tape, twisting her hands and feet in hopes it would give, and she would be free.

Her voice wouldn’t serve her anymore, gone from screaming and the much thicker smoke. Scream as she might, no one could hear her, she could barely even cry anymore. This was it. In the room where her life truly began. She was going to die. No more late-night take out. No more hushed I love yous as dawn broke. The future they’d quietly planned, the ring resting on a chain under her shirt...

  Refusing to resign herself to death without giving every last bit of herself to the fight, she pushed across the expanse of linoleum, flames licking the underside of the door. She thought she heard voices, though mildly delirious now, she used what little voice was left to scream again. The chair lifted and slammed back on the ground, anything she could do to draw attention to her predicament. But she was met with silence. 

The tears flowed freely now, her breathing heavier than before, there was a flash of light and then, nothingness. 

[neoculturetechxgot7]

WayV// The Flight Journal:

|| Lucas ||

gang!au (can't tell yet but it's coming in the next chapters:)

pairing: Lucas × Reader

words: around 2k

warnings: suggestive, language

summary: Lucas left lovebites on your neck and bruises on your heart.

[00:02 AM]

Your cheek lays flat against his back, the leather jacket cold and rough, infused with his dark aura and musky scent. Lucas' red Ducati rolls smoothly on asphalt to have spring wind lick at your skin and leave a trace of midnight behind as your hands stay wrapped around his torso.

"Why can't I come with you?" He catches your sulky tone but absolutely misses to see the little shards of hurt in your voice.

He is about to disappear, again, like he's been doing ever since you met him and unknowingly dived head-first in the pit of a painful love. You hate it. Hate every cold moment without him that makes it seem like you live days in the shade of an despaired eclipse, until he comes back.

His kisses blow stars into your lungs, his touch inks maps of the universe on your body, as if he means to claim your skin to infinity. Every night with him drowns loneliness in the sea of his warmth. You're sure Lucas is the only one that can lift you up to the high heavens, a destiny carved from the same dust that stars and planets are made of.

"You just can't."

But he also crushes your heart and leaves you bleeding love and broken promises after getting a taste of his absence.

"When are you coming back?" You try to hide the slight tremble in your voice, fail nonetheless

"l don't know, baby."

You always wonder if that answer is a lie. You always wonder many things, like where he goes when ne rides that damn motorcycle and leaves a void on your bed and a knife in your chest. Each time you dare to speak that question out loud though, you are faced with a wall, thick and sturdy with his secretive nature.

You even wonder if he truly feels anything or if you're just a trophy solely to decorate his nights with breathy moans and forbidden kisses.

But the way his eyes peer into yours, lovestruck, even through the secrets, will never let you believe that.

[00:29 AM]

The bike abruptly comes to a halt on gasoline stained concrete and an indiscreet smell makes your nose twitch. Lucas swiftly takes off his helmet and jumps to the ground, his skin tainted drunken crescent from the gas station's neon sign. With eyes that seem darker than night itself, luring you to unravel the mystery behind them, he leans close and meets your impatient lips under the stars. It's a hasty peck but his softness never fails to make the blood in your veins boil, heart skiping one or two beats at the contact

As he pumps gas in the almost inaudible music coming from the store behind, you stand observing the empty country road, its faded white lines setting an uncertain melancholy in your chest. You can hear a clock ticking faintly in the back of your mind, counting crooked seconds to the moment you'll wake up alone on one side of the bed, the only remain of him being the dip his head left on an empty pillow

Thinking about it, you can never find the right words to describe your relationship.

What you have with him is indefinable. It is him texting you he's away and then shutting you off, ignoring every call, every message, as if you don't exist in this world and he's solely a memory to you. It is him showing up on your doorstep 2 weeks later later, spilling out the sweetest part of his soul and caging you in a searing embrace until your heart's wounds are all healed. It is meaningful midnight conversations and slow, passionatee goodbye kisses; you never know how long these goodbyes will last though... Dusk finds you soaked in his intoxicating scent and dawn finds tears pooling on your sheets.

It is you, giving your absolute everything and Lucas, hiding an entire life, fleeing away for days and then coming back to trap your breath in a million thirsty kisses. He never tells you anything about him, never shares more than what you're unsatisfied with, never let's you take a glimpse of what his reality is like, only makes sure yours is filled with thoughts of him and his bittersweet taste on your lips.

"What are you thinking about?" His voice pulls you back to now.

You turn on your heels and watch him lean away from the motorcycle to stand before you within a few steps.

"Nothing." You nonchalantly answer, a lie.

Eyes locking yours like he's trying to pin your spirit to his own thoughts, an endless abyss holding you captive, he sneaks one arm around your waist. Cool fingertips caress your cheek so lovingly, leaving trails of moonlight behind and for a moment you wonder if all of this is the haze of a dream

But it's not, it's real, he is real.

Tender lips brush over yours like so many forsaken times in the past, only that this once his kiss feels bitter and makes an ache arise in your chest. It means he'll leave again, you can tell by the way his tongue is desperately trying to save your taste.

A pitiful act of a lover that doesn't want to forget.

"Let's go home then." He says and you break to pieces, knowing the irony behind this one sentence.

[02:39 AM]

Your bare back is flush against his chest hearing Lucas' heartbeat and feeling every breath as the pad of his finger paints a little masterpiece on your stomach with soft strokes. The air is steaming with the fumes of late night and whatever's left of your love making, sheets damp and heavy over your exhausted bodies.

He leaves a golden kiss on your shoulder, something precious, and you turn on your side to find his gaze skim your body with icy touches and him, biting a plump lip like a sinner.

"I could do this forever." He says and your response comes out as a genuine chuckle.

"You sounded like an asshole."

Lucas sprinkles two gentle pecks on your forehead and you can feel his smile on your skin, making you delirious.

"I wasn't talking about sex." His eyes are deep, the nest of all the angelic grace. "I meant laying here, with you."

Maybe he lit a fire on your sheets with those words or maybe the heat of the moment is unbearable, but either way, an overwhelming warmth starts spreading from the bottom of your chest to your fingertips, so comforting.

You can do this forever too. Stay tangled under white cotton and sweat, bodies stuck skin to skin as if you melted into each other long ago, and hold on to that orange euphoria only his presence can bring you. Feathery touches, dirty whispers, drunk confessions and the purest of love.

Maybe this can be your future and spend every night sinking in those moments of affection, two souls intertwined.

But this can never happen, can it?

You hum, hurtful thoughts letting their venom seep into your mind, and lay back into the plush mattress. Your fingers squeeze his palm, a silent prayer to those above to let him stay by your side, to cut the flow of time so that you don't have to see your heart ripped out brutally again, like countless times before.

He shuffles around and tightens his grip on your bare waist.

"I hate leaving you." His voice echoes, cutting the silence deep, as if your thoughts had reached his ears.

"W-What?" You hesitate to believe, every word falling on the messy bed like a missile, because there is no way he means that after all those nights he allowed miles to separate you

"I said, I hate leaving you."

A knot ties your breath to your throat and you swallow, as if that will make the suffocating tension a little lighter, feeling your heart racing.

"Then why do you leave me?"

The weight of every memory without him pushes traces of tears to gloss your eyes, threatening to spill and release everything you've been holding deep inside with them.

Lucas keeps silent. His gaze can't bare to linger on you anymore, moving out the window, to the dome of night sky where stars shine a dull white.

"Because l have to, baby."

You can feel agony nip at the edges of your brain, struggling to find words to plea him, make this night different.

"Just this once, don't." Your whisper caresses him like a ghost.

Lucas kisses you, deep and burning with hidden emotions, his lips like two unstoppable serpents, their only mission being to drink every last drop of you. His thigh props between your legs, allowing him to hover above you like a saviour, fallen from heaven, his halo lost after loving you so passionately. Your lungs are drained of oxygen, pulsing with red and blue flames that he breathes into you with this kiss, as if he's the only who can truly give you life. And maybe he is, since the world is long forgotten when his arms eradicate the last bits of distance between your bodies and he slips under the covers one last time.

[09:10 AM]

You wake up, head banging with the daze of a flowery dream, last night's deeds tattooed on every curve of your star painted body in purple, his hoarse voice staining your memory. Sun's beams wrap around your hair, as you slowly flutter tired eyelashes open, vision still blurry with sleep's last breaths, as your hand reaches to the side. Only to grasp morning air and icy sheets.

He left. Again.

You're all alone in the eternal emptiness of your room, and thank god for that, because no man could ever bare to hear the sad, ominous crack of your heart as it breaks down into a thousand sharp shards scattered all across the floor, waiting for a breeze to lift them and lead them back to him where they belong.

[junionigiri]

Peony Pink and Cherry Blossom Tea Ch 8: Are You Doing What You Have To Do

Summary: Ochako needs to take a long, hard look at herself. (Shouto too, while we’re at it).

Relationship(s): Todoroki Shouto/Uraraka Ochako; Shindo Yo and Uraraka Ochako

Rating: M (take noooooote)

Warnings/Notes: Look at the rating. As hard as I’m looking at my life right now. I’m so sorry for being late and I’m sorry for this chapter

She remembers how the warm vending machine coffee tin in her hand steadily cools and freezes in her hand, against the chill of the night air. A full moon, and Saturn above it. She sits on the curb, a heavy book bag filled with nursing references next to her.

He stands behind her at an arm’s length, leaning against the lamp post with his hands stuffed in his pockets. She feels his stare, light and unaffected, feels the usual lazy smile on his face burning on the skin of the nape of her neck.

What a waste of a beautiful night.

“Chako-chan, come on, don’t look like that.” He sounds the same, infuriatingly the same as always. Like he didn’t just ruin all their plans and humiliate her and break her heart.

Like he did absolutely nothing. “We were going to split up eventually.” She knows he’s shrugging, knows that not even a single muscle on his face twitches as he speaks. “I thought it was stupid to prolong the agony."

She’d laugh, but her eyes are stinging and she knew that she’d bawl if she opened her mouth without bracing herself. “Yocchan, what’s stupid is you not even trying to stay with me.”

For a person who’s so good at fighting, he isn’t very good at fighting to keep her at his side.

He exhales in frustration. “We talked about this over and over--” He uses that tone again, they’re going to argue about the same shitty thing again and neither of them will listen to each other and Ochako’s tired before it even begins. “It’s impossible for us to stay together if we want to chase after what we want! I mean, I’m a sidekick now, Chako, you know how hard it is to make time for myself as it is--”

She wouldn’t know, because he doesn’t answer her calls, texts, emails, nothing. She sees him more on TV with reporters and fans who assume that he’s single. He talks a lot, but they don’t talk anymore.

“--and I see you work so hard to help so many people one day. I can’t get in the way of that…”

She fuckin’ knows it, she knows how hard she works, how she’s stretched thin from studying and doing part-time work to pay her own tuition and living expenses. She hates like he says it like she doesn’t. She went in this field because she thought she wanted to give her parents a comfortable life. But it’s more than that now. She genuinely wants to help people, like he does.

They want the same thing, but he thinks that they’re on different pages entirely. It’s frustrating. “So do you think we’re holding each other back?”

Am I holding you back?

He doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t need to. She concentrates on keeping her breathing even.

She hears him move behind her. He falls next to her on that dirty curb. She feels his eyes on her as she keeps hers away from his, concentrates on the cool glow of Saturn overhead. Her mouth quivers when he turns her head to face him.

Has his smile always looked like this? Warm and dashing, but doesn’t quite reach his dark eyes? Has he always looked this… far away?

“Ochako,” he says in a low voice she barely hears from her orbit. “I’ll… love you forever, okay? I really will.”

He probably kisses her for the last time. Or he doesn’t. It’s entirely possible that he stands and leaves her on that curb, in the cold night with cold coffee in her hands, quietly and without another glance. It’s a memory from far too long ago, and it’s highly likely that a lot of it happened differently. Ochako could do to forget about it a little more.

But it’s too hard to forget the hollow in her heart that she feels that night despite the anger and emptiness, precisely because she thinks the same--she’ll probably love him forever too.

She isn’t always angry and bitter after that--there are pretty girls and pretty boys that helped her forget, good people who made her genuinely smile and frown and laugh and cry, many memories that she wouldn’t trade for the world.

Yet, she doesn’t ever remember trying to fill that hollow in her chest in the years that follow.

 *

 She sees Saturn again from her cold and lonely seat in the park bench that night, and briefly through Shouto’s window when he allows her to push him through the door with her hungry mouth on his.

There’s no words left to speak when she tugs off his coat in haste and sneaks her hands underneath his shirt to feel his skin. She feels the cold on his right, the warmth over his left and the thrum of his heart underneath. The contrast makes her dizzy, the broadness and hardness of his torso even more so. She can’t help but run her fingers appreciatively over him, can’t help but giggle when he gasps at the scratch of her fingernails.

Her hands curl around him, run all over his back where the dragons are. Fierce, powerful. She can trace the outlines of the flame and glaciers and the scales as her fingerpads trace his skin.

His eyes flutter closed as he allows her to trace them. His muscles move under her hands, the sensation very enticing.

Ah, she really wants her hands all over him. It’s a struggle to keep her pinky up when her body screams at all of her to make as much contact as possible.

She starts unbuttoning his shirt in a haze, pulling it off him so impatiently that she might have sent buttons flying all over the tatami. He also somehow works her hoodie and scrub top off of her, through grunts and gasps and hurried motions that might seem funny if they weren’t so delirious.

When his hands are on her again, she hisses at the sting of both hot and cold on the bare skin of her waist.

He lets her go. The air between his palms and her skin is too far. “Is this too much? I’m--”

“No,” she breathes. Places both hands on her--so big, she thinks, he’s so much bigger than her, even her waist feels small in his hands. “Keep your hands on me. I like it.”

He looks at her with heavy-lidded eyes, and descends on her mouth with much more fervor than she thinks is possible. She moans against his mouth when he activates his quirk on her a little more gently this time. She doesn’t know what her body wants to feel, when half of it is covered in goosebumps and the other screams red.

But at least the overload of sensations is just enough to numb the feeling inside.

She’s lifted in the next moment. Her arms go around his neck and her legs go around his torso. She feels how strong the former pro hero is as he barely struggles with all her weight on him, as he carries her across his apartment and into his bedroom.

He lays her down gently on a messy futon that he probably left unrolled from a busy morning. She sinks in its softness and his scent, although she wishes that he were a little rougher on her. Her blood aches for a lot of pressure, pain even. She bites his lower lip to goad him on, earning her a surprised moan.

“Ochako.” His voice is so deep she feels like drowning. “I…”

She swallows his words down with another kiss. No more words. “You can do whatever you want,” she breathes, looking right into his eyes.

His Adam’s apple bobs with a thoughtful swallow. “Are you sure?”

She nods and nibbles at his collarbone. She’s going to do whatever she wants too, and she hopes he understands.

Carefully, his hands trail up her stomach, her chest, her bare shoulders. She shudders at the lines of warmth and cold that he traces under nimble finger tips, that curl around her back to unhook her bra and pull it down. He peppers kisses along her jaw, the side of her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breast. Her breath shallows and hastens as he goes lower and lower, stopping at the waistband of her pants.

“Tell me to stop anytime and I will,” he whispers clearly, with eyes that are both searing and soft and careful.

His cold hand remains over her left breast, squeezes it appreciatively. All she’s able to manage is an affirmative whimper.

He smiles, and pulls her pants and underwear down in one go.

The cool air hits her nakedness all at once. She doesn’t have a lot of mindfulness left to be embarrassed to be completely undressed in front of Todoroki Shouto for the first time. Still, the weight of his gaze on her-- all of her, including the parts of her carefully tucked away and shaped and hidden underneath her clothing--she swears there’s a palpable heat where his eyes land on her skin.

“Beautiful,” she hears him whisper from above her.

That single word causes a spike of heat in her bloodstream. She blushes furiously, muttering, “N… no, don’t say stuff like…”

“Hm?” His hum comes out as a purr when he leans down to nuzzle into her neck again. She feels his lips curl against her skin. “Why not?”

“Because-- hm-- ” It’s hard to go on a body conscious rant when that pretty mouth of his is on her, all over her, the trail going lower, lower. “You’re the pretty one between us, Shouto, and I’m just-- ahh-- ”

He bit her, oh my god. He suckles on the offended spot on her chest, eyes on her and glinting excitedly. “Just…?”

“Just…” God, what is she saying again? Words are suddenly meaningless, not when his warm hand snakes down between them, below her, hovering over her core. Another ahh escapes her as he traces a line up and down her entrance, palm pressing over her sensitive nub.

“I don’t understand, Ochako.” She knows by now that he knows how to tease, but it always catches her off-guard when he does. “Everything about you is beautiful. Your eyes. Your cheeks. Your neck. Your breasts, your belly… your thighs… this little astronaut here--you got me ever since I saw this--”

He presses soft kisses over those places as he says them, and oh god she won’t have enough oxygen in her lungs to listen to him list down all her body parts. He pays extra attention to the little tattoo, nibbles it a little even, as if paying tribute to the pesky thing that spurred all of this on.

She giggles, then groans when his mouth continues to explore her skin.

He descends and crouches in front of her, arms hooked around her thighs. He takes his time kissing the soft, inner surface, squeezes the muscles there appreciatively. She gasps for the nth time, amazed at the sight of him kneeling before her like he’s praying in church, worshiping her body.

“Sh-Shou--”

She doesn’t finish saying his name when she feels his tongue on her.

“Oh god,” she gasps. The feel of his tongue is insanely good. She feels him play with the temperature of his mouth and his breath as he eats her out. Sometimes searing hot, with puffs of cold, and the shock of all the sensations drive her mad. She can’t help but grind her hips against his face. At this rate it won’t take too long before she unravels--she bites her fingers, tries to keep herself in control--

She isn’t able to, and soon her body shudders and she’s seeing stars and she’s moaning his name over and over. She’s been eaten out before, but she’s sure it doesn’t feel as good as it did just then. She breathes like she held her breath the entire time. “Shouto, that was good, so good…”

He smiles in satisfaction, crawls forward and kisses her full on the mouth. She tastes herself in his mouth--an odd sensation she doesn’t usually like, but she craves his mouth, craves the sting of heat and cold, craves that sensory onslaught--

Make it numb--

Her head is going down from the high, and already she’s craving for the next one. She gives in to the surge of courage and desperation. She rolls them over so that he’s flat on his back and she’s straddling his hips. With a surprised gasp, Shouto looks up at her with wide eyes.

“Ochako--”

She drowns his words again with another kiss. “I want you to feel good too…”

He chuckles beneath her as she unbuttons his fly. “You’re impatient tonight.” He kisses her back sweetly all the same and allows her to pull off his pants all the same.

He has no idea. She’s terrible for using him like this. When she draws out a sound of pleasure from him with the touch of her hand, a very small twinge in her chest makes itself known. She ignores it and lets it fade, because she’s good at that, and instead focuses on giving Todoroki Shouto head, because she knows she’s also good at that.

It’s so easy to forget those feelings of guilt when she watches his beautiful face contort in pleasure, watch urgent breaths and gasps flow and fall within that talented mouth. Her tongue swirls around the head, making him groan out her name.

“You’re beautiful,” he repeats, making her heart throb wildly in her chest. “So beautiful taking me in your mouth, damn--”

She hums. Never has a word--a profanity, of all things--hit her veins like a bullet, make her entire body shudder in excitement. And he says it so quietly, like he stumbles over the word and the debauched part of him that enjoys it.

She loves the way it sounds. She’s surprised by it, because who would have thought that hearing Todoroki Shouto, this absolute demigod descended upon the earth, curse like a heathen just from the play of her tongue--

“Fuck, that’s so good--” A little louder now. A little more wrecked. More, Ochako wants to hear more of that.

It goads her on even further, not meaning to stop until he comes, but soon he stops her with his hands on her cheeks and motions for her to go up to him.

She obliges, kisses him on the mouth again. He returns it languidly at first, stutters against her mouth when she presses and slides her dripping core against his length. She lifts her head and smiles smugly at the way his eyes roll upward.

“Do you like that?” The sweet pressure against her entrance is simultaneously too much and not enough. Gods, isn’t it about time to go all the way? She begins to align her hips to his hardness almost mindlessly. She feels Shouto’s burning grip on her hips and she loves how she’s sure of the marks that’ll be there in the morning.

“Wait,” he says. His cold hand leaves her to reach out for a drawer, almost out of his reach. It’s a struggle, but he eventually finds what he’s looking for. “If you do that, I might not be able to stop myself, so…”

Ah, did she really almost let him in without a condom? How starved is she that she would be so careless?

The moments when he covers himself is short, but it’s enough to make her aware of that twinge in her chest, and it’s unbearable. It’s so that when he’s done, she moves in immediately. They gasp in unison as she sinks to the hilt slowly, steadily.

Oh, god, she didn’t think he’d fit--she feels filled past her limit, she feels like she’s about to split open. Her mouth hangs open as she catches her breath, and barely feels Shouto’s hands on her shoulders, steadying her.

“Are you all right?”

Sapphire and onyx focus on her, brows furrowed in concern.

It hurts. Just a little, but she needs this. She nods, gives him a smile and another kiss, as a response. “I’m all right, dear… it feels good, it does, it does--”

She lifts as she slurs out the words. Shouto moans a little louder--she isn’t sure if it’s with the way her body rises and sinks down, over and over, or if it’s how the word dear slips out of her mouth.

A rhythm is soon set in place. The sounds of their mouths and tongues colliding is absolutely lewd, the sound of her wetness moving up and down his length even more so. His head falls on her shoulder. (Is this really him holding onto her body for dear life?) His hands are back on her waist, assisting her, goading her to move faster, faster--

“Ochako-- fuck, it’s so good… so tight--”

She never imagined Shouto to be so vocal, so fuckin’ vulgar. She moves her hips a certain way, and she’s treated to the sound of this perfect and poised and composed man cursing over and over, on the verge of losing control. Seeing him gripping his inhibitions so loosely spurs her on and on. She wants to give him all that she can just to see how far he would let go.

(It makes her feel a little worse--she’s such a user , she shouldn’t, she really shouldn’t, but…)

His voice fills her head like a mantra, hypnotizing her, urging her closer and closer and closer--

“I never thought you would--with me-- fuck, you’re so good, you feel so good--”

That worship and that slip of the tongue feels so right, even though she doesn’t deserve it. It doesn’t take long before her body clenches around him, and his name escapes from her in a strangled cry. She feels him stiffen inside her soon after, thrusting up at her erratically as he moans her name.

He kisses her again as if he’ll never get sick of it, hands cupping her cheeks tenderly. He pulls out soon after, letting her roll to the futon.

The bed feels unbearably empty when he excuses himself to throw the condom away. It isn’t even that long, and Ochako feels stupid that she feels so sad, so cold when his weight isn’t on the futon.

He comes back eventually with mittens from the kitchen, which makes her snort indignantly. When he puts his arms around her and spoons her, she doesn’t feel as sad or as stupid, but…

“Ochako,” Shouto mutters low in her ear. “You can stay the night, if you want to.”

“I could?”

He hums--ah, she loves the sound of that, loves the rumble that goes all over her body. “... not just tonight either. Just say the word. I’ll get you all the mittens you want.”

She can’t help the dumb smile on her face. She turns to face him, meets the tiny, genuine smile on his face. What a sight. “I’d like that.”

“Mm.” The blanket that covers them is warm. Shouto is warm. He’s all around her, as he should be. It feels like heaven. His eyes close as he holds her closer.

But...

The sound of his quiet breath isn’t loud enough to calm the turmoil in her heart.

 *

 Past midnight, Shouto’s eyes are wide open.

Ochako snoozes beside him, snoring softly. Chestnut hair falling over her face, one round cheek squished against his pillows. Hands in his comically oversized mittens sprawled above her head. At some point, she turned away from him, her back pressing against his chest.

He stares at the creamy expanse of her back. The mole he found ages ago is still there, amongst the sparse smattering of freckles, in the shallow valley along her spine right where he remembers it would be.

Without thinking about it, he bends over to press his lips over it.

She sighs in her sleep upon the contact.

He smiles. This is nice. Sleeping in one futon is nice. As is being able to kiss Uraraka Ochako as much as this.

It’s strange. He hasn’t dated anyone seriously before for many reasons, but this isn’t the first time he was intimate with anyone. Those warm bodies and messy one-night stands are regrettably forgettable though. He doesn’t remember feeling elated or the opposite about them.

But this… he knows that he’ll remember this night for a long time.

(He convinces himself that it’s not a bad thing.)

He wants to kiss her again. He knows he’s never felt that way about another person before. He wants to hold her close, have his mouth on hers, wants to drown in the cherry blossom scent of her hair. Wants to look in those warm brown eyes, looking up at him and all over him.

(Her eyes.)

Something beats in his chest like a warning. He remembers clearly when he thinks about Ochako’s eyes--how turbulent and cloudy they were, how anxious, how impatient. Like she can’t keep her hands off him because she can’t stand not using her body like she did.

It’s… concerning. But she didn’t seem interested in talking about it, and he didn’t have the will or the power to keep her away anymore. It’s probably illogical to feel like this new closeness of theirs actually pushed them farther apart.

It’s even more illogical how afraid he feels suddenly that he’ll lose her like this.

No… he won’t lose her. Why would he? They wanted each other equally. The moment called for them to be closer. All of it felt right.

(Except, that look in her eyes, didn’t that feel wrong?)

He wonders if he should have stopped it. 

(He wonders again, if he could have. He’s dreamed of having her in his arms for some time now, he realizes, and not only because she’s obliged to do it for other people.)

Maybe he’s worrying for nothing. Maybe he’s looking too much into it while things are falling neatly in place for them. Maybe, just this once, things are working out of them both.

Well. All he knows he should still ask her about it, when she wakes up.

Just in case he’s wrong, though, he ought to keep her close to him. Let himself memorize the way her small body presses against his, with all its enticing curves and slopes and warmth and sweetness.

He knows that he’ll miss all this in the morning, when they need to wake up.

 *

 And he does, when the sun rises and hits him in the eye, and the incessant buzzing of a phone cuts into his dream like the edge of a blunt knife.

Not removing himself from Ochako’s side, he gropes blindly for the offensive device on the tatami above their heads. His hand lands on it as it vibrates, and with bleary eyes he tries to process what he’s seeing.

First thing he realizes is that it’s not his phone. It’s a particularly old model, one that does not need fingerprint recognition to be unlocked.

Next thing is that it’s probably Ochako’s phone, because logically there’s no-one else who could own it, and also because the lock screen features her swollen arm with a partially-coloured Saturn tattooed on it.

And finally, the last thing he learns, as his bleary eyes adjust to the brightness of the phone and his mind partially lifts from its fog: It’s 0601H, and the phone has been buzzing since 0530H, when the first of five messages came in.

All of them from one person.

  Shindo Yo (0530H): morning sleepyhead ヾ(￣0￣ )ノ

Shindo Yo (0533H): Hope u rly wake up soon, said u got a morning shift today (read more)

Shindo Yo (0542H): u didn’t message me lst nite T_T is it because i said u looked like a squirrel and (read more)

Shindo Yo (0545H): i remembered u last night during my patrol!!! i helped out a granny with round cheeks like… (read more)

Shindo Yo (0600H): ill tell u all about it when u wake up  ＼(o￣∇￣o)/❀ヅ❤♫

 He rubs his eyes, trying to make sense of the messages, and not only because of all the shortcuts.

Shindo Yo. Shindo Yo. It takes him a while, but when it does, the messy dark hair and smug face and sneaky dark eyes come to surface, and his morning is immediately ruined.

The phone buzzes again with a chime, as another message comes in-- wake up already ur gonna be l8 for work again-- and this time Ochako stirs with the sound, one mittened hand blindly groping the floor around her.

“Hnn… shut up, I’m awake you noisy idiot,” she mutters, as her mitten keeps meeting empty floor.

He stares at her, and the phone in his hand, still in danger of freezing over in his palm. Without another word, he places it on the floor above her quietly, facedown.

Eventually, one mitten finds it. She takes the phone clumsily, tries to unlock the phone before she realizes that the touch screen can’t recognize her mittened thumb. Awfully, unfairly cute. Shouto would have teased her for it, if he weren’t so irritated. 

She is awfully silent, staring at her phone and focusing on those annoying messages, like it takes her a while to decipher them as well. Over her shoulder, Shouto sees more cutesy kaomoji littering the screen. How anyone understands anything like that without having a headache from sensory overload is beyond him.

Still… Ochako thinks about it, and types a message back.

And all at once, Shouto remembers his place.

She isn’t supposed to be here. She’s supposed to be at her apartment, waking up in a bed alone. Or…  someone else who isn’t him. Not him. Not like this, vulnerable and confused and conflicted.

He’s wrong about everything.

The message is too small and brief for him to read. He wonders what she tells him. Did she tell him good morning back? Tell him thanks for waking her up? Ask about that granny with round cheeks, tell him that they should talk about it face-to-face? Did she say where he was, that she’s actually in his apartment, or is it too unimportant a fact to say to that guy?

He looks away, because fundamentally it’s wrong to read someone else’s correspondences like this. Also, if he thinks about the two of them any more than this…

“Brrr… you’re getting cold,” Ochako says, as she places her phone face-down on the futon. “You okay?”

He catches himself right before he gets any colder. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

She blinks at him, a little more awake now, a little concerned. “You… don’t look okay. Is there anything on your mind?”

Is she ready to talk now? That’ll be difficult, because he suddenly doesn’t feel that he is.

“Nothing’s on my mind.”

She tilts her head up on his pillow, pink cheeks glowing and little eyebrows furrowing together. “W… well… if you say so…”

A silence bears down on them, heavy and incompatible with the warm light of the sun streaming in the room. Steadily suffocating, like a hand around his neck. He needs to stand up, to think a little clearer, to get away from that intoxicating cherry blossom scent--

“Shouto…”

He stands before she can say anything more, pulling out a shirt and a pair of boxers for her and dropping them next to her without another word. He pulls on a pair of sweats as well, and without thinking too much about it, begins to move about the room as if it’s just another Wednesday morning.

He crosses the room to move to the bathroom when he feels her tugging on his pants leg. He meets her confused gaze quietly, tilting his head and letting her do the talking.

(He really cannot talk right now.)

“Can we, you know… just talk for a second,” she says, patting the space next to her. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

He regards the space next to her briefly, and opts to sit on the tatami in front of her. She gives him another odd look, but says nothing more about it. She doesn’t put on his shirt, and instead uses it to cover her front in a gesture of modesty.

The silence falls over them again, more unforgiving. Shouto gives her a few moments to form the words in her head.

“I mean, um. About what we did last night.” She rubs her arm self consciously, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.  The warmth of last night, the quiet he felt inside staring at her back suddenly seems so far away.

When the silence becomes too much to bear, he says, even though he’s quite unready to speak: “If it was a mistake, I’m sorry.”

She looks up at him with a sheen in his eyes. “A… mistake?”

Her voice wavers. It’s a little unfair how hurt she appears over his words, when he felt just as awful in her silence a while ago.

He exhales quietly. “You seemed uneasy with me this morning… so I wasn’t sure.”

She bites her lip. “Oh… yeah, I mean if you aren’t sure…”

It seems that none of the words they’re using are working.

He tries again. “If you don’t want things to change between us, it’s all right. We don’t have to do this again.”

She swallows and looks away even farther. “I… I mean, if you don’t want to… I’m sorry, I must have pushed myself on you last night… I didn’t mean to, and…”

She didn’t mean to do any of those things with him last night.

“... I’m sorry if I got carried away, Shouto.” She bows her head, looking at the growing space between them. “I thought that you wanted to. And I wanted to, I definitely wanted to, so…”

She looks up with her shiny doe eyes, confused and vulnerable. Little globules of tears at the corners of her eyes. He really wants to hold her close again, but he wonders what for.

He needs her to be honest this time. He will be too, when he figures out the correct words to say. “Am I holding you back from anything?”

She stares at him with a hint of bewilderment in her eyes. “... why would you ask that?”

He sighs. “Because I feel like I am.”

She looks at him like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “No… isn’t it the opposite?” she says, with sudden heat behind her words. “I thought it was me all along… because aren’t you and Yui-san--”

Kodai? What does she have to do with this?

“Don’t look at me like that, Shouto,” she says in frustration. “I didn’t mean to see it, okay? You two holding hands in the cafe, in plain sight--”

Shouto’s jaw drops, if only for the incredulousness of the situation.

“--and, to be honest, I know there’s nothing wrong with it, because… there was nothing between us. Not really.” The tears begin to flow, and damn they look so wrong flowing down those cheeks. “And you never said anything about it, and it’s okay, I’ll respect you, but it’s stupid, isn’t it? I dunno why I feel screwed up, why… why I’m like this, why I need to be with someone, when...”

He wants to hold her, to rub his hands over her back, tell her that it’s okay to feel whatever she feels. But he doesn’t. Everything feels wrong today, somehow...

“There’s nothing between me and Kodai,” he tells her instead.

She stares at him. “What do you mean?”

He probably shouldn’t tell her about the investigation. It seems to be told to him in confidence. “It’s… work-related. The conversation, the hand-holding. They were things that she needed to do.”

“Wait…” She rubs her forehead rapidly. “So… she needed to talk to you in that private, intimate setting… needed to hold your hand in public…? Needed to have all those fake rumors about the two of you, for what? Work?”

He nods, because it’s the truth.

She scoffs. “How many women do you have to fake-date to get out of things?”

What? Shouto shakes his head. “No, that’s… we aren’t dating, not in any shape of form… she’s different from you.”

Her eyes snap open, and he knows he said something wrong again.

Irritation courses through her, raw and hot, and he feels it from his seat. “That’s a really funny thing to say, Shouto.” She stands, not giving a damn about how she’s still undressed. She bends over to collect her scrub pants from the floor, leaving Shouto’s clothes untouched. “I mean--you can just tell me that you don’t want to tell me anything and I’ll be okay with it, I’ll still pretend to be your girlfriend--”

“Ochako--”

“--but lying to me? To my face?” The tears feel different now. Instead of the quiet free fall over her cheeks, they’re boiling hot and fly from the corners of her eyes with the swift turn of her head. “I… I thought we were friends. I thought--”

“We are,” he says. “I just… can’t tell you everything right now, but--”

No, she isn't supposed to go away like this. They're supposed to talk, to clear the tangle of confusing emotions between them. He's supposed to finally know where he stood with her--if he's in the right place next to her, or in the wrong one, in between the two of them.

He tries to hold on to her wrist. She struggles against his grip briefly before she pulls away. Her skin screams red when she does.

She inhales sharply. He sees her mouth move silently, counting to ten, before she faces him again. “Sorry. I… I just can’t. Not right now. Maybe later? When we’re both calm.”

She finds her discarded clothes, starts shoving them on her body one by one without a single word uttered between them. Soon they’re at the door. Ochako is tying her shoelaces as quickly as she can, pointedly facing away from him.

He gathers his courage. “Ochako.”

“Yeah?” She doesn’t look up at him.

The air is suddenly cold in his lungs when he lets it go. “We… don��t have to keep on dating.”

That makes her turn her head to look over her shoulder.

He can’t meet her eyes, though. “If you have other things on your mind.” Other people. “I understand. We can call this off.”

She puts a hand over the doorknob, pausing thoughtfully.

He wants so badly to hold her, to keep her within the threshold. It’s painful being alone, and even more painful now that he’s aware of how his apartment will feel without her in it. 

Instead, he tells her, “It’s about time I faced my problems on my own, anyway.”

Another pregnant pause, one where he’s too aware of how the room grows colder with every passing second. She turns her head, chestnut hair swishing in a way that he won’t see again.

“We’ll talk later,” is all she says, before disappearing behind the closed door.

 *

 Ochako plows through the two weeks that follow that morning in the best way she can--working herself to the bone until she has nothing to do but collapse on a heap on the floor and snooze away until her next shift.

They… don’t talk.

She stares at her phone and at the blinking cursor of the LINE App. Shouto’s last good night message stares back at her like a cold relic. The weeks of silence stretch out to infinity. Whoever said that time makes anything better was fuckin’ wrong.

She still doesn’t know what to say. She missed her chance. If they didn't get carried away--if she wasn't so desperate to feel anything else--

But he’s silent on his end as well. In the hospital, when they see each other, they lock eyes and it’s always heavy but always quiet. They don’t try to eat together anymore or even converse in public. Shouto has stopped offering her rides to her apartment. She volunteers for procedures every chance she gets, as long as it isn’t neurosurgery, and the other nurses have noticed.

They say nothing about it except exchange smug, knowing glances with each other. Mina frequently alternates between giving those people death glares and giving Ochako concerned ones. She doesn’t say anything though, because Ochako doesn’t say anything.

She seems to know enough, though. Her and Eijirou, because no matter what her shift is one or the other is always there to take her home, looking both ways to see if anyone is following them. Ochako wonders if Shouto has told them anything, and how much if he did, but she’s too ashamed to ask anything.

Her phone chimes incessantly, but she knows it isn’t him. They need to talk, but it isn’t like before. There’s an impassable wall between their hearts and their mouths.

Her apartment is cold.

Nothing changes.

 *

  Shindo Yo (1843H): hey Uraraka-san? Are you free right now?

Shindo Yo (1911H): ah, i dont mean anything bad i promise~

Shindo Yo (1911H): u n Todoroki-san got nothhn 2 worry bout

Shindo Yo (1912H): i promise im not bein creepy

Shindo Yo (1913H): i just noticed… ur rly stressed lately arent u (๑•﹏•)

Shindo Yo (1914H): if ur not busy! Come with me for drinks Ｏ(≧∇≦)Ｏ

Shindo Yo (1916H): i know u arent good at drinking so its ok if u just have a milkshake or sth i’ll take care of all the beers n shit σ(≧ε≦ｏ)

Me (1916H): ok

Shindo Yo (1917H): and ill treat u of course, theres good burgers in the place im thinkin of and a mochi place nearby itll be awesome Ｏ(≧∇≦)Ｏ

Shindo Yo (1919H): wait

Shindo Yo (1919H): ok?

Shindo Yo (1920H): （＊〇□〇）……！

Me (1921H): yep

Me (1922H): where?

Shindo Yo (1923H): ah wait gimme a moment

Me (1928H): …. Senpai?

Me (1930H): u were kidding werent u

Me (1932H): i knew it. Can u not make jokes like that if u wont do good on em.

Me (1934H): whatever im goin to bed

Shindo Yo (1938H): NOOO dont

Shindo Yo (1938H): sorry for not replying i was all messed up from patrol so i took a shower right here in the agency!!! Am putting on pants rn!

Shindo Yo (1939H): ten minutes! Ill pick u up in ten minutes!!!

Me (1942H): um, ,,,,ok

Me (1943H): we can just meet wherever u know

Me (1943H): just let me know where

Shindo Yo (1945H): well… i wanted to pick u up but if u like that better

Me (1946H): yep

Shindo Yo (1948H): ok then :)

Shindo Yo (1949H): Meathead Bar, near Kiyashi Ward, 30 mins!!!!

Me (1951H): eh

Shindo Yo (1952H): Too far? Like i said i can pick u up

Me (1953H): no its ok. Just… havent been to that place in a while, isnt that near the red light district

Shindo Yo (1955H): haha nah its fine

Shindo Yo (1956H): i know the owner. And ur gonna be with a pro so dont worry bout sleazebags

Me (1958H):...

Me (2000H): ok

Shindo Yo (2001H): yay!!! Ill see u chako-chan!

Shindo Yo (2002H): dont be late ok or else ill cry •(◐﹏◐)•

Me (2005H): ok ill see u soon yo-senpai

Shindo Yo (2006H): !!!!! (●♡∀♡)

Shindo Yo (2007H): ok!!! See u! omw!!!

 *

 She enters the Meathead Bar exactly thirty minutes later. The place only has a few people scattered about, maybe because it’s so early. It’s easy to spot Shindo speaking to a sour-faced purple-haired bartender at one end of the bar. The moment she enters, he catches her eye and waves her over.

“Hey, you,” he says with a big smile. “Don’t you clean up nice.”

She didn’t want to put so much effort into dressing up nicely tonight and had almost decided on wearing Kyoka’s band shirt underneath a plaid shirt and jeans… until she realized that the last time she made an effort was to meet the Todorokis. Somehow that was enough to ditch that outfit in favor of a pink dress that showed off her arms and the curve of her hips, and put a leather jacket over that.

She shrugs and takes note of his outfit too--a dark button-down, two buttons undone at the top and sleeves rolled up to show off his toned arms; skinny jeans and sneakers; glimmering silver on one ear, around his neck, on his watch.

He looks as flashy as ever. She sees people looking over their shoulder to drink in the sight of him--whether for his looks or because he’s the rising pro-hero Seismic remains to be known. “You look pretty awful yourself, senpai.”

“Ouch.” He makes a show of being hurt. “Ah, wait, let me introduce you to Meathead’s owner! So this is Shishikura Seiji, a meat specialist and all-around nice guy--”

He doesn’t look that nice based on the way his eyes look down on her, but okay--

“And this is Uraraka Ochako,” he says, his eyes darkening a little, “my ex-girlfriend from a decade or so ago.”

“Hrm,” grumbles Shishikura, with a sardonic twist of his mouth. “This isn’t one of those corny things where you’re actually introducing your wife, you bastard?”

“Oh no, he really is my ex,” Ochako says before Shindo can get another word in. “I totally hate this guy.”

Shindo makes another shot-to-the-heart gesture, while Shishikura snorts. “Good for you. So, Shindo, let me leave this potentially awkward situation now so I can get you your food and alcohol.”

“Right. Thanks Shishkabob.”

“Say that again and I’ll kick you out of the premises,” the purple-haired man says without humor, before disappearing from plain sight.

“So… that wasn’t too awkward, I hope,” Shindo laughs, as he gestures for Ochako to take a seat.

“Nope, just awkward enough.” She obliges and arranges herself on the seat. Her hands go to her phone almost on instinct to check her messages.

He notices and raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, I guess you have to tell your boyfriend that you got here safe, huh?”

There’s a message from Mina, asking her if she got home safe, plus a selfie of her puckering up. Another from Aoyama, who texted something in French that she needs Google Translate to decode.

There isn’t anything from Shouto, but she expected that.

“... yeah, I should,” she says, sending a heart emoji to Mina. After which, she locks her phone and puts it face-down at the bottom of her bag, where she won’t reach it so easily.

When she looks up, Shindo has his hand under his chin, staring at her with a knowing twinkle in his eye. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he says, as Shishikura silently gives them two shots of whiskey on the rocks. “So… Nurse Uraraka, how have you been? Has life-work balance been any easier for you?”

There isn’t any life-work balance to begin with. Ochako reckons that the components of her life have fallen off the scale ages ago. “It’s not bad. I’m sure it isn’t as bad as yours, with the upsurge of villains and all.”

He laughs. “You said it. I worked another double shift again today, you know. Been on the job since five in the morning.”

She whistles low. “Insane.”

And here he is, having drinks with her, with more energy than he knew what to do with. “Hey, it’s a calling, just like yours. We both just gotta do what we gotta do, right?” He sips the whiskey without wincing and leans forward. “So, Uraraka, have you been doing what you have to do?”

Besides running away from her stupid feelings?

There’s a gleam of curiosity in his eyes, and something underneath. Ochako knows him too well to sense that he’s digging for something else.

So she takes a thoughtful sip of her whiskey, also without wincing, and looks at him in the eyes. “I do what I can, senpai. But there’s not a lot of excitement on my end, so I’d much rather hear you talk tonight.”

The attempt at deflection registers with him, if the shine in his eyes is anything to go by. Still, he laughs it off. “Well, if you say so~ you know, today they asked for back-up in the Naruhata ward--man, that place is messed up, maybe there’s something in the water there…”

Soon, Shindo fills the air between them with his interesting stories. He’s really good at engaging the audience, and even Ochako allows herself to be genuinely interested in the things he’s saying.

When Shishikura comes back with meatballs, she asks for five shots of vodka.

 *

 The night goes on, and so does Ochako. By this time she’s finished the first glass of whiskey and the vodka. Shindo has ordered a shitty bottle of rum for them to finish. They’re halfway there when she tries to stand to leave for the restroom.

Tries, being the keyword, because she couldn’t figure out how to get down from the barstool. Does she go left, or right? Which foot goes down first? Where does she put her hands to support herself? She probably can’t do it on the table because it’ll float all the way to the ceiling and they’d have to pay for damages--

“Chako-chan!” Shindo’s guffaw is louder than necessary. He’s probably had one shot too many too. “You’re not okay anymore, aren’t you?”

“I’m good,” she says. She experimentally tries to put her left foot down. When it’s on solid ground, she puts the right one after, and stands up--

And stumbles, face-first, into something solid.

“Whoa there,” Shindo says, wrapping his arms around her, pressing her closer to his chest. “Chako, come on, you can barely stand, I don’t know what you’re trynna do but you’re gonna hurt yourself like this--”

He smells like pepper and spice, and it should smell good. She can’t help but inhale the scent of him as her fingers curl over the fabric of his shirt, struggles to keep herself upright.

“S--senpai--”

Stupidly though, all she’s able to think of is how different it smells from Shouto.

Ugh, where the hell did that come from? Why does her mind work like this, why does he randomly rise in her memory when she should be focused on her balance and stepping away from Shindo and not destroying Shishikura-san’s property--

“Chako-chan?”

The fabric in front of her face is suddenly damp. She wonders if it’s just his sweat or if she accidentally spilled his drink on him, or--

“Hey.” He pulls her face off of him and stares into her eyes. Gosh, his eyes are so dark, it’s so hard to read them, they’re so different, different, and fuck don’t go there, he’s telling you something important, “... wrong? Tell me, okay? Talk to me…”

Her head spins when she wills the words to get out. “No… it’s okay…”

“Huh?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. The alcohol is all over her head now. She should stop this shit, hasn’t this happened before, getting ass-faced in front of the wrong fuckin’ person and having to rely on someone else to take her home--can’t she do something right, for once? If she wasn’t such a weak-willed coward and told Shouto how she really felt, then--

“What?”

Her mouth closes, and she realizes from the croak of her voice that she just finished speaking.

“The wrong fuckin’ person, huh.” Shindo sighs. He pushes her at a distance from him, but doesn’t let her go. “Right. Well… this just got way past awkward enough.”

“... yeah. Sorry.”

All the words die in her throat. Somehow the two of them gain enough sobriety from that, and climb up back in their seats. An unbearable silence stretches between the two of them, before Shindo speaks up again.

“That stings a lot, Uraraka-san, but it’s not like I didn’t deserve it.” He pushes a glass of cold water to her and urges her to drink it before continuing. “I mean, from the way things ended between us, ‘the wrong fuckin’ person’ is probably the nicest thing you can call me.”

Another bout of silence. Her head’s hazy, but she doesn’t miss the visible struggle in Shindo’s usually unreadable eyes. One of his hands moves as if to seek hers, but he stops it midway.

“... Chako,” he inhales, uncharacteristically despondent. “I didn’t fight for you. I’m really sorry.”

The apology she’s been waiting for, ten years in the making. Her eyes widen in disbelief.

“... I didn’t think I’d regret letting you go as much as I did. So when I saw you again, after all this time, I thought I’d regret it if I didn’t at least try to get you back, you know? Even if I had to play dirty, even if you already had--I mean, have Todoroki. Am I wrong?”

But why doesn’t she feel as vindicated as she should?

She isn’t able to answer, though, and it gets him interested. He sits up a little straighter, forcing some clarity in his gaze. “This is why I thought I had a chance. I wasn’t sure where you and Todoroki stood.”

She swallows down a gulp of water. That makes two of them.

“Yikes, you two. You aren’t big talkers, aren’t you. I know, I got that vibe from the one time he wanted to ice me in a public hospital lobby just for talking to you.”

She chokes on her water. “Wh… what? You’re kidding!”

Despite herself, a smile is forming on her lips. He groans in frustration, because really, that’s what it takes for her to laugh again? “Just for tonight, I’m giving up on you, okay? But tomorrow, fuck Todoroki, I’ll keep on bugging you ‘til you’re sure of what you want for yourself.”

She… doesn’t know how to feel about that. But she agrees that she needs to have a good talk with herself before she even thinks about another person.

Thanks to the glass of water, it’s easier to stand up. She’s woozy, but at least she’s got enough sobriety to walk unassisted across the bar and out to the street, where Shindo hails a cab for her.

“How about you?” she asks, when he closes the door after her with the window rolled down.

He pokes her nose with a finger in response. “Let me get wasted a little more here, yeah? I mean, you just broke this innocent hero’s heart.”

“Idiot.”

“Agreed.” He signals the driver to go. Soon, the car lurches forward, and Ochako watches as Shindo’s silhouette gets smaller and smaller and eventually, disappears behind the doors.

Thankfully, she gets to her tiny apartment complex safely, and is sober enough to walk the short distance to her door. When she stumbles in, shoes kicked off and body flopped on the couch, she allows herself to stare at the ceiling, in a beat. Two beats.

So, Uraraka, have you been doing what you have to do?

She takes a deep breath to steady herself. She fishes out her phone, taps a message in it without thinking too hard on it for once, and presses send.

Her phone lights up with a message as soon as the message is delivered.

  Me (0032H): hey, so about last time, im sorry. if ur not busy lets talk for real this time

Todoroki Shouto (0032H): Can we see each other soon?

 Oh.

[littlewritingcorner]

Rough Seas

Miraculous Ladybug Warnings: Vomit, emeto Pairing: Adrien x Marinette x Luka friendship

Summary: Marinette finds herself trapped with her two crushes on a boat in the throws of food poisoning, but the boys are there to take care of her. Even if she would rather die of embarrassment.

- FINALLY finished this request after months of playing around with it. Hopefully it satisfies for the amount of time it took. xD -

“Oh… please settle down. Please,” Marinette moaned under her breath as the ginger ale from her sorry attempt at quelling the churning in her gut bubbled and sizzled away like acid. Juleka’s houseboat swayed gently beneath her feet and sent her stomach swirling ten-fold right along with it. All she could do was lean against the railing, arms wrapped around her middle, and hope that she could control her stomach long enough to plan a getaway before disaster could strike.

All of their friends were having the night of their lives dancing to Nino’s DJing skills and Marinette had planned to be right alongside them. Adrien had even been allowed to come and secretly she’d hoped that somehow she might be able to get a dance in for the night. She hadn’t planned on her chicken salad coming back to challenge her shortly after the music had started. Only two hours in and she’d had to slip away from the crowd on the front deck to hide in the darkness cast from the cabin at the back of the boat where no one could see her.

Her tainted lunch did a backflip on the next wave, followed by a paralyzing cramp in the center of her stomach and she couldn’t help the whimper as she tightened her arms around her waist and slid down the railing wall. She tucked herself into as tight of a protective ball as she could in hopes of easing the cramp, but even once that faded the added nausea it’d brought on stayed. She could feel it clinging to the back of her throat like rotted syrup and no amount of swallowing was getting rid of it.

“Marinette? What are you doing over here?”

She didn’t need to look up to know who that voice belonged to, but the arrival made her flinch back quickly which she instantly regretted as her stomach jostled and her throat tightened. She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes, using all of her will power to try and force her stomach to stay down.

“Are you alright? You’re pale as a ghost,” he asked quietly, concern shinning bright behind emerald eyes. Marinette might have seen it if she hadn’t been more concerned with pulling herself up as quickly as her trembling legs would let her. Another sway rocked her back to the railing edge and she gripped the bar as she leaned over. An audible gurgling hiss echoed over the sounds of the lapping waves from her stomach as the muscle constricted harshly, forcing her to gag over the water uselessly. Was she really going to throw up right when Adrien was there to see? Could it be any more humiliating?!

“Whoa!” Adrien gasped at the sudden movement and stood up to brace an arm behind the poor girls shoulders in an attempt to help her stay upright.

“Are you seasick? Try to take a breath. You’ll be alright,” he coached surprisingly calmly while all Marinette could do was shake her head and try not to watch the waves rocking up against the haul. The backflips from earlier were quickly turning into a full olympic gymnasts set of rolls and twirls and the most she could do was clutch the railing in a death grip and lean over further as she fought off another gag. She barely managed to swallow the sudden rush of hot bile splashing the back of her throat and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, all while Adrien rubbed her back and cooed empty little encouragements at her that it would be ok.

“Is Marinette ok?” Luka asked as he peaked around the cabin and caught the quickly devolving scene in front of him. He hurried over and Marinette whimpered again at the voice. Luka too!? Did everyone she found cute have to come and watch her throw up over the side of a boat?

“I think she might be seasick,” Adrien offered, but raised an eyebrow when Marinette shook her head again. She swallowed heavily and dared open her mouth.

“L-lunch…” she managed to mumble before another gag sent the tainted meal surging back up her throat, the lingering sludge bringing on a second heave to finally send the contents of her stomach down to the water below. Her stomach cramped and seized as the muscle decided that was the perfect time to lose it. She barely had the time to cough and pull some much needed air back into her lungs before her stomach sloshed angrily again and brought on another wave of half digested chicken salad and a stream of tears.

“It’s ok. You’re going to be fine. Don’t fight it or you’ll only feel worse,” Luka soothed, his mellow voice not doing as much as usual to calm Marinette down. Adrien’s hand was still stroking up her spine in long, slow strokes, no doubt feeling every time her body seized up in preparation for another potential expulsion.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry. I’m so - ugh - s-sorry,” she panted in the few minutes reprieve she was finally given, tear tracks still fresh down her cheeks and too embarrassed to lift her head up. Adrien pulled a tissue from his pocket to hand over once it seemed like the pause was finally going to last more than a few breaths.

“Maybe you should lay down for a bit,” Adrien suggested as Luka stood on Marinette’s opposite side to loop an arm behind her waist.

“Do you think you can make it downstairs?” Luka asked.

Another cramp brought her to her knees before she could answer the question and she moaned, gripping the angry organ and sinking down against the railing helplessly. Her body was still trying to find anything left to bring up and wasn’t satisfied at what it found. Once the pain finally eased again she nodded and let the boys help her down the stairs and away from the pounding music. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected but it wasn’t being lead to Luka’s bed.

“No… no I don’t want to get sick on your bed,” she protested weakly but the floating feeling in her limbs didn’t give her much of a chance at pushing back as they sat her down, so she curled up over her knees instead with a pathetic whine. “This is so embarrassing. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she sniffled.

“No more of that, Mari. You can’t help food poisoning. Now try to get some rest and let us take care of you,” Luka said, his smile impossibly kind before moving to the other side of the room to bring over the trash can while Adrien sat next to her.

“Yeah. We’ll take care of you, so don’t worry about a thing. You don’t need to feel embarrassed, so please stop crying,” he spoke softly and brushed away a tear. For someone who’d had so little contact with other people his bedside manner took even Marinette by surprise. She wasn’t graced with the time to ponder that thought anymore as her stomach lurched again, angry at being held at bay and she quickly pulled the trash bin to her chest and buried her face in it, sick splashing at the plastic lining disgustingly. The echoing gags and choking as her body struggled to bring up more vile sludge only made her feel worse. It sounded a million times louder to her than it probably was, but Adrien and Luka were both there to hear it.

This had to be the worst night of her entire life.

Luka moved the bin away once the moment of nausea had passed and offered her two tablets that she managed to choke down with a mouthful of water. She didn’t have the energy to protest being pressed to lay down on the bed. Her stomach was still hanging in her throat but her head was spinning as much as the boat was rocking and she was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

When she woke up the room was dimly lit by a table lamp and there was something cool and wet draped over her forehead. A foggy haze drifted through her mind as she tried to process the quiet voices somewhere close, not sure where she was. Her limbs felt tied down to the bed but a sudden spike of nausea blew the fog away enough to tell her she needed to get up. That was about all it did as the most she could manage was sluggishly rolling over and heaving blindly over the side of the bed. She had no time to react as she slowly realized she was throwing up on Luka’s floor and probably all over his bed and the tears were back, along with a gentle pair of hands roaming over her shoulders.

“Easy. Easy. You’re alright,” Luka spoke next to her ear, far to calmly for someone who had someone currently vomiting on their floor. When the heaving finally stopped she realized not only had the small bin from earlier been replaced by a much larger bucket directly in the line of fire, but there were a handful of towels spread out underneath it. A smart choice, as even the large target hadn’t managed to save the whole area. She was too tired to dissolve into any more tears at the mess and accepted the water Adrien offered her before collapsing back against the pillows with a groan.

“I’ll clean that…” she mumbled, scrubbing at her face with one hand and wishing the bloated, cramping, nauseated feeling would lessen up for even a moment. The boys chuckled lightly at the delirious murmurings. Luka put the damp cloth back over Marinette’s forehead and she looked up at them with hazy blue eyes. “What time is it?” she finally managed to ask the older boy hovering over her.

“Nearly 11. You were out for a good few hours. You really needed the rest.”

“It’s that late?” she frowned and sat up slowly, her head spinning again at the motion and she closed her eyes, groaning. “Oh no. I made you miss the whole party. I’m sorry. And you’re dad finally let you come out, too,” she sniffled sadly.

“There’ll be other parties, Marinette. Are you feeling any better?”

“No. I’m really not,” she frowned and pulled her knees up to her chest, swallowing down the hollow, sick feeling still lingering. There was nothing she wanted more at that moment than to be curled up in the privacy of her own bathroom, suffering in solitude.

“Luka’s mom offered to let you spend the night, but if you want to go home, my driver and I can take you. He’s waiting outside whenever you’re ready.” he offered as Luka started cleaning the towels on the floor away now that Marinette was awake. She watched him clean up and sighed, holding her stomach.

“I want to go home,” she moaned pathetically. “I’m sorry I ruined everything, but thank you for taking care of me like this. I’m so sorry,” she apologized again. She was never going to be able to apologize enough. Luka just sighed and sat next to her, squeezing her knee.

“When you’re feeling better, we’re going to work on this compulsion for you to apologize for things out of your control,” he smiled and for the first time since the whole ordeal had started Marinette smiled back weakly.

“…Sorry,” she quipped back.

Soon after she was slowly ushered off the houseboat, emergency trash bag in hand, and shuffled against Adrien’s side in the backseat of his car. The shared body heat of his arm draped around her shoulders was so good at easing the chills running along her spine that she couldn’t pretend to not want to snuggle closer. She would have fallen asleep if the gentle curves of the Parisian roads weren’t doing their best to set her stomach off again.

Adrien’s driver cast a worried glance in the rear-view mirror as she groaned and curled up tighter against Adrien, the color quickly draining from her face. She dared a glance outside the window to judge if she should ask the man to pull over or not, grateful that she didn’t live far and that they were already pulling up to the bakery. She was pretty sure Adrien and his driver felt a similar surge of relief as the blonde helped her out and they made the painfully slow trek up the flights of stairs to her apartment.

It was midnight and the hallways were barely lit by the wall sconces. Marinette could hardly see straight as she dug through her purse, only finding her house keys with Tiki’s quiet help. Her stomach was swirling and that sickly rotten syrup coating was clinging to the back of her throat again. Her hand tightened around the trash bag, not sure if she could will her body to hold on long enough to get the door unlocked. Adrien took pity on her and swiftly took the keys from her hands to let them in. He excused the lack of thanks as Marinette hurried through the door lightening fast and threw herself into the bathroom in just enough time to heave up a fresh surge of stomach acid.

She was still hovering over the bowl, strings of sticky bile and saliva hanging from her lips when Adrien came in to join her. He flicked on the light forgotten light switch before kneeling next to her and resting his hand on her back as the other reached to brush her bangs from her forehead. Her body tightened again and Adrien’s hand was the only thing keeping her from leaning into the water as a weaker stream of bile dribbled past her lips.

It was like someone was try to wring her body of every last speck of food that could possibly be left behind. She spat into the dirty water, doing her best not to look at it as she panted over the surface, too afraid to pull away as her stomach quivered. Harsh chills shuddered along her body were forcing the already strained muscles of her abdomen dangerously taught. There couldn’t possibly be anything left but somehow her body managed to keep finding something to bring up.

A handful of dry gags later and Adrien let his hand slip from her bangs, though the other never stopped rubbing her back.

“I think that might be it,” he said softly, wincing as Marinette’s body challenged him by finding one last dribble of bile to add to the bowl. She moaned pathetically and reached up tiredly for the lever on the tank to flush the shame away.

“Tell that to my stomach,” she rasped and wiped her mouth with a tissue before pulling back enough to rest her forehead against the rim of the toilet. The acid burned her throat as she tried to catch her breath and force the shaking to stop. She was so tired, and the aching in her stomach had only dulled slightly, replaced by the tired strain of an overworked muscle. It felt like she’d just done 100 sit-ups.

She wasn’t sure what time it was anymore or how much longer she’d be stuck on the floor, worshiping her new god. Another cramp brought on a tired whimper and she only just caught the glass of water from the corner of her eye. She had no idea when Adrien had moved away to fill up the bathroom glass but the sight of it made her stomach lurch nervously all the same.

“N-no. I can’t, Adrien. I can’t,” she swallowed and closed her eyes as she tilted her head down as if that would help. “I just want this t-to st-stop,” she shivered and curled tighter into herself.

“You’re getting dehydrated, you really need to drink something. Besides, it might feel better to have something in your stomach to… well… lose,” he said, wincing at the shudder the thought brought to Marinette as she shook her head again. He sighed and gently rubbed at her lower back.

“Please? Just a sip? Get the taste out of your mouth at least.”

Marinette lifted tired eyes up to Adrien and the innocent glass of water, the pleading and concerned eyes meeting her exhausted gaze guilted her enough to slowly sit up and reach for the glass. Her shivering was so violent she couldn’t hold onto the glass though and Adrien pulled it away, gently batting at her hand.

“Let me help,” he said tenderly and Marinette blushed despite herself as he pressed the rim of the glass against her parted lips. She managed a few swallows before pushing it away and shaking her head.

“That’s enough,” she groaned as the water settled like ice in the pit of her stomach and gurgled away unhappily. She could almost image her insides folding in on themselves over the beverage, eager to have something more to toss around, but it had helped the stinging in her throat at least. Adrien didn’t argue and promptly put the glass aside.

“Can I help you somewhere more comfortable? What about your bedroom?”

“No…right here is good,” she whined and curled up closer to the bowl for emphasis. She held her breath against a hiccough and rested her hand against the slowly churning mass of her middle, praying that the worst was over. The room was spinning again and she closed her eyes against it for just a minute, but when she opened them Adrien had somehow shuffled his way to her bedroom for her blanket and gathered armfuls of pillows to lay on the floor.

Owlishly bright eyes watched Adrien concoct a little nest of pillows before he wrapped the blanket around Marinette’s shivering frame. A light tug on her arm was all she needed to be coaxed into joining Adrien in his pile of pillows and curl back against his chest. The body heat was pure bliss and slowly eased up the trembling from her chills so the strain wasn’t as bad on her stomach.

“If we’re staying here then I can at least try to make you comfortable,” he smiled and brushed the fallen strands of dark blue hair from the girls eyes to tuck them behind her ears. “Now try to get some rest, Marinette.”

“Thank you, Adrien,” she blushed and curled up closer, letting her eyes drift shut in the moment of relaxation and dozed again, the nausea dulling. She might have thought the moment was romantic as Adrien stroked her arm and held her as she slept. But of course, Marinette’s luck would never be that good.

Any fuzzy warmth from the moment was ripped away by the cycle of jolting awake, heaving some magically renewed amount of stomach acid and water into the toilet not an hour later, (and every hour on the hour after that), well until dawn. Even Adrien’s well meaning patience had dipped after the 4th wake up call, and the exhaustion in his voice as he stroked her hair back and pressed glasses of water to her between bouts of vomiting matched Marinette’s own frazzled emotions. By dawn she was ready to end it all and welcome the sweet peace of death, because clearly this was how she was going to die.  

Sabine and Tom weren’t entirely sure what to think when they walked in a few hours after sunrise to find their daughter asleep in front of the toilet, half curled into her blanket and the blonde model sprawled on a bed of pillows against the bathroom wall. They quietly closed the door, deciding to wait for the pair to wake up on their own to tell them about the harrowing trials of the chicken salads revenge.

It was a long while before Marinette or Adrien went anywhere near another piece of chicken again.

[j-esbian]

good intentions, bad intuition

for @thinkoutsidethelovesquare​ month I got the chance to remix @alya-bug​‘s work, and Misunderstanding was just too cute and too funny! I couldn’t resist remixing it with ninoir. I hope you like it!!! <3

on ao3

Words: 3419

Nino was no stranger to nighttime visits from Chat Noir. Chat had an ego that loved to be stoked by his favorite fan. It was nice, truth be told, and he wasn’t looking to complain; they’d spill their frustrations to each other, or talk about the weather, or listen to music, or just chill out. Lately, however, Chat seemed to be coming by all the time, and Nino was starting to form his own suspicions…

The final piece fell into place when one of Chat’s usual rants about an argument he’d had with his father was cut short by a loud rumble. Chat hugged his stomach and grinned sheepishly at Nino. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten yet today.”

“Dude, it’s three in the afternoon,” Nino said.

“It’s Saturday!” Chat protested.

Nino simply shook his head in disbelief and walked out his bedroom door without a word. Chat glanced around nervously--was he supposed to follow? Stay there? Leave? But Nino returned quickly with a few bags of snacks. He pushed them into Chat’s chest, snagged a bag of potato chips for himself, and sat back down.

He popped a chip into his mouth. “So, you were saying?” Nino prompted, raising an eyebrow.

Chat’s shoulders relaxed and he shifted the snacks to his lap. “I mean, it's like my dad doesn't want me around,” he continued. “He wants to be able to say he has control over me, but he only ever talks to me to lock me up, and ignores me half the time anyway. It's just-- good to get away, you know?”

Nino thought of Adrien, and the trouble he'd gone through just to go to a normal school. This guy’s dad sounded a thousand times worse. “Yeah, man, I know.”

Adrien walked in on Marinette yelling at Nino, which was a surprising sight, to say the least.

“What do you mean, you don't know?” she shouted.

“It means I don't know!” Nino shot back. “I can't just straight-up ask him, can I? If he's already in a dangerous situation, I don't want to make things worse. And he comes to me for a break from all that. I don't want to make things weird a-and scare him off.”

“Yeah, well, things are already pretty weird if he's living on the streets,” Marinette bit out, slumping back into her seat.

Adrien sat down and gave Nino a quizzical look. “What's going on?” he whispered, glancing back at Marinette, who was pointedly looking at her phone. “Dude, what did you do?”

Nino sighed. “I didn't do anything, and that's why she's pissed. Listen, man, your dad's rough on you sometimes. Have you ever thought about running away? Not just to school, but, like, for good?”

More times than I can count , Adrien thought, but simply nodded. Nino sighed and buried his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes underneath his smudged glasses.

“Dude, what's up?” Adrien pressed.

Nino heaved a heavy sigh. “There's this guy I know. And his situation at home isn't the greatest, and I don't think he eats very often, and--Marinette thinks he's homeless, and she might not be... wrong.”

Adrien frowned. “That’s really rough,” he said slowly. “I guess--I mean, gosh, if you don't want to ask outright, the best you can do is drop hints. Maybe you could invite him to spend the night at your place? Just see how he takes it? And work from there?”

Nino grimaced. “No, I definitely don’t think-- I mean, he’s always the one to ask me what’s wrong. And if something’s up with him, he’d tell me. I’m worried, but I don’t think--” He broke off and, seeing Marinette glowering down at him, continued in a hushed voice, “I don’t think it’s that bad. Yet.” Nino shrugged. “Dude’s been having a bad couple of weeks, anyway. I made him a mixtape. That always seems to make people feel better.”

“Yeah, it does,” Adrien grinned, nudging Nino with his shoulder. He had a full shelf in his bedroom filled with mixes Nino had put together for him, for all kinds of moods. He thought for a moment, then dug around in his bag, pulling out a crumpled bank note. He smoothed it out on the desk and slid it over to Nino. “Here. Give him this, too.”

Nino squinted down at the offering. “Twenty euros? Dude, no way. I can’t…”

“I’m serious,” Adrien insisted. He tucked the bill into Nino’s hand, closing his fingers firmly around it. “If he needs it, great. If not… well, my dad’s rich. He’s not going to get mad at me for wasting twenty euros.”

Nino couldn’t argue with his logic. “Okay. Thanks, seriously.”

Adrien smiled. Nino was a worrier at heart. Maybe it was nothing, but it warmed him to the core to see Nino care so much about his friends.

As it happened, Nino didn't see Chat Noir again for several days. It was enough time for Marinette to thaw out her cold shoulder and send him a massive list of homeless shelters and soup kitchens and other resources that she’d looked up when she was too mad to talk to him. He knew she was a wonderfully compassionate person, and he was grateful for her concern, but he felt guilty for airing his suspicions in the first place. It wasn't his business to share.

Nino spent each passing day wondering if Chat would show up. What was first just a CD grew until Nino had a gift bag, beribboned and shiny, standing vigil for him on a corner of his desk. Finally, on Saturday night, Chat stopped by.

It was a little past midnight and Nino, who had just jerked from an hours-long haze of video editing and realized how late it was, was just beginning to think of going to bed, when he heard a tentative scratching at the window. Though it was an infinitely creepier sound, they'd found that knocking startled Nino's dog and alerted his parents to his late-night guest, so they'd decided on a quieter signal. It gave Nino a heart attack every time he heard it, but his heart always raced when he saw Chat, anyway.

He rolled over in his chair to flip the latch, then scooted back to his computer. Chat let himself in, opening the window and sliding inside noiselessly. Without a word, he crossed over to Nino’s bed and sat down heavily, closing his eyes and leaning his back up against the wall for a solid, silent minute.

Nino looked on apprehensively. He and Chat had been spending a fair amount of time together lately, and in his bedroom, no less; they’d definitely left “hero and fan” behind a few months ago and were crossing into “friends” territory, but Chat had never been so casual around him. They had just reached that stage of friendship that he and Adrien had just barely passed through: being overwhelmingly and unfailingly polite to each other, treading new ground daily and cautious to overstep boundaries. He wasn’t bothered by this sudden change, per se, but it was unexpected.

“Hey, man,” Nino began, trying for a casual tone to match Chat’s mood. It came out much more over-the-top than he intended, and Chat’s eyes flicked open in surprise. “What, uh, what’s up?”

But Nino could tell, now that he was looking Chat in the eyes. He was tired . The mask might have hidden dark circles and pale, drawn skin, but there was no hiding his bloodshot eyes, though Nino thought distractedly that they looked dark rather than red. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that his eyes were green. Was his blood green, too? Maybe Chat Noir was a Vulcan.

Focus .

Nino rubbed at his eyes as if he could erase his own fatigue, and smiled at Chat. “I mean, don’t get me wrong,” he continued, “it’s great to see you. But it’s late, and you look… well, if you were standing up, I’d say you look like you’re about to fall over--”

“I already did that,” Chat said hoarsely. He grinned in that delirious way that seems to overcome the truly exhausted or the unspeakably drunk, and his face relaxed somewhat. “Sorry, dude. I am really tired. I think this is the first time I’ve sat down since this morning.”

“Another akuma attack?” Nino asked. “Jeez, doesn’t Hawk Moth sleep?”

Chat shook his head. “Nah, this was for my other job. My ‘real’ job, I guess. If I had a choice, I’d quit, but, well, being a superhero doesn’t exactly come with a paycheck.” He smiled ruefully. “Sorry, I shouldn’t complain. I know that’s not important. I’m just really starting to hate my other job.”

Nino shook his head. “No worries, dude. I get it. My buddy Adrien’s the same way. I mean, his circumstances are a little different; I don’t think he needs it for the money, but his dad makes him do it all the same. So, what do you do?”

Chat fidgeted. “I, um… I guess you could say I perform.”

“You’re an actor?” Nino’s eyes lit up. “Dude, that’s awesome! I’ve been thinking about making another movie, and I could totally--”

“Uh, not exactly,” Chat interrupted nervously. There was no use in getting Nino’s hopes up, and make promises he wouldn’t be able to keep down the line. “I mean, it’s kind of a… unique job? Well, a lot of people do it, I’m sure, but it’d be a lot easier for you to figure out who I was because it’s not the most common…” Chat trailed off into a huge yawn. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be short with you. I just… can’t really tell you, you know?”

“Oh, yeah, no, of course!” Nino said, nodding furiously. “As long as you’re safe, man.” Chat smiled uncomfortably, and he winced; not the best transition he could come up with, but he soldiered on, pretending to change the subject. “Oh! I have something for you.”

Chat’s ears pricked up. “Really?”

Nino leaned back to snatch up the gift bag and tossed it toward him. “Yeah. Open it when you get--after you leave. I don’t want you to, uh, leave anything behind.”

Chat glanced down at the bag in his hands and prodded at the tissue paper. “Thanks, man. It’s not my birthday or anything. I mean… what’s it for?”

“You know.” Nino shrugged. “Just, um, being a friend?”

“Oh,” Chat said softly. It had been an infuriatingly long day full of endless runways and flashing lights and booming music, and he had a headache the size of a metro car. He hadn’t expected anything more from Nino but a place to relax for a few minutes.

His vision grew blurry. He blinked a few times to clear his eyes, then launched himself at Nino, gripping him tightly into a hug. Nino reeled for a few seconds, then hugged him back just as tightly, closing his eyes and burrowing his head into the crook of Chat’s neck. A sharp, familiar smell lingered in Chat’s hair, and Nino drew back.

“Dude, no offense,” he chuckled, “but you smell rank .” He went to tousle Chat’s hair playfully, but his hand instead got caught in his bangs. His hair crunched audibly when Nino tried to untangle his fingers, opting instead to comb Chat’s bangs back from his eyes. Something sparkled on his forehead in the low light. “And you’ve got, uh, glitter on your face,” Nino muttered.

Chat grimaced. “Sorry. I haven’t taken a shower in a while. I probably smell like I’m made of cigarettes, huh? Oh, jeez, I hope I didn’t get glitter on your bed. That stuff gets everywhere.” He leaned over and began brushing furiously at Nino’s blanket.

“So, uh,” Nino blurted out, “do you smoke?”

Chat frowned and gave Nino’s blanket one last swipe. “Me? No. A lot of people I work with do, though, especially the older guys. Sorry. I’m not trying to stink up your room.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine--” Nino protested, but Chat was already standing up.

“I should leave before I fall asleep here,” Chat said, yawning widely once again. He slid the window open and then turned back to Nino, clutching his gift tightly to his chest. “Thanks for letting me stop in. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. N-no problem,” Nino replied faintly. His brain was suddenly whirring--and worrying--a mile a minute, trying to process all this new information. He sat there dumbly for a few minutes; it wasn’t until a cold breeze slipped through the still-open window that he snapped out of it, and he shook his head and headed for bed.

When he woke up in the morning, he had glitter in his hair.

One of the perks of having the longest day ever was that Adrien got to sleep in the next morning. He rolled out of bed a little after noon and landed on the floor in a dirty, smelly heap. He had barely been able to make it through the window and to his bed last night, let alone take a shower. Something underneath him crunched and for a horrible, sleep-addled moment, he thought he’d landed on Plagg, before remembering Nino’s gift the night before.

He tore the bag open; surprisingly for its size, it held a lot. A pair of croissants, cold and now probably a little stale, wrapped in a grease-stained napkin; a handful of tiny, sample-sized bottles of shampoo; an envelope in a sealed plastic bag; and a CD in a hard plastic case.

Adrien munched on one of the croissants as the shower warmed up and emptied out two bottles of the fancy-smelling shampoo trying to get dried, gummy remains of the hairspray out of his hair. Then he sat back down on his bed, clean and relaxed and polishing off the second croissant, to look over the other presents.

The CD case was blank, except for a sticker on the cover that said “- Nino.” A few song titles were printed in marker on the CD’s surface, and Adrien grinned. Nino had gotten a surprisingly good read on what kind of music he’d like, considering he didn’t know Chat nearly as well as he did Adrien.

He turned to the envelope and slid it out of its protective bag. Instead of holding a letter, though, it contained only two things: a folded sheet of paper with a list printed on it, and a twenty-euro note. Adrien unfolded the paper and scanned the list. It seemed to be mostly homeless shelters and restaurants, with notes scribbled in the margins about who gave out free food and which places had curfews.

Plagg had dug into the empty bag and was laying like a prince, surrounded by discarded tissue paper. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Stuff,” Adrien replied, mystified. Why would Nino give this to him?

Then he remembered Nino’s friend. “Oh,” he said. “He must’ve found a lot of great places when he was helping his friend out, and maybe he thought Ladybug and I might be looking for places to volunteer? I guess the money is… for a donation?”

Plagg shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt, I guess. If you ever have any free time that’s not in the middle of the night.” He sniffed one of the balls of paper around his paws. “Did you save any of that croissant for me?”

The first thing Adrien noticed when he saw Nino on Monday was that he looked completely burnt out, and not in the way he would look when he was up until the early hours of the morning, coming to school on three hours of sleep and a Red Bull. Something was definitely bothering him.

The second thing that caught his eye was that Nino was sitting in the wrong row.

He was sandwiched between Marinette and Alya, and the three of them were whispering intently, their heads bent low in conference.

“Yeah, I know,” Nino was saying. “God.”

Adrien hitched his bag up higher on his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“His homeless friend’s a stripper,” Alya said bluntly.

Marinette reached behind Nino’s back and swatted her arm. “Alya!”

Nino, however, climbed over Alya to take his place at his own bench. Adrien slid in next to him, and rested his hand on Nino’s shoulder.

“That’s…” he stammered. “Not great. Wow. Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” Nino said. “Dude, what do I do?”

Adrien shrugged helplessly. “The best you can do, I guess. Be there for him. Sounds like he needs it.” He dug into his bag, past Plagg’s sleeping form, and pulled out a crumpled bill. “Here.”

Nino stared at him. “No, man, not again.”

“I’m rich,” Adrien reminded him. “Take it.” Chat Noir certainly didn’t need it, and if Nino was determined to spend twenty euros on someone, it may as well be someone who did.

Nino squinted at it suspiciously. “I don’t know. I’d feel weird if I just kept giving him money. I don’t want the dude to think I’m pitying him. I just… want to be there for him, you know?”

His face shone with such sincerity and innocence that Adrien had to suppress a smile. “I know. But there’s no reason you can’t support him emotionally and give him money. Hold on.” He folded the bill into a bow-tie shape, one of the little tricks he’d learned to keep himself busy backstage. He wiggled it at Nino. “See? Now it’s fun .”

Nino snorted. “All right, dude. But if he’s not homeless, I swear to God, you’re getting this back.”

Adrien beamed. “Thank you. I hope I never see it again.”

The next time Chat saw Nino, it was because he’d been summoned, which was a weird experience in itself. Nino had pulled some strings with Alya, who had contacted Ladybug, asking her to get in touch with her partner and meet Nino at the park by his collège.

It was dusk, and Nino sat by himself, kicking up dust underneath a bench. Chat watched in silence for a minute. He still looked worried.

He dropped down next to Nino. “Hey.”

“Oh. Hi!” Nino replied.

“Thanks for all the stuff the other day,” Chat continued. “That was super nice.”

“Yeah!” Nino nodded. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Is this about the money?” Chat asked. “Because I totally get it. I was a little confused seeing it in there at first, and I totally get it if you need it back.”

Nino tapped his fingers together. “No, that was for you. Uh, here, I’ve actually got some more…” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a bow-tie-shaped bill, pressing it into Chat’s palm.

Chat lifted it up to his eyes. “Oh, cool! You know origami, too?”

“What?” Nino asked. “No, my, uh, best bud did that. Listen, I need to talk to you about something.

“I’m worried about you. I know what your deal is. I know what you...do.” Nino coughed. “It’s not safe to be an underaged stripper. So please. Tell me how I can help you.”

Chat sat in shocked silence for a moment. Then everything fell into place.

“Wait, am I your homeless friend?” he sputtered, looking down at the money in his hand and then back over at Nino.

Nino looked embarrassed. “Um, yeah? A-are you not…?”

“Nope,” Chat confirmed. “Not homeless, and not a stripper.”

Nino buried his face in his hands. “Oh God. Can I die now? I think that’s the only safe way out of this conversation.”

Chat laughed and looped his arm around Nino’s shoulder. “Hey, I appreciate the concern, though. I don’t know of anyone else who’d worry so much for me.”

Nino blushed. “Come on, man, I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Chat admitted. “Maybe my best friend-- oh, wait…” He bumped Nino’s shoulder with his free fist and grinned.

Chat’s hand dangled down and brushed against Nino’s arm, and he laced their fingers together. “It’s kind of sad if I’m your best friend,” Nino scoffed. “Dude, you need to get a life outside of this whole hero thing. Maybe you should be a stripper.”

“Hey, I have a life,” Chat protested. He twisted Nino’s hand in his, brought it to his mouth, kissed it gently. “I guess it’s my fault you’re in both halves.”

Nino laughed. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“You’ve got glitter on your face,” Chat said instead. “This isn’t a fashion show, Nino.”

[allaboutshouto]

Headcanon that Todoroki rarely get sick. When he did, he always tried to hide it and slept it away. But not this time. (This actually became a full fledged fic so you can read it here on ao3 or right below)

'Todoroki-kun, aren't you cold?'

'No.'

'Man, aren't you hot in there?'

'No.'

When class 1A managed to have a look inside Todoroki's wardrobe, they were in for a surprise.

There were nothing but shirts and trousers of different colors. One or two light blue jackets dotted on the left side but that was it.

Clothes suitable for an autumn morning stroll in the park. Hardly optimal choices for the blistering hot summer or biting cold winter.

Todoroki explained between stifled yawns and subtle glances to the futon that he could regulate his own body temperature, therefore had no need for seasonal clothing before ushering them out so he could sleep.

Class 1A all agreed on one thing when they gathered back down the communal area.

Todoroki's quirk was the coolest!

Todoroki found himself boxed on his left side on movie nights during winter time and on his right side during summer classes though it was a mad dash to be the first to reach his right side. The unlucky ones that couldn't be the first settled for ice-creams and cold bottled water, giving the lucky one and Todoroki, who was not sweating a drop, sting eyes.

So when Hagakure, the lucky one of the day sitting with her back to Todoroki’s right side, commented on how warm his right side was, it garnered the attention of everyone in class.

Todoroki’s control over his quirk was uncanny.

Between finding a five-leaf clover and Todoroki messing up the control of his quirk, you have a far better chance of finding a field of five-leaf clovers.

A vague ‘Sorry’ came from Todoroki and Hagukure’s sigh of contentment sent the rest of the class back into an envious mob.

That was the first sign of trouble they failed to notice.

‘Midoriya-san, do you know where Todoroki-san is?’ Yaoyorozu’s clear voice made him jump in his seat and consequently drew a diagonal line over his hero costume sketch.

‘Uhm, no?’ He hurriedly closed the notebook. Not that he didn’t want her to see, he was just uncomfortable with showing his hero notebook to anyone other than Uraraka and Ida. He flustered a little when she raised an eyebrow but steeled his nerves to ask. ‘Why do you ask?’

Why ask me?

‘Out of everyone, you are closest to him so I thought you would know,’ Yaoyoruzu answered his unasked question first. ‘It’s rare to see him miss a class.’ She mumbled mostly to herself but Izuku caught it any way and had to frown.

‘I don’t know. Sorry.’ Izuku offered a helpless smile even as he dissolved into a muttering tirade. It was true. Todoroki was probably the most diligent when it came to classwork, just right after Iida. No one could compete with Iida when it came to school work any way, the guy was on a different level. It was unusual rather than rare for Todoroki to skip class, especially hero class. There must be something serious enough, something more important than training to keep him occupied. But what could that possibly be? He was kidnapped? Possible but a little far-fetched considering they all were staying at UA dorm with over-the-top securities. Then he must not be at the dorm then. If so where could he be? No, that's not true, Izuku backtracked. He definitely saw Todoroki this morning in the kitchen area with a glass of water before his attention was drawn back to Uraraka's floating an inch above the floor omelette.

Sometime during his mutter, Yaoyoruzu must have left, but he was too occupied to paid her any attention.

His mind whirred with different scenarios as he hastily jogged back to the dorm. Next class was modern literature and also the last for the day so he wouldn't be in any serious trouble. Todoroki was more of a concern now.

Something happened to his family? Maybe it was his mother? Or Endeavor? Something pissed his father off enough for him to come to UA dorm to drag his son back home to train until all his bones were broken and blisters dotted his body? Oh god no please let it not be Endeavor. Todoroki’s relationship with his father might be more mutual respect than outright hatred now but who knows what might happen with Endeavor's temperament.

Please let it not be Endeavor.

Please not Endeavor.

Anyone but Endeavor.

Please not Endeavor!

'Todoroki-kun!' Izuku swung the door to the dorm open with enough force to send the reinforced quadruple-layered glass rattling against the wall and called out as loud as his voice permitted.

Silence greeted him. Cold that had nothing to do with Todoroki's quirk slowly wrapped around his heart.

Izuku bolted to Todoroki's room. The door was unlocked but no signs of a break in could be seen. Todoroki was nowhere to be seen. Scouting every floor also gained no result of his whereabouts.

The kitchen area was empty as well. Izuku checked every cupboards and cabinets, even in the fridge and under the dining table.

He found himself back in the common room and was searching in All Might's contact in his phone with shaking fingers when an out of place sound, too quiet to be heard over the pounding of his heart, caught his attention.

Izuku took a deep breath to calm his frantically beating heart and listened.

There it was. A gasp, then a second later, a soft, pained 'no'.

It was coming from the gap between the sofa and the wall.

Izuku carefully made his way over. 'Todoroki-kun...?' He hesitantly said, not wanting to spook his friend. His thought started to drift into the lines of why Todoroki was hiding behind a sofa for he was definitely hiding from something.

All he got in response was a muffled cry of pain.

The cold around his heart that had started to melt seconds ago was returning faster and planting its root deeper.

Izuku had never, ever, heard Todoroki made such a pitiful noise.

Something was seriously wrong.

He peeked through the gap and found Todoroki sitting with his back against the wall, legs drawn up and head resting on the knees.

It looked like he was sleeping but his breath was coming out in short gasps, a mixture of steam and hot breath. A sheen of perspiration covered his face and neck.

Izuku carefully sneaked in a hand to feel his temperature and had to smother an alarm yelp.

His forehead was as hot as scalding water, even his right side felt as hot as a car left under the summer sun for hours. Had Todoroki been hiding his fever for days? Not to mention he even came to class yesterday! A fever as severe as this didn't just develop overnight!

Todoroki shied away from his touch and tried to scoot further away but ended up toppling over.

Without fanfare, Izuku pushed the sofa away and kneeled down besides his friend.

'Come on, Todoroki-kun, we need to get you to Recover Girl.' He said, swinging an arm around Todoroki to support him up, tears gathering in his eyes of fear and frustration.

Todoroki put up a pitiful fight, ice trying to form before immediately melting away and steaming up. 'No..., please...., stop...' He mumbled, prying weakly at Izuku's hold.

'Todoroki-kun, please, let me help!' Izuku all but begged, desperately adding more force to his hold to still his squirming friend.

'No..., no...' Todoroki shook his head weakly. 'Stop... Please.... Father…’

Izuku’s hold on his tears faltered and that was all it took for him to cry now. Todoroki was too delirious to tell the difference between reality and dreamscape. For now, he was not at the US dorm anymore but back to the horror and fear his childhood held.

'You are not with your father, Todoroki-kun. You are safe.' Izuku bit back a choked sob and said forcefully. That was the point he needed to drive home first. 'I'm Midoriya Izuku. And you are going to get better, okay? Please, please, just let me help.' Izuku rocked them from side to side, not knowing anything better to help.

Todoroki's movements quietened down. He finally cracked open an eye, the blue one, to blearily blink at Izuku. The intelligence it usually held now lost to the haze of sickness and delirium.

It took Todoroki three minutes to recognize him.

'Mi-dori-ya-?' He said brokenly, gasping for air when he finished.

'Yeah, it's me.' Izuku smiled encouragingly through his tears. 'I'n going to take you to the infirmary now, okay?'

Todoroki bobbed his head in consent and Izuku flew into action. He had Todoroki in piggy back style and was out of the dorm in a matter of seconds. His friend felt like a sack of burning coal on his back, incoherent mumble hot against his right cheek.

Todoroki was prideful and for him to accept help with no deliberation; it spoke volume how severe his fever was. Izuku just hoped he hadn't arrived too late.

His footsteps dented the ground.

The news about Todoroki staying in the hospital was quick to spread around class.

Izuku found himself the center of worried questions and a crying Hagakure. Under any other circumstances, he would be dying of shame right on the spot. Right now he was just too tired to care.

'And I asked him to cool down.' Hagakure cried in earnest, wet sobs echoing the solemn room.

'There, there Hagakure-chan.' Mina padded her back understandingly, wiping away the tears with a tissue. 'We can all visit him tomorrow.' She added brightly.

'About that-' Izuku shifted in his spot uncomfortably all eyes fell on him. ‘-We can't.'

His statement was met with varying degree of bewilderment.

'What do you mean by that, Midoriya-kun?' Iida asked, doing that small chopping hand motion that told how nervous he was.

'Patient request,' Recover Girl had said when Midoriya tried to step back in after she finished her treatment half an hour after he brought Todoroki in.

'He needs as much rest as he can, so I think it's best that we not disturb him.' He half-lied, twisting his scarred hands.

'You are absolutely right, Deku-kun.' Uraraka accepted his explanation easily. ‘Oh, I know!' She exclaimed for the whole class to hear. 'Let's organize a welcoming party when Todoroki-kun is released from the hospital!'

Her suggestion was met with a round of delighted 'Yes' and a watery one from Hagakure.

As the girls moved away to start on their planning, Kirishima released a forlorn sigh.

'Even our strongest can get a fever.'

'That is exactly why we need to dress for the season and pay attention to our health!' Iida pronounced with wider, more prominent arm chops. 'Summer is the season of fever and heatstroke. It is important that we consume enough water to stay hydrated. I suggest we take turn-'

No one was actually listening to Iida anymore since they were all busy staring at each other in muted realization.

'Speaking of 'dress for the season', do you remember the state of Todoroki's wardrobe?' Kaminari asked everyone on a whole, voicing their exact same thought.

Two days later, Shouto was cleared to return to the dorm with instruction to drink a cup of water every hour and lay off of exercising for at least a week. As if he would listen.

He could have left the day before but a disapproving scolding from Recovery Girl convinced him to obey just so he wouldn't go deaf in the ears.

The dorm was devoid of anyone's presence, which was strange considered it being a Friday night.

Maybe they all needed to be somewhere else. Definitely not a villain though, Shouto would have been the first to know. Endeavor made it his life purpose to drag Shouto to every villain crime scene to show him how stupid he had been for refusing to use his left side.

As he waited for the kettle to boil, laughter and talking started to fill the hall way and they all stopped dead at the sight of him leaning against the countertop in the kitchen.

Asui was the first to break the silence.

'Are you feeling well, Todoroki-chan, ribbit?'

'Yes, a bit dizzy but I am better now.' He opened the top right cabinet where he stashed his tea leaves. 'Thank you for asking.'

'Oh no, you need to rest more Todoroki-kun!' Uraraka said, unreasonably happy that he needed to look to make sure his hearing was not deceiving him.

Why was she happy at the fact that he needed more rest?

And it seemed she was not the only one. All the girls looked incredibly happy and delighted.

Something was definitely going on and he was not privy to it.

'Come now Ice Prince, let's get you back to your room.' Hagakure and Mina sudden appearance at his back did not startled him at all. Not at all.

'Ice Prince?' He echoed, so caught of guard that the two girls could push him up five flights of stairs and into his room easily.

'Well then, off to bed with you.' Mina sang happily, skipping away down the stairs.

'Wait, I still need to get the tea-' Shouto added as his wit came back to him.

'No worries, someone will bring it up for you!' Mina called out from the stairs as the sound of her steps faded away.

It took him a minute to realize he only heard one set of footstep moving away while there had been two that escorted him up.

'Can I help you with anything, Hagakure-san?' He directed his gaze to the half closed door where he could see a flash of brown shorts in mid-air.

'Uhm.' She pushed the door open wider and stepped in, fully facing him. 'I'm very sorry that I asked you to use your quirk that day.' She sounded guilty and judging from the way her clothes move, she must be bowing.

Shouto’s mind took a while to remember what she was referring to. His brain was irritatingly slow tonight.

Ah. That. Frankly, he had forgotten that that had taken place.

'It's alright. I didn't mind. You are not at fault.' He was awful at understanding emotions and even worse at displaying them. He hoped he conveyed his forgiveness well enough this time.

'You sure?' She asked hesitantly, rising up from the half-bow with what would have been a quizzical look if she had not been invisible.

'Yes.'

'Oh. Uhm, thank you.' Her socks and shoes twitched around. A sign of nervousness. 'I'll leave you to your rest, Todoroki-kun.' She closed the door to his room and quickly walked away.

Shouto stared at the door for a moment then made a beeline for the table, taking out assorted notebooks and pens.

He shook his head a little to clear away the dark spots from his eyes.

He truly hadn't gotten back to full health.

No matter. As long as he didn't do anything physically exerting, he should be fine. And catching up on schoolwork could hardly be considered physical activity.

An hour and a half later, Shouto was forced to put down his pen as words swam around his field of vision.

He had had fever a few times before but never this terrible. Most of the time he just slept them away. He tried to did the same for this but apparently it had not work.

Maybe a cup of tea would help, he thought as the world turned topsy turvy as he stood up. Tea would be very appreciated now.

He padded over to his wardrobe to look for a pair of more comfortable indoor slippers.

And had to close it at the sight that greeted him.

Had the fever gotten to his brain?

No, not plausible.  

But he just saw some eye-watering neon green. In his own wardrobe. And he absolutely despised everything with color that bright and revulsive and made sure to never own a single piece of clothing in that color.

Shoutouts hesitantly opened it again, ice ready to freeze whoever was hiding in his wardrobe.

No one was inside but that did nothing to explain the state his wardrobe was in.

It was definitely more rainbow-y than the last time he checked. And with more variety of garments.

He spied black leather jacket, mustard insulated trousers, some plain looking jeans shorts, hoodies, sweaters, polo shirts, and even a rather expensive looking woollen long coat. The neon green belonged to a pair of mittens. All with tags attached but the price had been removed.

Most certainly not the work of his stupid old man.

It could have been Fuyumi but she knew better than to get him anything of bright colors.

That left only one other person, and knowing him, he would be down in the front yard training, on the way to the kitchen.

Perfect. He could get his tea and then started interrogating.

Someone had some explaining to do.

‘He is coming!’

‘What!? No, not yet. I’m not finished!’

‘Quickly, he’s on the first set of stairs!’

‘Just shove it in the cabinet or something!’

‘Eeeehhhh!?’

‘Fucking leave it and hide behind the fucking chair!’

‘Ouch, unharden your elbow, you’re poking my ribs!’

‘Sorry.’

‘Why do I keep attracting small pieces of paper?

‘Ah, my bad.’

‘Everyone, remain quiet!’

‘You are the only one being noisy, ribbit’

The kitchen was dark when Shouto came in but he could hear muffled sound coming from somewhere. Probably they were watching horror film and needed all the darkness they could have.

He flipped the switch and suddenly he was showered in light, sound and confetti. So much that his brain could not process anything and the first thing that came out of his mouth was ‘I need my tea.’

Surprised snorts appeared amidst the gathering of his classmates and he soon found himself nudged, pulled and sat down on the central sofa with blanket draped over his shoulders and a hot cup of tea in his hands.

He took a sip to bring his mind back into operation.

Banners saying things like ‘Get well soon’, ‘Welcome back!’ hung from the ceiling across the floor-to-ceiling glass window. Food and drinks covered every available space of the small coffee table and Shouto suspected that there were a lot more waiting in the connected kitchen and maybe even Satou’s room.

It didn’t escape his attention that all the food and drinks were rather very Japanese and heavily focused on cold soba and tea.

He looked around, noting his classmates’ eager faces and guessed it was time he put his two cents in.

‘It’s nice. Whatever for?’

Collective exasperated sigh made Shouto wanted to retract his words, but knowing his socially-stunted self, his second attempt would only be catastrophic so he kept quiet.

‘Well it’s a get well party. For you.’ Sero explained from his perch on the back of the sofa, taking the initiative.

‘I get that but why?’ Shouto hardly considered his wellbeing the reason, in and of itself, for a celebration.

‘Just fucking get it over with, you half-and-half bastard!’ Bakugou (his presence here was a surprise to Shouto) kicked out a chair from the kitchen table and explosively sat down, ignoring others’ disapproving stares.

‘What Kacchan was trying to say is that we are very glad that you are well again, Todoroki-kun.’ Midoriya chimed in hastily, doing damage control before things got out of hand and dissolved into quirk fight.

Shouto was at a loss for word. What should he say to that?

‘Uhm, thank you?’ It came out more of a question than an expression of gratitude but Midoriya beamed anyway.

‘Let’s eat everyone.’ He announced happily, diving for two mochis right off the bait and dropped one into Shouto’s cupped hands while biting into the other, coughing as he got too much powder in his airway.

The rest of the night passed by in a blur. Shouto vaguely remembered staring in silent wonder as Bakugou dumped spoonful after spoonful of shichimi into his bowl of soba, all the while spitting curses at Kirishima.

He himself got offered a lot of food, his portions were always noticeably larger than everyone else.

As the night dwindled down into small talks and desserts, Shouto slunk away from the crowd to make himself another cup of tea. He passed Midoriya and tapped him on the shoulder. Midoriya took the cue and followed him into the back yard.

It was a pleasant night as far as summer nights went. The moon was still high up, casting silver light on the grass.

‘You want to talk, Todoroki-kun?’ Midoriya ventured tentatively from behind him.

‘All this.’ He shrugged one shoulder in the direction of the brightly lit communal room, not bothering to face Midoriya fully. ‘Did you plan all this?’

‘Ah, no. Everyone just sort of wants to throw you a party. We plan it together.’

‘I see. And the wardrobe?’ Shouto didn’t need to turn around to know that Midoriya’s face had turned bright red.

‘That was Kirishima-kun’s idea. But we all pitched in so don’t be mad at him!’ Frantic hand waving. ‘I tried to tell them not to take anything too brightly colored but they all thought it was a good chance to reinvent your wardrobe. It was such a terrible idea. And we went into your room without your permission. Oh god, we went into your room without permission! Your room! Without permission! I’m so sorry, Todoroki-kun! I am terribly-‘

‘Midoriya.’ Shouto cut in sharply and turned to face the other boy. He waited until Midoriya looked up from his bow and injected every bit of sincerity into his next words. ‘Thank you.’

Thank you for helping me.

Thank you for not telling everyone.  

Thank you for respecting my wish.

Thank you for caring.

Midoriya straightened from his bow and smiled brilliantly at him.

‘You are very welcome, Todoroki-kun.’

He hesitantly returned the smile with the upturn of his lips and marched back inside, Midoriya staying in the same pace as him.

’Should we wake him up?’

’Nah, let him sleep.’

‘But it’s going to be uncomfortable as hell.’

‘No worries, I’ve got this. You two, push the sofa over here. Quietly.’

‘I’m grabbing a pillow from my room.’

‘Good idea.’

‘There, that should do it.’

‘Are we going to leave him alone down here?’

‘No way! We’re staying here and watching movies till dawn. Everyone with me?’

‘Ayee!’

‘So we should do some quick clean up then.

‘Here, let me help.’

‘Bakugou, move over if you’re not gonna help.’

‘HUH? WHO THE FUCK Y-UMPH UMPH.’

Rustle from the central sofa had them hold their breath but Todoroki just snuggled deeper into his blanket.

‘Thank you Sero.’

‘No prob.’

‘Walk quietly everyone. We don’t want to wake him up.’

My headcanon collection

[ariphyll]

And The World Blurs Itself

Ao3 Ver.

Written for FE Polyweek day 1: Care (Niles/Leo/Takumi)

Word Count: 2318

Summary: Who could afford to get sick during a war?

A/N: Hhh, I don't have much done for fe polyweek but I at least managed to get a couple days done. This was written for the day 1 prompt of 'care', in probably... the loosest form of the word.

Waking up to a fever was always a near delirious experience. The whole world felt as if it was shifted weird and your entire body was heavy with the weight of it's sickness. Takumi woke up in stages through his fever sleep haze: the first being not fully aware of where he even was, slipping in and out of a dream that was clinging to him; the second was managing to sit up and feeling immediately worse as his body processed his state; and the third was realizing why he was feeling so awful.

A small shiver running through him, Takumi wrapped the blankets around him tighter. He wasn't one to get sick often, but when he did catch something Takumi knew it was always a small slice of hell to go through. Still, despite his body’s protests to lie back down Takumi forced himself out of bed. He couldn't allow something like this to keep him bedridden. He had responsibilities to take care of. They were in the middle of a damn war! He couldn't call out for a sick day when everyone else was working.

Shaking his head, trying to clear it as much as possible, Takumi prepped himself for the day. They weren't readying themselves for any battles for the day at least. There was the morning war council to get through however, and Corrin had wanted to practice archery with him today. Wait, he wasn't on shop duty today was he? He couldn't remember where he was in the order of everyone else. Perhaps he could pass it off to someone else if needed...

Gods, his whole body was aching. Takumi struggled not to drag his feet as he walked out of his room, still feeling sluggish and off-kilter. He wanted nothing more than to go back to bed but he couldn't just blow off the war council meeting.

In hindsight though, Takumi wasn't sure how many valuable ideas he brought to the table that morning. It was hard to think straight while sick, let alone pay attention to what anyone else was bringing up. Resting his head against his hand, he struggled not to fall asleep. He needed to focus but the fever running through him was saying otherwise. He actually thought he was doing pretty well until Sakura startled him out of a doze by shaking his shoulder. He watched people gathering papers and leaving the table and Takumi realized the council had ended for the day. Had he… slept through the rest of it?

“Takumi, are you feeling alright?” Sakura asked. “You hardly seemed awake during the meeting.”

Takumi waved her off, shaking his head. “I'm fine, just not a lot of sleep I guess.” He figured he should stand up now but his body was so heavy.

Sakura bit her lip, her hands playing with the edges of her clothes. “You look almost feverish, are you sure you're feeling well?”

Takumi forced a tired smile before pushing himself up, trying to act like he was at 100% but having to lean against the table. “I promise, I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me.”

Sakura wasn't buying it but didn't press the issue, instead giving a short nod and hurrying past with a worried glance back at him. Gritting his teeth, Takumi followed her out the door, wondering if he could get away with hiding for a bit before he felt a hand on his back. Looking over Takumi saw Leo next to him, a cautious look on his face.

“Your sister is right. You certainly don't look like you're feeling well,” he said.

Takumi rolled his eyes. “I'm fine. What do you need, Leo?”

Leo frowned at that, dropping his hand. “Didn't we agree yesterday we going to the library this morning? You wanted to try your hand at chess again.”

Takumi cursed inside, regretting his previous agreement. “Right. Sorry. I guess it slipped my mind.”

Leo nodded but didn't say anything more. As they walked Takumi could feel his eyes on him and it was starting to grow irritating. He may be sick but he didn't want anyone to notice it. He didn't want others to start fretting over him like some weak child, especially Leo.

It had been an odd few weeks for them. It had been late one night when Takumi admitted to harboring something more than platonic for Leo, the words falling unbidden from his mouth. More surprising to him than Leo admitting that he felt the same was that he wasn't single. Takumi had always known Leo was close to Niles but he never thought they would be dating - let alone have it be an open relationship. Takumi wasn't exactly uncomfortable with it, just more taken by surprise. It did mean he was still in the clear with Leo and his feelings being mutual, but Takumi couldn't bring himself to take it any further.

So they've been lying in a sort of limbo, acting as friends but with the underlying hint of being more than that. Takumi was content with that for now but that didn't mean he wanted Leo to fret over him being taken down by a sickness.

Almost collapsing in a nearby chair in his haste to sit down, Takumi had to take a few moments to keep his vision from blurring the books all around him. It was so tiring being awake. He kept his eyes closed as he tried to steady his breathing, keeping one hand gripped to the wood of the table. Was it always so hot in this part of camp?

“Takumi-?” Leo said, a questioning lilt to his voice.

“I'm fine,” Takumi said, maybe a bit too fast. “Just fine. It's just some- dizziness.”

He knew it couldn't be very convincing with his head down and digging his fingers into the wood. He couldn't bother to lift his head as he heard Leo approach though, worried that if he moved the room would start spinning without his consent again. He felt cool skin press against his forehead and after a moment he realized it was Leo. It took another moment before he realized Leo was pressing a kiss, and Takumi jerked away in surprise.

“Wh-what-?” Takumi stammered, flustered at the motion.

Leo cleared his throat, trying to cover his growing blush with a hand as he pulled away. “I wanted to check your temperature without- having to take off a gauntlet.”

Temperature. Right. Fever. It was a way to check a fever. Takumi ran a hand through his hair. “I'm- You didn't need to do that. I'm fine.”

“On the contrary,” Leo said. “you're incredibly warm. That added on to you almost stumbling your way here, you're clearly not fine. If you were this sick why did you get up this morning?”

“I'm not sick,” Takumi protested, but it wasn't tricking anyone at this point.

Leo huffed, folding his arms. “Then stand up why don't you?”

Takumi shot him a glare but reluctantly complied, pushing himself to shaky feet. He wasn't even sure if his knees would hold him as he let go of the table, forcing himself to stand up straight. “S-see? I'm fine.”

Leo looked unconvinced. “Because a healthy man needs to use leverage to get up.”

“Who can afford to be sick during a war anyway,” Takumi mumbled, glancing away from him. He was starting to get cornered.

“No one, but that doesn't mean you get to force yourself to carry on as normal. What if we were set to march today? This could've been something that got you killed,” Leo sighed. He glanced around the library for a moment. “Niles? I know you're lurking around somewhere.”

“Yes, milord?”

The response came from behind Takumi and he jumped in surprise, lurching back away from Niles’ sudden appearance. His balance was all off though and Takumi could feel his feet start to give underneath him. He mentally prepared for hitting the floor but an arm wrapped around his waist, steadying him. Takumi huffed as he looked back at Niles, wanting to pry his arm away from him but also internally grateful for having someone to keep him upright. Even if Niles was the one to cause it - Takumi knew he only did things like this to surprise him. If only he could figure out how to tell if Niles was in the room or not like Leo could, it'd make it a lot harder to get spooked.

“I want you to escort Takumi back to his quarters, he’s on bed rest for the rest of the day,” Leo ordered.

Takumi let out an indignant noise. “When did you suddenly become my mother? You can’t boss me around.”

Leo gave him an amused smile. “Under normal circumstances, no I couldn’t, but I think this is a special occasion. Niles, make sure he doesn’t leave his room.”

“As you command,” Niles said, flashing Takumi a wry grin before lifting him up in his arms in an easy bridal carry.

Takumi made a small noise at the quick motion, head spinning a little as he glared at Niles. “Put me down, I’m not a child. This also isn’t how you treat a prince either!” His protests were for nothing though as Niles had a firm grasp on him, and Takumi wasn’t in the best of shape for squirming on out the hold.

“I’ll let your siblings know where you are. I imagine your little sister will make you something to help you feel better,” Leo said. “Until then, try to get some sleep. The army can function without you for a day or two.”

“Can you at least let me walk like a regular person,” Takumi complained. At this point he was too tired to argue not heading back to his room but he didn’t want to be seen being held in Niles’ arms.

Leo gave a small laugh. “You could hardly walk here. Might as well be safe.”

Takumi scowled at him, knowing Leo was enjoying this just as much as Niles. This kind of treatment he expected from someone like him, sure, but Leo? To think Takumi expected him to have higher class than this.

Takumi sighed, aggravated but unable to escape. “Fine, let’s... go then.”

“As you wish,” Niles’ teased, leaving the library to head back to Takumi’s quarters. “You’re going to start worrying milord at this rate, Prince Takumi.”

“Oh how tragic,” Takumi grumbled. “Maybe next time he shouldn’t treat me like this.”

“Hm, and maybe next time you can stop acting like a brat,” Niles said, voice flat. “As if you’re the first person in a war to fall ill. Milord Leo is showing care for you, you might as well accept it as it doesn't come often.”

Takumi paused at the sharp comment, wanting to retaliate but holding his tongue. As much as he hated to admit it, perhaps his attitude was a bit… childish. He wanted to reprimand Niles’ for his tone but Takumi always found that difficult when what he was saying was true. Niles never sugarcoated anything, and as much as Takumi wanted to act like it didn’t, sometimes he needed someone blunt to cut through his thoughts and get a point across. As the jostling motion of being carried kept his eyes from being able to focus right he was starting to see there was a point. He wasn't going to be any good to the army like this.

“Still,” Niles said once he realized Takumi wasn’t going to fire back. “I think I’m starting to see milord’s endearment with you. You’re cute when totally helpless.”

“Helpless-?” Takumi started, face going red at the comment but pride flaring up. “I’m sick, not dying.”

Niles huffed a small laugh, barely audible but Takumi could feel it move through his chest due to their proximity. “No, but you’re weak enough to be mostly defenseless.”

Takumi started to struggle in his arms once more as they reached his room. “Yeah? I’m certain that even with a fever I could still-”

Niles dropped him unceremoniously onto his bed, cutting off what he was going to say with a rough landing. Takumi groaned and rolled onto his back, shooting Niles a glare. He was grateful to be let go though, even if his body missed the body heat he was providing.

“Now, are you going to comply with milord’s wishes and stay in here? Or do I need to read you a bedtime story?” Niles mocked.

“Hardly,” Takumi mumbled. He pulled the blankets around him and curled up, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to get comfortable. The air in his room was freezing it seemed like. “You’re dismissed. Go back and bother your boyfriend lord or someone else that isn't me.”

A small chuckled came from Niles at that but Takumi didn’t hear the sound of him leaving. Frowning, he went to open his eyes but paused as he felt another kiss brush his forehead. Going red at that, Takumi jerked upright, opening his mouth to chide Niles but he was already out the door, a laugh filtering in from the hall.

“Consider it a blessing to get well!”

Takumi huffed, rubbing at his cheeks as if that would help his blush disappear any faster. As if he needed Niles’ care to get any better. What he needed was to sleep and not have smug retainers of Leo's bother him. Takumi made a mental note to whine to Leo later, but he supposed to not make too much of an issue. If he complained enough Leo might actually give some orders to Niles, and loathe as he was to admit it, Takumi would find it a little weird to go without Niles’ teasing. Even if today’s teasing was a bit- much.

Takumi groaned and pulled the covers over his head. Maybe he would have Leo give him some orders.